The Foreshadowing of Shadows...
Sunday, February 15, 2009 at 8:43pm
Inspiration comes in many forms. When we become inspired there is an up-swell of emotion deep within our chests begging for release. It is a force of artistic expression that each of us manifest in our own unique way. Some of us will paint or draw. Others will sing or take up an instrument. I write.
I also listen. I hear so many of my friends talk about their relationships, or lack thereof, and reflect on the irony of it all. Mind you, the following generalization is based on a small sampling of a relatively few people I know. I have many friends who are in or out of relationships that this would not apply to. I listen to good people lament about the bad relationships they are in, or hear the bitter undertone of celebrating yet another day reminding them of the lonely path they walk. I hear the great stories of romantic innovation that some couples enjoy and the more commercialized version of happiness coming from store-bought gifts. I hear of the rejections, and can feel the floor fall from beneath them as their emotions are lost in new-found despair.
Yet through it all there is one thing that drowns out all of the other sounds combined: silence. The silence of unspoken feeling; of fear that paralyzes nerves and freezes action. How many young men and women will pass each other by and share a moment in a more-than casual glance only to have it be rendered meaningless through inaction. How much of life is lost in the waiting of things to happen I wonder. I tell you now that your life is running out! It is ending one moment at a time, and it is precisely because of that finality that each moment is so precious! Seize it! Grab hold of your life through action and shed the fears that cast doubt into your heart.
Last year I wrote a small poem to the Valentine I had not yet met. Apparently, I still have some searching to do, but every journey has its end though the road does not. The road goes ever on and on, and to each we must walk until we find what we seek, or tire of the search. Perhaps that is, in part, why I run. Yet there is strength left in these friends of mine who never fail in time of need. So my road will go on, and I leave you all with this small excerpt from one of my stories for you to consider. Thank you.
--------------------------------------
Working by candlelight, Kaitza carefully brushed at the edge of the canvas parchment with the charcoal he had found. The images from his dream burned inside his skull, but he had to be sure. The Winter Army was currently marching east in pursuit of the remnants of a Kolgeri reconnaissance that had set fire to a cluster of villages in Denai provinvce. The border-forts were in complete disarray and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. A razor-edged knife.
Sighing in disgust, Kaitza tried again to force the images from his mind, but it was no use. His eyes stared unfocused into the flame of the candle as the dream played out once more in his mind's eye...
The Feasting Hall illuminated by scores of ensconced torches along the walls. The flames flickering as they cast countless shadows across the chamber while servants scurried along neatly rowed tables to ensure the guests were well-supplied with wine and mead. Various lords of the land were mingling with nobles of the Court over the din of the music in the background.
Near the far-end of the room was a dais where stood an elongated table made of rich oak inlaid with gold filament. The Royal Standard rolled off either end of the table; an additional symbol of the guests dining at the City Palace in Chumois. As if any more were needed. The royal family sat at the center of the table wearing rich fabrics of gold-and-green hues. Everything seemed as it should until a number of shadows danced awkwardly in and out of the torch-light. No, not shadows. Shadows.
Within moments they had reached the head of the dais. The royal detachment at base of the steps stood diligently at their posts, but did not know what to look for. The screams got their attention. Seconds dragged on in what seemed like hours as the next few events unfolded. The room was in chaos. Blood dripped along the expensive cloth of the table; the rich red contrasting sharply with the royal colors. And a woman's face shone with fear as the Unseen came to claim her soul.
As her screams faded from his mind, Kaitza shuddered as he returned to the present moment. There was no use denying it. Graidon had to be told. But will he believe a dream? Kaitza wondered. Everything in the dream had been vague, as if it were veiled in mist. Yet for some reason the walls illuminated by the torches seemed as real to him as the shadows flickering inside his own tent. The Shadows. Shadows in Chumois. The merest possibility sent Kaitza's head spinning. It made sense, but it didn't add up.
"Better to leave business to your betters," his father had told him years ago. Politics was far above his reach and understanding. Yet the man he had sworn his loyalty to was at the center of a storm where politics was but one reason for the troubles now facing the entire nation. "Better to leave business to your betters, but when it's raining arrows all around you take shelter under a tree even if it brings you closer to the lightning." His father again. Katiza had always hated the sayings his father recited every day plying the Trade in the cities. Yet they made sense. Damn me to Shadow but they do make sense.
Looking down at the parchment Kaitza stood up in surprise. It was finished. It was finished, and yet he stood there gazing down at the rendition of the woman's face in his dreams. Aside from the walls only two other things had stood out clearly in the dream: the royal symbol and the woman's face. It had to be the princess, and if it was real...if it was real, then war with the Kolgeri would be the least of our troubles.
At long last Kaitza put down the piece of charcoal and leaned back to take in the sketch on the now-sooty canvas.
It's her. There's no doubt, but how? The unanswered question worried him almost as much as the brooding possibilities that were forming in his quickening mind.
Moving quickly, Kaitza grabbed his cloak and hurried from the tent. The Lord-Captain needed to hear of this immediately. Somehow, the royal family was in danger and Elloren was at the heart of it.
Inspiration comes in many forms. When we become inspired there is an up-swell of emotion deep within our chests begging for release. It is a force of artistic expression that each of us manifest in our own unique way. Some of us will paint or draw. Others will sing or take up an instrument. I write.
I also listen. I hear so many of my friends talk about their relationships, or lack thereof, and reflect on the irony of it all. Mind you, the following generalization is based on a small sampling of a relatively few people I know. I have many friends who are in or out of relationships that this would not apply to. I listen to good people lament about the bad relationships they are in, or hear the bitter undertone of celebrating yet another day reminding them of the lonely path they walk. I hear the great stories of romantic innovation that some couples enjoy and the more commercialized version of happiness coming from store-bought gifts. I hear of the rejections, and can feel the floor fall from beneath them as their emotions are lost in new-found despair.
Yet through it all there is one thing that drowns out all of the other sounds combined: silence. The silence of unspoken feeling; of fear that paralyzes nerves and freezes action. How many young men and women will pass each other by and share a moment in a more-than casual glance only to have it be rendered meaningless through inaction. How much of life is lost in the waiting of things to happen I wonder. I tell you now that your life is running out! It is ending one moment at a time, and it is precisely because of that finality that each moment is so precious! Seize it! Grab hold of your life through action and shed the fears that cast doubt into your heart.
Last year I wrote a small poem to the Valentine I had not yet met. Apparently, I still have some searching to do, but every journey has its end though the road does not. The road goes ever on and on, and to each we must walk until we find what we seek, or tire of the search. Perhaps that is, in part, why I run. Yet there is strength left in these friends of mine who never fail in time of need. So my road will go on, and I leave you all with this small excerpt from one of my stories for you to consider. Thank you.
--------------------------------------
Working by candlelight, Kaitza carefully brushed at the edge of the canvas parchment with the charcoal he had found. The images from his dream burned inside his skull, but he had to be sure. The Winter Army was currently marching east in pursuit of the remnants of a Kolgeri reconnaissance that had set fire to a cluster of villages in Denai provinvce. The border-forts were in complete disarray and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. A razor-edged knife.
Sighing in disgust, Kaitza tried again to force the images from his mind, but it was no use. His eyes stared unfocused into the flame of the candle as the dream played out once more in his mind's eye...
The Feasting Hall illuminated by scores of ensconced torches along the walls. The flames flickering as they cast countless shadows across the chamber while servants scurried along neatly rowed tables to ensure the guests were well-supplied with wine and mead. Various lords of the land were mingling with nobles of the Court over the din of the music in the background.
Near the far-end of the room was a dais where stood an elongated table made of rich oak inlaid with gold filament. The Royal Standard rolled off either end of the table; an additional symbol of the guests dining at the City Palace in Chumois. As if any more were needed. The royal family sat at the center of the table wearing rich fabrics of gold-and-green hues. Everything seemed as it should until a number of shadows danced awkwardly in and out of the torch-light. No, not shadows. Shadows.
Within moments they had reached the head of the dais. The royal detachment at base of the steps stood diligently at their posts, but did not know what to look for. The screams got their attention. Seconds dragged on in what seemed like hours as the next few events unfolded. The room was in chaos. Blood dripped along the expensive cloth of the table; the rich red contrasting sharply with the royal colors. And a woman's face shone with fear as the Unseen came to claim her soul.
As her screams faded from his mind, Kaitza shuddered as he returned to the present moment. There was no use denying it. Graidon had to be told. But will he believe a dream? Kaitza wondered. Everything in the dream had been vague, as if it were veiled in mist. Yet for some reason the walls illuminated by the torches seemed as real to him as the shadows flickering inside his own tent. The Shadows. Shadows in Chumois. The merest possibility sent Kaitza's head spinning. It made sense, but it didn't add up.
"Better to leave business to your betters," his father had told him years ago. Politics was far above his reach and understanding. Yet the man he had sworn his loyalty to was at the center of a storm where politics was but one reason for the troubles now facing the entire nation. "Better to leave business to your betters, but when it's raining arrows all around you take shelter under a tree even if it brings you closer to the lightning." His father again. Katiza had always hated the sayings his father recited every day plying the Trade in the cities. Yet they made sense. Damn me to Shadow but they do make sense.
Looking down at the parchment Kaitza stood up in surprise. It was finished. It was finished, and yet he stood there gazing down at the rendition of the woman's face in his dreams. Aside from the walls only two other things had stood out clearly in the dream: the royal symbol and the woman's face. It had to be the princess, and if it was real...if it was real, then war with the Kolgeri would be the least of our troubles.
At long last Kaitza put down the piece of charcoal and leaned back to take in the sketch on the now-sooty canvas.
It's her. There's no doubt, but how? The unanswered question worried him almost as much as the brooding possibilities that were forming in his quickening mind.
Moving quickly, Kaitza grabbed his cloak and hurried from the tent. The Lord-Captain needed to hear of this immediately. Somehow, the royal family was in danger and Elloren was at the heart of it.
posted by Marcos Redondo - Running For Hope at
11:07 AM
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