THE SUMMONING

Our tale begins upon a single blade of grass in the middle of an open, yet secluded grove, deep within the heart of a forest so lush and teeming with plant-life that one could rightly assume that should one remain motionless within said forest for long enough; the moisture in their armpits alone would make an ideal environment to begin the cultivation of any number of new spores and organisms. While this is lovely and charming in a ‘circle of life’ kind of way; it is essentially a discomforting thought. Hardly anybody, in their right mind, would find the prospect of vines and fungi flourishing in various crevices upon their body an attractive situation. However; perhaps this is merely an exaggeration in order to stress how sodding fertile this particular wooded area may be. …Or perhaps not. Let us continue, shall we?
Back to the grass…

On any other day; this particular sliver of seemingly insignificant flora would not be worth my time nor yours…nor that of any other vision-capable creature with even the dimmest of mental illumination. But today is not any other day. Today is today…and this day just happens to be the most important day in the whole existence of this singular blade of grass. Everything that has come before has merely been a preview; a build-up; a tensely escalating crescendo that will finally lead to this impending climactic event in the complex life-cycle of this tiny blade of grass.…For it is about to be stepped upon.
…Now.

As his foot touched down upon the soft grass; the slender figure paused for a moment.His movements were slow and calculated; as if apprehensive of the environment outside his luxurious carriage. Ducking his head slightly so as to clear his top-hat through the doorway, the thin gentleman leaned halfway out and gazed around carefully at the surrounding forest…and its occupants.
A kind of coughing snort brought him out of his intense evaluation and he turned in the direction of the sound. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the two hulking creatures that were tethered to the front of his carriage. They were large, quadrupedal beasts called shalba, with flowing manes and coats similar to that of musk-oxen. They were generally used for transport and as labour-animals, but they also had a tongue that was porous and secreted a honey-like substance which was highly coveted by various traders and other such folk in the aromatic elixir industry. It just so happens to be mildly narcotic as well. There are more than enough second-hand stories making the rounds of local taverns regarding various shalba-farmers who have been caught in the act of ‘milking’ the tongues of their herd. The old fashioned way.
While shalba are generally good-natured beasts, they can grow incredibly irate if they are not given anything to chew on a regular basis (excluding farmers), as their sticky tongues require something for absorption. The first sign of such a mood-swing is a loud kind of snorting-cough followed by an erratic display of independent eye blinking.
And it is those bright green eyes that just so happen to be rapidly fluttering at the thin gentleman at this moment.

As a thin mist of rain starts to dampen the air, the thin gent carefully emerges from the darkness of the carriage interior and makes his way toward the snuffling creatures. He stares at them for a second or two before reaching into his vest pocket and producing two reddish orbs, which pulse gently with a faint, glowing light from within. The shalba grow visibly excited upon viewing these orbs and the gent feeds them one each. Almost instantly; as the chewing commences, the shalba’s eyes close happily and their heads begin to gently bob in a rhythmic action in time with the copious chewing.
With the knowledge that they will be content for quite a while now; the gent pays the beasts no more mind, swiftly spins around on his heels and strides off into the grove; making a raised wooden platform his destination.

The many occupants of the forest gathered here on this day keep their collective eyes upon the gentleman as he purposefully ascends the few small stairs leading up to the wooden stage. His boot-heeled steps combining with his walking-stick upon the hardwood produces an almost hypnotic Morse-code of knocks that would spell only one phrase - were any of those creatures amongst the assembled crowd capable of Morse-code deciphering, which is highly unlikely - regardless; that phrase would be, ‘See here, all ye who are assembled. This gent holds attention-worthy words. And plenty of them’.

Now despite the fact that most of the assembled populace would not understand such a phrase, and even if you mentioned the term ‘Morse-code’ to them they would only either stare blankly, run away or shriek and bite your arm; they still had no choice but to stare attentively forward at the striking figure who stood upon the stage like some darkly-attired concierge of the gods.

And this dark-haired prince of shadows stared straight back at them.

His eyes narrowed once again as he carefully took a mental inventory of all those amassed before him. It was his responsibility to make sure all were present and accounted for. His responsibility to ensure that all those summoned to this meeting, had done just that. For while he too was summoned to this congregation; much to his displeasure, he also happened to be the first one called upon, and it was he who was charged with the grand task of summoning the rest of those who wait expectantly today.
So basically; (deep breath) …a summoner summoned a person to become a summoner so that they may summon many, many others to attend a rather important assembly. …And may those above curse any who dares disregard their summoning.
Yes, that about sums it up.
It could not be any clearer.
Moving on…

As the gentleman’s eyes beheld each and every member of the massive crowd; he had to restrain himself internally with all the grace and decorum that he could muster. For while it was his duty to know the appearance and names of every single inhabitant of these lands, some of them had physical…attributes…that could almost paralyse the mind; so hideous or bizarre where they in their genetic architecture. However; the pendulum of knee-jerk reactions could swing in the opposite direction should enough time be spent in this particular world; as many of the visions on display in the crowd could just as easily be the product of blissful dreams as of feverish nightmares. For every plump, squishy, little bundle of mirth like the playfully vibrating moss kittens; there is a hideous, sense-crippling, reason for dry-retching such as the mulch-dwelling marrow-worms who spend their days reproducing live larval offspring from their mouths and a have a habit of infecting the bones of larger, happier, pastry-loving creatures. Such an infection will, in turn, reduce a previously large and joyful creature to a smaller, weaker, unhappy little shadow of its former self.
...With no desire whatsoever for pastries or baked-goods of any sort.
...And then the worms devour its skeleton.
...While it is still alive.
...Possibly even mid-conversation.
This will undoubtedly lead to the surviving member of the prematurely halted conversation taking offence at such blatant social mistreatment. After all, in such a situation; it is unlikely that one would have the forethought to make a dignified exit with an excuse such as, “Pardon me. Forgive my rudeness; but I honestly must take my leave of the discussion at this point as there seems to be a plague of violently-ravenous parasitic worms viciously devouring my skeleton from the inside. Perhaps we may continue our discussion at a later date?”
Once again; socially-diplomatic verbiage such as this is unfortunately not likely to be coming from your mouth during the aforementioned dilemma.

Worms will, however.

Yes, it is such serious situations and creatures as diverse as this, that has made the thin gentlemen take on his role as organizer of this whole affair with a level of diligence that he would usually only reserve for extra-special tasks in the past. Tasks such as perhaps baking an extra large pie in the shape of a pig’s head for some kind of festival or attempting to gain an evening tumble from a disarmingly attractive ale-wench with sinful eyes and a bosom worthy of poetic praise in volumes.
Alas, the gent’s mind and vision were, unfortunately, not concerned with matters of the flesh at this moment. And no matter how much he may wish that he were elsewhere and in the arms of somebody or some bodies; …his mind knows fully well that he must maintain focus. He must stick to the plan.

He slowly inhales and exhales as he gently lays his walking-stick upon the stage at his feet. He delicately adjusts his top-hat, checks his pocket-watch and, taking comfort in his impeccable appearance and timing; a warm vibration of calm begins to fill his being as he ponders his current status…
He has been given a task.
He has completed one half of it, for as far as he is concerned; all who were summoned here today have made an appearance.
They now stand before him. They wish to hear from him. Collectively; they wish to know his reasons for this meeting. They want answers. They want an explanation. They do not know it; but the gent knows that they are in fact waiting for the second, and final, part of his task…
They wish to hear a speech.
And a speech begins with but a single word…

“Ahem.”

Suddenly one of the shalba lets out a loud, guttural grumble and then continues chewing contentedly.
Every member of the massive crowd has turned in silent unison to watch the shalba as it now proceeds to gently paw at the soft grass beneath its hoof-like feet; once again in time with the chewing.
Crackling vibrations of pulsing displeasure are almost visibly radiating from the thin gentleman as he levels his piercing gaze upon the shalba…and then returns it to the crowd…which is still watching the distracting animals.

The gent’s razor-sharp tone slices through the misty grove as the sunlight begins to filter through the leafy canopy above;
“Another ‘ahem’, perhaps!?”

In time with his words, he slams his heel down upon the hard wood of the stage and once again gains possession of the countless eyes amongst those assembled. The gentleman straightens his suit-coat once more and; so as not to allow another window for interruption, he continues…

“Welcome. Firstly; allow me to convey my thanks and appreciation for your gathering here on this day.
Secondly; I am going to get straight to the sharpest tip of my subject matter. …And if any one of you dares to interrupt me, distract me or emit an odour that brings even a single tear to my eyes I shall take the previously mentioned tip and, no matter how metaphorical it may be, I shall find a way to pierce your skull with this point and pin you to the nearest log. Have I made myself clear to a worrying degree? Those of you with more patience than I; please be so kind as to explain my words to those around you who may be a little…mentally-flaccid, if you please.

I would apologise for my tone and overall frosty demeanour…but I’m not going to. You and I both know that such an accessory would clash with the way my personality is dressed. We are here for a very, I repeat, VERY important event. And it is my duty, to instil upon all of you here today…the gravity and significance of this momentous occasion.

Very well then… You should all know me. You’ve heard my words. You’ve seen me about the village. You may even have sampled one of my many pastries. Basically, I require no introduction. But, as I am far too theatrical for that kind of subtlety, I shall introduce myself regardless. Ladies and gentlemen, …and those of you who are either sans gender or are so freakishly indescribable that your appearance defies classification of any sort; I am The Herald.

Now, we all know the tales that blow through this land of ours like a scented wind. They have been in our minds and flown from our lips since the dawn of our time. All of you; from the giant dirt-crabs to the tiny miniature cows, would know the tales of the Two Queens; Jessica and Claire.
We all know that Jessica the Traveller, Claire and her daughter, Lisa, reside in the realm above us.
...Along with that other being of whom we know very little.
Besides the fact that he likes to change some of our physical appearances while we sleep as a sick joke so that he can hear our shrieks of panic when we awaken to find ourselves either missing a limb or …’blessed’ by the addition of a plump, well-cooked sausage-like creature now growing from the centre of our chest, which offers sage advice and has a tendency to break into song at inappropriate times.

But that is not the issue I wish to discuss today.

You would all know that as The Herald, I am often privy to information that the rest of you would never learn of, even should you take the time to overturn each and every rock upon this world of ours.
Just as you would also know of whom I speak when I now mention…The Quillmaster. Some of you may know him by other names, for he has many, such as Hanque, for example. But regardless of his many guises; it is my duty to inform you that He…has charged me…with the duty of opening the door for you all; a door which will lead you to the meaning of your very existence.

We all know who we are, do we not? We all know where we live, am I correct? And some of the more mentally nimble amongst you may even secretly possess a half-baked notion or theory about WHY we are here.
But all of your theories, guesses, summations and carefully tested hypotheses…are wrong. They are filled with gaping holes through which the liquid of reality is going to pour until it forms a perfectly clear little puddle of truth at your feet.
And it is I who has come to mop up said truth and wring it out for you so that you each may drink of its enlightening juices.
Tasty, no?

Very well, allow me to begin by saying that it is no great secret that The Quillmaster created us. However; …who created The Quillmaster?
From whence did he come?
Why did he bless us with life and allow our lungs to take in each sweet breath of air like a gift from above?
Well, my friends and enemies, I now tell you that this gathering is to become a party…and this party is going to feature ‘knowledge’ as the guest of honour.
I know the answers.
You SHALL know the answers.
And even that strange goat-like creature up the back there, which hasn’t stopped cavorting and playing that cursed violin ever since I began my speech, shall know the answers. …As soon as he regains consciousness after the vicious beating I’m going to administer to him.

So, allow me to reveal all to you as is my charge this day.
This particular soiree is, in a matter of speaking, a celebration in honour of the woman who indirectly led to our creation.
She carried the seed which created He who would go on to create Us.
He created Us so that we could gather here, at this moment in time, to give thanks and honour She who would lead to our coming to be.

Getting confused? Worry not. Stick with me…

So, without further ado; let us raise our voices and praise the birth of She who is known as Jane of the Moores. 1 – 2 – 3,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JANE MOORE!

We; Jessica, Claire and The Quillmaster are ever grateful to Jane Moore; …for she birthed 3 beautiful children. One of whom would go on to later bring us into this world; each and every one of us here today, from the greatest armour-plated caterpillars that slowly undulate across our landscape (stopping only occasionally at villages so that the warrior-like race of beings that use them as mounts may collect liquor, lyrics and lustful glances from any daughters that may be gratefully unsupervised)
…to the smallest blade of grass.

Well, I think that should do it.
Thank-you very much for coming. T’was a fine celebration, indeed.

But all must come to an end.
I own this forest…and I have grown weary of your presence within it.
If any of you are within my sight by the time I put my hat back on, I shall hunt you down and beat you with a sturdy bundle of assorted twigs.

You may all go now. Return to your homes, or trees or wherever it is that you were reluctantly drug out from. But do not get too comfortable. None of us; not even I, can ever know when The Quillmaster may call upon us again for this task or that.

Now kindly be gone.
I am late for my next errand. I must go and baby-sit Princess Lisa and she does not look kindly upon those who keep her waiting.

Good day to you all.”





(Created this as a birthday card for my mother a while back.
She liked it.
I wrote this on 15/6/06)