Fourteen Faces
By
Garry Linahan
Smashwords Edition
Published by
Garry Linahan at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Garry Linahan
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Fourteen Faces
(with occasional rhythm)
Part 1
The world was not what it seemed. The world was not what it was.
The sky grew dark overhead as the moons appeared, larger and more yellow than before. Their faces glared down but their eyes did never meet his. In the east the mountains rose tall and swallowed the golden orb of day. Serpentine rivers of scarlet flooded across the land as more forward did he trudge. The path would be deep and wide and his journey would be long.
“What moons are these I follow? What draws me to their cause? As much as I repel them, I feel them drag me forth.”
Clustered orbs of light, they rained upon the land, their yellow glow hypnotic, as one they showed the path.
Before his eyes a nomad, a vagabond in rags.
“What trail is this I follow? It takes me ever on. Shed some light, oh wretched one, some light beyond these moons.”
The wretched one did speak to him and cast his arm and pointing.
“The moons do drag you forth, you say? Then step then from their beam. If not then they shall take you on, to yonder hills and more.”
“They lead against my will, yet I slave to their commandments. I fear to step beyond the beam when so strong a force does summon.”
The wretched one did eye him and passed within the beam. At once he passed beyond, then raised his arms in ire.
In a moment though his face did change and ghostly white it came. He fell to knees before him and let the stranger pass.
“Go further on,” he whimpered, “Go far beyond the hills. I see now who you be, he who fronts me in the night. Stay within the beam, the moons shall guide you on.”
He cowered and he cringed and he let the stranger pass.
“But where is it that I be led, by orbs that glow at night, that suck me to their bosom, that light this foreign path? Oh wretched one do tell me. You seem to know so much. Some wisdom has flushed through you, for I saw it as it passed. I shall travel to yon mountains. The moons shall guide me there. But what is it that lies beyond them and what is it that calls me there?
“Beyond them lies an ocean
A place of ever calm
A place I see in fables
A place that knows no harm
Beyond there lies an Angel
Majestic, from above
An Angel of your calling
Within the Sea of Love.”
And so it was that he came upon the Sea of Love. Before him she lay, her ceaseless waters spreading far and wide, and as far as the eye could see. Beyond her far horizon, and standing above the sea, he saw three mountaintops, the peaks of which did shimmer, and the bases could not be seen. The sky did beat him down, her rays drawing moisture from his skin and causing salt to sting his eyes.
The hill on which he stood would lead him down a treacherous path, and that path would lead him to the Sea of Love. The waters did lie peaceful before him and the light did bounce from them and flashed as mirrors to his eyes.
“What is this place upon which I come?” he asked, but not one within him answered.
Yet one within him knew, for this was the one that drove him on. The place before him spread and the light became diffused. It was this very place that he had sought and it was now that he knew it, and as one he would come to know it well.
Down the path he trudged, and along its rocky way he moved, coming ever closer to the Sea of Love. The waters lay still before him, the sweet ocean smell travelling to his nose. Behind him rose the hill from which he had descended and soon, lapping at his feet, he felt the calming waters of the Sea of Love.
He looked far to the north and saw the soulless towers of the Hungry Fat. Like the distant mountains it was just the tops he saw, and as one they shimmered in the haze. There was no noise from the Sea of Love. The Sea of Love was silent and so he gazed upon the mermaids that glided gently through her waters.
Not a sound did come upon his ears, nor was there a need for it. Such was the very harmony that did mark the Sea of Love, the junction point of good and bad, the place of full accord.
He felt the spirit rise within him, the one that drove him forth. Here he must await a sign. He cast aside his robe and passed into the Sea of Love. The cool and calming waters lapped about his person. In the farthest distance the mountaintops did glisten and before his eyes did shimmer. He turned and faced the hill from which he had descended and saw its scrubby growth. He saw the lost ones that stood alone upon the sandy shore. In their eyes he saw their peace and in their bodies he sensed their warmth.
A mermaid passed him by, yet she was not a fish.
He looked, (there was no tail), but a pair of gliding legs.
She smiled as she passed and he felt the glow within him.
Such a thing of beauty, (this majestic Golden Angel).
He watched her as she bathed, then he watched her glide away.
She moved away in silence. Not a splash, nor a ripple, she did simply glide away.
In the instant she was gone he had turned his head to find her.
He saw her on the shore, then took for deeper water.
The love moved deep within him as the sea encased him more.
In the distance were some lovers, all entwined upon a bar.
A mess of tangled limbs, the sea would pull them down.
“How many have been lost?” he asked, then awaited his reply.
He saw the pair sink low, yet his eyes did see their joy.
A laughing tangled mess, they sank in naked splendour,
Drowned beneath the waters,
Lost in the Sea of Love.
He moved his eyes less eastward and caught the sandy shore. The obscure ones did see him and moved to his domain. Yet time was strangely absent as he left them to their calling, as onward more he strode, ever drawn to the Golden Angel.
The Sea of Love possessed her, yet she would not resist. In moon or star or cosmic world she had never known such peace, and nought could ever tear her back, away from the Sea of Love. She would never leave it here, and instantly he knew. Her beauty was his calling and she must own the sign. When all the rest did tarnish, she grew more ever strong. Her glowing skin did call him, and cascading hair did gleam.
Within his-selves he fought, till one did finally rise. ‘Twas the one that drove him forward and on command they crumbled.
“Oh strange and vital creature, from what world do you descend?”
Her eyes did glance him widely. She replied to him in time, but till then no word was spake.
Northward on the shore, and then into the brine, she took his hand and led him, in the Sea of Love embraced him.
Looking southward he saw lovers, and had seen the last descend, but the fear of fate did grasp him, and rattled at his heart.
She dragged him on a sandbar. Her limbs did now entwine him. He felt her warming nature, flood full throughout his being.
“Tis a quest on which I come, and might a Golden Angel help me? Mine is not to drown in the Sea of Love before me.”
And the Golden Angel spake.
“Mine is not to drown you, yet the sea would have it so. I drag you on this bar so no tide can pull us down. How can you be helped? My burden is to answer. For mine is of the ocean, and mine is of the sand. Mine is of the rays above, and mine is of the land. Mine is of a peace that lasts, a peace that’s nought but love. I would harm no other soul but forever bring it peace. Let me show you of it now. Let me show you of this peace.”
The droplets fell like honey; her silken skin did glisten.
Those who lurked within him were summoned to his call. As one they stood united, but confessed their shame and cowardice.
He asked her for a sign but in its stead she fleshed him thrice.
‘Twas after that he spoke to her and held her on the bar.
“Golden Angel, give a sign, for it is wrong that you withhold it. My journey is forever I fear and should you not divulge it, I’ll know not of its meaning, nor of my means to find it.”
And again the Angel spake.
“I am not the one to bear it, nor is this the sea to hold it. Your quest must take you further. Mine is of the goodness, and mine is of the soul. Mine is of the darkness, and mine is of the heart. Yet mine is everlasting and in you shall always live. Now seek the sign and take my boat, for there you see it moored.”
Her arm did gesture eastward, where the orb did glow its splendour. ‘Twas so a boat was moored, but how was he to leave her?
“Your quest is not beyond you, and you must hold it high. Come back to me for comfort. Come back to me for peace. But amidst it all, forget me. This place shall always own me, and ‘tis the only place I’ll be. Return to me from Allamah, for ‘tis there your journey starts.”
“Allamah is my quest then?”
“Tis there you’ll know your purpose.”
“I know not of Allamah. By what means do I find it? By whose guidance is it sought?”
“The boat alone shall take you, and your wisdom alone shall guide you. In Allamah a woman waits. It is she who’ll know your quest.”
The Sea of Love was hard to leave, and the tearing pain did grip him. Having met the Golden Angel, his heart lay at her sword. His quest was still a fable, its pages still unwritten.
“To cast it all asunder,” cried he, “is one more course of action. What quest can be so great as this, that I should be the one? What door cannot be opened, ‘cept that I should hold the key? Tell me precious Angel, why should I not abandon?”
She looked to him and answered, her golden locks cascading.
“The Sea of Love escapes us, it peels us from the fringe. They from vessels mock us, and drive the bad ones on. They are but germs on effluent; they are but bugs on dung. The dung is of their fathers, and the ones they’ll never be. To cling so tightly on, not knowing it is tight, yet spout a rule and carry it, and vomit to our world. By whose decree they stand so fast, to carry such a burden? Desperately they cling to the poisoned Hungry Fat. They mimic them, and worship them, and swing within their bowels. Yet of their ilk, can never be. It is fact that they be low enough, for none shall delve so deep. Such pathetic little worms, to aspire to such heights, such pathetic little worms to not know they be so low. Tell me of your dirt, I say, and tell me of your home. Release your grasp I call you, (your courage will desert you), and plummet to your doom, in the abyss of the Hungry Fat, of your beloved Hungry Fat.”
“So this must be defeated? This is the quest that’s mine? But mine is not of bravery, nor is mine of gold. I surely stand between these sides, and call no side to war.”
“It is you who is chosen,” and around her head did glow, “Remember to remember me, but please forget me first. So take my boat and leave me now, and travel to that place, that place where hope meets destiny, that place where night meets day.”
With heavy heart he left her, then sailed from all the land. Beyond the Sea of Love he went, beyond the far horizon. Far beyond the land he’d known, beyond the siren’s cry. And so beyond each place he had ever known before.
The evening breeze came whistling, as land did drift away, while night did blow a tempest, the fury of the wind. Buffeting swells did torment, the tiny vessel rocked. Fear did grip his heart, for his quest was still unknown.
Dreams brought forth the Angel. She watched him from afar. Her steady hand, it guided him, on route to Allamah.
Roused from deepest slumber, the morning burned his eyes. The ocean lay calm before him. The tiny craft was still.
“Where lies the land of Allamah?” he shrieked, but for none to hear. Surrounded by such vastness, and all alone he stood. Surrounded by such vastness, on decks of polished wood.
By noon the orb did beat him, and beneath such rays he moaned. His stomach rumbled loudly, his throat so parched and dry. And so he made then for an island, which loomed on far horizon, and before the moons had risen, (or the orb had sunk away), his tiny craft did reach it.
He knew not where he stood
But stood on shores of sand
He cast his eyes about him
He cast them near and far
And saw by that above him
The land was Allamah
A figure stood in black in the opening of a cave. Warily he watched her. He watched her from below where the sands did blow about his feet and the salty spray did sting, and did dry upon his face as he watched. There she stood unflinching, high above him and staring out to sea. In a robe she stood. And in the shadows of the cave she stood.
Beside her in the naked branches of a tree, there stood a black raven. Its stare too was out to sea. Not a muscle did they move, (as statues made of stone), nor did the woman’s garment flutter in the wind, nor the bird’s feathers move to its gust.
“Could it be but she who waits? The one of whom the Golden Angel spake?”
No voice did answer him but the one that drove him forth. Upon cliff did he clamber, and through bramble and over rock did he climb, until lo, he stood before her, who for him did surely wait.
“You are she of Allamah? You are she who waits?”
Stony was her stare and ne’er her face did flinch. The raven too was steadfast, and fixed on all at sea.
Her cave lay dark before him
An unyielding, timeless void
The winds did whistle on the cliffs
The wild sea did spray
“If you are she of Allamah
then it is for me you wait
The Golden Angel sends me
now tell me of my fate.”
“I am she of Allamah
of whom the Golden Angel spake
Now sit with us and gaze,
And gaze far out to sea
In the morn will come a saviour
He will come for us and thee.”
In the night the seas did rumble
In the morn the sky did churn
The woman in robes from Allamah
Her face remained so stern.
The morn lay grey before them, and the light did barely rise. In rags and tatters, up she rose, he resumed his gaze to sea. Clouds did rumble loudly, and the woman in robes did speak. Her arms rose to the heavens. The raven too did stare. “The moment is upon us, and I sense the saviour near.”
The moons did rise before them
And in number they were three
Three moons before the raven,
They glowed down from afar
Three moons glowed on the raven
And the caves of Allamah.
The raven’s wings did flutter, and his eyes burned orange-white, as the moons did circle slowly, and filled his mind with light.
“What is it of the raven? Why does he act this way? Oh, robed woman of Allamah, please tell me what is so.”
“The raven takes the knowledge, to feed it on to you. Look at him, for now he stares, he stares his mind to you.”
He looked unto the raven, and the knowledge too was beamed. His eyes pierced as arrows as the flood of lore was passed. The woman of Allamah did turn to him as the raven flew away.
“What is it that he told you? What did the raven say? For many years I’ve waited here. I’ve waited on this day.”
He turned back on the woman, then to the nearest moon, where the silhouetted raven stood stark upon its face. A speck, a spot, a tiny mark, did drift unto that moon, till at last his wings did vanish, and he was seen no more.
“He said I am the one, as the Golden Angel spake. It is I who am the saviour. It is I who brings the hope. Of my task he did tell me, and now I know my way. But I must take my leave of Allamah before I start my quest. For I feel these eyes grow tired and on beauty they must rest. I must see once more the Golden Angel before I start my quest.”
“She diverts your quest,” and she rose above in ire. “The Golden Angel haunts you, as she has done before. Her purpose is now ended; her duty has been done. Yet her siren call does drag you, and lay you at her feet. I wager she has fleshed you. She has fleshed you on the bars, where the tides can never find you, yet the calming waters lap you, and lust does fill your heart. I fear the raven erred. I fear he poorly chose. The Golden Angel fleshed you. It is there within your eyes. How often did she flesh you? My wisdom tells me twice.”
“Your wisdom tells you poorly, for she did flesh me thrice. Her palm doth grasp my heart and no matter what my quest, I shall return to her at will and return to her for pleasing. I shall return to her in sunshine and return to her by night. Whenever I need my Angel, she’ll be there within my sight.”
“Then I shall tell the raven and the raven shall tell the moons.”
Her ire had redoubled and she shook from that, (and fear). It was then that he did mellow and did firmly clasp her hand.
“My quest is not diverted. The raven taught me well. You see the moons have gone now, but in seven days they rise. Betwixt this time and that, lie the moments for my madness. The raven understands this, for he too is a man. I need to see my Angel, then leave for foreign land.”
The woman of Allamah did ponder, and dwelled upon his words. He studied her minutely, then demanded of her thoughts.
“Forgive me for my words. They were spoken from the heart, and my heart doth lie beyond this place. It reigns on all the world.”
“Your words were born of fear. For long you have waited with your strange and winged friend. My intent did disappoint you, the words you spoke were fair.”
The woman’s head did bow, then she reached unto the saviour.
“Tell me of your quest, I have waited oh so long. What has the raven told you, through moons and beams of light?”
“I shall return upon the moons, when next you see them rise. You must find for me a vessel, a sturdy ship of oak, and upon it twenty seamen, not one afraid to die. When next you see the moons, then seven days have passed. You will sail off with us and the raven will return. He too will join our troupe when we sail out at dawn, and you both will come away with us, unto the Graves of Mourne.”
The woman of Allamah grew weak and fell back against the wall. Some kindly words, a helping hand, again did make her tall.
“The Graves of Mourne?” she gasped. “Are you certain of this quest? Are you certain of what the raven said? Are you sure of what you heard?”
“His meaning was not lost on me. He beamed it through my skull. The quest is ever seared on me, and tattooed on my brain. Be assured I know the danger, Mourne is far beyond this place.”
“What is it that we must do, there at the Graves of Mourne?”
“First we need a ship, and twenty sailors true. We shall sail to far horizon, then sail beyond the sun. Beyond there through the canyons, and the dreaded Straits of Wrath. For twenty days and twenty nights we shall seek the Isle of Mourne.”
And we shall find the Isle of Mourne
Buried there beneath the mist
And there in morbid graveyard
And perched on yonder hill
The Graves of Mourne shall call us
And guide us to a tree
The tree shall hold the faces
Of the demons we pursue
The devils that would haunt us
And demonise this world
Together in their evil
They would tear this world apart
Their faces are emblazoned
Fourteen faces on a tree
My mission is to do them
To murder every one
To memorise their faces
To burn them on my brain
To search the world and find them
And lay them on the mat
To take my sword and kill them
They are the Hungry Fat.
With parting words he left her, then struggled down the cliff. Though turbulent seas did greet him, as he unlashed the boat, he did swiftly steal away, his heart devoid of fear. As he rowed he looked upon her, a statue on a cliff, a monolith in robes she stood, and shielded in a cave. But soon she stood, a tiny speck, as if a distant star, until at last could not be seen, the woman of Allamah.
The Sea of Love did beckon, and his nervous stomach churned. Beyond the far horizon was the one for whom he yearned.
Her eyes were born of crystal
So pure, full of light
Her skin a mix of autumn hues
And silken hair that might
Be gifted from the heavens
To frame her face and more
To wrap about her torso
Entice him to her door
Seas had brought him havoc and lightning storms did flail. The tiny boat pitched and swayed but e’er he held his course. In time the waters calmed and he saw the distant land. ‘Twas just a line, a splintered form that rose from far horizon, and every league that passed did draw him ever near.
The seas did calm to nothing yet behind he heard them roar. The Sea of Love did welcome him and take him back once more. One day was for travel, one more to return, but for five more days the Angel would hold him there so firm.
The hills beyond did tower, as soon they drew more near. His eyes searched for the Angel, for always she’d be here. He moored the boat and searched for her, so keen to hold her tight. Not in rocks did he find her, nor on the sandy shore. His eyes glanced o’er the water, and scanned from bar to bar. The lovers were entwining and some were pulled right down, their laughing eyes so shining, their bodies oh so drowned.
He passed into the water, ever looking out to sea. All around the bars he searched and the mermaids eyed him there. Gliding through the waters, they showed their grace and speed. They moved on him in circles and tried to draw him near, to take him then to deeper waters, to cleanse him of his fear. He would play no part in it, it was one who brought him here, and his frightened eyes did search for her but nowhere was he able, to find the one for whom he searched, to find his Golden Angel.
At last she came up on him, and drew up from behind. She reached her hands about him, and clasped them to his breast. She pressed her body unto his, then took him by the hand.
“Your quest is now unfolded. There is little more to know. In six days more you journey, on a boat of oaken wood. And above such I shall guide you, to ensure your trip is safe, to help in troubled waters, to guide away the storms, to love you in your darkness, unto the Graves of Mourne.”
“Golden Angel here before me, you can never leave these shores. You said as much when last we met, now you come where oceans roar?”
“My spirit shall ride along with you, high above your ship, to guide you and to save you and to calm the Straits of Wrath, but my body shall invade you when darkness rears its head, when quest alone be not enough to calm your aching soul. When night is dark and seas are deep, you shall have me whole.”
For five more days and five more nights
She fleshed him on the bars
And guided him
To places safe
And held him ‘neath the stars
The days did pass so swiftly
And five did follow four
The final day
The raven came
And called his man to war.
Part 11
The sky grew dark overhead as the moons appeared, just as large and yellow as before. Their stern faces blazed down upon the raven and the raven’s did blaze down upon him. He would now return to Allamah, and embark upon his quest. The Golden Angel bade him farewell, and on the raven’s wing he left.
On the raven’s wing he sailed, and they soared into the sky. The clouds did wisp below their flight; the fog did shroud the land. When at last the skies had cleared, and all was plain to see, they were way beyond the Sea of Love, beyond the land by far. They were gliding to a landing on the shores of Allamah.
A ship lay in the harbour, a sturdy ship of oak. The raven stood by calmly, then fluttered to the mast. The woman in robes from Allamah appeared upon the deck.
“We are ready for your journey, the crew is young and strong. Give to them your order and the ship will sail on, onward ‘cross the waters, beyond the Straits of Wrath. We must find that place beyond the world, where hope will ever last.”
And so it was the ship set sail, sailed toward the moons, glowing orbs and trailing light, they led a path to sea. While high upon the masthead, the gaping raven stood, his forward gaze unflinching, his form a silhouette. At times he would depart, to scout the coming waves, but always back to lead them on and guide them on their way.
For twenty days they sailed (as the raven did foretell), and oft they called for breezes, for many days were still. The raven perched, unconcerned; his eyes were fixed afar. The days passed by so slowly when the seas did leave them calm, yet when the ocean roared about, and the sails flapped askew, not a soul on deck had time to think, nor a moment to be bored.
When the seas would vent their anger, he would look unto the sky. He would see the Golden Angel, amidst the storming clouds. The light would flash about her but her gaze would never cease, and the burst of light would show the face that would guide him through the storms, the gentle smile of confidence as the mighty ship pressed on, crashing through the waves, unto the Graves of Mourne.
She would come each night when all was dark and be there in his cell. It would matter not the seas be rough, or just a gentle swell. The Angel’s face would come to him and hover in the room, then flesh him with her body whole, and hold him in her womb.
The Straits of Wrath
Did come and go
Their mighty cliffs did threaten
But beyond them lay
Another world
The Isle of Mourne
Did beckon
A pair of wings
Did take him
And led him with a light
Did guide the craft
Through foam and brine
Through darkest
Day and night
Twenty days had passed when the Isle of Mourne was reached. It lay deep in fog beyond the world and little could be seen, though all aboard did strain their eyes to see it. A ghostly shape, and nothing else, the Isle emerged before them. The mist and fog lay in sheets as the vessel was safely tethered.
So finally they had arrived at the Isle of Mourne and cautiously they made their way to land. Not a sound was heard from anywhere, save the lapping of the sea, and the mist hung low in sheathes.
“There is no time to waste,” he called, and led the party on. “Beyond these hills does stand the tree that brings us here today.”
They trudged ever onward, and beyond the hills they went, till finally they came upon that giant tree.
It loomed out of the mist and stood above some tombs, ghostly tombs of the ancient dead.
Rising from the fog, it towered above them all. So giant in its stature, so forbidding, so macabre, it loomed, a massive totem, standing there so stark.
“What spectre is this that lies before, amidst these Graves of Mourne? So still, so stark, it startles me. It chills me to my core.”
The words he spoke did stop him, and dead within his tracks. His statue stood erect, his finger pointing on. The mist did gather round him and all the troupe did halt.
“Such a thing I’ve never seen before, my heart is filled with fear.”
Before his eyes a woman, a woman clad in robes. ‘Twas she the woman of Allamah, her face was tense and white. His face she held in both her hands. When he looked at her, she spoke.
“Tis the tree you seek, don’t hesitate. The raven has decreed. You shall memorise the faces, and kill the ones who feed, who feed upon the lonely, who feed upon the poor, who steal the mind and twist the soul, and lead them to the door. And the door that they would lead them through does only swing one way, till sovereignty of mind is gone, or slowly slips away, and the point is finally reached where there is no turning back. So look upon this tree, and kill the Hungry Fat.”
“One is but a baby. My quest does kill a child?
The woman in robes did speak again, saw horror in his eyes.
“All were babies once. You must rid your heart of fear. You must rid your mind of conscience. You must hold your quest on high.”
“But for me to take a child? The raven I fear has erred. He can surely not expect that I could kill a boy.”
“That boy will be a monster. He will kill the seas and streams. He will profit from his madness, and his wealth shall rule the world. Fear not that he’s a boy. Look to other faces. The tenth upon the totem has never yet been born.”
“But now you surely jest. I must murder the unborn?”
“Your task must be exacted. His mother must be slain. Her child will join another, the seventh on the tree, and together they will rid the world of all the sacred things. Together they will rid the world of peace. As harmony does dissipate and war becomes the norm, you’ll know you should have heeded this, amidst the Graves of Mourne.”
“How is it that you know of this, the raven beams to me?”
“He said nothing of your morbid quest, but told me of this tree. Stare long upon those faces and burn them in your mind. Remember every one of them before you take your leave. This strange and darkened place does hold the sacred key, the key that shall unlock their world and bring them to their knees.”
He stared upon her face, then stared upon the tree. Its shadows loomed about them, its branches reached as arms. The mists did coil about the tombs, and drifting up the tree, did shroud the heads and hide the faces till none were left to see.
The darkness moved in slowly
The fog did wisp around
As seamen bedded for the night
On cold and stony ground
His Angel sailed down that night
To visit him in dreams
And warn him of
The fourteenth face
So high upon the tree
He had awoken long before morning came and stared upon the tree, the giant tree that held the faces, to burn them on his mind. For on this day he must return to the place from whence he came, to seek them out, one by one, to kill the ones that maim. To take the ones that maim the world, that would kill the ones that love, that bend the mind and twist the soul and have us all as one.
The faces were emblazoned, etched into his mind, with every line and every stare, tattooed on his brain. Starting from the base, and working up with care, the faces slowly memorised, every eye and every hair.
The morning hours passed, yet mist did top the tree, and thirteen faces only could be counted or be seen. The fourteenth face hung in vapour, so high above the rest, and he summoned the woman of Allamah, demanded of her best.
She looked into the branches, high into the tree, and the mist that slowly circled did keep the face unseen.
“The raven holds a card,” she said. “He tells not even me. The fourteenth face remains unknown. It all depends on thee. The final foe a mystery till the first thirteen are slain, when the raven shall appear to you and give you of his name.”
And so the troupe ventured back, ventured back to Allamah. The gold orb hung near the zenith when finally they sailed. His seamen worked the ship, while he just stood and stared. The Isle of Mourne did fade from view, the gruesome tree alone. Would its trunk still show the faces of the dead when they were gone?
Onward more they sailed, till beyond the Straits of Wrath, where the Golden Angel took his hand and led a guarded path. All the wreckage there of sunken ships so strewn throughout the gulch, stood testament to perils there, to fate that would befall, the foolish ones who ventured through without an Angel’s call.
Many days did pass, and nights were spent at sea, and every night his Angel came, and kept his company. The winds did whip about the boat. The hull, it creaked and groaned, but never did he fear the waves, nor fear the darkened sky. His Angel assured his passage and his safe return at dawn, on the day that they retuned from the dreadful Graves of Mourne.
From Allamah he drifted home
Upon the Angel’s wings, yet
The chorus from the heavens
Was foreseeable and thin, and when
The sea appeared below him
With a clearing sky above
He sailed in
On Angel’s wings
Unto the Sea of Love
Part 111
Many long years did pass and much did come and go and much was seen. The raven was strangely forgotten, for time did warp, and all that had come to pass did simply hang in time, and all that had been, became jumbled, lost in a long and darkened passage, and all that was, and had promised to be, became lost in time and space. But time and space remained, just the occupants were lost, so a search began to find them, to see how they had changed, yet little hope was held when only time and space remained.
Yet throughout all this, the raven had never left. He stood in shadow and waited, and in darkened corners did he stand, and with sharp and piercing eyes did he stand and watch. His time would come, and it was near. Soon the quest, which he had bestowed upon another, would be completed.
Three glowing orbs rose above the desert, where a parched and dying man lay alone. Feebly, he raised his eyes and saw the glowing moons. They spoke unto him.
“Seek and recapture those simple things that did first touch your heart. That is the journey of life.”
He listened to the moons and heard the words they said to him. His hand groped in the dusty sand as he repeated the words to himself, and as he did he felt the meaning of the words pass into him. He continued to grope, and as he groped he found water in the sand, and within the water he found strength. He rose above the desert floor and in tattered robes he marched on.
The light of the moons guided him to an oasis where he found lakes and fruit and shade.
His strength soon returned in full and the oasis became his home. His friends became many, and all were the creatures that lived there. There were none that feared him and none that were unwelcoming. If any were ill, he would tend them. If any were hurt, he would help them. He would fetch their food and do their work until they were well, and he would tend to their families. He would give them what was his and in turn they would share with him. He would listen to their songs and smile when they told their stories. When they were old, and life was gone, he would lay them down to rest.
The raven’s head did turn, and he saw this.
But the raven’s head turned back, distracted by distant movement. Taking flight, he flew far from the oasis and the idyllic tranquillity it resonated. What dream was that? (it leaves me now). Onward he flew, ever onward without his dream. The further he flew, the less he recalled, until the beautiful oasis was nothing more than a vague and faded ghost.
Ever onward he flew - until upon that distant movement. He looked down upon a man, a man he knew too well.
“Finally you make your move,” and he fluttered off to watch.
High above, the raven watched, and he saw the Sea of Love revisited. He saw the man travel along the path and down along the rocks, and look upon the Sea of Love, but to see it lying bare. Not a soul could be seen, and he walked onto its sand. Turning to the hills behind, he scanned for signs of life, but none could be seen. Across the shining waters he stared, and beyond the far horizon. Not a movement from any quarter did he see. He gazed upon the bars where first he had touched the Golden Angel. He peered deep into the waters. The mermaids that had once swum in schools could now not be seen. And where was the Golden Angel? So many years had passed, but surely she was here. But no, the Sea of Love was empty, and he turned and walked away.
From the hills above the Sea of Love he stared out, out to the distant towers of the Hungry Fat. He stared upon them with hatred, and he stared upon them with loathing.
How could he have neglected his quest for so long? What distraction was it that had overwhelmed him so? What must have been the consequences of this distraction, this indolence on his part?
He looked again upon the barren Sea of Love, with both sorrow and urgency competing for supremacy.
He would now move on the Hungry Fat, but again he cursed his tardiness.
On the Hungry Fat he moved and passed into the streets. He arrived in the night when no eyes could see him come, lurked in darkened alleyways and waited out the dawn.
Deep within the alleys, where the bitter winds would blow, where the papers of the day would hammer in the face, where a dying man in rags might use them as a shield, he stared along a cobbled way that glowed a morbid hue, and peered from there in shadows on the monoliths of steel.
The dawn did bring the masses
And the masses harboured fear
Masquerading, moved amongst them
He brought them ever near
The first to fall came swiftly, (to death on his own sword). The trap was laid, unknown to him, with nothing to expect.
The second came more slow, with suspicion in his eyes, a look of fear when time was near, then payment for his lies.
The third was difficult to snare, the fourth went down so fast. He slinked away to darkened space as shadows grew more long. Night did move upon him now, the Hungry Fat did stir. As rage did fuel a search for him, he hid among the cur.
The fourth one that had fallen
Had left a pot of gold
At death his hands had slipped
The urn was smashed and holed
A thousand golden pieces
All strewn about the floor
They lay around the body
They stretched unto the door
His dreams did bring him madness, for in the night he tossed and swore. The wailing came, the Hungry Fat, they sent their men to war. He heard the groaning of the drunkards, heard the pounding on the door. He saw the faces of the ones he’d slain, the faces on the tree. Tomorrow he would take the rest and set the world so free.
Yet his mind did drift and wander
But always did return
To the final one
To die that day
The gold
The broken urn
Was it wrong that he should take it? There could be no harm in that. Surely just some re-compense for taking out the Fat.
He wondered about the next to go. What could he gain from that? And he dreamed about a kingdom, where he ruled the Hungry Fat.
The next day brought him four, but the next brought only one. For as each face was surely watched, each man was on his guard.
Yet one by one they fell, and the numbers piled up.
And with every face that fell, his wealth grew ever more, and his power did increase, as he stole from every door.
With every face he finished off, he lusted for the next. His fingers ached from counting gold. He grinned across his face. He laughed and fell in riches, and bathed in diamond rain.
And as the numbers whittled down
There was little more to gain
The world that he rejected,
That he set out to destroy
Had grabbed his heart
And torn it out
And held it
Like a toy
In the years that came, he came to rule, to govern all the wealth. His world so rife with towers, his towers smoked and belched. His money bought him all the world, gave him the right to own, to stake a claim, to take a gain on everything he’d known.
The Hungry Fat machine
That grew on that which bled
That bought and sold and plundered
(What wasn’t there, it bred)
That listened to the rabble
The brainless ones that need
To take the dead
Until they’re fed
And leave the rest
To bleed.
The Hungry Fat machine
That twists them as they grow
To train them like a monkey
To tell them what to know
To nurture them in hand
To crush them on a whim
To chew them up
And spit them out
It all was owned
By him
The morning came in grey. In quiet solitude he studied a murky sky. The windowpane did run with water, which trickled on the sill. His thoughts, they wandered freely and then centred on the past. He thought of the Golden Angel, and he knew that she was gone. Gone for years, and who knows where, for the Sea of Love was dead. He wondered of the mermaids, (did their bodies rot in stench?). He thought of thirteen faces, thirteen faces gave him life. His quest had been to kill them, so they could not fester on. But he killed them and absorbed them, and in he they carried on. In he they did remain.
He remembered of the tree, amidst the Graves of Mourne. He saw it in his mind once more and still it made him quake. He remembered of the day he left, the day they left for home. The tree showed all the faces of the ones that would be slain, but one atop the tree was buried in the mist. That face was never known to him. It surely must exist. Whose face was that atop the totem, the fourteenth on the tree? That face did surely threaten him, the face he didn’t see.
Then a tapping at the window, through the drizzle and the rain. He looked upon the piercing eyes, the darkened silhouette. He fell against a chair and fumbled for the door. The raven smashed his way through glass and pinned him to the floor. He stared upon the bird and his tongue screamed out his fear. The raven beamed his thoughts to him with eyes that didn’t veer. The raven’s thoughts did carry him, and far across the sea, returning him to see that place, that place that held the tree. Again he stood below its might and saw each face in turn, and soon the mist did clear the top so he could finally learn. He would see at last, the final face, the fourteenth on the tree. The raven gave a mournful cry when he saw that it was he.
He turned to meet his fate
And felt the searing pain
As the raven tore him
Limb from limb
And left him
Cleft in twain
***
Other (more conventional) books of mine on Smashwords are Enoch, The Cape, and Isabella. Thank you for taking the time to read Fourteen Faces. I hope it was enjoyed.