PART FORTY-TWO:
Fiendish flows and falls:
High and dangerous waves rose like baleful walls, around the wanted and desperately sought girl. Bearing down from their heights, the deadly pour threatened to overwhelm and swallow her already drenched and quivering frame. She lurched and swayed violently, from the turbulent tide underneath her feet. As the pressure of an upsurge, periodically tossed her about. Cruel surf bounced and teased continually. While angry waves wrestled each segmented length, with forceful frequency.
The flood undoubtedly, had the capacity to engulf her in minutes. Yet it slammed repeatedly, against a surrounding stronghold of cascading fluid. Torrents of water gushed forward. Finally moving in for the ultimate tidal kill. The girl was now facing a deadly flow of destruction. As she was already overwhelmed and weakened, by the smashing avalanche of currents. A hopeless state, aided even more by a ruthless flood and its unwelcome showers. She covered her head with wobbly arms and then cried out.
A resplendent rescue and a resounding rhapsody:
Suddenly, there was a thunderous roar. A biting echo that resonated, with an invisible but definite authority. Lightning blazed and flashed successively. Igniting in fragments, like a tampered or interrupted circuit. Hovering walls of water settled down and then began a systematic retreat. Dragging with them, every ounce and drop. Torrents, stopped short of their initial surge. Propelling upward, rather than an expected forward. They stood in a wet and petrified heap.
The previously dense and ominous clouds, swallowed their intended dump. Gulping in haste, to remove every trace of saturated vapor. Making way as they did, to a significant crack in the sky. Innumerable winged and glowing creatures, appeared in a picturesque entrance. Scurrying to assemble and set a spectacular and worthy stage. Then almost immediately, ONE with a glare that made the sun blush. And a shine that caused the constellation to gasp in awe. Came in, riding on the cusp of the once indignant storm. Sliding down the raging flood, like it was a vehicle without wheels. HIS movement was swift and sure. And the darkness that had accompanied the merciless pour, was now under HIS feet. The fierce cascades and confrontational waves, now became obedient stairs. Forming a clear path, as HE majestically trod to HIS own.
The drowning girl lifted her wet face. Tears of resignation, had mingled with splashes of harassment. However, the light within her began to erupt into a radiating chorus. It had recognized its source and author. The grace-filled glow, would now melodiously connect to its approaching deliverer. The belligerent and rolling ripples had instantly bowed in reverence. Their obedience a soundless cry.
Towering walls of water stooped in surrender and defeat. The once proud flow, had now become disgraced slush. A stream of mire, begging for a direction of withdrawal.
The storm had given way to a glorious ingress of calm and peace. And a majestic presence had drunk up, all that had previously threatened. A now smiling and awe-inspired girl, would bow in joy and gratitude. Singing an impromptu strain.
Far away and deep in the dark. In a place where even the aggressive waves, would be licked up by raging flames. A frustrated and enraged fiend, bellowed in agony. Slamming his fists into the great mirror, the ‘fly-lord’ cursed his efforts and the day he was created. This girl was fast becoming a thorn in his already thorny skin.
Of carnivals and characters:
Tufad looked his daughter over and feared that he may not have recognized her, if they did not live together. She wore a very colorful and layered dress or dresses. A very busy outfit, festooned with trinkets and feathers. There were also stringed shells and flowers, hanging from her neck. A mammoth accessory, that caused the girl to move sluggishly.
“Is anything the matter now?” He asked, turning to his wife in partial shock and utmost dismay.
“Whatever do you mean by that?” She snapped in habitual defense, gearing up for an inevitable fight.
“Our daughter, looks like you have turned her into an ornament and costume rack.”
“Oh no,” started the woman with a sigh of irritation. “Do you even hear yourself or realize what you are saying? How can she possibly be a clothes rack? We are merely testing out her outfit, for the Festival/Fair.”
“The Festival/Fair huh?” Tufad repeated, shaking his head sadly. “Would she be on display in some tent? Is she now for sale? Or maybe she will be performing as a provincial clown.”
“What kind of foolish questions, do you ask? How can she be performing as a clown?” It was the woman’s turn to shake her head.
“Well if she won’t be performing, then I am quite relieved." Started the man in mock satisfaction. "But why is she dressed like one who would be doing just that, though? And it looks like she can hardly breathe or move.” He raised his voice on the last sentence.
“Looks like she is breathing alright to me.” Declared the mother. Waving her hands towards the girl as an indication of proof.
“She may be now. But a couple of hours under the sun and subjected to wearing that garb. Any living being would barely survive.”
“The only person barely surviving around here, is you and your boring opinion. I am so fed up with your limited outlook. Every child would be wearing and looking their best at the Fair. Why should my child be looking any less?” She finished, hands akimbo and breathing suddenly quickened.
Tufad harrumphed in annoyance. “The child would not ‘look less’ like you describe it, if she wore less. Give her a break. She is just a child with her own soul. She is not here to relive your life for you. She cannot make-up, for what you feel you missed out on.”
The woman gasped in disbelief, as terror flashed through her eyes. She opened her mouth, with a ready barrage of insults. Only to be interrupted, by a small and familiar voice.
“Father, can I take this off now?” Asked the girl, looking flushed and uncomfortable. Desperately tugging at the outfit she was wearing, as she spoke.
An unseeing seeker:
The hunter made sure, that he saw his target slump to the ground. Before he lowered his rifle. There was suddenly a series of harried movement, within the group in that small space. He could understand that. Someone in their midst, had just been gunned down fatally. Even more scary, was the fact that they never saw the shooter. Now his informant and partner, would find a way to retrieve the gem(s). The double-crosser was now out of their way. He had purposely aimed at his heart, through the back. After all that deception, he did not deserve to live another day.
Why in the world, would he take treasures that belonged to the ones that found it first? All in the pretext of doing healing work.
The hunter shook his head in disgust and disappointment. While he wrapped up his rifle with a large cloth and then placed it carefully in a shoulder bag. He got up to leave, his job there had been done. The crook had been eliminated. It was now left for them to retrieve all the jewels he had been peddling. With a sense of achievement, the hunter headed back towards the open streets that would lead him home. Once again having to maneuver, through the now denser crowd. It appeared they had doubled since he got there. And with most activities in full gear, his movements were practically hindered. He found himself swerving from being hit by a juggler’s stray ball. While simultaneously avoiding the trampling of a performer’s stilts.
He walked on briskly and focused. He felt a great sense of justice and accomplishment at the moment. He wound through the crowd of equally advancing and mission oriented people. And also a few, that were stationary. He thought of all he would do, with his piece of treasure when he got it. A dancing troupe shoved him to the side, as they did their routine for the crowd. He ignored them. As all he wanted, was to evacuate the festive grounds. And he did. Even as he brushed past Bronid. The healer mumbled his apologies without turning around. He just clasped his treasure closer to his side, while he watched and waited for his appointment.
Attention desperation disorder:
The carriage ride to the royal castle, would have been an easy one. It could also have served as a great time of quiet preparation, or maybe introspection. If the younger sister, did not chatter all the way there. She wondered loudly about how many people, would be present at the castle. What they would talk about. How long they would be there. If her hair was fixed right. Did her dress fit well? Was it the right color? And so fought she went. When they finally got to the castle. It was just the prince, his cousin and a royal aide present to host them. However, an elegant menu had been prepared and so was an offer to tour the castle grounds, if any of them desired.
The young royal said he had wanted to personally thank them for their hospitality and swift attendance to the problem. They had been on their way to a very timely and important engagement. When the two front wheels of the carriage, began to squeak and shake. It was a strange and rare occurrence. Since the royal carriages, were always in good shape and very well maintained. The flustered driver, had attributed the mis-hap to a rocky and hilly area. A very rough terrain, that they had driven through. Nevertheless, they were fortunate that the metal smith was available and able to rectify the problem. And for that very reason, the young royal had wanted to express his gratitude in person and host them in the castle.
The prince then turned to the older sister, to thank her for her kindness and efficiency. He asked what she was doing at the moment, besides helping out at her father’s workshop. He wanted to know what she had learned education wise and about any plans she might have for the future. Thus the conversation began, as the proud parents looked on. The royal addressed the fact, that it was industrious of her to be diligent even in a non-visible and glamorous role. At least, he began to address it. Before the younger sister twirled right in. Changing and dominating as she did. The topic, the direction and the length of the discussion.
.