From: iaijutsuka@aol.com (Iaijutsuka)
Date: 11 Dec 1998 09:56:58 EST
The sound of crows roused him from an easy slumber, and the young-old man blinked against the sun's piercing rays.
The tower rose before him, its moat not a hundred yards distant.
He pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapped his aching arms around his legs, and laid his head on the resulting compact package.
The tower. An edifice so daunting one might think had been built for conquest, for rule of the surrounding lands... But the ravages of time and the haunting voices that reached him in sleep told a different tale.
How many times had the tower been gutted by flame and left a shell? How many times turned out from within, traitors teeming upon the torch-lit ramparts, cruel blades gleaming as the sentries were cut down from behind? How could it possibly have endured the blows that still left such terrible blasted and blackened impact fractures across each wall and parapet of the dark tower's perimeter?
It had been taken wrongly. The sentries, only half of which were of flesh and blood and their comrades merely shades risen from the wailing of carrion land, could not be discerned in the day. It was night that brought their presence on fully, so that he could not gaze upon the keep without sensing the warning... The reluctant warning that no good could come of it.
And after all that, after two months time encamped here, the lips could still smile. The truth, though it mustn't be admitted, was that it wasn't so *bad* living outside the tower. His needs were few, and easily satisfied by skills learned in childhood. And the aspect of that tower, seen from the corner of his eye as the sun's rays struck it just so, was a secret of dazzling, heart-swelling beauty that, thank God, only he had seen.
He had not come for conquest or siege.
In time, he would understand. In time, he could know. Already, in his most audacious moments, when he stole up to the moat he could see reflections of long-dead men in the black mirror of the water's edge. The pantomime was silent, the reenactment somehow dated, imperfectly understood by him, but it was clear that in the end these were not kind men.
That vision alone had brought the crows.
They kept a respectful distance from the tower, perched in the massive Maple tree he slept under, cawing their incantation of carrion land through his dreams and well into the bright, guileless day.
He had not come for conquest.
He would not leave the tower.
The Dark Tower
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From: sayadhina@aol.com (Sayadhina)
Date: 11 Dec 1998 10:13:50 EST
She slept.
It was not the sleep that claims so many mortals at the end the of each
cycle they named days, but one in which reality was shaped and destroyed,
watching empires build and crumble.
It was in an age of knights and chivarly that the tower had been constructed;
a stunning force that was seen as the monument to great men and heroic
times. The sweat of thousands shone within each glistening rose coloured
stone, brought from a land just beyond the bordering mountains. It was the
heart of the land and it beat vibrantly and echoed the pride of a nation and of
mankind.
None, save she that slumbered, could recall the event that dimmed the light
and drove the from the stones all brillance, all colour and ,for her, all hope. The
sentries performed their tasks with monotonous precision, they knew of no
other life than their tortured existance of the present. The laughter that once
rang out with abundance not even a distant memory to those that roamed
the ramparts.
And through the ages, men with lustful hearts and souls would journey to
the fabeled "Black Tower" and seek to delve into the mystery of it's domin-
ating walls and to theive the perceived treasures within.
None suceeded, not even when, with despair in her heart,she attempted to
assist the would be purloiner to suceed in his pillaging. None reached the
inner santuary where the only "treasure" remained.
And so she slept.
Because hers was not a mortal sleep, the spaces outside the walls would
reach her through her dreams. That was the method by which she knew when
strangers entered her land;for it was no one elses' except perhaps the crows
and they were too busy with their appointed tasks. It was with a growing
weariness that she watched the destruction of flesh and spirit and the capture
of souls that whispered to her from their watery prison just outside the
walls.
Drowning in sorrows, regrets, hatreds and greed; the voices plagued her
mind and poisoned her soul, keeping the thorns that clung to the inner walls
alive with their vemon.
Through the haze of the dream she sensed his presence. Unintrusive and
curious, he waited just beyond her reach. He had observed the well of souls
and rather than retreat to lands less contentious he had chosen to remain
in the shadow of the belligerent edifice that was her tower.
Still she did not stir from the depths of her sleep, time for her was not what
it was for others. And it had been merely a moment since he had arrived, in
a moment more he would be gone.
And then she dreamed.
Date: 11 Dec 1998 10:13:50 EST
She slept.
It was not the sleep that claims so many mortals at the end the of each
cycle they named days, but one in which reality was shaped and destroyed,
watching empires build and crumble.
It was in an age of knights and chivarly that the tower had been constructed;
a stunning force that was seen as the monument to great men and heroic
times. The sweat of thousands shone within each glistening rose coloured
stone, brought from a land just beyond the bordering mountains. It was the
heart of the land and it beat vibrantly and echoed the pride of a nation and of
mankind.
None, save she that slumbered, could recall the event that dimmed the light
and drove the from the stones all brillance, all colour and ,for her, all hope. The
sentries performed their tasks with monotonous precision, they knew of no
other life than their tortured existance of the present. The laughter that once
rang out with abundance not even a distant memory to those that roamed
the ramparts.
And through the ages, men with lustful hearts and souls would journey to
the fabeled "Black Tower" and seek to delve into the mystery of it's domin-
ating walls and to theive the perceived treasures within.
None suceeded, not even when, with despair in her heart,she attempted to
assist the would be purloiner to suceed in his pillaging. None reached the
inner santuary where the only "treasure" remained.
And so she slept.
Because hers was not a mortal sleep, the spaces outside the walls would
reach her through her dreams. That was the method by which she knew when
strangers entered her land;for it was no one elses' except perhaps the crows
and they were too busy with their appointed tasks. It was with a growing
weariness that she watched the destruction of flesh and spirit and the capture
of souls that whispered to her from their watery prison just outside the
walls.
Drowning in sorrows, regrets, hatreds and greed; the voices plagued her
mind and poisoned her soul, keeping the thorns that clung to the inner walls
alive with their vemon.
Through the haze of the dream she sensed his presence. Unintrusive and
curious, he waited just beyond her reach. He had observed the well of souls
and rather than retreat to lands less contentious he had chosen to remain
in the shadow of the belligerent edifice that was her tower.
Still she did not stir from the depths of her sleep, time for her was not what
it was for others. And it had been merely a moment since he had arrived, in
a moment more he would be gone.
And then she dreamed.
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From: iaijutsuka@aol.com (Iaijutsuka)
Date: 21 Dec 1998 07:35:02 EST
A hideously shrill storm of cawing awakened him, and he opened his eyes to a changed land.
In a shower of leaves, the murder of crows took flight into the darkened Autumn sky. By the time he could see clearly, only two of the birds remained in the nearly-bare tree.
Night had fallen, and the land was not as it had been when he chose to sleep.
Streaks of cloud dissolved against the faintest sliver of a new moon, and a distant howl spoke of the standing solitude of one lone wolf's pining.
The young-old man pulled his legs closer, folding them underneath him. He rested hands on thighs, sat at attention, and was still once more.
The air was cool and slightly moist, as if a light rain had fallen. None had, of course, for the ground was firm and dry, but a faint mist rose from the dark tower's moat, drifting unevenly across the yellowed grasses and kissing anything it reached with a gentle promise.
There was no sound but for the crisp, uneven landing of leaves disturbed by the carrion birds' abrupt departure. He listened attentively until the last leaf had scittered across a gnarled root and come to rest.
Silence, save for the beating of his own heart.
He smiled softly, and felt his eyes crinkle a bit in sympathy. He could just barely hear it, but it was there.
Beyond the faintest racket of a dessicated maple leaf crunching against tree bark, there was music in the tower. There was a song. He could not hear it, not truly, but there was life yet beyond the stark edifice of its timeless walls.
He closed his eyes, but it did him no good. Not yet.
The song was out of reach.
He raised his head, and emotion caught in his throat as his diaphragm heaved against the dull buckle of a worn belt.
As the new moon bled its miserly light across the rolling hills, the young-old man howled his final answer and the carrion birds took wing in their frenzied escape from his reply.
It was not a killing moon. His soul was yet his own.
The crows could caw their warning until the end of time.
He would not leave the tower.
Date: 21 Dec 1998 07:35:02 EST
A hideously shrill storm of cawing awakened him, and he opened his eyes to a changed land.
In a shower of leaves, the murder of crows took flight into the darkened Autumn sky. By the time he could see clearly, only two of the birds remained in the nearly-bare tree.
Night had fallen, and the land was not as it had been when he chose to sleep.
Streaks of cloud dissolved against the faintest sliver of a new moon, and a distant howl spoke of the standing solitude of one lone wolf's pining.
The young-old man pulled his legs closer, folding them underneath him. He rested hands on thighs, sat at attention, and was still once more.
The air was cool and slightly moist, as if a light rain had fallen. None had, of course, for the ground was firm and dry, but a faint mist rose from the dark tower's moat, drifting unevenly across the yellowed grasses and kissing anything it reached with a gentle promise.
There was no sound but for the crisp, uneven landing of leaves disturbed by the carrion birds' abrupt departure. He listened attentively until the last leaf had scittered across a gnarled root and come to rest.
Silence, save for the beating of his own heart.
He smiled softly, and felt his eyes crinkle a bit in sympathy. He could just barely hear it, but it was there.
Beyond the faintest racket of a dessicated maple leaf crunching against tree bark, there was music in the tower. There was a song. He could not hear it, not truly, but there was life yet beyond the stark edifice of its timeless walls.
He closed his eyes, but it did him no good. Not yet.
The song was out of reach.
He raised his head, and emotion caught in his throat as his diaphragm heaved against the dull buckle of a worn belt.
As the new moon bled its miserly light across the rolling hills, the young-old man howled his final answer and the carrion birds took wing in their frenzied escape from his reply.
It was not a killing moon. His soul was yet his own.
The crows could caw their warning until the end of time.
He would not leave the tower.
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From: sayadhina@aol.com (Sayadhina)
Date: 22 Dec 1998 14:20:11 EST
She dreamt a timeless dream; one familiar and yet renewed again by the cycles of destiny.
They were in the Grand Hall and the guests were gathered, enraptured by the couple that alone held the floor. Blurred faces watched the pair as they drifted further from the musicians. The guests were details, unimportant and ever changing.
He changed as well, some part of her recognized that the forms they took
always varied. He loomed much taller than she this time but she could sense the same reluctance.
The dance of destruction and devastation was one the he was accustomed; his body flowed sinuously with blade in hand, the macabre dance of death his forte.
For this dance, a dance of life, of love, of confirmation of purpose, for this one his steps faltered nervously. She could sense the smile that formed upon her lips, a flickering glimmer of a memory of other faces that held
those same eyes and gazed down at her with the same determined love.
His large, left hand held hers gently, as though fearing he would crush the seemingly delicate bones with pressure, his right rested in the curve of her lower back, equally as gently.
The music swelled and her breath caught as she realized that the dream would dissipate in a moments' time.
The new moon illuminated her chambers just enough to capture the single tear that spilled over a pale cheek, the dream shattered by the raucous cawr of crows outside her walls.
Still she slept.
Date: 22 Dec 1998 14:20:11 EST
She dreamt a timeless dream; one familiar and yet renewed again by the cycles of destiny.
They were in the Grand Hall and the guests were gathered, enraptured by the couple that alone held the floor. Blurred faces watched the pair as they drifted further from the musicians. The guests were details, unimportant and ever changing.
He changed as well, some part of her recognized that the forms they took
always varied. He loomed much taller than she this time but she could sense the same reluctance.
The dance of destruction and devastation was one the he was accustomed; his body flowed sinuously with blade in hand, the macabre dance of death his forte.
For this dance, a dance of life, of love, of confirmation of purpose, for this one his steps faltered nervously. She could sense the smile that formed upon her lips, a flickering glimmer of a memory of other faces that held
those same eyes and gazed down at her with the same determined love.
His large, left hand held hers gently, as though fearing he would crush the seemingly delicate bones with pressure, his right rested in the curve of her lower back, equally as gently.
The music swelled and her breath caught as she realized that the dream would dissipate in a moments' time.
The new moon illuminated her chambers just enough to capture the single tear that spilled over a pale cheek, the dream shattered by the raucous cawr of crows outside her walls.
Still she slept.