[PG] * * * * * * * "There is surely a piece of divinity in us, something that was before the elements, and owes no homage to the sun." -- Sir Thomas Brown (1830-79); "Religio Medici" ********************* The Bequeathers by +Gradient ********************* "It's a bonsai, Rei." "A bonsai tree?" "No, not a bonsai *tree*. There is really no such thing. A bonsai can be anything that you shape over the years, altering its fate, its destiny as time passes, until you have molded it into what you wish it to be. In our case, it is a smaller representation of the harmony between man and nature, and at a more sublime level, between man and himself. It is a reflection of our true inner selves." "Grandfather, I don't understand." The young girl, who barely fit into the large shrine robes that she had first worn the day before, looked innocently up to her elder, the overseer of this new realm. She would begin school soon, where the world would be opened to her. For today, however, she would have to be content with the skies. "Do not worry, Rei. All of this will become clear in time, and then one day, you will teach our traditions to the next generation that will inherit the shrine, as they will do to their children. Hold what we will bequeath unto them as a fragile flower, wary of the elements, yet the very truth of truth. Remember that, Rei." "I will, grandfather. Always." ~~~~~~~~~~~ ¤ ~~~~~~~~~~~ { All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by frost. } * Once upon a time there was a princess who talked to the fire. She was in many ways an orphan left to wander the world. Her only friends were the voices she heard from the birds above, the flowers below, and, of course, the fire within. They made good company, and she never complained. She was taught to speak their language by one of her ancestors, a kindly man who loved her as a true daughter. For many years she, he, and the spirits had their conversation. The discourse was always one of import for the princess of the shrine, for this is how she began to learn who she was and the shape of the world in which she walked. After many years, however, when the young princess had nearly passed over the threshold of youth, she began to feel an emptiness, one that could not easily be described by her human vocabulary. It was not as if she was hollow; far from it. Rather, she felt the need for new voices. No, not new voices, but instead voices that she had heard long ago. When she told her ancestor, he could not fathom her meaning. New voices that were old? He could not comprehend, nor should he have been expected to. This was not within his own world. But the spirits knew. They laughed as they let the girl make the discovery for herself. They had always told her many things, but in their wisdom, they decided that some things would best be lived in the moment. When the princess finally did meet her princess, it was bittersweet for the spirits, for they also knew that, although the princess was among her own kind, among fellow orphans, her world would be changing in a way that she would not understand. The spirits began to speak less and less to the girl, and she began to listen to them less and less, until the only voices she heard in the end were those of her new sisters as the remaining whispers faded into the cacophony of real life. Seeing this, the spirits retreated to the shadows until the day that they would reappear in a new world that they saw from afar. The world could surely survive what was to come, as surely as the first saplings defy the charred embers of a burned forest. But would the princess? The spirits were silent. * * * * * The first sound of the new morning was the cascading melody of a trillion waterdrops falling from a trillion icicles as they hesitantly gained their first view of a renewed sun. The new morning was upon them and it was their time to claim a world purified of the base, selfish emotions of the past. The moment they reopened their eyes, all was new. They knew no history, for, to them, history had not really commenced until that morning. There was neither week nor month nor year. Only the day, the first day. The golden-haired princess and her sisters settled into a crystal palace in a land of reclaimed dreams. The princess of the lost shrine was not yet unhappy, for she knew a paradise was about to be built upon the remains of the last age. For this reason, she smiled, if only to reassure her golden-haired sister. Still, she could not help but feel as if there was someone waiting just behind her. Someone familiar, but someone whose name had been wiped away by the years. When she turned, she found no one greeting her save for the peculiar shadows cast by a crystal world. It is often said that it is not enough to see something, but to wish to see it as well. It is for this reason that they could not yet come out from the mists of memory. The shadows would remain their home for now, until she freed them anew. Time passed as a dream within a dream. The world was theirs to fashion in a more humane manner. They did this day after day through the changing of the seasons until their vision was made real. Was it a day or a millennium? Who is to say in paradise? * * * * * The sisters dined each evening in a grand banquet hall befitting their dignity. In the first days of this new age, it was a joyous occasion, as each related to the other their new roles and duties, politely letting the memories of the last world dim into nothingness. The princess of the lost shrine dined and laughed, but it was soon to be hollow. With a new world built and an idyllic existence upon them, she surely should have felt joy, but she did not. In its place she felt an emptiness, a sensation she had not felt for over a thousand years. Its source she could not place, but that was not her concern. That it existed was the only matter. Eventually her laughing disappeared and her smile turned to nothing. Her sisters tried to help her, but they could not understand, nor should they have been expected to. This was not within their own world. And so the dinners became quiet, but for the sound of an epoch of cold crystal grating against a heart that was dissipating as the morning dew. * * * * * The princess of the lost shrine sought answers in meditation, but there were none. She was often surprised and confused to find herself awaiting an answer from the fire. Why would she do that? A fire cannot talk, for it has no soul. It would be foolish to assume otherwise, she reassured herself. The princess became uneasy as each day seemed longer than the last. Her sole comfort, meditation, had betrayed her into uncertainty. As surely as the bright burning mass of the sun shepherds its children around in an endless yet perfect dance, so her life was now ruled by seeking answers to questions she knew not. The princess ventured into the mountains surrounding the crystal kingdom. She would indulge in neither food nor drink, for neither of those could feed the spirit. She walked with no direction, other than away from the hanging voices of civilization. The princess walked for seven nights and seven days, and on the morning of the seventh she stopped, her body allowing her to go no further. She collapsed to the ground, her last thoughts being of the beauty of nature surrounding her and of a word that she could not remember. The princess closed her eyes to invite the final, sweet embrace of the abyss. * * ¤ * * The humming of a golden-haired girl playfully dangling her legs over a cliff of inestimable height awoke the princess of the lost shrine. It was the visage of the golden-haired princess, as she was on the first day that they met so long ago. But the princess of the lost shrine recognized the singing child not as her friend of old, but rather as how the being had chosen to appear to her. She could not see the spectre's face, for it willfully gazed across the barren distance ahead of them. The princess arose and approached the edge of the cliff. The being interrupted her song and raised a hand to halt the progress of the princess. Sit not beside me lest you wish to enter the next realm. The seat is mine. There are none other among the living. Their voices have gone silent. I desire to take in the view with you. And I say unto you Princess, that this seat it not yet meant for you. But you are Death, come to take my soul. Rather, Princess, I am here to remind you that you have one. You claim to hear no voices, but you listen from without, where there are none of consequence. The voices are from within, Princess. That is where the true wonder lies. They speak to you even at this moment. You must but listen for the world to be opened. To listen from within is a wistful fantasy of youth. I have attempted to do so, but I cannot rekindle my flame of old. It is a capricious spark that I cannot hold --- hold --- Hold . . . Hold . . . Hold what we will bequeath unto them, said the grasshopper. As a fragile flower, wary of the elements, said the rock. Yet the very truth of truth, said the raven. Do you remember your promise, Princess? It is not we who ceased the conversation. We will eternally listen. But will the children of a Golden Age listen to us? Do you remember? We came to you in fire. But a flame on its own is destined to wither away and perish unless it too is nourished. As our bright center rushes upward to reach the heavens only to fade into the ephemeral dusk, do you not see that we are not unlike? But you know that all too well, do you not? Do you remember? In their vanity they ask whether the gods created man or whether man created the gods, always eluding the truth that they created each other. We hide in shadows, for both men and gods cast them before the fire. But the age of perfect crystal that has grown from your efforts casts not a shadow for it does not remember how. Do you remember? We are that which has gone before, but we are also that which is yet to come. But first, our dear companion, you must speak our name. Do you remember, Princess? Do you remember? The princess heard the voice of an old friend and wept in joy. * * ¤ * * The sisters dined as usual that evening. But this evening was somewhat different in that the grand hall again echoed with the sound of laughter, a blessing not often heard of late within the kingdom. When the golden-haired princess asked her sister the reason for her sudden change of heart, she simply smiled and told her sister that she was beautiful in all ways. The golden-haired princess was quite surprised to hear this, for it was not in her sister's nature to say such things. But she indeed repeated the compliment to each of her remaining three sisters in succession before retreating for the long night. * * * * * The next morning, the golden-haired princess awoke to find her sister gone. The entire kingdom was searched, but the friend had already begun her quest and the princess decided not to press the matter. For you see, earlier that morning, the golden-haired princess had happened to take a walk in the garden when, at the base of the grand fountain, she found a tiny bonsai in a small porcelain tray that dated to the bright days of their youth. There was neither name nor note attached, but that mattered little as the princess already knew what it meant. She was to take the tiny tree and care for it and shape it in anticipation of the day when its owner would return. And so she did. Years later, whispers were heard of a beautiful priestess who visited the nameless villages of the exterior and taught the children of each the old ways that had passed a millennium before, helping them remember their names of the past. In some versions of the story, she planted a tree in the center of each town before moving on, while in others it is said that she helped them build their own shrine. All of them agree, however, that when she did walk away into the mountains, she bore a smile that was so radiant as to surely have been a boon from on high. - - - - x - - - - **************************************************** "Happiness is a direction, not a place." -- Sydney J. Harris *-Tolkein | gradient@thedoghousemail.com | http://members.tripod.com/gradient "The Bequeathers" Red-5 +Gradient May 1999 ****************************************************