Tales of As’r – Introduction, Chap I

The following is an excerpt (unedited) of a fantasy piece I started in the late 1980’s:

TRAVELS OF AS’R 

From Crone Maga’s hovel we hear the story of the legendary griffins. Some say the griffins were basically good, helping the good wizards of yesteryear. Long ago, several bad wizards drove the griffins so far north that a freak storm froze them in a crystal cave.

“Legend has it that only a person of the old royal magic blood can bring the griffins back and eventually free the wizards who are now trapped for eternity in the Magic Isles.”

As’r, one of the boys listening to the crone’s story, often dreams of griffins and magic. He leaves the crone’s hut to ponder her tale and to carry on his survival as a small, orphaned thief. When he is nearly caught stealing in the market, he must flee or be put in one of the labor camps where unwanted children are worked to death. He decides to run away, heading north into the woods to figure out his next move.

One night while camping, an unsettling dream comes to As’r in his sleep, parts of which he seems to have experienced before. When he wakes, he knows he must journey further north and attempt to find the Griffin’s crystal as shown to him in the dream.

During a brief capture by slavers, As’r befriends Chowt in a daring escape attempt. They find unexpected help from an innkeeper, Bozs, near the territory border. Bozs doesn’t take to the slavers so the innkeeper outfits the young men with warm clothing and food.

As rumor of a slavers’ raid party reaches the inn, the two fugitives bid Bozs a fond farewell and journey to a wise mage’s cave, of whom they had learned while in the slavers’ camp. Upon finally reaching the mage’s cave, they find the mage near death and try to nurse him back to life. He revives, somewhat, but knows his death is immanent. In exchange for a promise of a proper burial, the old mage tells them of an old rhyme that may possibly lead them to the griffin’s lair.

            Tho’ trader not, I follow their trail

            On dark northern mount, look up at a grail.

            Thru the pass pulled by wind I was beckoned

            Down to quiet deep forest I reckoned.

            Two days I pushed on, ‘till like-blood

            Doth the mighty river flow thru mud.

            Then on a reed raft, upriver I row

            Till ice forced me out into the snow.

            At end of winter, the sun rose up high

            And caused a great flash, ‘most blinded my eye.

            Toward the beacon, till out my body gave

            I made it not to the Griffin Ice Cave.

Shortly after extracting the boys’ promises of a proper burial and reciting the poem as best he remembered, the mage dies. As’r and Chowt fulfill their promise to the mage, and then make their way into the mountains. Pausing near sunset after a strenuous day, the boys build a small camp and light a warming fire. “Well, Chowt,” asks As’r, “how do you think we can find this grail thing?”

“I suppose,” comes the reply, “we must look up like the poem says – maybe for a cave or sump tin?”

“That’s it!! Look Chowt,” cries As’r, “see that rock formation? It looks like a grail! Tomorrow we head towards that pass.” After a short discussion of their plans, they both bed down, almost too excited to sleep.

The following day, they make it across the mountains after nearly freezing to death and reach a very heavy forest. Entering the forest, they stumble across a small being that only stood about one meter tall; he was very hairy and had a very deep voice (which never seemed to stop sounding). “Hey you,” the strange little man cries, “What is the meaning of destroying my snare? I was so looking forward to a rabbit to dine on.”

The two boys apologize and help him reset his snares and then begin to look around for a good camp site. Further in the woods, the two pause at hearing a loud snoring noise. “What is that?” whispers Chowt in surprise.

“I don’t know, but I sure wish that little guy was here, he…” begins As’r.

“The name’s BOGN, and I am NOT a little guy, at least not where I come from Harrumph!” And into the clearing appears Bogn with a brace of rabbits over his shoulders.

“Oh, beg pardon sir,” As’r stammers with embarrassment, “But since you are here, can you tell what that noise is?”

“Nothin’ to fear, me boys, if you’ll just help me skin these two varmints, and build a fire, why I’ll get us some food cooking. A man can’t think well with a growling stomach.” At that, he hands them each a rabbit and promptly disappears, leaving the young men to fulfill his request.

When Bogn returns, he hangs a small kettle of food over the fire that he carried with him. “I calls them noisy things Pigits cause they look like pigs and smell even worse. Fortunately for us, they’ve been foraging and found some spoiled red fruit that had fermented and they’ve gorged so much, they’ve passed out. I figured they would sleep for a time, so I sneaked over to the Pigit camp and took this here kettle.”

Making quick work of their meal, the three continue with their journey. The travelers have little trouble other than dealing with nature, something neither of the two young men have much skill at, having come from villages and such. They learn much of each other and agree to continue on and search for the Griffin’s Crystal.

As they journey north, they find winter setting in and decide to make camp for a few days and try to accumulate supplies to carry them further in their journey. As the fabled griffin Lair can only be approached in the spring time, they must hurry to find the location before the key time has passed. Following a long, cold trek through the winter snows, spring shows signs of breaking in the northern reaches. Following the clues of the wise mage’s poem, one sunset they are lead by a sharp beacon of dazzling light straight to the Griffin’s lair. In it, frozen in the ice, they find several griffins. Towards the back of the cavern a pile of multicolored crystals lie, around which is curled the largest Griffin.

As’r peers closely at the frozen seeming monster and suddenly finds himself transfixed by the stare of one eye. “Do not be scared, royal one, I cannot harm you. I have been frozen here in time for many millennium and only with the magic of all those present have I been able to remain awake long enough to impart my message to one who was foretold would come. You must be he because I detect the magic blood in you, but you do not approach or appear in the normal way. Why is that, mage?”

“I….I, uh, I’m As’r. But I don’t know why you call me mage; I am just a poor village orphan, now without a village. I received a dream and a wise old mountain mage directed me here” stammers the boy in confusion.

“Ah, me” sighs the griffin. “Very well, you’ll have to do. Take one of these eggs and guard it carefully with your life. Take it to the warm sands in the caves beneath the southern reach volcanoes. There, tend it will as it bastes in the warm sand so that the future of the griffins will not perish. Once done, you must tend my baby well, she will mature quickly and with your help, you should be able to return before winter sets again and free us. If you do not return, we will perish and the good wizards in the Magic isles will remain locked there for eternity.” With that, the griffin closes its eyes, seeming to freeze solid as the others.

“But wait,” cries As’r, “I have so many questions, can’t you tell me…”

“Alas, I cannot remain awake, good luck royal mag…” and the presence of the being could no longer be felt.

“Now that’s a fine whooped dee doo,” states the little manling, “now I suppose ye wants me to go wid ya to the south now and tote that fancy rock of yourn, huh? Well, I never! Wish you’d make up your minds, first we fight wild critters in the forest and then we have to freeze and near starve to death and now, NOW, he wants to go ALL THE WAY TO THE OTHER END OF THE WORLD, well, I…” With that said, Bogn turns and walks further in the cave.

“Chowt,” asks As’r, “will you help me too? I can’t do this alone, why; I don’t even know where to start.” Turning to the griffin, he creeps closer and chooses the large crystal egg the griffin seemed to have indicated in his speech.

“Well, As’r, I feel I owe you my life and my freedom for helping me escape the slavers, so I will go with you. I’m sure we will find the right place. Just think, a real live Griffin!” Chowt stares around the cave in awe.

Agreeing to journey together to the south, our three friends gather their belongings and the griffin crystal egg. With this adventure at a close, they ponder what new excitement awaits them as they journey south to raise the baby griffin and perhaps free the wizards one day.

The Crash of Delta Flight 191

The following short story is a true story based on an airliner crashing in Dallas on Friday, August 2, 1985. The Flight was delta Flight 191 and over 100 people were killed by this tragic accident.

A True Story Miracle of Faith, Aug. 11, 1985

Recently I became engaged to a very fine man whom I believe to be my perfect soul mate. My life had been rather dismal and lonely until he came along, and often I called him ‘my rainbow’ in an otherwise often stormy sky. My fiance had been traveling a lot out of town for the past months with weekend trips home. Every weekend I would pick him up at the airport so that we could spend as much time together as possible. Usually the airlines were running late, but when I called to check on this trip home, I was informed that the flight was on it’s way in right then. Already running late, I jumped in the truck and hurried to the airport in an unseasonal summer thunderstorm.

Just a few mintes prior to reaching the terminal, where the weather was even worse, the radio music was interrupted by a special news broadcast. A large commercial airliner had crashed north of the runway, but as yet, no details were available. Immediately, I was alarmed, fearing that my fiance may have been on that particular flight. Turning into the north entrance of the terminal, I could see a smoldering mass of what had once been a large airliner. I knew from prior experience with airplanes, and from just plain common sense, that not many, if any, peole could have survived that crash.

“Dear Lord”, I prayed, “please don’t tell me my love was on that flight”. With tears in my eyes and praying all the while, I slowly inched my way along with the developing traffic jam into the airport. I’d never felt such sorrow and fear of losing something so vey precious to me that had taken me nearly 30 years to find. Suddenly, the rain stopped and on the horizon I could see three rainbows, side by side, something I had never before witnessed. Then, a feeling of calm and assurance washed over me and I knew that God had given me a sign that my love, whom I’d often called my rainbow, was safe and well.

Although many people died on that fated Delta Flight 191, my fiance had not been among them. I pray that God watches over the souls of those who died as he was watching over my love. Thank you God, for that show of rainbows to help me keep my faith.

Don’t be afraid to cry

A very amatuer poem that I wrote in Oct. 1985 at the loss of a child:

Don’t be afraid to cry

Don’t be afraid to cry,

the tears will cleanse your soul.

Don’t say you want to die,

instead, set a new goal.

With no answer to those questions

which somehow still get asked,

Are there more suggestions

to cure feelings you have masked?

Time, more time and tender loving care

will help you learn to live

with the scars forever there

and teach you again to give.

So many other people

have felt what you now feel.

Although it’s never simple

for help you should appeal.

Pick yourself up from your fall,

alway continue to try.

But remember most of all,

it really helps to cry.

Hello Dina (pronounced Dee’ na) the cat

Hi everyone! I want to introduce you to Dina. Dina is a cat living in the Hill Country of central Texas. But she’s not an ordinary cat – she’s a shape shifter who stumbles along in her alternate personality as a human. I’ve been fortunate to befriend Dina and from time to time she tells me some of the stories that make up her life. Since I saw her today, she’s fresh in my mind. She happened to see my blog entry about the mountain lion tracks and wants me to show her where they are to make sure someone (something?) hasn’t invaded her territory. I wonder if she considers me part of her territory? Or a minion? Hopefully, only a friend!

How weird is it that she has two very protective minions which happen to be ordinary dogs? That’s another thing Dina wanted to talk about today as I mentioned she seemed to be dragging her tail. Every where she goes, they can be found, following her around, placing themselves between her and other people, sleeping on her feet wherever she lights or even crawling in her bed when a thunderstorm surfaces. Take last night for instance. Out of the blue around 1:00AM, a brief thunderstorm decides to attack the slumber of the two dogs. Their immediate reaction is to jump into Dina’s bed and crawl up to lay on her face and neck, or as near as possible and demand Dina’s comfort and protection until the storm monster goes away. She says she has lost many nights of sleep keeping company with her minions.

Let me describe Dina to you, just a bit, no more. She’s tall, fair skinned and carries a long, thick luxurious mane of hair. Her talons are long and unpolished and if you get near her – you have to watch out that she doesn’t accidentally slice you. Did I mention she was a klutz? Only in her human form, of course. Somehow, she says, she doesn’t quite manage to carry off any feline grace when she’s on two legs instead of four paws.

Over the weeks, as she tells me her little stories, I will share them with you. She has an emphatic touch with birds and animals, an uncanny sense of direction and tracking skills and a fearless, fun loving approach to embracing life. An awkward quirk she has – she loves to be on, in and around water outdoors, when she’s in human form. But a bath – in a room – in a house? puh-lease! I’ve caught her more than once washing her hair with a hose in the yard, and I know better than to get too close if I want to stay dry.

Nesting and singing

A friend of mine suggested I read and comment on her recent entries in her blog containing contemplations, writing prompts and conversation starters. (See www.riehlife.com ) One of the comments she made a couple days ago asks us ‘What does your safe writing place look like’. It led to a lot of thinking and perhaps insight, a bit, came forth. Where do I write, and where in my mind frame am I when I write? Most often, I write in my business office, but it isn’t where the ideas start. The ideas often start in my bed at night as I am falling asleep. So my safe place to write (metaphorically) is in my bed, under the soft fuzzy blanket with the lights out and the house completely still. I will puzzle out a story line or writing prompt and dig for or discard ideas. All in my head. If I can’t sleep, I may get up and write a few things down, but usually they can wait until the next day and I’ll make a note to myself of a brief outline of the idea. Then, when I get a break in my busy day, I will hurriedly rush to get an idea on paper or on the computer. When I need a break from the cacophony that exists in my house and home office, I take the written page or print out to the front porch and visit with my cardinals, hummingbirds and koi pond. There, I correct and add, delete or flesh out my writing while glancing up when I hear the hummingbird zoom near or the cardinals scold me – I haven’t figured out why they do that yet.

So in answer to the shortened question, ‘Where is my safe place to write?’ – the answer is alone, in the dark, in my head or away from noise and technology with only the fish, birds and lizards to watch me or comment on my progress. Perversely, these same two places are my most comfortable places to relax and read also. I really need to find a better place to write (and read) because it is too easy to let the stress and pressure of work, family and phones interrupt the flow.

Therapy for writer’s block

With life keeping me busy, my mind is a-swirl with incomplete ideas, lists, work to be done, worries about a family crisis just simmering under boil. Finally today I decided to push through and get a LOT of paying work done, then left the house to cruise the craft aisle in a couple local stores. Thankfully, I found something that spurred my inner creative soul and bought some swatches of material. Tonite I am working on some Swedish embroidery pieces. This requires me to sit still and focus on counting stitches. These beautiful pieces are almost a lost art, I haven’t seen any handmade towels, table covers or other in this type of work other than the pile of them I made for last Christmas. While there is not a lot of creative flow needed, I can choose many fun colors and adjust the mirrored geometric designs to suit my pleasure. For Christmas, I often use vibrant red towels with green pine tree patterns. For Valentine’s Day, red with white or the reverse are fun to decorate with mirrored hearts. I can match kitchen patterns or tea pots. Today, I am choosing a bright yellow fabric and using threads to match colors to one of my sets of tea pots. The pattern is just a whimsey but fun to work with. Now I can relax and create, not having to think about anything more than pulling the threads out if I misplace or miscount in my pattern. For some reason, this mindless creativity helps melt the blocks set in place by having too much on my mind and the indecision on what to do next. Like knitting or the endless summer job of peeling tomatoes, this busy work will help me get back on track where I need to be. Now I just need to get a better camera for myself (or learn to use my son’s) so I can get better pictures! The towel I show at the opening is one I made last summer for every day use. There’s probably a flaw in in somewhere, which would be why I still have it instead of giving it away as I usually do.

Making Easter Eggs

Today I experimented with various leaves, fruit and veggies to color my easter eggs. Using beet juice, onion skins, dried orange rinds, dried lemon peels & turmeric, Redbud flowers, rosemary leaves and flowers, green clover leaves and other things, I steeped several things in boiling water to get colors I wanted. I am ashamed to say I had to use blue food coloring too since I couldn’t recreate the color. After I got several colors, I heated up about 1 cup of each liquid (Strained) to almost boiling, added 1 tablespoon of vinegar and dropped in the empty eggs I have been blowing out for about a week. The results were great (although my coffee cups are stained). These eggs, which I have drying on bamboo skewers, will make a great centerpiece with all the rosemary branches and their little purple flowers that I chopped from the garden today. Maybe a sprig of my red bud tree too. Now I just have to find one of the digital cameras, son’s is missing & husband’s is in the truck; I really need one of my own.

I borrowed this from Woody Allen

“Next Life” by Woody Allen   In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm!

Walk in the woods

Yesterday I was finally blessed with a few hours of quiet as the boys decided to take a walk in the woods. When they got home, I got to hear the full tale of the missing goat (probably dead after all these years) and how my son had found one new shed (antler) from an 8 point buck. Today he wants to go back and find some more, so I say more power to him! I just hope he doesn’t get caught out when the hail storms begin or the first tornado warnings start coming in. I think I’ve taught him well enough, and he is 14 years old. Dad is going fishing – is he nuts or what? The winds are steady at about 15mph and gusting probably to 40. I’m waiting on some clients that are stuck in the mess called IH35 as they battle the winds, rain and traffic from up north about 200 miles away. After my afternoon tax clients leave, I can see I will probably have to make a big pot of deer chili for our evening repast, or perhaps I’ll make another batch of fresh she-crab chowder. Two days ago I used that last of our Thanksgiving turkey & broth with frozen garden veggies to make a great stew that we all enjoyed. I’ve had the cooking bug lately, and this is a strange time of year for it. Yum! My lunch of a turkey wrap just isn’t cutting it now, and all I had for breakfast was the last slice of a sugar free cinnamon coffee cake that I whipped up while I was ’stewing’ a couple days ago. Now I’m staring at a box of unsweetened chocolate that I found in the back of my pantry – I wonder what I can make next? You can tell I’ve been indulging in a little spring cleaning – as the pantry and freezer get emptied, recipes just pop out left and right from the tidbits I find. I’m sure I’ll create something in my mind while I work throught the next couple of tax returns. Wish me luck!

Dad and dementia

I don’t have much new to say about my dad. I feel cutoff from him now that my brothers are attempting to help him get the care he so dearly needs. After five years of fighting the downhill battle, things are now out of my hands as I sit on the sidelines and get very scant information. I feel like I have failed him somehow, but not much I can do. My brothers did find him again when he ran away a week ago, and now it’s a daily battle to keep watch over him and the oldest brother tries to keep dad from running. From recent tests, we know dad’s kidneys are failing, but the new medicine gives the boys hope. On friday (yesterday) the doctors performed an MRI, but I haven’t the foggiest idea exactly WHAT they were testing for. The boys won’t return my phone calls and I am lucky to get a brief email after my calling and emailing them multiple times. My oldest brother now has medical and financial power of attorney. I am lucky so far in that the bank talked them out of closing his investment account and only ‘let’ them take away his regular bank account, social security and retirement funds. My brother talks of hard love and the decisions he will now have to make. I only pray that one little scrap of selflessness guides him in what he feels to be his duties, not the control of the money. Can you read my undertones here? Middle Bro can’t control his temper or keep his mouth shut and dad can’t stand to be in the same room with him; the feeling by my brother is mutual as I see in my brother’s eyes the fear that the same grip of demons may become his own torment in the not too distant future. My gentle, coaxing ways of helping dad through the years are being stripped away and I can’t bear to think of the hell dad must be going through. I can pray, and I can cry as my mother looks down from heaven, surely shaking her head in shame at how I’ve so easily released my vows to her to take care of my father. It’s amazing how 800 miles and my own family seperate me from what I feel I was left by my mother to handle. Have I done the right thing by relinquishing control and finally throwing in the towel by forcing the boys to help? They don’t thank me for it, and indeed seem angry that I have thrust this burden on them. I wanted help, and now I have it. I only hope I don’t regret any of my choices.