Late mid-afternoon. You have been working on scene three. You feel a need to make a transition from Merlyn to the Rebellion but do not know how to do it but by dream, a device you have used too much you think. Post this and what you have. This scene can be concluded later. – Amorella.
Scene 3
Even from their backs, I know these ladies, thought Merlyn, Clotho, the spinner; Lacheis, the measurer; and Atropos, the cutter of the thread. The huddled old women turn towards and becomes Clotho alone and Necessary beautiful. “Hello, Merlyn,” says She.
Merlyn says, “The lifeline is thin and golden.”
“This is where you exist.”
Merlyn smiled for the first time dead and said, “Elysium is a thin line indeed.”
Clotho cautions, “Invisible is the line, Merlyn, the golden color is as sunlight.”
“The light of is, was, and shall be.”
"How perceptive, young Merlyn."
“Light doth close time as a singular.”
“As Queen I can run the line as were a great chess board.”
“Your declaration, not mine,” Clotho replied while gaining the semblance of sunlight herself.
“Thought and Light dance as once I danced with Mother Earth,” uttered Merlyn indeed only onto himself. Again, he smiled and realized a truth, ‘I am become a personification, a basic poetic element, a stretch of reasonable imagination, yet with full consciousness of heartansoulanmind. He paused in thought, grammar without time will take some getting used to. A board without squares, at least a full measured universe in size and scope. To see what was and to see what may be.
Clotho’s voice within, “In your dreams, Merlyn, only in your braiding dead man’s secret dreams.”
"I thought will be but may be came instead."
“Merlyn, welcome.”
“I must have swum here,” he replied. “And, who are you?”
“Arthur.”
“Where am I?”
“In Avalon, where else? You will enjoy this Place of the Dead where things are born again. It is the Fortunate Isles, like home but with contentment and peace.”
Merlyn, displaced in mind, considered his new, most delicate, most important charge. This light of dreamland is far wider and grander than I had imagined. A tree, a reality, with more roots in thought and branches in light than there are dreamers to have created it. This game of chess lay well beyond Arthur and Avalon and the Greeks heroes of Elysium. I continue to dance a quite thin line indeed. I have suddenly come to an understanding, and find myself, Merlyn the Bard, knowing absolutely nothing. What a pickle to find myself in. With nothing to stand on, I find myself a float, a bobber cork on a fish line, that’s what it feels like, to be tugged at from below or pulled from above.
***
Clotho, the spinner glanced forward to Avalon to see where Merlyn had entered, and back to Elysium to the Rebellion’s start. She transposed herself once again twice more, becoming Lacheis and Atropos who will be ready to cut the thin, sun-yellow line if needed and to leave it dangling, or to tie a knot in another sun-golden line of thought and light, for good or ill, it will happen or not. Merlyn holds the designing knot with odds so lean that only the long slender fingers of Necessity can hope to tie and bind.
It is you that are a little much, orndorff. Live with it. Post the rest of the scene. – Amorella.
***
Supper at the Brazenhead Pub, the news, and now time to write. Go to your Olympic characters. Let’s stir the pot a bit with a conversation between brother and sister.
The scene is completed. I am surprised by its tone. It is a long way from the beginning to the end of scene three.
That is the point. I doubt the marsupials’ Ship could go so far in such a short period of time. This puts a trip across the Milky Way galaxy to shame does it not?
Only in galactic humor, Amorella. The marsupials may be amused by such a comment but we are beyond the galaxies and universe here.
Several of them, orndorff. This will become clearer as the story moves on.
What is the purpose of this possible confusion for the reader. It seems needless to me to drag the reader through such physics of thought.
You enjoy it.
I must admit that I do. I loved to get my classes going on some outlandish thought or another. A few would show a sparkle in the eye I would not see without it.
To deny this in your work would be a travesty to your sense of being. The content is flowing from your heartansoulanmind. To be here is to be with the Dead. – Amorella.
Still, it seems a little much.
***
The rest of Scene 3
In the median between Olympus and Earth, on the opposite side of the Styx and bridge-building, sit twin gods on a rock, looking north across the great river, watching the temple gate being built block by block.
Artemis speaks first, “I feel somewhat angelic here, sadly viewing the Dead at work on a cause to help their children, their descendants. I am caught by their sense of healing a rift. The temple dedicated to Asclepius is a nice touch.”
Apollo smirked, “Two-faced or four, you cannot help humankind as I can.”
“I hunt for the goodness in their nature.”
‘Sarcasm rolled, ”Good luck with that, dear sister.”
“Why are you so upset with my sympathies, do you not see their plight.”
“Attempting the impossible. These creatures have done it before. They are useless.”
Artemis frowned at his logic, “But they survive physical death, they are immortal as are we.”
He added, “It is a form of self-deception, this place, Elysium.”
She smiled through his weaknesses, “Are we not real?”
“Of course we are,” he said stubbornly, “We gods were here first.” Apollo then commented, “They follow us.” And, in a moment, “I look across this vast separation and see no bridge.”
Artemis thought, my brother is mistaken, they came from Earth, they did not follow us from Olympus. She said, “Perhaps the bridge is not in a prophecy.”
He belittled, “Too many desires, too many deceptions. The species do not have the will.”
She chastised, “Human beings were once alive. We have never been.”
“No need for a god to be born of a woman.”
She interrupted, “Why is it their necessity?”
Apollo mumbled defeat, “I do not know. I do know I am the Spirit of Truth, I am the messenger from the gods to humankind, from almighty Zeus himself. I sense no communiqué coming here to the Dead. Nor a directive to the Living either. If an epistle is bolted I will grab and read it to anyone who will listen.”
Artemis glared at her younger brother. “You announce without understanding. They, even the best of humanity, received your notices garbled or in mistranslation. The human mind is not built to hear a god directly.”
In cocksure expression he said, “It shows how little these prophecies are necessary.”
Artemis mirrored her brother’s earlier smirk and pulled from her quiver a sharpened arrow to drive her question home by then asking, “What then is your worship’s worth to the ache or joy of humanity, brother dearest?”
***
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