by Roger Bourke White Jr., copyright 2010
This story is a satire, not an action story.
It was inspired by my frustration when the second half of the first Narnia story turned into a pissing contest between Aslan and the Witch, over who knew the oldest laws made at the beginning of time. That part of the story was such a disappointment.
But out of the frustration came this light-hearted tale about using symbols, rather than people or weapons, for combat. Have fun with it.
Alstor—a wizard, native to this reality
Wu Doggie—a transplant to this reality from an Earth similar to our own
Cyreenik—a beautiful young witch, native to this reality
Osric—a handsome young wizard, native to this reality
The Prophetess [drum roll]—She Who Runs the Temple of Prophecy
“Come. Sit. Learn.”
Wu Doggie, the young newcomer, sat in the meadow grass next to Alstor, the gray-bearded man with the staff. In the valley below them a small army of fifty men stood arrayed for battle. Behind the army stood an unnaturally beautiful lady. Advancing towards them was a man dressed in shimmering robes with a large suitcase in hand.
As the man drew closer the beautiful woman, Cyreenik, shouted a command and the army began to maneuver. They looked good. Their uniforms were resplendent and they moved from formation to formation with razor-sharp precision.
“They look magnificent,” said Wu Doggie.
“They should,” replied Alstor. “Cyreenik has invested heavily in military symbolism.”
“They are fighting that lone man?”
“Cyreenik is. The others are her symbol.”
“He looks so confident, not a care in the world.”
“He is Osric. He is known for his skill in counter-symboling and confidence is a symbol he has invested in. Watch closely now, these are two experienced wizards so the battle will end quickly.”
Osric with his suitcase advanced to just beyond arrow range, then with a flourish tossed his suitcase into the air. Before it hit the ground he tipped it with his toe and it flew up again. As it fell a second time, it grew legs and opened up to become something that looked like half organ keyboard and half apothecary drawers.
Osric opened one of the drawers and his fingers danced over the keyboard. An invisible chorus started singing, “All we are saying is give peace a chance.” Out of the drawer streamed a great flock of white doves that circled over him, then flew over the soldiers. As it did strange things happened below. The sharp brass points of the soldiers’ spears and arrows changed into flowers and their razor-sharp formation softened into something more … fluid. To Wu Doggie it looked as if the hardened soldiers were transforming into peace protesters.
While the doves had been gathering and flying, Cyreenik had been conjuring. Above her a white cloud appeared and grew into a dark thunderstorm cloud, complete with flashes and rumbling. When she saw what the doves were doing she paused from her own conjuring long enough to throw a black bird-shaped amulet into the air.
The amulet transformed into a black bird and flew at the doves, cawing. Each time it cawed, it split into two birds and they both cawed. By the time the flock of black ravens arrived at the doves they were of equal numbers. The ravens scratched and bit at the doves, breaking the doves’ spell. The soldiers reformed smartly into tight formation, launched a volley of arrows at Osric, then charged him.
When Osric saw the cloud building over Cyreenik, he switched songs—strains of Here Comes the Sun floated out from his organ. As he saw the arrows arcing towards him, he switched to a really fast version of the Animals’ We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place and a shining portal appeared beside him.
He kicked the organ so that it spun in the air and began transforming back into a suitcase, tipped his hat to the witch, then walked through the portal, a half second before the volley of arrows landed. The suitcase did not have a chance to follow him—instead it got pin-cushioned, stopped spinning, and landed heavily. A second later a lightning bolt from the thunderstorm over the witch’s head crashed to ground where Osric had been standing. The portal was gone and the suitcase was smoking slightly.
Alstor stood up and walked down the hillside applauding.
“Well done, Cyreenik, well done!” he shouted. Wu Doggie followed.
Cyreenik walked towards Osric’s suitcase, looking drained. She issued another, softer command and the sharp-looking soldiers transformed into scruffy and confused farmers.
“You can all go home now,” said Cyreenik, “Thank you for your help.” She sounded like she was dismissing gardeners after a Saturday afternoon project.
“You got his Bag of Tricks!” said Alstor.
“Pfft! He has used his doves too many times and he knows it,” the witch responded.
The old man kicked one of the dead doves. It clunked.
“Brass. I think he was expecting you to try clearing them with the lightning bolt. That wouldn’t have worked and you would have been two spells behind.”
“Of course … but why are you telling me this, Alstor?”
“I’m not, really. I’m telling our young friend here. Cyreenik, let me introduce Wu Doggie. He is new to our world.”
“New?” she asked as the boy bowed politely.
“New, as in: Comes from an alternate universe—one with a different science.”
“That doesn’t happen often here.”
“Nor on his world, but he is here nonetheless. And I’m trying to help him get settled in. When I learned of his situation I immediately thought of you.”
“And why is that?” she asked Alstor suspiciously.
“His strength is likely to be novelty symbols, and that works well with your military.”
“It’s true that novelty is powerful, but it’s so short-lived. I don’t recommend it for anyone.”
“I would agree … if he were from this universe. But he’s not, and it could be that his store of novelty is quite deep. Deep or not, it’s likely to be symbolism that comes quickly to him, and quick may be something he will need.” The boy silently bowed again.
Cyreenik thought for only a moment. “You’re right. Whatever story he’s a part of is likely to develop quickly.”
“Speaking of doing things quickly: Are you going to retrieve Osric’s Bag of Tricks? It’s quite a prize.”
“Yes I will, but it’s likely to be booby-trapped. He was too inept; I expected much better from him. His suitcase could contain his main strike against me.”
“He wasn’t inept, that Raven Amulet was brilliant! How long have you had that?”
“Oh that! I got it last week. It was effective, wasn’t it?”
The two examined Osric’s suitcase and it appeared the victory was complete and sweet. Not only was the suitcase protected by merely minor booby traps, since the spell was broken the doves had all come back and were now a pile of magic clockworks clustered around their drawer, trying to get back inside. Cyreenik opened that drawer—it was rattling a bit—and they hopped back in.
“We must get this young man a prophecy,” said Alstor.
“He doesn’t even have that yet?” Cyreenik stared at Alstor incredulously.
“He’s that new.”
“This means a trip to Prophecy Mountain. Would you care for company?” said Cyreenik.
“That would be delightful,” said Alstor.
Alstor turned to Wu Doggie. “The trip to Prophecy Mountain is always one of mystery. At its summit is a small temple, and in that temple is the Book of Prophecies. It is said that in that book lies a prophecy for each person in our land. You are now part of our land so we should seek out yours.”
“How far is it?” asked Wu Doggie.
“You can see it there.” Alstor pointed to a large, symmetric mountain, blue in the distance, “By foot, the journey would be four days if there are no incidents. But there are always incidents on a journey to Prophecy Mountain.”
Cyreenik nodded affirmatively. “Always.”
“Hmm … ” said Wu Doggie, “I have an idea. If novelty is to be my symbol, why don’t we go to the mountain by a novel route?”
“What did you have in mind?” said Alstor.
“A hot air balloon.”
“A what?” said both Alstor and Cyreenik.
“Some uncommon magi—science from my native world. You don’t happen to have access to a whole lot of cloth, do you?”
#######
In four days, with the help of Cyreenik’s farmers and blacksmiths and a Turkish rug seller, their balloon was finished. The farmers and blacksmiths gathered and waved goodbye as they launched. The rug seller shook his head in amazement at what his fine rugs had become.
“How do we steer this?” asked Alstor as the balloon rose higher and higher.
“The fates will steer us,” replied Wu Doggie, “I’m getting to understand this place a bit.”
And he was right. A half day later, after a ride that was both wondrous and hair-raising, they landed on the top of Prophecy Mountain. There on an alabaster altar in the center of the temple’s main hall was the land’s most ancient and honored tome: The Book of Prophecies.
Alstor put on his glasses and opened the massive book to a random page.
“We need to find your prophecy,” he intoned, “Let’s see. … ‘The Titan of Truth who would turn the Tide of Terror must tap dance in a tutu on Tuesday’.”
He looked at Wu Doggie and shook his head, “You’re not the Riverdance type, are you? Ever told anyone, ‘Clog yours!’?”
Wu Doggie looked mystified.
“I didn’t think so.…”
“He’s a bit short for a Titan,” added Cyreenik.
Alstor scanned down the page.
“Try this: ‘Our rogue rebel will rebel against rotten cotton rags and be richly rewarded with round, red rubies.’”
“Huh?” said Wu Doggie.
“Not obscure enough,” sighed Alstor, and he scanned down the page further.
“Clark the Clerk clucked as he watched the clock click,” mumbled Alstor.
“What?”
“Sorry … A tongue twister, not a prophecy. Whenever I get into this book I always start thinking of tongue twisters.”
“You will never find his prophecy that way!” a deep-throated, matronly voice said from behind them.
Alstor and Cyreenik turned and gasped, “The Prophetess!”
A dignified elderly woman in a shimmering white dress was looking at them from the doorway to one of the temple’s darkened niches.
“Yes, I’m here for a little prophet making.”
She strode up to the book and quickly leafed through its pages. At each page she looked up at Wu Doggie and shook her head, and leafed again. After half a dozen tries, she slammed the book closed in frustration.
Dust flew everywhere and all four coughed loudly. As they recovered, the Prophetess looked at the cover.
“Oh, this is last millennium’s edition. No wonder! I’ll be back in a moment.”
She took the book from the pedestal and walked into another dark niche. There were sounds of things being moved around, then she came out with a shiny new book, placed it on the pedestal, and got out a “dust shaker” which she applied liberally to the book.
“Must keep up appearances, you know.”
This time, the first time she opened it, she said, “Ahh…”
Wu Doggie, Cyreenik and Alstor all leaned forward, “Yes?…”
“ ‘The nearly novice novelist will have his neat story nixed now.’ ”
The End