The Way of Things
Title: The Way of Things
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1464
Summary: This was the way the world Earth ended and the way Anharo became a world of humans, and the way in which the mystics became scarce. And there will be a way the future goes, a song for a bright and foggy morning in a world not unlike this one, but Cyprian has forgotten the words to that one.
Warning: Includes lyrics to a song that doesn't exist. I fail at lyrics.
"This was the way Earth died," I said as the three of us settled into our Amlainian beds that night. Cliff stared at Kristen, who was doing something to her bed, and said, "Who's Earth?"
"Earth was a planet," I said. Cliff stared at me for a while with one raised eyebrow, then shrugged. I continued: "Earth was a world that was unlike this one. The buildings were taller than the tales of the gods, vampires weren't nearly as maligned as they should have been, and there was little magical doings going on, but more than the Earthlings knew. There was magic in that world; it was in the air, in their sun. But the people of Earth were stupid fuckers, and for reasons lost to time, trashed their planet like it was a kegger party at a friend of a vacationing friend's house."
"But there were mages even there, in that world that didn't believe in them," I said. "They learned of our world - some say created it - and worked on making a gateway from their world to ours. There was an immigration of Earthlings to Anharo, and one day, the gate snapped shut, leaving the Earthlings to their new home. These were the first humans to settle in Anharo, but they weren't the first people."
"You mean fairies," Kristen said, having finally settled into bed. I sighed, and said, "Only partly. Of the humanoids Anharo had before humans, they were the least affected. There were fairies, mystics, fae-"
"What's the difference between fairies and fae?" Cliff asked. I said, "Fairies are...fairies. You know them, I know them. They're common as houseflies. Winged, pissy, tiny, magical, and they like cheesecake, apparently. Like magical houseflies, really. Mostly harmless things, unless you insult them or their kin. Fae are human-sized and dangerous. You find them at battlefields after the last soldier is dead, skinning the dead and taking their hearts and bones - their souls, too, sometimes, but the ones who are into soulweaving are rarer than not. They steal babies and do things to them. Sell them into slavery, kill them - sometimes they wait until the babies are older so they'll put up more of a fight. The fae are not nice, and there are many mystic legends about them in their own right, but they have little place in the story about the origins of humans. You know, the one I'm trying to tell? Now where was I?"
"Humans settling into the world," Kristen said, and yawned. I said, "Yeah, that. So the humans wander, looking for a place to settle, but these aren't creatures accustomed to living on their own and doing things for themselves, and their numbers drop and are buried as best they can. But one day, they meet a man who looks almost exactly like a human man, but for his blue hair. This was a mystic, and a great one with many stupidly heroic tales, Matato."
"Tomato, Matato," Cliff said, and I could feel his smirk more than see it. I said, "You know, you could beat someone to death with your humor, but you couldn't cut warm butter with it, dull as it is. Shut up while I'm talking."
"The humans tried to communicate with Matato, but he spoke the one true language, and the humans spoke many false languages, among them English, which many speak today, as you know. Matato took the humans in to his village, and it was in this way that humans were first accepted in Anharo."
"But you have to remember that humans are stupid fuckers, and weren't satisfied with being the second best race on their new planet," I said. "Over many years, they made like bunyips and copulated like mad, stole land from mystics, and murdered and lynched mystics simply because they were deemed dangerous. There was a war that lasted for a thousand years. Many mystics died, and many humans died, and there were heroes and villains all around, including the neutral mystic villain Ciprian Oaks, who, with his dying breath, cursed the soldiers who killed him and his friends to become the devils they were in their hearts, and with this curse created the first vampires. But in the end, humans won out, and the mystics have steadily been dying out. I've traveled all around the world, and I'm the only mystic I ever found while awake."
"What's the point?" Cliff said. "I asked for a story, not a history lesson."
"The point is, this may be your world now," I said, "But don't bitch to me about history not being a decent story. Do you know how hard it is to remember everything and then make it sound like a story and not a series of disjointed textbook samples?"
"How about a song instead?" Kristen said, quickly. "What about that song you said your mother sang?"
"What am I, your manservant?" I said, but it was only half-assedly discontented. I didn't really mind; I enjoyed singing and stories, and the night was young, so I wasn't tired as such. Kristen smiled hopefully, sparkling and nervous, and said, "I - I've always wanted a manservant. Couldn't ask for a better one."
"Sure, I've got a decent voice," I said. "But are you sure you want that?"
"It's got to be better than your storytelling skills," Cliff said, fairly. It took everything I had to make the effort not to point out the dumbassery of the stories of the various heroes and villains on both sides of the war. Nothing like good old fashioned racial pride and prejudice to make you into a begonia-brained loony. And that was the least of my storytelling issues. The telling wasn't nearly as pretentious as a retelling of history should be - really, comparing lost worlds to keggers wasn't in the literary handbooks I read at Eudora or Arethusa.
So rather than speak, I sang:
"The way to the future is before you,
nothing dead or alive to restore you
to the past of lilies and bramble
that only the gods do know.
On that bright and foggy Saturday morn,
you'd best remember my advice well.
Roses for the fool, who grew in hell,
Babies breath for the princess in tatters,
who knows exactly that love is what matters,
and a pocketful of posies
on the grave the soul's mate who shall lie.
But, young king ours, if you do not
have any interest in the hard ways to die,
then a pocketful of sunshine,
a pocketful of sunshine
is the way
to ward off a world of infernal design.
Let the sun shine bright,
king of the skies, king of the light..."
I frowned. "I forget the rest."
"Your mother sang that to you as a child?" Kristen said, horror plain in her voice. I snorted, and said, "Somewhere along the way from hearing about the giant who had a stiffy for skinning humans and crushing their bones for soup and the farmer who wanted to make rabbit stew with Pyotr Cottontail, a song that tame wasn't such a big deal. It was actually my favorite song up until today, when I heard that Shang folk tune at the Benighted Cock."
"The Benighted..."
"Cock," I said, exaggerating the C sound. "As in an unfortunate rooster. By the way, now that we have weapons-"
"And you totally struck out with that hot, leggy clerk," Cliff mumbled into his pillow. I ignored him, and continued: "I went ahead and found us work. You know work, right?"
"As slayers?" Cliff said, sounding slightly more awake. I said, "Yes. We're going to slay a tiankong-something-or-other for twenty thousand silver, which is a little much for a weaker monster, but the client is an old, arthritic woman with one eye, so I'm sure she's desperate. We need to skin it. Apparently its fur is worth something to her." I tried not to think about how she'd called the tiankong-beast her husband.
Cliff made an indistinct yowling whoop of joy into his pillow I hoped had nothing to do with the fact I couldn't see his hands. I tried to focus on sleeping after that, but the fact of my forgetting the last stanza of my mother's song was bothering me. The end was important. I liked the end.
"You've got to remember it, baby," mom said softly, from beyond the ether. I opened my eyes and saw her hovering over me, concerned face on in full. "You'll remember it one day. In the meantime...what about that nice weapons shop clerk? I'm sure if you apologized and acted like the nice young man I raised you to be-"
I groaned and wished fervently for spectral earplugs or a mother who wasn't insane.
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1464
Summary: This was the way the world Earth ended and the way Anharo became a world of humans, and the way in which the mystics became scarce. And there will be a way the future goes, a song for a bright and foggy morning in a world not unlike this one, but Cyprian has forgotten the words to that one.
Warning: Includes lyrics to a song that doesn't exist. I fail at lyrics.
"This was the way Earth died," I said as the three of us settled into our Amlainian beds that night. Cliff stared at Kristen, who was doing something to her bed, and said, "Who's Earth?"
"Earth was a planet," I said. Cliff stared at me for a while with one raised eyebrow, then shrugged. I continued: "Earth was a world that was unlike this one. The buildings were taller than the tales of the gods, vampires weren't nearly as maligned as they should have been, and there was little magical doings going on, but more than the Earthlings knew. There was magic in that world; it was in the air, in their sun. But the people of Earth were stupid fuckers, and for reasons lost to time, trashed their planet like it was a kegger party at a friend of a vacationing friend's house."
"But there were mages even there, in that world that didn't believe in them," I said. "They learned of our world - some say created it - and worked on making a gateway from their world to ours. There was an immigration of Earthlings to Anharo, and one day, the gate snapped shut, leaving the Earthlings to their new home. These were the first humans to settle in Anharo, but they weren't the first people."
"You mean fairies," Kristen said, having finally settled into bed. I sighed, and said, "Only partly. Of the humanoids Anharo had before humans, they were the least affected. There were fairies, mystics, fae-"
"What's the difference between fairies and fae?" Cliff asked. I said, "Fairies are...fairies. You know them, I know them. They're common as houseflies. Winged, pissy, tiny, magical, and they like cheesecake, apparently. Like magical houseflies, really. Mostly harmless things, unless you insult them or their kin. Fae are human-sized and dangerous. You find them at battlefields after the last soldier is dead, skinning the dead and taking their hearts and bones - their souls, too, sometimes, but the ones who are into soulweaving are rarer than not. They steal babies and do things to them. Sell them into slavery, kill them - sometimes they wait until the babies are older so they'll put up more of a fight. The fae are not nice, and there are many mystic legends about them in their own right, but they have little place in the story about the origins of humans. You know, the one I'm trying to tell? Now where was I?"
"Humans settling into the world," Kristen said, and yawned. I said, "Yeah, that. So the humans wander, looking for a place to settle, but these aren't creatures accustomed to living on their own and doing things for themselves, and their numbers drop and are buried as best they can. But one day, they meet a man who looks almost exactly like a human man, but for his blue hair. This was a mystic, and a great one with many stupidly heroic tales, Matato."
"Tomato, Matato," Cliff said, and I could feel his smirk more than see it. I said, "You know, you could beat someone to death with your humor, but you couldn't cut warm butter with it, dull as it is. Shut up while I'm talking."
"The humans tried to communicate with Matato, but he spoke the one true language, and the humans spoke many false languages, among them English, which many speak today, as you know. Matato took the humans in to his village, and it was in this way that humans were first accepted in Anharo."
"But you have to remember that humans are stupid fuckers, and weren't satisfied with being the second best race on their new planet," I said. "Over many years, they made like bunyips and copulated like mad, stole land from mystics, and murdered and lynched mystics simply because they were deemed dangerous. There was a war that lasted for a thousand years. Many mystics died, and many humans died, and there were heroes and villains all around, including the neutral mystic villain Ciprian Oaks, who, with his dying breath, cursed the soldiers who killed him and his friends to become the devils they were in their hearts, and with this curse created the first vampires. But in the end, humans won out, and the mystics have steadily been dying out. I've traveled all around the world, and I'm the only mystic I ever found while awake."
"What's the point?" Cliff said. "I asked for a story, not a history lesson."
"The point is, this may be your world now," I said, "But don't bitch to me about history not being a decent story. Do you know how hard it is to remember everything and then make it sound like a story and not a series of disjointed textbook samples?"
"How about a song instead?" Kristen said, quickly. "What about that song you said your mother sang?"
"What am I, your manservant?" I said, but it was only half-assedly discontented. I didn't really mind; I enjoyed singing and stories, and the night was young, so I wasn't tired as such. Kristen smiled hopefully, sparkling and nervous, and said, "I - I've always wanted a manservant. Couldn't ask for a better one."
"Sure, I've got a decent voice," I said. "But are you sure you want that?"
"It's got to be better than your storytelling skills," Cliff said, fairly. It took everything I had to make the effort not to point out the dumbassery of the stories of the various heroes and villains on both sides of the war. Nothing like good old fashioned racial pride and prejudice to make you into a begonia-brained loony. And that was the least of my storytelling issues. The telling wasn't nearly as pretentious as a retelling of history should be - really, comparing lost worlds to keggers wasn't in the literary handbooks I read at Eudora or Arethusa.
So rather than speak, I sang:
"The way to the future is before you,
nothing dead or alive to restore you
to the past of lilies and bramble
that only the gods do know.
On that bright and foggy Saturday morn,
you'd best remember my advice well.
Roses for the fool, who grew in hell,
Babies breath for the princess in tatters,
who knows exactly that love is what matters,
and a pocketful of posies
on the grave the soul's mate who shall lie.
But, young king ours, if you do not
have any interest in the hard ways to die,
then a pocketful of sunshine,
a pocketful of sunshine
is the way
to ward off a world of infernal design.
Let the sun shine bright,
king of the skies, king of the light..."
I frowned. "I forget the rest."
"Your mother sang that to you as a child?" Kristen said, horror plain in her voice. I snorted, and said, "Somewhere along the way from hearing about the giant who had a stiffy for skinning humans and crushing their bones for soup and the farmer who wanted to make rabbit stew with Pyotr Cottontail, a song that tame wasn't such a big deal. It was actually my favorite song up until today, when I heard that Shang folk tune at the Benighted Cock."
"The Benighted..."
"Cock," I said, exaggerating the C sound. "As in an unfortunate rooster. By the way, now that we have weapons-"
"And you totally struck out with that hot, leggy clerk," Cliff mumbled into his pillow. I ignored him, and continued: "I went ahead and found us work. You know work, right?"
"As slayers?" Cliff said, sounding slightly more awake. I said, "Yes. We're going to slay a tiankong-something-or-other for twenty thousand silver, which is a little much for a weaker monster, but the client is an old, arthritic woman with one eye, so I'm sure she's desperate. We need to skin it. Apparently its fur is worth something to her." I tried not to think about how she'd called the tiankong-beast her husband.
Cliff made an indistinct yowling whoop of joy into his pillow I hoped had nothing to do with the fact I couldn't see his hands. I tried to focus on sleeping after that, but the fact of my forgetting the last stanza of my mother's song was bothering me. The end was important. I liked the end.
"You've got to remember it, baby," mom said softly, from beyond the ether. I opened my eyes and saw her hovering over me, concerned face on in full. "You'll remember it one day. In the meantime...what about that nice weapons shop clerk? I'm sure if you apologized and acted like the nice young man I raised you to be-"
I groaned and wished fervently for spectral earplugs or a mother who wasn't insane.