The Angel Goodbye

There were lights in the sky, green lights, red lights... first, a shooting star crossed the speckled velvet, then another, and then a bigger one, until the whole black canopy was alight in cosmic fireworks. There goes the Summer Festival, Adam said. Its only just started. We got a week yet, Sargon reassured him. The air was still warm, even now. If things were different... this would be bliss. You really think well find our way back before Day of the Living? Sargon! yelled Fayed from inside the cave. What? Come shift your sword, it keeps biting me! Sargon stood and disappeared into the cave, bumping his head on the way. Adam sat on his grassy hillock and traced little ribbons of light with his fingers. They drifted in the air for a moment, in different colours, and then fell with a tingle. He tried to follow the lights in the sky but he was never quite fast enough. In these moments, when nobody else was around to see, guilt and depression came to bully him. No matter how many times he fought back, his victories were small and transient. And as all intelligent people know, a bully ignored will not tire and leave. She would plague him until one of them died, especially now. And hed dragged them in too. Sargon came out and sat down on Adams left, as Fayed dumped himself on his right. Fayed was in a mood. But then, he was worse yesterday. Ignoring them both, he brushed the drops from his legs. Bloody water. Bloody water? Fayed repeated. Leave him be, Fayed, Sargon butt in. Well Im bored, Fayed said. And were lost in the middle of nowhere. We could die out here. How? Adam asked indignantly. Well starve, or freeze, or be eaten. I can start fires with my breath, ward animals away with stones and grow ham and mushrooms from my hands... Is that what they are, Sargon said. And I can pour water out of my staff - And yet for all your magic, were still lost. Hes still working on that compass in his eye and a rocket up his arse, Fayed commented. Yeah alright. Well youre not bound to a witch. There was an awkward silence. Sargon watched the Summer Lights, Adam tried to make patterns with his breath and Fayed muttered something. The air was fresh, but not cold - one of natures many mercies. What exactly are the conditions of your binding, Adam? Sargon asked. Like any. I had a prophecy through, telling me I was bound to a love grown cold, that I had to follow her East, and by foot. Then she got in touch, telling me she was going to the capitol, and shed cursed me to follow her. So I left. And Ive dragged my friends down with me. You didnt drag us, Fayed said, a little calmer, we came to help you. I didnt know that miserable bag was any good at magic, Sargon commented. Shes brilliant. She used to be beautiful too, before a cauldron of aging potion blew up in her face. Serves her right, Fayed spat.

I knew Esra before you did, Adam. Maybe Sargon, but I knew her more closely. Too close to see maybe. What are you getting at? Let me tell you a story. Really? Yes really. The Binding of Sierra. What you take from the story is up to you, but I have a hunch. What? Adam probed. Youll see. I got a fire going, offered Fayed, lets go in. They crawled through into the interior cavern. Small, but big enough. They sat around the smokeless flames. Fayed rubbed his hands violently. Story time! Come on then, Sargon. Many years ago, in the land of Gronda, The land of Gronda, Fayed repeated. The land of Gronda... Right fine, the land of, I dont know, lemons. The land of Rondowa, there we go. Better. Anyhow. Many years ago, in the land of Rondowa, there was a man. A simple farmer, he worked the land and brought in his crops. Then, one fiery summers day, when the sweat rained and the gnats bit, his life changed. Forever! Ooh! Fayed squealed. This is ancient folklore, show some respect, Sargon flayed. Im sure the storys very good, Fayed assured him, but youre telling isnt. This farmer, he was upset. Very upset. So upset, he was black with sadness. This is really bad, Adam said. Sorry to be rude and all, but... well, this might help you. Stay still. Adam touched Sargons forehead, then pulled a grey streak from his head to the space above the fire. An image appeared there of a sleepy farming village, chugging along under the heat of a heavy summer. Now whatever you say, Adam explained, will appear to us just as you imagine. Fantastic. Ok, well this simple farmer, who wore a dull brown tunic and some trousers, the farmer appeared to them in front of his house... Stop, stop. Sorry, Adam said, presenting a bracelet, wear this. This is a poets bracelet, not the best but, will change your language for you. To what? Just trust me. Adam slipped on the bracelet and spoke. But friends, to what end do I wear this lowly brown? Fayed ruptured into laughter. Very good! Start again, said Adam with a smile. Sargon thought for a moment, and then, as moving images weaved to and fro, began to speak again. She and her white heart, her heart was black. If this is odd, lets start at the start. She was an angel bound to a man, bound in life to follow him through gallows gold and strife. So read the prophecy sent through his door they came from time to time, this rhyming lore, sometimes cloudy, sometimes clear:

Dear Adrian began the note, followed by much poetry spelling her binding out, the sea will wash her wanton dreams and swim away with doubt... The note was left on show and of course, they discoursed. Who is she then? Oh, I dont know dad. Notes addressed to you. Seal and all. I dont know! I know a few girls. Like? You dont know any of them. You know what, Adam? Fayed interjected. No I dont. I like being out here. Why? Is this really so bad? Were sitting around a campfire in the middle of summer telling stories. Were fed, watered... all thats missing is marshmallows. Yeah, maybe. As for you, well just have to break your curse. Why didnt I think of that? Cmon now, no need for sarcasm. Of course not. Theres a way, my friend. Just you wait and see. Yes, Esras good at magic, blah blah, but theres always someone better. And odds are theyre a better person too. The Magic Law Board wont help. Well, theyre a start. If not, the hospital. Or a charity. Maybe. Must I stay my voice more, Sargon asked, or may I voice my lore? What?... oh, yes. The days past but the note was not forgotten. The angel was close to his heart and he knew her well. Nothing would land him closer to paradise than to be held in her embrace to love and to wed. Instead, he did as he saw wise and went on warily. Perhaps it was too early, perhaps he wasnt sure, maybe he was young and knew no more. Whatever the delay, they carried on as friends but something more, for months and months and more, and the yearning grew more and she grew more shy until, as if from the sky, news came of distant shores. Adrian, his farmers clothes this time more detailed, sat on his doorstep with a simple but angel-faced girl. A touch of red hung in her cheeks, a tan hid the red of his. Dust and dirt hung in his rags, his collar was neatly folded and the patches were sown on symmetrically. Sierras dress, on the other hand, was askew and crumpled. Some discolouring sat around the shoulders and chest, but her hair was carefully prepared under the days work and some manner of makeup lay beneath old sweat. Adrians father walked past, handing Adrian a flyer as he did, advertising for work overseas. Ashwayne was the name, whose lands were plagued by harrowing demons become too much for the local few. Far and wide their wages were fetched, as posters offered pay to valiant warriors out of their way to rid them of this plague. Toothless and small the scoundrels hid, but they soiled the crops and scared the kids. Adrian, his heart filled with valour and virtue, bid farewell to his father and boarded a ship.

The image became Adrian shaking his fathers hand, and lunging into a tight embrace. I wonder where this is going, Adam said. Seems a little clich to me, Fayed answered, but well see. Valiant warriors out of their way, yeah, reminds me of that rubbish with the tax collector jobs. And the police careers fayre, I cant believe - Alright, let the man carry on. So what happened to this farmer on his little boat? As they were talking, the image had changed to a handful of sailors pulling in the boarding ramp of a large sailing ship, and then they saw the ship at sea. A typical wooden galleon or some such vessel, they werent seafarers. When he was too far to turn around he cried for his angel, and whispered Sierra as he wrote her name with tears. The docks which were their destination came into view, with a red-eyed Adrian peering out. Seawater often left his eyes long after he landed, but eventually with his work safe but demanding, the tears departed. The modest hut he lived in grew on him, and slowly filled with new memories. This new land was a paradise at first sight. A silken beach lay beneath a splendid city, its streets twisting this way and that through the palm trees, the fertile mountains and the sculptured buildings. They saw him at his work some farm somewhere. The demons were little more than burgundy badgers, and he ran around in the Spring rain trying to catch them with his spear, and then he was marching home with a grim indifference that swore at the splendour of his surroundings. Near the city centre was his hut, a mostly wooden building painted with flowers that grew around the porch and up the walls. Adrian disappeared inside, the rain cleared, night fell. A weak remedy in newfound freedom, his solitude was bitter bliss. Solitude cannot bring you a kiss, or runaway with doubt, but out of reach and out of mind for most, he turned to stone. Now it was summer again, and he appeared walking along the promenade. An array of colour burst into the sky that put the display outside their cave to shame. Oh look, the Summer Festival, Adam said. I wonder if this is just Sargons imagination, or if he really sees those lights outside like this? Sargon continued. So when, one starry night, he saw the flying lights, his heart did not stir. So when he turned to the sea and dipped his toe in tears, his heart tried not to stir. When he turned for home and saw Sierra cold and poor, his heart forgot to stir. But her name dissolved his scales from hair to heart to nails, and washed the rusted bellows that blew into her sails. For hours they walked the festive streets and stretched the stay of night. Roses tolled the morning blue and still they reminisced, and still without a loving kiss the lovebirds took to flight. Sure enough, the angel-faced girl had appeared in the images. Somehow, and for some reason shed followed him there, and now they were walking the streets as described, silly grins on their faces. Seems a little convenient, Adam pointed out, out of all the places in the world, she bumped into Adrian in this city? Yeah but shes bound, isnt she? Fayed said. Well I dont know. I remember him saying. Sargon continued, as the cheery little farm returned.

Adrian banished many foes the following hour or three, and then was handed a garden hoe to heave away the weeds. Rough and hard the soil sat, but a rougher toil was there begat inside his icy mind. The angel had resurfaced, from times far behind, and fortune had returned to him a love within his grasp. But the prophecy still plagued his thoughts with troubled dreams and doubts. Magic had brought her here... See? butted Fayed. ... though she said shed come to kin, and if she could not speak the truth then where was hope within? So, just as hope acquainted him began a war of whims. War of whims, sounds like you and Esra, Fayed had to point out. Very clever. If there ever was a war of whims, theyd both be hers. I still dont know what this story has got to do with me, this Sierra girl seems nothing like Esra. Wait patiently and see, Sargon said, for you know not what - Sorry Sargon, Fayed said, so what did Adrian decide? Bitterly the battle fought, but against the herds of caution, the lion came to naught. Weary and weak he stood resolved to leave Sierra be. Boring, Fayed said. He would not knock upon her door or see her walk the streets he even changed his route from work to an hour-long hilly feat. If this were real life, thatd be the end of the story right there, Fayed grouched. I dont think so, Adam said. They could hear crackling and screaming in the distance: The mighty sound of a thousand celebrations thrust a hand into the cave, and reached only far enough to brush their ears. The chill of the night was much slower, but had a piercing slenderness that could snake in and all around them. They shuffled a little closer to the flames. He waited for the rust to part the shackles of his heart, and the more he lived in shadow the more her shadows lengthened, and strengthened every want and need that waited for a spark. A loud blast was heard outside, and then silence. End of the first night, Adam said. Must be early morning by now then. Dont worry yourself, well get you there. What did she say would happen if you didnt follow her? Ill give you a guess. Right. Suddenly the cave seemed very cold. Sargon looked as though he wanted to say something, but refrained. They sat there like that for a minute or so under a smothering cloak. Carry on, Adam said. A week went by and then a month and at last he took no more. With sailors eyes he trod the crypts and knocked upon her door. An hour he stood and called and cried and wept to no avail, and as he wailed his final plea he left to see a dim but growing glow floating down with ease and sloth and soft to touch the floor and with awe he stood amazed and saw Sierra fairer than before, shining as an angel should, her hair a dazzling blue. And there she was. Adam and Fayed sat silently, gaping at the beauty of what went on inside their big, lumbering friends mind. Sargon the clumbsy, spent his time dreaming of this? She spoke, and their aches and pains melted. Adrian. I came to tell you Im sorry, but I dont live there anymore. Sierra! Whats happened to you?

I drowned. Id always felt as though I were drowning, so I decided to drown for real. You killed yourself. Yes. At the docks. Seems so silly now. I loved you Adrian, I thought the prophecy had made that clear, and I followed you across the world. Why? But youre not dead! And how do you know about the prophecy! Who told you? And why did you drown! I wrote the prophecy. You tricked me! I couldnt stand the waiting anymore. You knew how I felt. You felt the same, and all I needed was for you to say, but you thought and thought and never did. The tears had broken out again on Adrian as he tried to ask a question. Sierra stood quite calmly. Do you still love me? Ive been purged of my worldly ties. My life here is over, I go to my home above now. You know why I did nothing? I left, and you never said goodbye. If youd only said goodbye, I wouldnt have sailed! But when you let me go, I knew, I thought I knew, you didnt care - Goodbye, Adrian. The angel ascended, the whole image blurred, and the light of the fire was unchallenged again. A long silence followed. Sargon slipped off the bracelet and handed it back to Adam, who retrieved it with a polite smile. So, what did you think? Sargon asked. Good, Sargon, Fayed answered, really good. What was the point? Adam probed. I mean, whats the relevance? Are you trying to say Esra is suffering because of me? No, not at all. Esra is suffering because of Esra, and at any rate lacks the heart to suffer as you have. Then, what? I see, Fayed said. What? Adam asked again. What could be more like magic than love? What could be more like a binding? I... dont understand. I think you do, Sargon said. You think shes bluffing? Adam guessed. Dont you think so? But, if youre wrong, Ill die! Esras a horrible force in this world, but shes a coward. Do you really think shed pit herself against the law? After a moment, Adam stepped outside, the others followed. The sky was blushing. Adam hesitated, stuttered, and at the coldest point of the day, bellowed to a sleeping world. I am a free man, and I will go where I wish!

Reflective Thoughts From an early age I had always been fascinated by ancient myths and fairy tales. Although they may have been much longer in their original forms[1], in modern translation they are usually encountered as short stories[2] and, in my opinion, work exceptionally well in this form. Using this as my inspiration, I wished to create a piece with the same fairytale, folklore feel. To this end, I used two common features of the old storytellers the two lovers and poetry[3] . What resulted was passable, but was too short and could greatly benefit from injections of straight narrative description. To adapt to these problems, I framed the poem within a larger story the three travellers. This (with the visual imagination magic trick) solved both of these issues, as well as allowing me to add some more dialogue, some humour and additional layers of meaning to the piece as a whole. By adding an extra layer of reality, the relatively short piece also gains the benefit of becoming more complex and interesting[4]. I have also tried to maintain my more dramatic campfire narrative style, which supports the folk tale thread. Ive been much inspired in this regard by earlier works of fantasy, both ancient as mentioned, medieval[5] and even The Chronicles of Narnia[6] and The Lord of the Rings[7]. More modern works of fantasy[8] are often overly cerebral in their narrative voice and lack the wide-eyed vitality I believe the term fantasy should imply, perhaps because of the niche audience which has developed around the genre. Tolkien, by contrast, began his famous works with The Hobbit[9], a childrens book, and C.S. Lewis from a similar point[10]. Medieval fantasy is different in that the spoken folklore of the time was a performance, and that the genre did not have a niche audience but provided entertainment and culture for a vast swathe of the population[11]. In the poetic sections of my piece, I focused on rhythmic and dramatic effect, to try and mirror the feelings I wanted to create. For example, in the section maybe he was young and new no more... I repeat the word more to create the sense of feelings piling up, as well as to generate an accelerating pace and urgency which stops abruptly with until. Just before this, the rhythm of the rhyming scheme changed (more shy) to suggest a break in the pattern and that something was about to happen, only to be interrupted by the word until and the overseas work. At the end of the poetry, a section of fairly reliable, steady rhythm and rhyme is followed by a longer unbroken sentence of constantly shifting rhyme, designed to create the sensation at the climax that the situation is all being changed and, like the rhyme scheme, is disorientating and overwhelming. Thematically, I tried to include components which would be relevant to a contemporary audience (or, ideally, any audience) love, procrastination (and the results of mixing the two), false appearances, deceit and suppression. On a more stylistic note, references to the sea recur throughout the piece, both as an inspiration from typical Greek hero tales[12][13] and as omens of Sierras suicide. Sierras name was originally to be Eleya; I had the concept that I would recycle character names from my earlier assignment to generate a sense of cohesion between my stories and suggest that perhaps all this happens in the same world. In the end, I decided Id rather advance this as a standalone work, which I think contributes to a sense of poignancy. The name Sierra is more exotic and means jagged or saw[14], which could refer to any number of character traits. Although the tale is from Adrians perspective, this name and the revelations of their final conversation suggest that Sierra has undergone her own tale, full of twists and turns outside the attention of

Adrian and we his followers. This refers to Adrians short-sightedness and ultimately our own, as the reader may well see Sierra as a plot device rather than a person until the conclusion. This, along with the false advertising of valiant warriors out of their way and Sargons clumsiness all attach to the theme of false appearances. Finally, I have been more creative than I usually would with layout. The indents of new paragraphs and lines of dialogue are not consistent, as they usually would be, particularly in dialogue. I lifted this concept from scriptwriting. In this piece, the layout is designed not only to make transitions from one line to the next smoother in some cases, but also to supplement the energy levels of the moment in question. Generally, I follow a pattern whereby the higher the energy level Id like the reader to experience, the further to the right the line starts and vice versa. Sometimes certain characters are associated with certain levels, sometimes the next character to speak will come to this new level as a way of representing the rapport between them. At the cost of compromising the wider neat appearance of the text, I believe the expressive gain is worthwhile, especially as layout is an area of creativity seldom explored. Besides, I tend to think the chaotic appearance is somehow more vibrant. Bibliography 1. Homer, Iliad 2. Anthony Horowitz, The Kingfisher Book of Myths and Legends. London: Kingfisher Books Ltd 3. In ancient literature, poetry is almost universal. Examples of ancient literature arguably revolving around two lovers: Homer, Iliad ; Homer, Odyssey ; (anonymous), Orpheus and Eurydice ; (anonymous) Persephone and Hades 4. Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness. 1902 5. Thomas Malory, Morte dArthur. 1470 6. C.S. Lewis, the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. London: Geoffrey Bless. 1950 7. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings. London: George Allen & Unwin 8. George Martin, A Game of Thrones. New York: Bantam Books. 1996 9. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit. London: George Allen & Unwin. 1937 10. C.S. Lewis, The Magicians Nephew. London: Geoffrey Bless. 1955 11. John Southworth, The English Medieval Minstrel. Southampton: The Boydell Press. 1989 12. Homer, Odyssey 13. Eumelos, Jason and the Golden Fleece

14. www.babynames.co.uk