Chapter 37

Quietude, an uncomplicated word.
Esmie once wrote That the beginning of wisdom is the ability to state facts precisely. If words are not correct, and what is spoke, is not what is meant. Then what remains is fractured. Morals, Art and Justice, the people’s perception of them, is damaged.
Make no mistake, the little Sprite’s body was a dead husk devoid of any life.

She lay upon the temple chantry in a darkened shadow, that lingered at the heart of the sun-drenched temple — draped in her white silver gown. With hair like the night that spilt down onto the white marble altar.

She waited.
A hollow vessel for her subjects to pour their tears into; They grieved for themselves. How could they possibly go on without her They lamented, to ears that could not hear and eyes that were incapable of seeing?

Beneath the veil of misfortune, a slender ray of light found its way to bathe her skin. There was something noteworthy in the sunshine, a tiny jot, as minuscule as a speck of a dust mite. It seemed brighter than the sunlight as it floated around beyond the influences of the tides of the air.

At least Her face looked tranquil, as she lied in death, with her sylphlike hands meeting across her heart. The small bead of light perched for a moment upon them and then as if it were a feather tumbling through space it ascended in a way that was not obvious for the flotsam and jetsam of the air.

In the blink of an eye, it had vanished, and the Brownies remnants lay still In the sunlight. Poor thing.
—–
It’s exceedingly rare for lost ones, like Li Elkie to dream, for some may claim their existence is illusionary, a malfunction of the brain, a piece of undigested breakfast. The Hungry Ghost found herself hunched over a bleacher and in earshot of the grown-ups while they conspired, and they drew their plans.
Some may even assert that it was not dreaming at all, that its nonconformity, lent itself to psychometry.
They May well be right.

Li Elkie sat in the temple’s Navel, alone, next to the small bundle of purple apparel that once was intended for her. A symbol of her coming of age. However, fate often weaved a cruel web and instead, it was bequeathed to the Brownie in her absence. She asked herself was she jealous?
The forlorn heap of clothing remained neatly folded and sat, a commodity of some interest, It was also a bitter reminder on two fronts of the life she might have lived and the life that had been her kindred spirit and a good friend in sorority.

She placed pica, the clockwork Doormouse beside the pile of linen and teased out the crimson ribbon from between the folds of cloth. As if Following a string through a maze, she reeled it towards her until it reached the mysterious sprites key. Studying it, she peeked at her reflection within the painite ruby.
She sought to picture Those bewitching dark eyes beaming back at her but only caught the amber light of her own. She stared around, over and between the intricately carved pews. As a sensation of misery and nausea began to come over her. The room started to swim as she was plunged for the second time today into darkness and then clouds
Soft white clouds. All around her as
Her memory waned to intense sunshine.

Aroused She awoke in another place, sprawled along the heartlines of a palm that belonged to a giant porcelain hand. She gazed long elegant fingers. Beyond which she could see endless flurries of clouds.

The hand itself was anatomically incomplete, a vestige of a grander sculpture, the rest of which was missing as she struggled to talk but instead shrieked melodically. Her voice resounded like the tootle of a birds call, a musical scale that grew visibly as she plumped out her chest and rose to the very summit of her tippy toes.
Alas, she could not quite make it to the final notes. She slumped back into a heap as the wind swelled and she tried again as the masonry began to shudder and shatter with the resonance of her song.
So then descent.
Falling, a shallow roller,
she was hurtling to earth against a backdrop of fluffy white clouds and a sky that turned from dark blue to azure and finally opaque coral.

It was not a horrible type of falling.
It was a slow trajectory. Like a feather, making its way toward the ground, her hair flapped, along with the cloth of her pashmina as she Landed gently.

She rediscovered her heart, thumping. Reunited at last. Long had it been absent; it vibrated not like the heavy thump of a bass drum; it was like the rich, vibrant thud of a bodhran that was struck sweetly and it stirred within her as she re-arose to her feet and shuffled along the albescent sand against a white background. It was as if a line had been drawn by hand. It was the distinguishing inky line between the earth and the heavens. The dust storms settled as Elkie observed a silhouette of herself far-off in the distance,
She recognised herself by her pale dress and black and red trousers, a descant soul trekking across a white sandy beach with ruins of buildings like broken skeletons buried by the ivory sands and time.

Footprints were laid out like breadcrumbs left in the sand for the littlest ghost to pursue.

The white sun was big in the pink sky as it beat down upon her as she rested upon a sandy dune
And stared out to the distant horizon.

It reminded her of camaraderie they were all together yesterday; it was only a while ago, although it seemed like an eternity now. She whirled around until she soon found herself standing on the quayside with the turquoise waves of the pure sea crashing softly on to the stone causeway near the tall domed buildings at her back; she inhaled the briny sea salt in the air felt the shade from the citadel wall and the swish of flora cascading down from the tall alabaster arches. Then she thought she perceived another soul in the sunshine. “Sprite is that you,” she said in Meese as her move-ment against the breeze jingled the little bells that draped from the hem of her silk scarf. Yet she never seemed to be any closer to her, she heard a voice carried on the wind it seemed to call her name in a distant but familial voice within her mind “Elkie!” it hailed, but she could scarcely make it out against the white noise of the sea. Moreover, she saw in the sky above, streaks of the night, within the daytime horizon, as she drifted toward the centre of the phenomenon. Advancing until she saw a statute of Leer the night goddess.
Reaching her destination, she stood perched on the night mothers’ right hand and metres away from her perfectly sculptured face. Then there was dark again, and she found herself raised off her feet as she hovered with the harmonies of her vocal scales. The hem of her camise ruffled to the tone of her music as the notes went higher and higher and ascended to highest she could muster in pitch as Shadows everywhere encroached steadily as the littlest ghost began to sing until the dark began to engulf her, hoping she would be drowned. Until all that remained was just the white of her face and the freckles on her petite nose. As she sang on. Until only the red of her lips and the sound of her voice, were all that persisted in the void. Then she sunk into blackness or to be more precise emptiness.

Another voice kulned on the distant air, Until the white — a song of night and day, a song of life and death.
It was light again. Once more, she stood before the statue of Leer as the black oil that had bowed her over began to re-treat away rapidly as Li Elkie straightened up and took a few steps unsteadily like a baby lamb. She sniffled and hugged the bust and gently laid her face upon its cheek in devotion. Placing a lone kiss on the face of her creator, she nuzzled her with her button nose as the statue impossibly shed a single tear.
She sensed all of Mars, every wave, every breath, every heartbeat the pull of gravity the slow of time.
As the omnipotent most high saw her for whom she was and was well pleased.

Then she heard a single voice in her mind “Elkie,”
It hailed.
“…. Jussy,”
all that lingered of the littlest ghost, the sole remnant of her was her burgundy pashmina that floated through the ether like a ghostly streamer of manmade origin.

The voice It had called her, back from the abyss back from the daydream as she declared loudly, clammy and wide awake “Eulin!” as if she was unsure herself.

A dull whistle barely detectable hung in the air, As she self-evaluated her status.

Oddly, She felt somehow altered as if a heavy stone had been hoisted from her shoulders, more ALIVE than dead.

She combed the immediate area, and could not recover where the voice had originated from, had she imagined it she queried herself, as she nurtured the seeds of self-doubt.
“oh’ gosh!” she grumbled.

She caught a shimmer from the periphery of her eye. It was the illucid moon goddess Yeva. “oh sweet silence” she said as if she were cursing but were above profanity “where is thy sting?” she directed her words and thoughts toward Elkie “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” she whispered… as a wave of emotion swept her away from elation to guilt and back again. She fought back the tears as she hugged her fiercely and blurted out “I’m so so sorry!”
Yeva looked oddly at her
“the sprite she’s…” her head dropped as she felt too ashamed to look at her and sighed heavily before continuing
“I failed,”
the goddess looked at her with those charming eyes that seemed to radiate majesty, as she answered in a tone that was unbinding somehow
“do you mean, you think you’ve failed,” she shook her head “but… it’s barely begun, much light and dark yet is still to come,”
“I… haven’t…” replied Elkie surprised as she leaned back to see the face of the goddess properly “No! Little one far from it,”. Perplexed and disjointed she chattered
“but princess…” she couldn’t find the words as she gulped and tried a few times to speak but tripped up over her own words
“-oh, dear… You are in a fluster,”
After a moment of grounding herself, Elkie put herself back together
“I don’t understand,”
“well, mayhap I can help with that,”
“how?” she adjured.
“what is it your heart’s desire?”
“mmmm… please can I ask you something?” she said curtly while musing upon the topic
“you may, but you might not receive the answer you intended,”
“Why did the sprite think she was from the blue planet?” Yeva passed her a fleeting glance as she began to explain.
“She went there once!”
“Once upon a time…. on a midsummer’s nights eve. I recall her dancing to soft lantern light, at a soiree. To a song of heroes. It was romantic, and It was… good craic, maybe one of the merriest times… She hadn’t a care in the universe, Can you imagine it, wine and song, friendly souls nature bathing to fireflies where the land meets the deep blue oceans, un-derneath tall evergreen trees, and above that white-crowned mountain and a star-filled sky… Earth is a peculiar beauty. And so, Leer left that memory deep inside her mind. Until it manifested outwardly in her appearance, deep within the fibres of her being where no elixir could undo.” she hesitated as she sought to simplify it further
“like breadcrumbs… to follow, should it ever be necessary to return to herself? A good question!”
the moon goddess continued as she had reached the part that remained the significance of the story
“in failure, there is a strength, a chance to return to yourself.” she lingered on the reverie of her current thread
“The Wraith, the Witch and the cuckoo-bee-spider… Are all pursuing one thing…. redemption of different sorts do not judge them too harshly Elkie. For I know they are good. Still, they are no match for the darkness that’s coming… No one person is, you’ll need her. The Silk Faery,” she added as a wave peculiarness swept over her
“and… The Hungry Ghost Li Elkie!” She turned with intrigue to look upon the Moon Goddess, but she had gone as if she were never there at all.

“The Silk Faery. But how?” she murmured under her breath puzzled.

She lingered a while longer, contemplating their conversation and her Navel when another shadowy figure fell across her, it was Tallulah who although looked different, still seemed terrible. As if thin wallpaper were stretched across her blemishes and hollowness, yet the cracks remained. Elkie shivered even for a ghost it was slightly unsettling.
“hi!”
she acknowledged trying not to be too standoffish, as she sat on the bench with an insignificant gap, about the space of a little person.
“-Ello.”
Her face seemed perfectly ordinary; she thought to herself., but she recalled their earlier encounter when the Wraith had tried to smite her. It was humiliating. Tal rudely interrupted her train of thought
“I want to apologise for when we first met. My actions were unacceptable, n’ I want you to know I am not a danger to you,”
even her apologies seemed somehow hollow.

“I know,”
Acknowledged the littlest ghost as she railed against her gut instincts. Against her better judgement, to embrace her and by osmosis and projection made a leap of faith that compassion was indeed the most potent remedy and the real teacher. She understood it was the Wraith’s weakness.
Tal began to cry slowly, a levee that had finally burst. She sobbed gently and unashamedly as if released for the first time in an eternity; she felt some small token of forgiveness and all her tears came down like soft rain from the lonely mountain, down the illusion that was a face.

Later.

Beneath the tapestry of ivy that crept up the pergolas and rustled in the faintest breeze, that wandered in from the dis-tant shore.

The littlest ghost stood parallel to the copper bells that hung in pairs, interrupted periodically by white marble columns the bells hung in two rows and Elkie stood in a direct line from them.
She was, out of sight.
As she reluctantly draped the Little Sprites key around her neck. She spoke to it tenderly as if she were communing with an imaginary friend, in a caring tone
“your mistress WILL find you, perhaps in the next life, but until then you can stay with me,”
the ribbon sat lengthier than it had done on the Brownies breast, as she tucked it underneath her clothing.

The four of them accumulated within the grounds, the temple’s atrium as they stood on the grey tiles and shaded themselves underneath the wisteria trees that were bunched up together to form a mini grove. Spiderling, Wraith, Ghost and Witch alike.
Joro- the temple caretaker, had put on her ceremonial armour. She held a curious rapier that looked almost like a large sewing needle; it was more for stabbing than slashing, then there was her helmet which had two cat-like ears that were huge and made her height even more substantial and androgynous looking.

Grozette, however.
Wrestled with her paraphernalia and was only halfway through the process, as a someone who threw on numerous shapes it was as tiresome as tying one’s shoelaces, she muttered away to herself as her sword ivry lay naked on a nearby step that led up to a tradesman’s entrance.

Then there was Tallulah who sported black armour that was so highly polished you could see your reflection in it along with a doublet of mirror scales that shimmered in the day-light. She looked the most formidable and disciplined of the three, the dark horse and the unknown quantity.

Jn joro seemed to sing a snatch of an old spider shanty? She whistled ever so softly and clicked now and then in tune to the reverent wind chimes, that tinkled in the breeze.

Spider spider
Are you here,
are you there,
are you even in the air,
You’re everywhere and nowhere,

Spider spider,
Standing far,
Standing near,
Corporeal in my fear,
In the silence feel thy sting.
On thy breath on tiny wings.

You’re my fly, and I’m the spider,
You’re my Tilla, and I’m the rider,
I am the one and only survivor,
I am the dread that is alive here.

Not a spider you can squash,
not a fear that you can quash,
not an enemy that you want,
Not a victim you can taunt.

You Can’t beat the high messiah,
I’m the one who’s gonna’ find ya,
So come like night and devils ire,
Spill your blood my one desire.

Into my parlour I invite ya.
You know my name,
it’s Spider spider.

an eerie aria, not a testimony to bravery by protagonists against impossible odds, but pride in one’s inherent ability and fearful reputation, perhaps it was an arachnid thing thought the little ghost.

Grozette looked overwhelmed as if she were keeping a secret that was impinging on her clarity of thought. She appeared the least organised member of the trio. As Elkie spake and tried to provide some small distraction.
“it’s so quiet,”
“It’s the calm before the chaos,” Grozette Replied in stoicism
Elkie recalled her own rhyme her father used to recite for her.
“life is like a reunion, and that’s how I first met you, we’ll meet again when eyes are weary half in half out between the spaces,”
It wasn’t much of rhyme more of a saying when she thought about it. She hadn’t managed such an eloquent delivery, but at least she had done it, a modicum of justice.

“why that’s beautiful,” uttered Grozette.
Awkwardly she decided she would broach another subject, “Grozette, remember when we sat for tea in your parlour… And you told us that story,”
“yes, I do!” replied Grozette in trepidation.
“The end of the story?” before she could utter another word, the Witch cut her to the quip “my you are sharp little one, if I had a weapon as keen as you, I would wager, my name would be infamous and legend, by now, ” she would have to give at least some kind of reply
“I knew you’d warm up to me…” remarked Elkie gingerly.
“The ending doesn’t matter,”
“What you need to know is,… it taught me a valuable lesson, made me appreciate the small things, made me a little bit sharper, run a little faster and jump a little higher,”
“You’re not going to tell me are you,” said Elkie fishing for the answer
“no, I’m not!” she snapped
“But, one day, you’ll know… At the end…. but until then, I have a question for youuuuu?” She said raising her eye-brows
“go on?”
“… what’s it really like,” she asked rhetorically
“what’s what like?” She quizzed perplexed
“you know!”
“You mean…” Elkie surmised being dead
“yeah,”
“I have no idea; it was just black emptiness. No thoughts, no consciousness, nothing,” the quietness was eerie, and it made them shrink with the finality of the littlest ghosts tes-timony “- and then you see it.” the last part divulged gave the Pa’mina a flicker of hope as she straightened like a moonflower reaching for the sun.
“What!”
“light, returning from a new star reaching onwards to the distant shore, and the feeling of euphoria and unconditional love,”
The trivial dealings and frivolity continued, but fear stayed with them as they found themselves closer to the edge as the timer began to run closer to the night and the Knightmare yet to come.