While the wizardlings worked in construction, repair, and every manner of manual labor, the humans lived a life of decadence and luxury when they were not inventing ever more complex machinery. The little people served their overlords delicate meals, operated their fanciful vehicles, and cut and fitted luxuriant clothing in exchange for a drop of progeny-enabling blood. There were easily a thousand workers for every master.
The Duchess and Waerlogus made another time jump but stayed within the park. The fairy village was deserted and the surrounding city had decayed into sad slums. Four-foot tall wizardlings roamed the streets and looked thin and haunted. They did not see a single human, nor were any workers involved in productive labor. Trash piled along the sidewalks, and storefronts stood neglected and abandoned. Waerlogus looked towards the Duchess questioningly, but she averted her eyes and swept them once more into the air.
At a certain height, she pointed out a dozen or so isolated compounds located on the tops of outlying hills or the middle of wide valleys. Each building was unique and exotic and reminded them of rambling mansions out of fantasy tales. The Duchess chose a specific mansion for closer inspection.
Every room in the house contained an alcove that housed complicated machinery designed to manipulate the fabric of magic, which was created within tubes of Essence. The appliances created everything from breakfast to furniture and clothing for the twenty occupants, each human and clearly from the same family line. There was not a wizardling in evidence. Waerlogus suddenly began to feel nauseous, and a blinding headache skewered his skull. He was overcome with a feeling of dread and began sweating and shaking. He turned towards the Duchess with pleading eyes.
"There is something wrong here, can we leave? I am feeling unwell."
"Courage! One more stop and we can rest."
They moved to a domed building, one connected to each of the others in the compound by enclosed tunnels. They floated through the curved ceiling like the insubstantial observers they were and settled against a wall in a room filled with esoteric machinery. They finally found a near-wizard, the lone who stood with his head bowed and shoulders stooped.
Waerlogus closed his eyes in weariness and pinched his nose, an affectation mirrored by the slightly smaller figure before them. Waerlogus was certain he had never seen this individual, but something about him was inherently familiar.
When the wizardling eyes opened, they filled with stern resolve. He turned full circle, checked dials and gauges, and furtively around one more time. His face, by happenstance, aligned with Waerlogus and the Wizard recognized his younger self as memory flooded back.
Waerlogus-the-younger pulled a large lever while the Duchess put her hand on the shoulder of Waerlogus-the-elder and shot them well out into space to observe as the world changed. A whirlpool that consisted of alternate bands of Magic and Essence expanded from their previous location. The maelstrom engulfed the entire world, and reality blurred. Three distinct Realms occupied the identical space, like the layers of an onion shaped into a Klein bottle.
Even though he could not see the fine details from that distance, Waerlogus knew what processes were taking place. The Magic and all the wizardlings separated from the Earth into one realm while Essence filtered into another, which left the humans bereft of either, but in sole possession of linear time.
“I just wanted to protect our people." Waerlogus said, clearly in distress. "It was entirely my fault, and now everyone is suffering, Wizards and humans alike!"
"Perhaps that is why we are currently in a position to fix things, at least to the extent where we can spend the rest of our days helping and healing. You succeeded in the creation of two pocket universes, and all of this will respond to your will if you want it passionately enough."
Waerlogus squashed his self-pity the moment he recognized the useless emotion. His character may not have changed in the immeasurable time since the event he just witnessed took place, but he was pleased to recognize he had matured. He accepted full responsibility for his actions and was willing to offer himself in atonement as reparation.
"You're mostly right, my dear Duchess, but my creations have also grown into their own personhood. Thankfully, I feel loved and respected, as from a child that desires wise direction from their parent. However, keep in mind that this creation now has a will of its own. There will be hard labors ahead to put things right, but all the time of eternity to do so. And thank you. I would never have found my way back to a sound mind without you."
~o0o~
The Crimson King reclined in the Dream Temple and enjoyed the psychological suffering of his people. His entourage stood about the forecourt and enjoyed the reduced gravity and the preoccupation of their King. None were aware that their salvation was emanate.
Waerlogus and the Duchess of Fire nonchalantly walked through the front gate to the astonishment of those with enough fortitude to notice. The two took separate paths as Waerlogus sought out Peter and Jesse while the Duchess found her sister. She started to give the Black Queen an embrace, but the tar-like substance that issued out of the cracked skin prevented the simple gesture.
Waerlogus and the Duchess walked off with their charges unmolested. No one dared interrupt the King, or confront these legendary figures of power, nor worst of all follow them into the increased gravity field beyond the perimeter.
Jesse was the first to break the silence, "Why isn’t the gravity crushing us?"
Waerlogus placed a compassionate hand on her shoulder and said, "All that will soon be over. The question you now face is how much are you willing to sacrifice to heal your brother?"
"I will not give in to his lust. I am weary of this world, and I would willingly do anything else, even exchange my life to give him back his own."
"Not only Peter, but by giving your life you can heal more than you can imagine. Do not look so glum, because through your sacrifice you will never truly die."
Peter found the emotional passion he had thought long dead, as well as the realization he valued his sister’s life above his own. He shouted, "Why do you torture us with riddles! I won't let you sacrifice her, take my life instead.”
"Aye, it will be your sacrifice also, but only if she agrees. If you both are willing, I shall enjoin you in matrimony."
"But you know the law; Wizards neither marry, nor are given in marriage! As grotesque as it has become, I do not wish to destroy the world” Jesse exclaimed.
"I should know the law, I created it. Did you never wonder why the proscription exists? The point of nuptials is as a precursor to progeny."
“But Wizards aren't born.” Jesse replied quizzically.
“All things have a beginning, just as all things end. It is transitions that provide continuity, and that is all I'm willing to say. If you both submit to this destiny, I personally guarantee that grateful generations will never forget. Now, kneel together before me."
"Is there a long ceremony? What is expected of us?” They asked over the top of each other.
"I won’t prolong your suffering. Given your mutual stated resolve to wed, I declare you husband and wife. Rise and embrace! And bless you both."
They hugged, not out of lust or rapacious, but mutual love and tenderness. To the bystanders, they seemed to melt into one another to form one perfect being. He/she smiled and suddenly exploded into millions of tiny Magic-plant seeds that wafted into the winds.
One imbalance corrected, thought Waerlogus in satisfaction.
The Black Queen had remained silent throughout the event, but then her voice cracked with emotion.
"My torture has lasted beyond endurance. If I can not be healed, are you able to end my life meaningfully too?"
She looked imploringly at Waerlogus.
"Those who come into this Realm together must need leave together."
The Duchess held back her sister's hair and kissed her gently on the forehead, despite the foul viscous smudge left on her lips.
"I have seen, dear sister and my Quee
n, what we and the humans could have been. We all see that which we have become. With our sacrifice and Waerlogus' constancy, I believe all may regain our proper destinies. Come, sister, let us shake the Realms."
The Duchess embraced her sister and nodded towards Waerlogus. He closed his eyes and communed with the Realms and opened his heart and his hopes for a reunited world. The Black Queen and the Duchess blurred into momentary triplicates of themselves and snapped back into one reality, an echo of the three realms which also reunited after eons of isolation.
The sisters grasped each other's hands, as Magic and Essence flowed between them. The substances united and transmuted into simple but elegant electricity, a weakened version of either but a dynamic blend of both.
~o0o~
With the decline of Magic, millions of Wizards looked around in wonder as they flowed into in the now combined realms. They reverted to their former state and became subject to natural physical laws. Only a fraction of them survived the coming years, and retreated to hide in the wilderness and became the origins of many myths and stories.
The few hundred-thousand scattered humans that had survived the war's horrors, although tough, were exhausted and despondent. They too retreated to the wild places, where they and the wee ones first learned to cooperate to survive, and then thrive by forming a symbiotic society. Waerlogus worked circumspectly at the margins of history with support and encouragement. He never again acted as dictator, but did become the source of his own myths and legends
~o0o~
. The second imbalance, following that of Jesse and Peter, began to heal with the joining of the Realms, and that left just one final act for Waerlogus to oversee. As he walked back towards the Dream Temple, the denizens of the court retreated to the walls and cringed in terror at the sudden changes to their world. The near cessation of Magic broke the Crimson King’s hold over the blood life-force of his "puppets". Each all sat where they had dropped and welcomed the release of death. The Crimson King, bereft of his victim’s blood and power, lay naked on his couch and resembled nothing more frightening than a thin white worm. He barely retained the strength to train his deep-set pools of concentrated hatred-filled eyes on Waerlogus.
"I am so sorry, C.K. No mortal has the wisdom to play God, let alone the former immortal Wizard who stands before you. I have truly learned my lesson, and I believe you have suffered as much as anyone. I vow to do what I can to return you to that innocent young farm boy I first met. The restoration process will not be pleasant, and the anger and fear will fight within you for continuance. You must accept the pain you have caused others, and then you can release your own guilt and find peace."
~o0o~
The forecourt of the Dream Temple filled with chattering and excited five-year-olds, both human and wizardlings. They were the fourth generation to participate in this rite of passage through childhood. For eighty years, their parents and their parent’s parents had stood where they stood; ready to make their contribution to the continued healing of the world. Each held a small golden-fruit dream catcher, which had sat by their bed since their birth. Just enough Magic remained in the world to put the miniature Magic plants to minor usage. In this case, they helped lessen the impact of bad dreams, and captured good dreams they could replay at will.
The doors to the Temple opened, and one by one, each child solemnly placed their dream catcher at the head of the former Crimson King. They offered up their most favorite dream, a sacrifice signifying their willingness to give their best for the sake of others and enter society as a full citizen of their own will. The innocent childhood dreams of sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, and puppy kisses continuously replayed in the hopes of restoring C.K. to humanity.
~o0o~
He suffered; oh how he suffered!
~end~
Chapter 11: Author’s Notes
As the title implies, I am diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. For those unfamiliar with the condition, we are a subgroup that shares certain genetic variations in the hardwiring of our brains. In a metaphorical sense, we are as different from an "average" person as a cat is from a dog. We are not broken people any more than a cat is a broken dog, although one would have more success explaining that truth to a dog than to the average person. Even a cat understands they make horrible dogs, but because of the pack-nature of dogs, cats are always the ones expected to change.
I have two main goals in publishing my stories; the first is to give an insight into one Aspie's world view, and the other is to give hope to anyone with life challenges (such as D.I.D.) that it is possible to become successful on your own terms and use both your strengths and weaknesses to surmount any obstacle.
The majority of my story ideas are based on semi-autobiographical incidents, hopefully presented in enjoyable, or at least entertaining, simile and metaphor, with the addition of less pure fantasy than one would expect.
In addition to Asperger's, I also fall under Dissociative Identity Disorder, previously known as multiple personalities. This is another highly individualistic condition and if anything, even more misunderstood than Asperger’s. For me, I live nine distinct lives within one body. In my case, each of these identities is me, but can only accesses the memories they experience while in control (or “up front” in D.I.D. speak.) They seem to shift randomly, but I have recently had some success with intercommunication.
Different stories are written by different personalities, and longer stories often end up with multiple authors, which further explain a lack of cohesion in style and subject matter. Many of these stories could easily fill their own novel, but my inability to maintain continuity became so frustrating I decided to shorten them. In many instances, this forces me to perhaps put too many concepts and transitions into a short story format, but it seems the only way, for me, to share them.
A further contributing complication is Prosopagnosia, also known as face blindness. It is estimated that 2 to 3 percent of the population experience some form, and the condition is associated with the part of the brain that attaches emotion to and imbibes a cohesive individuality to a collection of facial features. I cannot look at a face and see it as a whole, which means I cannot recognize family or friends by sight, even my lovely bride of fifteen years, or my own daughter.
This also comes out glaringly to some in my stories, since lengthy descriptions of character facial attributes and expressions are meaningless to me, and I always feel that writing something for which I am ignorant comes across as artificial. This gives you the reader a unique opportunity to participate in the storytelling and design character’s physical features to your own expectations and perhaps enhance the experience.
To round off this exhibition of the bizarre, and give one final refutation to anyone who might wish to claim that their situation is too insurmountable to follow their dreams, I spent thirty-two years without sleep. A horse kicked me on the left temple when I was four, which damaged the Hypoglossal nerve that opens throat muscles when taking a breath while sleeping or unconscious. This was not known at the time; so as a result, whenever I tried to sleep, I could not breathe until my blood oxygen level depleted, and my brain would wake my body enough to take a few breaths.
At age 36, technology finally caught up, and I was properly diagnosed, confirming that, for those three decades, I never slept more than a minute or so, certainly not long enough to enter a REM dream state. I've been treated successfully with a type of respirator, but I'm still not sure about the whole dreaming experience. The brain is a wonderful thing, and given half a chance, finds ways around even the most extreme conditions and barriers. Through these experiences, I believe I have more access to my subconscious thoughts, feelings, and processes than most.
As a further example of the power of determination, I experienced a stroke which caused temporarily loss of the power of speech and the ability to write with my dominant hand, and still experience extreme headaches when trying to type, especially while creating fiction. Along with several ph
ysical mobility challenges, which I won't go into here, that was perhaps the lowest point of my life. Between the dogged determination of my Aspie nature and the multiple viewpoints of my multiple personalities, I experimented with voice-to-text software, and this book is testament to that success.
Before the explosion of e-publications, none of this would have been possible as the mainstream publishing industry would never take a chance on something so far out from the ordinary, but then again, my intended audience is not ordinary, rather extraordinary. For the more visually imaginative among you, I have a gallery of several hundred works of digital art that I use as a secondary outlet of expression and internal dialogue, at https://veguitarat.deviantart.com/gallery/. Once again, the purpose of posting what amounts to a personal journey is to encourage others to find their own outlets. Now, go be inspired, or at least entertained.
~end~
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