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________________poetry
Oasis
“Great Merciful God, father and birther of the heavens, earth and we disciples whom praise you; you, who permitted us to do as we will and walk blindly into the gaping jaws of destruction; you who sent down your organic spirit of death—incarnate of hate, hell spawn of torment to burn our world to ashes in his blood-stained incinerator; to bake the earth dry of everything you willed to create. You, too, watched as our fathers, brothers, sisters burned in the haunting fires of the underworld with bones glowing in their pale nakedness like the hot brimstone in which they lay. Blessed thee who slaughter your own children at the hands of another. Blessed be the cries of your children as they pleaded for you, as their hearts overshadowed with the faintest whisper of death. Praise be you, Holy Spirit, whom selected us to spill wave upon wave of virgin blood onto thine blessed alter. May you drink and be merry at your wretched apocalypse. May you be blessed.”
-Unknown
A.D. 3701
A millennia in forever has passed every so silently without a word uttered in its name. Seven days of fire, death and genocide were enough practicality not to question God’s will. As the earth lay barren, burning and seething, its surviving inhabitants grew again complacent and somewhat dumbstruck; no longer as fired with their molten passion like their pre-successors once were. Perhaps boldness and pride was never meant to last forever and a day as they once intended it to, and perhaps they indeed were the repetition of Adam and Eve, doomed or blessed to reside in their charred gardens of Eden. The old world led a tragic death and was left to turn restlessly in it’s grave as it’s children began anew, bastardized from it’s own alienated universe.
The new, infant world in turn gave birth to new, strangeling children. The deceasing human race had now to coexist with beings much like themselves, but considered by no means “natural”. In fact it could be said that they were as unnatural as one as biological as themselves could be. As their world slowly continued to wither under the aftermath of a millennia past, a mother’s children grew beautiful and strong—but as fair as they were, it did not succeed to overlook their abnormalities, ones wrought by the terrible altercations of normality as it was once known. It seemed as if creatures slain into nonexistence had reimbursed themselves into the shifting genes of humanity, a preserving retort to the altering biomes of the earth. Strangely, however, not all were effected, and thus each segregated the other for reasons they little understood—perhaps out of fear of diversity. Then again, that was always a tendency of man.
The unspoken days of fire plagued them still centuries later, where it’s remains sat buried beneath the rock and sand, for that was all that remained—rock and sand. But regions were spared, isolated in the vast and growing sea of gold, perhaps the only suitable areas left capable of supporting life. One unparticular “Oasis” is subjected to great curiosity-- a savior landmass oceaned by sand and heat—the sole resting place of objects that have not been touched by the catastrophe, offspring of a forested area of tropics that had not been dominated by the wave of death and destruction. It was almost mystical how such a fragile environment could exist on in such a harsh landscape. Those dwelled within remained hidden away from the blaring light and heat, untouched beneath the nearly impenetrable canopy of foliage. New insects dwelled here, glittering—almost bejeweled as what dim light soaking through reflected elegantly off their exoskeletons.
A stunning array of shingled light gleamed endlessly through the waxed leafage of the canopy. A small, individual ray cascaded fluidly along the branches, the warm light tickling a similarly hued hide of a strangeling child comfortably nestled in the folds of the mass quantity of greenery. Its skin seemed so pale, almost like a ceramic doll, but that could be expected from a considerable fear of sunlight. As it stirred, the intertwining foliage supporting him contorted to his body, a pair of black irises shuddering open and wincing against the penetrating beams, its frail limbs reclining over them. A few moments passed before the individual heavily lifted himself from the incline, slouching into a sit with a drowsy grunt. It seemed alone at the time, accompanied only by a hot breeze drafting in from some nearby exposure in the leaves.
“Tch’.. .” With an annoyed click of its tongue, the thin figure struggled to a crouch and eased himself into an unseen gap in the tangle of branches, stirring a frantic dragonfly whom, upon the boy’s landing onto the makeshift cobblestone path, had expelled a flitting trail of luminescence above him. Throughout this, there wasn’t a sound of life to be made, which could prove quiet awkward for any normal area of forestry. Where were the birds, and the various chirping insects that filled the nights and days of the green environment? Who knew? Violence to silence and vice versa was a never ending cycle.
Briefly brushing away the organic debris that clung to the tiny fibers of his clothing, he strode away in the direction which he had previously presented himself before. Although the stoned path lay stagnant in its crude construction, overgrown with mildew, mosses and various up-heaved roots, he treaded its decaying design like an intricate puzzle eternally branded into his gray matter. The boy’s unbound feet made harsh, scuffling noises as they, with minimal movement, evaded jagged stoned and fat roots that arched up from beneath the cobbles like a cresting wave, displacing all in its vicinity. As he continued on, thoughtlessly preserving the well-being of his extremities as he did so, these rapid-inducing disturbances in the earth became less frequent as the river of smooth stones flowed evenly throughout.
Voices grew near. The soprano tones adequately made up for the lack of bird calls, although the murmur of a relatively deeper pitch said otherwise for the rest of the populace. There were more of him indeed—many more. Around the leafy bend came a small grouping of harvest girls, straggling out to the gardening fields to collect what they had left behind that morning. Their head-mistress accompanied them, appearing somewhat more adult than the other girlish workers. Upon his passing and a brief “good day” exchanged, they went on their ways, a few individual’s girlish giggling silenced sternly by their superior.
The sprite-esque boy continued on in their opposite direction, paying no mind to the remainder of individuals that shared his path. He was much too isolated on his intentions to return to his home to be unrequitedly respectable. Dwelling on this, it did not take much longer before some hint of civilization to reveal themselves—sacred barrier totems. They were attractive to stop and look at, but as for a specific sensible purpose, none. The boy almost scoffed at the idea that a log of carved wood could protect evil spirits and tropical illnesses from entering their village and spreading among their people. It was comical, really. The next pair he strode through without much more than a glance, entering the small city accommodating the wildlife.
From a straightforward circumferential gaze around, there were no houses, no walkways, and the cobblestone road ended where he stood. There was only a network of rope ladders, and several armed guards surveying them. Selectively, he approached one. The machete-armed guardsman, whom was jointly in charge of the vicinity of entryways, eyed the boy as he did so, a curly grin developing behind that roughly bearded jaw. “You know, boy, the Grand Clergy doesn’t like you disappearing for hours on end everyday.”
The pale, lithe boy, stopping before him at a suitable distance, simply dug his hands into his woven pockets and smirked. That’s right, he smirked. “The Grand Clergy doesn’t own me. For all I do for them, they should let me do as a please when I please. Without me, those old farts would more than likely be dead already.” The guard, after a belated moment of thought, simply bellowed with laughter. What strong words from such a young man. He was barely fifteen and already challenging the authority of the higher order.
“Hah! That’s enough of that, now. Go on, you testy bastard.” With a gruff, good humored grunt, the burly man stepped aside, allowing the other to scale the height of the flimsy rope to the city above. The murmur of voices grew louder. Scores of feet above the earth were built the gallows of the township and as he crawled up to the entrance plinth, the scaling structures twining about ageless trees like petrified vines greeted him. The serpentine design of the habitat-compliant structures, withholding in its lengthy belly the private quarters of its builders, was evident proof of the hundreds of years of prosperity after the great day of reckoning. Perhaps the native tenacity of man played a fraction in their perseverance.
“Asgald.”
“Hello, Faustus,” replied the boy, whom immediately stepped up off the depressed platform. He knew the voice well. He perhaps was the only individual who didn’t shun him for his talents—no envy could take root in this child. The other stood complacently against a timber support pillar, managing to tear himself away but a moment to approach and properly greet his confidante. The porcelain, dark-eyed Asgald scarcely noticed him before, for his genetic abnormalities blended him in with the green and browns as well as any woodland lizard. His forearms and face were adorned with brown, ornate streaks, and his hair taking a mossy, evergreen tinge. He appeared much like the offspring of a tree—how quaint. You’d assume that he had developed a sort of sense for his camouflage at this point.
“I came back from hunting this morning and you were gone.”
“Sorry. I went out to the loft.”
“The council kept you up last night again?”
“Unfortunately.”
“If you stopped making them so angry all the time and undermining your duties, they wouldn’t have to preach all night at you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re taking their side.”
The two pursed into the flow of passerby traffic, which was especially heavy at this hour, crowding the small suspension lanes from housing “island” to island as many commuted home for the afternoon. The sporadic gaps in the tightly woven carpet canopy no longer blared with the diffused heat and light that, at midday, would seem near unbearable. The sun had drawn near it’s setting horizon, thus softening the infrared luminosity to a more comfortable temperament. They progressed, and the wooden supports gradually grew mildewed and browned as they did so. The older parts of the village were fairly old and had not been rebuilt in ages—there was no need really. The walkways were hollowed of people, for only the old council and grandeur resided here, much too old to leave their homes on a clockwork basis. The green haired Faustus stopped short of one small house in particular, making a nodding notion towards the door as if to silently communicate to the other that they were there. It was disrespectful to make unnecessary noises on these hallowed grounds. This near daily visit to appear before the council had become almost routine for the two—one as escort and other as casual defendant.
Civilly, Faustus tugged aside the weaved, tree-fiber curtain and allowed unhindered passage into the dark, dank hollow. The interior seemed dimly lighted and somewhat chilly, as if the interior had far surpassed the small, four walls which enclosed the perimeter from the outside, creating a like void. However, this sensation soon passed, and one’s eyes adjusted to the reluctant flame which cast down light from the ceiling peak. Asgald could sense now Faustus’s breath displacing the air, he too having entered behind him, and suddenly felt not so alone. Though the musky, distilled air and bleak reflection of flickering radiance, there came a voice, and the gazes of the boys turned towards the solitary, docile figure who spoke them. The council had dispersed already.
“Das Asgald and Faustus the huntsman, is it? You’re very late.”
“Forgive us, Head Chancellor,” Faustus softly spoke, through dignified in his reply. “I was not permitted off the upper village today. The hunters were about and none were allowed off the paths.”
The chancellor stood, peering through the bleak with pupils iced with old age, brows furrowed as if to silently, wordlessly scold the young healer’s apprentice—the Das. “And you, Das Asgald? Where were you, to be not able to confront the council today for these same atrocities from yesterday? Again, off the path and deep in the fowl grounds, no doubt.” The dark-haired, dark-eyed child, much too young for his manner, simply gazed back at the displeased old man. He cared not for his rebuke. To silently undermine the will of the chancellor was a daily offense, and yet he did it again and again repetitively. How reckless he was for such a young, unruly child.
“I cannot lie, lord chancellor. I was—and I will be there again tomorrow if the weather so permits it. I’ve been seeing hints of clouds lately—perhaps we’ll be getting that shower we so desperately needed. A fresh dampness would be good for the joints, wouldn’t you say?—“
“Enough of your foolishness, you unkind thing! Dare not mock my age, for my age is heavy with the wisdom you have yet to receive.” The old man, despite the dry hoarseness in his through, spoke harshly, glaring with his icy orbs into the other’s dual fortresses of darkness, un-mesmerized by the demon essence which swirled and torrent within. Such a frightening child, but he would not dominate an old man who had harbored such demons before. He stood and stepped aback, exhaling callously. “I will not tolerate your insubordination. You will appear before the council tomorrow when the great fire has risen just above the distant sands, when the sky is still pink with morning. You will do as you are told, Asgald, son of the sacrifice.”
The boy suddenly bristled, silently sucking a restraining breath into his lungs as the demons thrashed excitingly in his head, spitting fire into his eyes. How dare he mock him and his heritage? What right did he have? He stood immobile, so readily tempted to attack this unappreciative cur, who mistakes virtue and wisdom for old foolishness, but Faustus’s arms bound him there firmly. So often was he to restrain a terrible rage in his confidante and prevent him from inflicting harm on those who ignited this dreadful fire in his soul. So often did he take the punishing, angry blows for this suppression of his fury, all out of love. The old man left quietly, to return to his own home, slow and steadily like the turtle, rest assured in his safe passage. The two were left, one trembling in his own festering spite.
“He shouldn’t have said that about my father, Faustus.. he—“
“I know. He’s a stubborn old man with much wit. He wants to break you, Asgald. You mustn’t let him catch hold of you.”
“.. I know. I’m sorry, Fautus. Thank you. I could have done something terrible to that old bastard.”
They left, with the recovering troubled leading the way back through the dusk. Only the lightly armed guardsmen of the upper village occupied the streets, making occasional rounds through various parts of the town to rid the streets of perching tree snakes and other limb-residing beasts that may bring harm to those wandering the conduits in the morning. They passed many without much of a glance. They were warriors, and it was tradition to pay them respects with silence. Due to the dark one’s rank, it was not long before they reached his own living vicinity, scaling the serpentine spiral staircase which perched engraved into the bark of a great tree, giving an impression in itself of just how great and large and wide a tree it was—more ancient then any that had been until it’s children grew to similar sizes, scattering themselves throughout the oasis with their gargantuan bodies.
The bark was laid with ivory and bone, decoratively reinforcing the homes of those who resided there and made the old grandmother foliage glow white and delicate with radiance. Only those of rank earned the right to reside here. They scaled its mass height some ways, dragging their fingers gently against the bleached white bone and tusk as if to maintain some sort of hold, however the lightest, to the tree. The leading Asgald stopped in his tracks, casting a fleeting look back over his shoulder, before returning his face to its hidden angle, overshadowed with thought. “Faustus? I saw the sky again today. Did you know how blue it was? It’s hardly ever blue anymore. It’s hard to believe my existence could be so plagued by something that came down from that blue sky a thousand years ago.” His voice turned solemn halfway through his train of thought, drowning to a soft whisper, like a weary child in need of sleep. It was mournful, almost. “It hurts to think how worthless my family’s sacrifices have become. One of my children will have to be taken from me. Do you know how that feels.. Faustus?”
Faustus paused, taken aback by such docile words of such a depressing manner. He knew well the grief of his family line—the sacrifices—the doom of one young adult of one blood every other generation. He was lucky enough to be born on an odd generation, but what of his father and children? Though he had been spared, he had not been spared from the secret grief. “No. I would be lying if I said I knew what that feels like. They have no right to judge you and not take into account your own sorrow of the past and that which is to come. However.. ,” He initiated a hiatus in his speech then, slowly approaching the other and resting an assured hand on his shoulder to dilute the sense of despair, “I believe that not all things can be bound to tradition, and although they have a right and purpose to keep you here, they cannot hold you. There is one way you can spare yourself.”
An awkward silence swept over the two, and the warm, sun-baked breezes swiftly swept over them, carrying with them loose flaps of clothing and unbound hair. Asgald, no longer so much stricken with dread as disbelief, slowly turned about, staring deeply into his friend. “What you are suggesting to me is death, is that it, Faustus? You would have me leave here and stray out into the desert to die? Faustus, my friend! How can you shamelessly look me in the eyes and tell me to die for my “self benefit”!”
“Still yourself, Asgald! I said no such thing!” He clutches Asgald’s shoulders and shook him lightly, pulling him to him in a hug of restraint, forcing his shoulders to his torso and thus supplying some sense of security. “Still yourself. If I would have wished to you your death, I would have forced myself upon you to take me with you, for I would rather die in a battle against the sun then against death in my lonely old age, without my dear friend Asgald to guide me.” The pre-said Asgald hushed at that, quieted with shame of his harsh assumption, much like a scolded child. “Now listen to me, my friend. If you find it displeasing to be here, I will help you, for my love for you is greater then any punishment they could inflict on me in suggesting this to you. The traders often come two and fro between this and another oasis several days away, but it is close enough to manage survival between them. I often was assigned to guard their entry biannually. Do you recall these traders, Asgald?”
“I do”
“Excellent.” The boy relinquished hold of his friend, whom had thus since calmed. Nodding upwards, as to insinuate the location of their more secure continuation, they climbed several more steps, finally approaching a familiar tethered flap over an entryway into the tree, intricately designed with an independent mark distinguishing it from the others. Entering a less than dank and dim hollow-space, makeshift tin tea candles were lit as they sat in the midst of the animal-skinned floor and continued on.
“They should be coming in the next few days now, or so the moons and the calendar say. They come when the days are coolest. I am always stationed to guard the merchants during their stay in the night. I have saved them alone many time and again since I was a boy, and many of the old ones who remember me are indebted. I can make special arrangements for our departure with them to the other oasis. However, I must know if you are willing to make the journey with them, and are sure that this is what you want.”
Asgald thought long and hard about this, but neither stirred for fear that one would ruin the other’s concentration, Was it worth it? Would the traders even agree to such a thing, knowing that he was intended to father the next sacrifice to be offered to the very being that caused these deserts to swell over the land and divide it’s people? Changing them in ways that even they knew not possible?
Or did they even have to know?
“I’ll do it. “
"Where no one notices the contrast to white on white."
~Mallory W.
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