“What manner of imbecile art thou?” scathed an elder in my direction. “Have you the manners of a dung-beetle, or did you sot yourself out on Rimelda’s ale, you wretched and slovenly ‘gah-yin’?”
The truth of it was I had enjoyed more than one tankard of brine during the tales so skillfully wielded by Rimelda, she with the talented tongue. Had she not been quick to fall into the arms of the dark, brooding man such as only nightmares conceive, I would have fancied a turn at some of the other tricks Rimelda could perform with her tongue. The warriour keeping all suitors at bay, I departed her hearth to see what other sorts of minstrels were about for this festival. Only the most satirical turns of fate put me here, standing in front of a grizzled old man, bent so from the weight of his age I could see the hump of his spine.
“I - “
“I’ll have no more of your feeble excuses, boy!” the elder exploded, cutting me off before uttering my greetings. “I am Proprietor here, first of the House of Xon and Keeper of the Book! There will be no insolence in my house!”
As a visitor to this village, I was not at all certain how to handle the temper of this man; indeed, I didn’t even know how his house was situated in the complicated political landscape of this borough. Oh, to be home again and amongst my kin —
“Grandfather?” asked a young boy, menacing me with a dagger from the doorway behind the Proprietor, “Will this ‘gah-yin’ be staying for supper, or shall I show him the outside of our door?”
The boy was no more than eight or nine, yet there he stood, in open defiance of the difference in age and size between us. What scared me was the complete lack of fear in the boy’s eyes; he seemed to actually believe he could best me.
“William, fetch your mother,” the Proprietor commanded, then added with a toothless smile and odd twinkle in his eye that caused a shiver to snake its way through my belly, “and my sword.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“But I — I only meant to find a warm place to sit and toil away the remainder of the day nestled in the arms of a good fable,” I protested weakly, suddenly very concerned about the escalation of the situation, “and the sign out front — it reads, ‘Library of Xon.’”
“This is a private library, ‘gah-yin’,” spake a female voice. Then appearing from her concealment behind a stack of books, my eyes beheld the fairest of any in my dreams. “We do not take kindly to folk of your — persuasion — treading upon our hallowed ground.”
I then noticed her rapier. An elegant weapon, not suited for the battlefield, but well suited for tight quarters (as was what I was within) and a quick hand (as the woman undoubtedly was).
“Your sword, Grandfather.”
William had returned, handing the Proprietor his sword. From the sword a warmth erupted, bathing me in radiant heat and light. Not quite blinded, I was certain the Proprietor was beginning to stand upright.
“Speak quickly and honestly, ‘corpse’,” the Proprietor said, able now to raise the sword’s point to my neck, “else El-Xon-ya will smite you with such force your forefathers will find your bones in their cemet’ries!”
Within the aura and under the spell of the Proprietor’s sword, ‘El-Xon-ya’, I was able to understand the slang ‘gah-yin’ as the word ‘corpse’. This family had been referring to me as though I were already dead!
“I have spoken the truth already! Please I meant no affront by entering — I truly believed this was a library and freely open to those in attendance of the festival!”
Only the light battering my eyes gave answer. As adjusted as they could be under the onslaught of the sword’s light, my eyes belied the Proprietor’s appearance. No longer did a broken down old man stand before me — then there stood a warriour of such stature that the one over which Rimelda fawned looked feeble and frail by comparison. Surely I would die in that room.
“Grandfather,” spake the woman again, “he speaks the truth.”
“So says El-Xon-ya,” replied the warriour, no longer looking the part of ‘Grandfather’. Lowering the sword, he asked, “Would you care to sup in the House of Xon this night, stranger?”
Knowing of nothing else to say, I respond shakily, “M-most k-kind.”
Handing his sword back to William, the Proprietor had once again returned to his grandfatherly self.
My eyes slowly adjusting to the change in luminance, I looked towards the woman to find her gone.
The elder turned and started shuffling towards the next room, William helping his grandfather walk. “Come, stranger, come in and be welcome. None in the land will be able to question the hospitality of Xon.”
My feet seemed to have grown roots for my legs did not respond to thoughts of following. A brief smile backward from William and I found my volition again.
“Grandfather,” William said, “it is the festival season, is it not? Why then should we not open our doors to the humble and quiet, and allow them to read from our library?”
“Eh?” the old man intoned, mulling the boy’s suggestion, “we would have to be ever vigilant, else our books and stacks will be thieved upon and our graciousness abused.”
“Perhaps not, grandfather,” said the woman, appearing again, this time behind me, “Perhaps we could commission our stranger to be accountable for all that we have, as it was his interest in the first place that brought him to us. The consequences of greed and poaching be his head.”
I had no choice.
Thus, it is I that bids you good day, weary Knight. Be welcome to my humble Sanctuary. My name is Pscyclone and I am caretaker of this place.
Welcome to my little hovel of the internet. In this area of my pit you will have insight into a dark and malevolent world as well as see non-fiction at its most grotesque. Here and there where I find moments of grace I’ll reveal no-less grotesque fiction for the morbidly curious and daft.
This is not a journal in the secretive sense of the word, so those of you looking for drama and gossip may now leave. The two of you that remain are welcome to peruse the status of my various projects and how I’m limping along, all interspersed with commentary on current events that are colored in a way uniquely my own.
Of course, never one to limit myself (since there are already so many artificial barriers in this life), I don’t feel the need to temper my thoughts or restrict my topics to the mundanity of technical remarks. You may find diatribes lamenting lamentless nonsense in a long string of lamentable nonsense from the world around me. You may find nonsense from my world within me and you are welcome to it. In short, be prepared for anything and be surprised by nothing.
Now suitably warned, you may proceed.
