Friday, July 24, 2015

Story for the Day: Fuinnog, God of the Sky

In the Frewyn pantheon, there are numerous circles of gods and goddesses, all of them related, all of them worshiped in their turn, but not all of them well-liked by one another. The Four Sons --Frannach, Borras, Aoidhe, and Menor-- don't get on well with one another, and while other Gods like Paudir, Ogham, Persays, and Reis are peaceable, they would rather spend time amongst their worshipers than they would with one another. Fuinnog, God of the Sky, acts as the peacekeeper between the divine groups, and while some are generally pleased to see him, not everyone appreciates his presence:  



There was the whisper of the evening breeze passing through feathers, the sound of large
wings beating in a rushing rote, and the image of a gorm appeared, immense and threatening, lighted by some silver glamour, its outline glowing iridescent. It landed on the brow of the hill and flapped its wings, the force of which compelled the tall grass in the issuing fields to prostrate under the power of its presence. It raised its head, its breast exultant, its plumage preened, its beak raised, its ancient regalia affording a grace that only the gentry of centuries passed could promise. It waited on the brow of the hill, its head canted, his eyes unblinking, and when it ruffled its feathers to command attention, there was a rumble of discontent: “…Go away, you.”
The gorm tilted its head, and watched as Aoidhe continued devouring Chune’s large breasts. It waited patiently, and when it was given no more attention, it cawed and flapped its wings.
Aoidhe raised his head from Chune’s endless vale and clenched his jaw. “Always gotta have a song and dance in it,” he huffed. “Better hush up that racket. All that rufflin’s makin’ the back o’ my neck itch.”
“Aoidhe,” said Chune, in a plaintive tone, “be kind to him.”
Aoidhe scoffed and waved a hand at the gorm. “Away ya go, Fuinnog. Go make a storm somewhere, with yer lightinin’ and thunderin’ and such. Ain’t no one asked you here.”
The gorm raised its head, admiring the moon and glorying in the lunanata. Tributaries of crepuscular silver trickled down from the luminaries, bathing his feathers in splendid light, and the gorm’s form began to flicker, relinquishing its avian features to the argent glow. The light diminished, leaving the figure of a large man in its place, his features defined, his gaze unwavering, his countenance half defiant and and half arch.          
“I did not know I needed to be summoned to  visit,” said Fuinnog, his voice smooth and sonorous. He shook out his plumed mane, a few feathers fell to the ground, and the lingering delitessance melted away, revealing his well-muscled form, his shoulders painted with fulgurous streaks, his neck etched and garlanded with plumate shapes. His eyes flicked back and forth, inspecting Aoidhe as he continued roving, and stepped closer to them, canting his head and watching with blank look.
“We’re busy blessin’ things,” Aoidhe asserted, turning is back.
Fuinnog raised a brow. “I see,” was all Fuinnog’s answer, mantling over Aoidhe’s shoulder.
Aoidhe browsed Chune’s nape with his lips, but Fuinnog’s wretched perching made his fists tighten and his arms shake. “ Leave aff that botherin’,” Aoidhe shouted, turning to Fuinnog. ”Ain’t no one wantin’ you here.”
“Actually, there is someone who does.”
“Who? I didn’t hear no farmers askin’ you fer rain.”
Fuinnog shook his feathery mane and smiled to himself. “Generous of you to think they would need my blessing when their hard work is enough, but I do not need prayers to be here or anywhere.”
There was a pause, Aoidhe was pensive, and Fuinnog only gave him a look that appropriated nothing.
“The Aul’ Man sent you?” said Aoidhe presently.
A vague smile appeared in the corner of Fuinnog’s mouth, and Aoidhe writhed in all the agony of irritation and rolled his eyes.
“What’s he want?” Aoidhe demanded. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ I ain’t supposed to.”
Fuinnog’s feathered brows arched. “You have been quite busy, Aoidhe.”
“Aye, always. What’s here this interrigatin’?”
Here was a pause, and the two gods glared at one another, on one side impassive affection, on the other all teeming agitation.
It was Fuinnog who spoke first. “You know you are not allowed to interfere—“
“Oh, aye?” Aoidhe interposed. “Wanna talk to me about interferin’ and all? Didn’t say nothin’ to you when you took Romhaine home.”
Fuinnog was silenced, and Aoidhe seemed pleased with himself.
“Thought so.” Aoidhe humphed and waved a dismissive hand at Fuinnog. “Aff you go, now. Nothin’ doin’ but sowin’ the seeds. ‘Less you came to watch us.”  
Fuinnog half smiled. “I had not intended it, but if you are going to invite me—“
Aoidhe snuffed and made a low growl. He had done with this game; he was grown used to Fuinnog’s admonitions, but his placid tone, his easy character, his hateful intrusions would not be borne. His fury frothed, and stepping closer to Fuinnog, he thundered, “Whadda ya want, Fuinnog?”
Fuinnog blinked. “A seat was found.”
“Aye. So?”
Here was a pause, Aoidhe chewed the shank of his pipe, and Fuinnog stared at him with raging tranquility.
Fuinnog tilted his head to the side. “Whose seat was it?”
“Weren’t yours, weren’t mine, so cimonna hashiff ‘fore I ash my cinders in yer eye.”
“You could not best me—“
“Oh, no, bai?” Aoidhe bellowed, looming over Fuinnog. He rolled his sleeves, and flexed his enormous chest, his arms contracting with terrific might. “After findin’ that out?” he breathed, in a nebulous wrawl, the brume pouring over Fuinnog’s expressionless face. “Yous couldn’t even put Uscen down without me. Had to get me in it so’s it could be settled. Ain’t no one know how to wrangle Frannach like I do. I restrained the Aul’ Man’s First Born. Think I can’t best you, bai? Yer a minnow compared to that bastard. And you gonna stand here and tell me what’s what?”
Aoidhe’s outline expanded and pulsed. His eyes narrowed and smouldered with an amber hue, his chest surged with breath, his muscles contracted and swelled. His eyes, once kindly, now blazed with violent indignation; the bowl of his pipe, once cinders, was now a rampant flame. He exhaled, smoke billowed forth from between his teeth, and a fire flared in the back of his throat. His hat vanished, and his hair alighted in vicious conflagration, his immense form suddenly by the sweltering anger that only the God of Fire could produce.
Seeing Aoidhe revert to his divine form made Chune a little fearful for Fuinnog, who was remarking Aoidhe with fascination. It was true, however, what Aoidhe had said: Aoidhe had subdued Frannach and quelled the disquieting feelings of one god at least. His might was equal to that of Borras, but the patron God of Westren was too tranquil and tolerant to restrain Frannach as he ought. Fuinnog must own that his own strength, though formidable, was dreadfully moderate compared to that of a Son of Diras. He was only a relation, a feeble bough on the Divine Tree, and though he had his own abilities to recommend him as a terrible and remarkable God, his strength was not Aoidhe’s. The flames surrounding Aoidhe brizzled and burned, the ground beneath him trembled in violent trepidation, a distant rumble fulminated across the northern plains, the nearby sea stirred with furious animation, the waves thrashing against one another and battering along the coast with a deafening rote. The crepitation from Aoidhe’s incinerating flesh hissed, furloes danced along his shoulders, smoke poured off him in fuming exsibilation, and Aoidhe smouldered before Fuinnog is all his glory, revealing Himself as a true Son of Diras, a beacon of Magnificence, weltering in the fullness of his highborne Right. He loomed over Fuinnog and exhaled, black smoke streamed out from his nose and mouth, his eyes and alae flaring, and Fuinnog’s arms began to radiate, an incanesent light weaving a feathery loom. Wings threaded with moonbeams painted a phantasmagoria across a blackened sky, and Aoidhe’s fists erupted in flame, the two Gods boasting their own claims without diminishing those of the other.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Story for the Day: Aoidhe and Chune -- Part 2


Cgnita’s letter arrived first, being only come from Barrellynn and the Haven, but it was the letter         
                “I am being made chief of the expedition!” Eilen cried, tumbling into the infirmary, her arms flailing. “I’m being made chief of the expedition!”
                She waved the letter about in a panic, and Cgnita nearly dropped the arm he was examining as he stood to greet her.
“That is excellent news,” Cgnita proclaimed, resisting the urge to embrace her while a patient was by. “I am absolutely delighted that the society is going to be allowing you to—Mrs Whittaker, really, if you don’t stop moving, I will never get this bandage on.”
                “Fah!” the old woman grunted. “Didn’t even look at my arm!”
                “Oh, I am sorry,” said Eilen, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
                “Not at all—I did look at your arm, Mrs Whittaker, very thoroughly, and as I told you before, it was only a bruise. I am bandaging you for your own comfort, because you will not accept any other treatment. There is nothing else the matter with you.”
                The old woman glanced at Eilen and then at Cgnita. “Never had a girl in here before,” she grumbled. “This your lady friend?”
                “Yes,” said Cgnita impatiently, “she is my lady friend,” though, when he said it, he instantly began to smile. “Yes,” with fond inflection, “this is indeed my lady friend. Mrs Whittaker, this is Eilen,” gesturing her to come forward. “She is a prehistorian and an archaeologist for the Frewyn Archaeological Society—so whatever designs you had on my marrying your granddaughter, you can leave off this moment. And you may tell your friends the same.”
                “Heh,” the old woman huffed, standing and spying Eilen with a tapered gaze. “Got yerself a smart-un. And I don’t got no granddaughter I’m schemein’ for you to marry.” She pouted and looked offended. “It was for Gita’s girl.”
                Eilen laughed behind a raised hand, and Cgnita looked wholly unimpressed.
                “Well, be that as it may, Mrs Whittaker,” said Cgnita firmly, “you are very well, and I do not need anymore matchmaking. Your arm has been healed, and I am spoken for. And so is Eilen, just to be clear, so there wil be no matchmaking to be done for her either.”
                “Alright, alright,” the old woman waved him away, clointering out of the infirmary. “Gita won’t be happy though.”
                “Well, I suppose she will just have to brook being disappointed, an ailment that has only time as its cure, so do not come here to me with your sobs. When you are ill, Mrs Whittaker, that is when you may come back. Good evening to you, madam,” and when she was gone, he called out, “And do not send you friends here to spy on Eilen!”
                There was a faint grumbling sound, and Eilen smiled and laughed.
                “Are they really so terrible to you?”
                Cgnita rubbed his brow. “My dear, you can have no idea. Trying to throw me together with whatever dabchick they can pluck out of school as though we were utensils to be matched in a set—I have never seen such officious marriagemerchants in all my life. I do love my profession, and I do all that is within my power to do all is asked of me, but market myself as saleable goods I will not do, not even for the sake of every granddaughter and every gubbertushed old woman in the kingdom. Anyway, I am sorry, my dear. You were telling me of your letter.”
                “Here, look,” said she, producing the letter. “From Mr Pryor himself. He says I am to lead the expedition and they shall be sending a few senior members to help me. I must say I am rather surprised that he should let me lead it when there are so many others who have years of experience--”
                “Do not work yourself into a pet, my dear. If you work yourself into a fever, I shall have to keep you here and let others do the digging.”
                “I do admit,” said she hesitantly, “your ministration was not unpleasant to me.”
                Cgnita raised a brow. “If you should like to become a maladimaginist, like Mrs Whittaker, I will not tease you for it. I should be happy to save you from hysterics at anytime, be they real or fashioned.”
                They exchanged a doting look, and Cgnita quickly read over the letter, while Eilen relished the new sensation of requited romance she was suffering under.
                 “Well,” said Cgnita, returning the letter, “makes my letter from Master Beldynn look rather plain.”
                “Master Beldynn wrote to you? What did he say?”
                “Only that he is coming, and that is all. I’m afraid Master Beldynn is rather terse when it comes to correspondence. His having something to say consists of a few lines, though those lines are certainly important. He will be here tomorrow, and that he should be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
                “Oh, Cgnita!” Eilen cried, in a thrill of ecstacy. She knew her arms around his neck and embraced him, but then, recollecting herself and pulling away, “I cannot thank you enough for all you efforts. And to think, this morning I had no idea about any of it. How happy an accident—and yet, I do not think it could be called so by anyone.”
                “No, indeed,” was Cgnita’s smiling answer. “What a day it has been-- for both of us, surely. You must be getting tired. Brudha has had a room made up for you. I hope you do not mind sharing quarters with a few of the sisters by.”
“Not in the least. Do let me know how much I owe him for his charity. He will not tell me, I know, but I hope you will find out what he expects as payment.”
“I believe that charity is precisely what he means with regard to payment,” said Cgnita, with a meaningful look. “He will take nothing from you-- nor will I, so you might as well not try. Simply conduct your expedition and add to the monstary’s visitors. That will be compensation enough.” He paused here, examining her delightful features. “Will you allow me to take you to dinner—rather, will you have dinner with me? I must stay close to the monestary in case I am needed, and I never venture to town unless it can be helped—but I would go for you,-- rather, if you asked me to—only it is very late now and--”
“I would love to,” was Eilen’s joyous approbation. “We can have dinner here—that is, may I eat here in the monestary? I am staying here, I know, but that is out of Brother Brudha’s goodwill, and I dare not take liberties with his kindness.“
“Oh, no, my dear. Do not be so shamefaced. It is expected that you should be eating here, certainly if you are staying here. I thought we might have something cook has done up and take up to the hill fort. No one but you would venture up the slope, especially at this time.” Cgnita looked down and smiled. “It is rather fitting for us to have dinner there, I think, considering the day we have had. Should you like that?”
She should prefer it to anything; no dinner at the best tavern in the kingdom could compare, and taking her hand, the cleric led her to the door, leaving behind all notion of scheming patients and officious grandmothers in favour of  the delightful aspect of one whose company he should prefer to anyone. They stood on the threshold and looked out at the last intimation of gloaming, the dying ocher of evening dimishing, the inundation of moonlight spilling over the adjascent hills, and they prepared to remove to the kitchen, when a familiar sensation prevailed his consciousness and called him back again. He turned back and parused the infirmary, inspecting his desk, his chair, his files, when something at the far end of the patient’s are caught his eye. A moment’s fear assailed him, thinking he was going to find Aoidhe, sitting in the patient’s chair and smoking his wretched ethereal pipe, but there was nothing there, not even the lingering curls of pipe smoke to recommend his having been there a second before.
“What is it, Cgnita?” said Eilen, following the cleric’s gaze. “Is there something there?”
The cleric’s eyes tapered. “I’m not entirely sure. I thought I—“
He glanced toward the infirmary bed, and an image suddenly flickered through his mind, projecting itself onto the wall at the far end. It was a familiar image, one of a certain God bent over in the libidinous rage, body enageged in barbarous venery,  the ferity of his aggressive undulations wracking Cgnita’s heart.
“By the—“ Cgnita gasped, gaping at the pultrous and violent exhibition.
He yelped and turned away in panic, and as quickly as his terror would allow, he grabbed Eilen’s hand and fled with her to the church. They stopped when they reached the entrance to the apse, and Eilen hung onto the door to catch her breath, while Cgnita stared back at his infirmary with unmitigated horror.
 “Cgnita? What happened?” Eilen panted. “Did you see something in the infirmary?”
Cgnita stared at the wall and said nothing, his chest heaving, his mind in a torment. Aoidhe! You were goring her!  
                Familiar risibility simmered and filled the cleric’s awareness. Givin’ my bheann a right good hashiff, lad. Still givin’ what to her now.
                Cgnita shuddered. Then why are you talking to me?! And why would you show me?! Gods!
Thought you oughtta see, lad, so’s you know what to do and all. Ain’t never done it before.
No, I have not done it before! How does that warrant such blatant and unasked for vulgarity?
Well, there’s knowin’ what somethin’ is and then knowin’ how to use it. This here’s application, showin’ you to teach you and such.
                “By Ogham, why?” Cgnita wailed, melting against the nearby wall. “Why! Now I will never be able to erase that image from my mind!”
                He grimaced and pulled on the ends of his hair, staring into the blameless oblivion of brick and mortar before him, suffering under the agony of violent affliction.
                “Cgnita,” said Eilen cautiously, approaching Cgnita’s crumpled form with chary step. “Are you well?”
                No answer was given her beyond a strangled whimper.
“Were you speaking to me just now? There is no one else here, but I don’t believe I know what you meant.”
                The cleric shook his head and brought himself to standing once more. He would have to tell her, would have to explain the whole business to her, of Aoidhe’s visitation, of his unpleasant japes, of his wretched blessings. She might not stay if the truth should be told her; feeling defrauded and displeased, she might look elsewhere for companionship, knowing that Aoidhe had brought them together and was now taking liberties with his consciousness. He must tell her; it was wrong to keep her under a mistake, and taking her hand, he stood close with her, expecting her to run away at the first mention of Aoidhe’s name, and in a dreadful voice, he said, “Eilen, there is something I should tell you.”


Sunday, July 12, 2015

Story for the Day: Chune and Aoidhe -- Part 1

Aoidhe might be considered the most vulgar of the Gods, but Chune, the Goddess of Plenty, his mate, is most certainly his equal in that quarter, if not worse...



No one could be better suited to please so meretricious and insatiable God than the Goddess
of Plenty, and while Brudha deemed Aoidhe’s offer a passing dalliance, he could not but think of seriously considering whence the offer had come. “A proposition from a God,” said Brudha, laughing in disbelief, and he turned into the kitchen, to deliciate in the notion over a cup of tea and own himself blessed for his first proposition being a divine one.
 “May I pour you a celebratory cup?” said Cgnita, reaching up from the pit and taking down the tea trey. “I don’t know whether you like tea on such a warm day, but it is a rather special day, and we have no ale to celebrate with. Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, please,” said Eilen, smiling. “It is a bit of luck that there is tea and no ale, for I love the former and could do very well without the latter.”
“I agree with you there. Most of us at the monastery delight in tea at the end of the day. Well, Miss Eilen,” giving her a cup and taking one for himself, “to new discoveries, for both of us.”
Eilen raised her cup. “To new discoveries,” and when Cgnita had raised his cup to his lips, she added, “And to new relationships.”
Cgnita nearly spilled his tea on his robes. “Yes,” he proclaimed, fumbling with his cup, and when he had recovered, he added with fondness, “to new relationships.”
An endearing look was exchanged, and after a short delibation, each was content to sit beside each other and eye one another for a while. Intermittent conversation endured, lodgings were discussed, facilities and assistants were suggested, and all the pleasantries and peculiarities of partiality evincing were gone through while cups ornamented hands and tea grew cold. Inundated by all the sweets of first affection, Cgnita had forgot to think of Aoidhe; he had spilled his tea twice on his robe through out the whole of their conversation, and not once did he attribute it to a certain Gods’ tendency to japes.
Only just got him a bheann, and he’s in a way to be growin’ up, Aoidhe sighed, standing near the pit and seemingly speaking to no one.
A lutescent light shimmered beside him, and the figure of a small woman began to take form, her plaits long and trailing, her frame plump and panduriform, her hips wide, her large breasts pressing dangerously against her bodice. Well,said the woman, in a plaintive voice, he’s entitled to his happiness.
Aoidhe sighed and glanced over at the deep vale pressing against his arm. Seein’ the lad happy with his bheann and all is makin’ me wanna give you a right hashiff.
She glanced up at Aoidhe’s grinning aspect and followed the line from his neck down to his broad shoulders, wide chest, and immense arms. You always want to do that, Aoidhe.
Aye, Chune, he breathed, moving behind her. He took his pipe from his mouth, put it in his pocket, and leaning forward, he thrust his hand into the front of her dress, grabbing her heavy breasts and pressing them together. Could do this do you all day, girl, he growled, pressing his hips forward, pushing his length into her lower back. Oughtta give you what in front o’ the lad, said he, in a venerial wrawl, his mouth browsing her neck. Show him how to do it. He don’t know.
You might frighten the boy, Aoidhe, Chune laughed, leaning back, glorying in her mate’s aggressive motions. He is only just beginning. He deserves time to discover what is right for himself.
His usual salaciousness overpowering him, Aoidhe reached down and lifted her skirts, forcing his hand between her thighs. Should give what to you in his infirmary, he purred. Wait till he walks in and let him see how we like copulatin’.
Did he teach you that word?
Says he don’t like hashiff so much. Know you like it though. He moved his hand to the crease at the top of her thigh and fondled her crevice. ’Mon, I’ll give it to you how you want on his patient bed.
Chune cackled and craned her neck to receive Aoidhe’s osculation. As delightful a sight that would be, Aoidhe, leave the boy be. I know you are friends, but you must leave him to pursue her as he will.
Aye, his clercin’ romanced her when I said to leave it by. Still wanna bend you over the seat they’re sittin’ on though. Just how we used to when we had our celebrations.
I remember, said Chune, in a reverie of fond reminiscence. Come, Aoidhe, taking his hand, let’s leave them to themselves.
But I’m watchin’.
You can watch from the fields in Westren.
Aoidhe’s lips wreathed in a fiendish grin. Goin’ to make the crops grow?
Of course, said she, smiling. The farmers have prayed for a good bean crop. Who else will ensure it?
                Aoidhe’s grin broadened, the glint in his eye dancing about in iniquitous glee. He gripped Chune’s braids and pulled her head back, leaning down and tracing her vale with his mouth. ‘Mon, bheann, he rumbled, let’s bless the fields, and in a glimmer of erubescent light, the two figures were gone, off to encourage germination for the coming year, leaving Cgnita and Eilen in the churchyard pit, sitting together on the Gods’ stone, talking of healing practices through the ages, of ancient settlements, of kist burials and cremations, of operations and medicinal concoctions, without any regard for time or daylight fading. Neither could remember when they had been happier, whe company had been more splendid, when innovation had been this enlivening.
                Their letters had been sent to their respective destinations, gloaming had come and gone in a gradient of raging hues, the murrey of night decorated with a loom of defining stars, and the operations of time were all suspended while Cgnita and Eilen sat together, spending time rather than being governed by it, their minutes expatiating beyond the realm of confinement, hours depreciating into seconds, and there was only easy fluency and conversation, only the ceaseless clink of cups and the soom of continuous delibations, only the invigorating constancy of companionship, only the recognition and approval of one another’s agreeable company, one so eager to talk, the other delighted to listen, the whole canopied by the appearance of constellations, the luminaries rejoicing in their congregation, hovering discreetly, awning over them in a fulmination of glittering lights, their mantle the approbation of the ages. Their tea was refreshed several times, how many, however, they could not distinguish. Biscuits and buns were laid down, salted butter and jams, and curds and creams were brought them, and though they gave their thanks to the one who secured their wellbeing, their attention was only on one another, felicity reigned and spirits danced about in joyous revelation, each becoming more attached to the other, but a sprained ankle, a burn from the brickmaker, and a few cuts from the ploughman brought Cgnita back to the infirmary. He excused himself, hoped he should not be long, and went to tend to his patients, while Eilen remained behind in the pit, to exhume the remainder of the seat until Cgnita return, or until responses to their letters arrive to interrupt them.
               

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Surprise! An audio file appears!

In honour of many celebrations and events that are going on this week, HERE is a free reading of Aoidhe and Cgnita's story. Become one of our patrons and receive new novellas and audio files every month.