The Cross and the Cosmos - Issue 09

8/12/2019 The Cross and the Cosmos - Issue 09

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twork and Bloomship by

GL Francis

e Byzantine Apple by

Jarkko Pylvas

ited by Glyn Shull

October 1st, 2011sue 9


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The Cross and the Cosmos October 1st, 2011

Introduction Glyn Shull

Greetings one and all!

It's my fourth favorite time of the year again: time for the fourth issue of TC2!

This issue is amazing, let me tell you. We have two awesome authors this issue with Jarkko

Pylvs and GL Francis of TC2 fame. Jarkko is new to TC2, and he brings a fantastic skillset and amazing

stories to the e-Zine. As always, we have worked our poor authors to the bone in order to provide you with

uplifting, faith affirming Speculative Fiction. We're only giving you two stories this issue because these twoare long enough by themselves! Although, if we keep getting stories at this rate, we'll have to up the number

anyway just to be able to fit them all in.

Now, we've been asked about the anthology. Over and over again. To the point, that I finally

went into the basement to check on the monkeys. It turns out, that 10,000 monkeys will not, in fact, produce a

TC2 anthology in a year. In fact, if you forget to feed then, they eat each other and produce nothing. Jokes

aside, Frank, Glynda, and I are quickly editing our way through the stories from that first year and are

working diligently to get this done as quickly as possible. We are obsessed with bringing you the highest

quality work possible, and this, unfortunately, means a slight wait. In essence, this boils down to: when it's

ready, it will print. And I cannot give you a better answer than that. Later this month, my school runs out for a

while and I'll have more time to work on this project. Hopefully, I can give the monkeys a few bananas and

they'll help too.

God Bless you all and happy reading!

Glyn Shull

Founder TC2

(Note: no monkeys were harmed during the making of this, or any other, issue. Nor, in fact, does the basement

at TC2 HQ have any monkeys at all inside)


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Bloomship G.L. Francis

Bloomship

by

G.L. Francis

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"Anything new?" Oa'phrok stowed his hover platform next to the communications

console.

Kaullen shrugged then stood. "Silence mixed with six hours of methane chatter, none

of which makes sense. You'd think the JellyFish would have something else to talk about.Food. Stars. Mating. The Anomaly. Something." He grinned down at Oa'phrok. "But you

won't have to worry about that much longer. Eh, short-timer?"

Oa'phrok clenched his teeth but kept his expression neutral.

"Get it? Short. Timer."

Oa'phrok considered the taller man's jeweled belt, right there at eye level. It would be

such a delight to punch this clown in the gut. Instead, he moved to his station and settled

into the seat. He thumbed the lift switch, adjusting the height, then studied the readout onthe small, auxiliary monitor he'd designed.

"I tell you what, Hop-Frog." Kaullen yawned, stretched. "I've only been back from

leave 72 hours and I'm ready for another."

"Who's Hop-Frog?"

Oa'phrok turned to see Dr. Casinov enter the comm-chamber. The white-haired chief

of the Triangle Anomaly research team appeared wide-eyed and semi-concussed, a confused

expression normal for him. Kaullen's frozen visage of consternation, perhaps even a little

fear, was more interesting. Kaullen hid his fondness of contraband archives well; but thejoker had shared this particular story, thisHop-Frog,with Oa'phrok.

Oa'phrok savored his colleague's discomfort briefly before coming to his rescue. "A


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private joke, Doctor. An accidental mispronunciation of my name when I was first assigned

here. Nothing more." He caught Kaullen's relieved nod to him. You just remember you owe

me, big boy. He watched Kaullen retreat from the chamber then looked back at the monitor.

Bloomship 422: Oaphrok. Solitary?

Oa'phrok glanced at Casinov whose bright blue gaze was on Kaullen's monitor.

Oa'phrok casually reached up as though to scratch his ear. He unclipped a small disc withan embedded septagonal crystal from his earring and slipped it into his own monitor's side

port.I'm always solitary but the Medusaens wouldn't understand. He keyed a silent response

on his secondary touchpad.

Oaphrok: Not solitary. Casinov present.

"I see." Casinov's curiosity about the nickname seemed forgotten. He brushed

distractedly at his plain white uniform. Unlike the support crew and staff of the research

outpost, the doctor didn't indulge in wearing any embellishments or jewelry. "I need to send

a new CH4

order to the Medusaens. Methane ice if possible."

"How much?" Oa'phrok moved his hands to the primary touch-keys and started the

order.

"Just a double canister." He paused. "Yes, that'll be enough. I suppose you'll be going

on leave soon. Shame. You seem to get more sense out of the Medusaens. I've noticed you

rarely call them JellyFish. How much leave have you accrued?"

"25/60," Oa'phrok answered, giving hours and multiplier as it appeared on his

account. "But I only plan to use 25/35 this time."

"Indeed?"

Oa'phrok knew the doctor didn't care for personal topics but always made an effort at

conversation. "I'm saving credits for a shorter, more expensive leave later."

Casinov was obviously struggling to sound interested. "Ummm...seeing family this

time?"

"No, Doctor." Oa'phrok sighed and gave the usual reply. "I don't know my family. Big

people on Ion raised me. The people of my home world fled a Sssthan invasion a long timeago." Or were killed. Or enslaved. The only certainty was that the planet Latolcia was no

longer home for the people his size. Most of it was now a wasteland only the lizard-men

could love. The cold-blooded, cold-hearted lizzies.

Casinov nodded. "Oa'phrok, have the Medusaens mentioned anything about the

bloomship they retrieved from the Anomaly yet?"

Oa'phrok raised his gaze to the large viewport on the wall beyond his console. The

Medusaen ships clustered like the jellyfish blooms in worlds with waters. He could see faint

flashes in the transparent sections of the bloomships' half-sphere hulls. After a moment, helocated the recovered, older Bloomship 135 tethered to another one. "Nothing yet, Doctor."

The doctor sighed in frustration. "Keep trying. I have to return to Port Bermuda soon


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but let me know the moment they give you any information." He cleared his throat noisily.

"And perhaps we may discuss 135 when you pass through Port on your leave."

"Yes, Doctor." Oa'phrok heard the chamber's portal slide open and Casinov's footsteps

recede down the corridor. The portal closed. Oa'phrok waited a few more moments before

moving his hands to the second touchpad again.

Oaphrok: Casinov gone. Do you have something for me?

Bloomship 422: Bloomship 156 en route with CH4shipment. Need repair: refrigeration

unit on transfer line, damage during harvest operations. Storage canisters stable. No

delivery until repairs made.

Oaphrok: I will arrange it, Bloomship 422. Is there anything else?

Bloomship 422: Swarmship 1658 located source CH4ice. Planet agreeable for

colonization.

Oaphrok:(Was there a phrase for congratulations?) May you find it pleasing.

Bloomship 422: Oaphrok. Other called you Hop-Frog in transmission. Enlighten.

Significance?

Kaullen, you idiot! You'll get us both brought before the Emperor in pieces.

Oa'phrok hesitated. He couldn't transmit even the coded explanation of a treasonous story

about a dwarf who killed a monarch and advisors then escaped with his beloved. The

explanation he'd given Casinov might not work. Would the Medusaens comprehend nuances

of pronunciation? Did they have an auditory equivalent of speech?

Oaphrok: Other enjoys... (teasing? joking? being a moron?) ... confusion. Casinov requests

you enlighten regarding Bloomship 135.

A burst of random transmissions sped across his smaller monitor. This always

happened when Bloomship 135 was mentioned. It had emerged from the Triangle Anomaly

an Ion standard year after several mining ships bearing humans had disappeared in the

massive, gaseous cloud. All analyses of the Anomaly's gases failed to reveal what constituted

the cloud; but a percentage of research ships that went into the phenomenon for samples

were also lost. When Bloomship 135 came out with no record of it going in, the Medusaens

arrived in force to study the Anomaly.

He leaned back in his seat and wondered how long it would be for the crystal he'd

tuned to pick up comm-patterns again. This could go on for most of his shift. Another look at

the viewport verified that the Medusaens were communicating ship-to-ship; but the flashes

were brighter and faster shouting light at each other.

All invoices were completed; requisitions were pending approval. There was nothing

for him to do until transmissions with the Medusaens resumed. He f lipped a toggle switch

on his monitor from silent to audio alert. He didn't feel like staving off boredom with the

comm-chamber's exercise equipment. Neither was he hungry or thirsty enough to call upanything from the ship's galley. He decided to run his personal program of logic puzzle and

code-breaking exercises.

His eyelids grew heavy. A glance at the time-readout showed five more hours to the


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Bloomship 422: Restoration. Bloomship 231 connected to Bloomship 135. Restoration

before cessation.

Oa'phrok stared at the monitor. The vessel tethering the mystery bloomship? And

restoration of what? Before what ceased? He licked his lips but his mouth felt suddenly too

dry.

Oaphrok: I will request permission and transmit reply of Casinov .

Bloomship 422: Radiance for you, Oaphrok.

The auxiliary monitor stilled. Oa'phrok transferred the readout to the main monitor

starting with the request for his presence aboard one of the bloomships. He left out the

Medusaen's first questions as to whether he was alone. Better to keep his secret line to them

secret. He took a deep breath, switched his private monitor to a logic game, then paged Dr.

Casinov.

When Casinov entered the com-chamber, Oa'phrok yielded his seat. He watched the

doctor study the translated transmission displayed on the primary monitor.

"Alone," Casinov mused. "And what's this Traveler business?"

"They use that term for the repair crews, too," Oa'phrok supplied. "I think it's a

designation for anyone going to their ships."

"I see." Casinov's expression looked baffled, but his voice was decisive. "You can go in

one of the repair scaphes. Have you ever piloted a craft?"

Oa'phrok shrugged. "Mostly the smaller shuttles between Port Bermuda and Ion. I'vebeen trained but not licensed for anything bigger."

Casinov stood and looked at the viewport. "If you have difficulty, the scaphes can be

piloted remotely." He folded his arms over his chest. "What are they doing? Why do they

want you there?" His voice dropped into a murmuring tone. "Are they wanting to restore 135

to full function? No, they'd need a repair crew for that. Why just a messenger? Why not ..."

Oa'phrok didn't intrude on the doctor's conversation with himself.

11111111100000011111110111111110001101111101101111111110000

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00001111110001100110101100101101100011100110010000111111001

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"...and this is your winch controls. Left plays out your cable, right brings it in; but I

doubt you'll need it." The chief of the ship's repair crew directed Oa'phrok's attention to a setof digital gages. "Here's what you'll have to watch if the JellyFish pull the scaphe into their

ship. Their atmosphere is methane you'll asphyxiate in no time if you get a leak. This

one," he tapped a gage, "tells you the oxygen level in the scaphe."


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Oa'phrok nodded, relieved the scaphe was no more difficult than the shuttles he'd

piloted.

"If you're drawn into the bloomship, cut the engine and switch these," he indicated a

row of toggles, "to mechanical. They activate buoyancy tanks to keep you afloat in the

methane just as if you were in water. They also engage creeper jets for propulsion

compresses and cycles whatever's in any atmosphere. But it won't get hot enough to sparkoff an explosion."

"That would be counterproductive," Oa'phrok observed.

"I suggest you relieve yourself before you go. The head's pretty cramped, although,"

the crew chief grinned down at him, "I guess it'll be comfortable enough for you. And I

modified the control seat of the scaphe so you can adjust for extra height."

"Yes, yes," Oa'phrok said testily. "Anything else?"

The crew chief's grin faded. "If you have to handle anything, be very careful with the

gloves. The material's tough and CH4won't permeate the fabric, but the gloves can pierced

by something sharp. You'll die."

Oa'phrok thought of the recurring dream a delicate hand in his, the woman

touching his face. And death is so much worse than endless solitary, right? "I'll be careful."

As soon as the crew chief left, Oa'phrok sealed the entrance and went to the tool-bag

he'd brought. He withdrew his auxiliary monitor, plugged it into the scaphe's com-unit, then

inserted the tuned crystal in its port. It was really quite convenient that the crystal onlyappeared to be a jeweled decoration on his earring.

The scaphe handled smoothly. As Oa'phrok cleared the research outpost's dock, he

looked at the unobstructed panorama of clustered bloomships and the Triangle Anomaly

beyond them against the void of space littered with stars. The Anomaly blazed prismatically

with every know color and possibly with some unknown ones. The colors reflected off the

bloomships' domes and flashed on the smaller swarmships' fins. He wondered if the scaphe

was shining as multihued as the Anomaly. What is it? What's holding it together? He glanced

at the stars.For that matter, what holds any of this together?

He located his destination: the mysterious 135 secured by several of the trailingtendril-like cables every bloomship possessed. He hailed the anchoring bloomship for

instructions.

Oaphrok: Traveler-Oaphrok to Bloomship 231. Approaching. Where should I steer?

Bloomship 231: This bloomship. Will place in Bloomship 135.

Oa'phrok steered the scaphe toward a tendril-cable extending in his direction. The

cable looped around the scaphe, briefly obscuring his viewing port as it snared his vessel. Hefelt the steering tugged from his grip, released the controls, and checked the oxygen gage.

The bloomship's cable drew and then pushed the scaphe to the underside of 135.


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Oa'phrok watched a port iris open in one of the columns below its half-sphere body. As the

scaphe entered the column's dark barrel, Oa'phrok remembered to cut the engine and switch

to the creeper jets.

Although CH4 was colorless, the interior of 135's main compartment was suffused

with blue-green light, dim and aqueous. In the soft gloom, three Medusaens floated near a

metallic cylinder the size of the scaphe. The smallest Medusaen was nearly as large as the

cylinder. Its gelatinous bell emitted less bioluminescence and appeared less translucentthan the other two. It also had eight arms rather than twelve and smaller tentacle clusters.

Was this one younger, older, or a different gender?

One of the larger Medusaens twined an arm with the small one. The lappets along the

rims of their bells rippled while the rhopalia between pulsed an arrhythmic blue-green glow.

The smaller Medusaen's disentangled its arm and its bell fluttered, propelling it toward a

panel flush with the bloomship's interior. The two larger Medusaens remained near the

cylinder, lighting it with their brighter luminescence.

Oaphrok: How may I serve?

Bloomship 231: Restore polypsus to your station. Parts of polypsus ceased.

Oaphrok: Ceased?

Bloomship 231: No longer viable. Incapable of restoration.

Oa'phrok stared at the cylinder, belatedly recognizing the shape of a cryo-pod. An old

model very old. How many people, how many pod-urns did this size hold? His eyes flicked

to the oxygen gage then returned to the container. A cold bead of sweat slid down his spine.

Oaphrok: Where did ... (what did they call it?)... polypsus come from?

Bloomship 231: Contained in Bloomship 135.

Oa'phrok frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even with the aid of his

specially tuned communication, the Medusaens could be maddeningly obtuse. Yes, the pod

was contained in this bloomship; but had the Medusaens stored it in the derelict ship or...

Oaphrok: Did Bloomship 135 bring polypsus out of Triangle Anomaly?

Bloomship 231: Contained. Restore to your station.

The reply came so fast, it seemed angry.

Oaphrok: I will attach cables to tow polypsus.

Bloomship 231: Radiance.

Radiance. Well wishes? Happiness? Or just their version of approval, affirmative? He

wasn't sure, but he wasted no more time in trying to decipher it. He maneuvered the scaphecloser to the pod. The large Medusaens' luminescence rippled and they drifted a short

distance away from the cylinder, giving Oa'phrok more room.

Mindful of the crew chief's warning about the gloves, he snapped the quick-connect


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fasteners into the pod's receptacles. Old though the pod was, the receptacles had no

corrosion and the fasteners cammed easily into place.

He returned to the scaphe's controls and winched the slack from the cables. The

Medusaens hovered as though observing his work; but since they had only speckles of optical

cells on their umbrella-skins, Oa'phrok couldn't discern what they might be watching. He

checked the oxygen still normal.

Oaphrok: I return to my station now.

Bloomship 231: Radiance for you, Traveler-Oaphrok.

The journey back to the research station was uneventful, giving him time to reflect on

the people in the pod. Considering the age of the cryo-container, the people inside would've

been in stasis a very long time who knew how long? What might they think of the

civilization into which they would soon awaken? Oa'phrok couldn't help but feel a deep pity

for them. Most of what they'd once known was probably gone.

Oa'phrok docked the scaphe and pod. The excitement of the waiting researchers was

nearly feverish. As soon as he could answer debriefing questions, he slipped away from the

furor. He needed some rest before his next shift in the comm-chamber.

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Two shifts left to work. Oa'phrok strolled to the comm-chamber, smiling to himself at

the supply warden's well wishes for his leave. He'd been relieved to turn in his hover

platform for maintenance in his absence; its lift mechanisms had needed a tune-up for quite

a while.

"Hey, Hop-Frog!"

Oa'phrok grimaced but kept walking as though he hadn't heard anything. Of all the

people on the station, he least wanted to see Kaullen right now.

"Oa'phrok. I need to talk to you."

Oa'phrok sighed, then stopped and turned. The big man's voice sounded ... strange;

and his expression was tense. Oa'phrok waited for him to catch up. "What?"

Kaullen motioned to him. "In the comm-chamber."


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"That's where I'm going."

The big man nodded. "Good. Hurry."

Inside the chamber, Oa'phrok watched Kaullen check the door seal then cross the

floor to the consoles. He removed what looked like an ultra-thin circuit board from one of the

main monitor's ports, slipped in a second one, then moved his fingers over the touchpad.

What was the joker doing now?

But when Kaullen turned to him, Oa'phrok saw no hint of the man's usual relaxed

manner. His face looked taut with worry. "What's wrong, Kaullen?"

"You know they woke the people you brought back from 135? It was part of an

exploration team." Kaullen was keeping his voice low as though afraid of being overheard.

Oa'phrok nodded. It occurred to him maybe he didn't know his coworker very well.

"You know the cryo-mechs failed on four of the pod-urns?"

"I didn't know how many." He'd suspected that was what the Medusaens had meant

by their crypticNo longer viable. Incapable of restoration. He was nonetheless sorry to hear

it confirmed.

"And nobody's told you one they wakened was Latolcian?"

Oa'phrok swayed, suddenly certain the air was too thick to breath. He felt Kaullen's

massive hand on his shoulder, steadying him. The big man guided him to his seat at the

console. Oa'phrok fumbled with the lift control, but Kaullen pushed his hand aside and

raised the seat for him.

"You're sure?" Oa'phrok whispered.

"Please. I'm not blind or stupid. She's maybe half a head shorter than you."

She.The pronoun nearly glowed in his mind. Had he heard Kaullen right? "She?"

"But you've got to get her away from these people."

"Stow it!" Oa'phrok hissed suddenly alarmed. "Kaullen, you'll get us arrested."

Kaullen shook his head. "The only thing security'll see is you working your puzzles,

going to the head, then coming back for a nap."

Oa'phrok glanced at the monitor port. "You recorded me."So, I'm not the only one with

tech-secrets of my own, he thought with unusual admiration for his coworker's duplicity.

"Just key KLN if you want it to run for any length of time. It splices without a seam."

The big man shrugged. "Sometimes, I need it to"

"Tell me about her," Oa'phrok interrupted.

His forehead furrowed, Kaullen searched Oa'phrok's face. "You have to rescue her. You

understand? Her pod-urn was starting to fail and she's not strong right now. They're going


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to drive her insane or kill her with their questions and tests. You have to get Trippetta out,

Hop-Frog." Then Kaullen reached down and pressed four of the jewels on his belt. The

buckle's top layer dropped into his hand. He looked at its back, slid one finger along the side,

then held it toward Oa'phrok.

Oa'phrok took it and studied a tiny vid-screen on the back of the buckle. A woman

wearing an oversized recovery suit slumped in a seat too big for her while a technician drew

a blood sample. Her hair the darker russet shade of southern Latolcian otariids, henoted hung in wavy tangles around her delicate and pallid face. He couldn't see her eyes.

"What's her name?"

"Don't know. The only thing I've seen is the number on her pod-urn: LAT837."

The technician stepped out of view with the sample then returned with a sip-packet.

LAT837 Trippetta, Oa'phrok thought,yes, I'll call her that 'til I know her name turned

her head away as if refusing the nutrition drink. The movement was slow, listless. The

technician set the sip-packet on the small table next to Trippetta. She seemed to take no

notice of it. Oa'phrok glanced at Kaullen. "Is this a recording?"

"No, it's live. I'm tapped into their security monitors."

Oa'phrok watched as a different technician, this one in security uniform, entered the

monitor's viewing field. The man's mouth moved; but without audio, Oa'phrok couldn't tell if

he was questioning or briefing. Trippetta seemed unresponsive to the man's chatter.

"How..." Oa'phrok cleared his throat and tried again. "How can I get her out?"

Kaullen eyed him for an uncomfortably long moment then said, "What would you give

up to free her?"

"Anything."

"Even if you can never return here?"

Oa'phrok nodded.

"Even if she might decide to go her own way once she's well?" Kaullen persisted.

A delicate hand in his, the woman touching his face ... But that was only a dream.Oa'phrok stared at the vid-screen. Here was a Latolcian, one of his own race, a scattered

people, a conquered people. A Latolcian of a homeworld long devastated by lizzies. And now

she was being ravaged as surely as though she'd remained on Latolcia when it fell. "Even if."

Kaullen held out his hand for the jeweled buckle-top. As he reattached it, he said, "I'll

come back near the end of your shift. You might think about what you want to take with you.

Your leave will be longer than you planned." He winked and touched the keypad. Instantly,

his demeanor changed. "Have fun talking to the Jellyfish, short-timer." He swaggered to the

portal.

Oa'phrok sat very still for a long moment before reaching up to rub the side of his

head, to scratch his ear and slip the translation crystal from his earring. He leaned forward

and stealthily inserted it into his personal monitor as he adjusted the monitor's angle.


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Oaphrok: Oaphrok hailing Bloomship 231.

Bloomship 231: Oaphrok. How may we serve?

Oaphrok: No service required at this time. Update of information for you. I will leave

station soon.

Bloomship 231: Darkness. Return?

Oaphrok:(do I tell them I may not be back?) Unknown.

The monitor's readout showed the Medusaens return to their own communications,

garbled messages not even his translation crystal could interpret. Oa'phrok leaned back in

his seat. This might be the longest work shift of his life. He looked at the viewport and saw

the flashes of light in the distant bloomships' domes. Beyond them, the Anomaly's colors

shifted and swirled as though dancing in space to some mysterious symphony.

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A double tap on the portal-plate alerted Oa'phrok. He keyed the recording to run then

swiveled his seat to face Kaullen as the big man stepped into the comm-chamber. "What didyou find out?"

"I talked to Casinov. He agreed to let you spend some time with LAT837 "

"Doesn't she have a name?" Oa'phrok felt indignation that the researchers still

referred by numbers to the people wakened from the urn-pods.

"She won't tell them; and the personal data files on most of those urn-pods were too

corrupted to retrieve anything." Kaullen shrugged. "Too old, I guess, or maybe something in

the Anomaly messed them up. Anyway, Casinov agreed to let you escort her to Gadgre he

may act like an android on the glitch, but he's got a heart in there. Personally, I think hemay be a bit autis"

"Kaullen!" Oa'phrok nearly shouted at the big man.

"Sorry. He thinks some R&R time might strengthen her before she goes to Port

Bermuda's facilities for more study."

More study. Oa'phrok didn't like the sound of that. "Is there a way to get her

exempted?"

Kaullen shook his head. "Any clue about the Anomaly is worth more than any one

person's life to them." Then he grinned. "But they don't have to get the chance. I can arrange

for you and the little lady to cut free of them forever. If you want to."


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"Of course. But I'd like to meet her."

"I told Casinov you might. He said to escort you to the infirmary and introduce you to

her." He glanced at the door. "Who's on for the next shift?"

"Seiter. He's usually late." Oa'phrok glanced at the time readout. "Kaullen, do..." He

hesitated then went on. "Do I look presentable?"

"You look fine, hero. Do you know your own language?" Kaullen moved closer to the

console.

Oa'phrok watched closely but didn't see him touch the keypad or withdraw anything

from the monitor's port. "Some. I picked up enough from Latolcian merchants on Gadgre

and different space ports to get by."

"If you use Latolcian to talk to her, you can speak freely. It's not in our translation

archives." He started to reach for the keypad, seemed to reconsider, then withdrew his hand.

"I'll wait in the corridor until Seiter gets here. Cancel the recording as soon as I'm out of

here." He paused at the portal. "And I've figured out how to cover your escape." He flashed a

grin. "I think you'll like it."

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A room adjacent to the med-bay had been divided into semi-private cubicles for the

people from the cryo-pod. Oa'phrok kept his eyes averted from where he knew the security

cameras were located. He walked slowly along the aisle of cubicles and checked the metal ID

plates hung below each med-screen until he found LAT837. He ran a hand over his hair,

wishing he'd kept his appointment with the station barber. He stepped into the cubicle, then

froze when the woman, semi-reclined in a converted pod-urn, turned her head toward him.

Her eyes widened.

Dark gray eyes, Oa'phrok thought giddily, she was from the island chains north of

Latolcia's equator.She was prettier in person than on the vid-screen. After a long moment,

he realized he was staring at her. He touched the center of his forehead, palm partially

covering his face in a salute he'd seen the Latolcian merchants do. "I greet you with

gladness." He knew his command of the old language wasn't good but he was heartened to

see the woman smile.

"And with gladness I greet you." She spoke slowly as though she recognized his

difficulty; but her voice, hoarse from unuse, lilted the words charmingly. "Your name?"

Oa'phrok introduced himself. "And your name?"

"T'suisso Hanaia."


15/28



Haltingly, Oa'phrok said, "Hanaia much is strange to you, this I know. But I would

ask of you to allow me to take you where no more research or tests will be done with you. I

would ask of you to trust me." Her sudden frown worried him. Had he offended her? Would

she send him away?

"Why do you ask this of me?" Her dark gray eyes searched his face with a discomfiting

openness. "I'm told the Latolcia I knew is no more. I have no home, no family. Theexploration I was part of is no longer relevant. My skills and training are antiquated. I see

no future, no life."

Oa'phrok recalled hearing Latolcian candor had once been renowned throughout the

system. But that reputation had been before current emperor's birth, before the lizzie

invasion, and before his people had to learn guile and deception to survive in the big people's

worlds. "I ask because there are so few of our people and we are scattered. Because I do not

wish for your mind or your body to die. Because..." He hesitated, acutely aware of how

unaccustomed to complete honesty he was. "...because I have a selfish reason."

"And your selfish reason is...?"

Oa'phrok reminded himself that, though she looked younger than he did, Hanaia was

over 200 Ionian standard years old. Never mind most of it had been suspended time for her.

He forced himself to meet her gaze with matching frankness. "Because I am lonely and I

have hope you might learn to love me in time." Because Hop-Frog loved Trippetta and risked

everything to escape with her.

She regarded him solemnly, then the corners of her mouth twitched. "Perhaps in

time." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I do not wish to live as a lab exhibit." When she

looked at him again, her faint smile was gone; but Oa'phrok thought he detected hope in herweary voice. "For now, I will trust you. Where is this place we would go?"

He shook his head. "I don't know yet. I, too, must trust" was Kaullen an ally? a

friend?"someone. He's already done much to help." Oa'phrok considered what the big man

related about his conversation with Casinov. "But the head researcher agreed to allow me to

take you to Gadgre for some R&R. I think ... my friend's plan involves that somehow." He

paused. Yes, it was surprisingly easy to call Kaullen a friend. "I should go now. You require

rest. And I must find out what I need to do."

Hanaia touched her forehead in the salute, then drew her hand down to briefly touchher lips. "I await your return, Oa'phrok."

He left the cubicle and med-bay. As he ambled along the station's corridors, he

reflected on what he'd said to Hanaia.I, too, must trust someone. He'd never before thought

of trust in the research station as applying to anything other than data and technology. Yet

he was trusting a man he'd always thought of as an exasperating joker, a cocky boastrel.

Trusting him with his life as well as Hanaia's. His perspective had changed in less than 24

hours. He'd glimpsed something different, something deeper in Kau

"Oa'phrok."

He turned to see Casinov holding a palm-screen. Oa'phrok resisted the urge to come

to military attention as the doctor approached. "Doctor?"


16/28



Casinov's bright blue gaze flicked toward him then returned to the screen. "Has

Kaullen told you about the change in your leave yet?"

Oa'phrok stiffened, wondering if something had already gone awry. "He mentioned

something was different," he replied guardedly.

Casinov didn't look away from the screen. "There's another amendment. You'll be

transporting the deceased to Port Bermuda, then you can continue on your leave. Yourcolleague suggested allowing LAT837 to accompany you during it. I concur. This will give

her time to regain strength. Her vitals are weaker than they should be for further studies.

Can you pilot a Class 5 transfer-ship?"

The Class 5's weren't much bigger than the repair-scaphe he'd piloted to the

bloomship. Their main difference was cargo capacity. "Yes, Doctor. But remember, I'm not

actually licensed"

Casinov waved the hand not holding the palm-screen. "The repair crew chief can

validate a license for you. Or issue a waiver. Regardless, we can't spare more than one other

transfer-pilot; and she'll be transporting live subjects." He glanced down at Oa'phrok.

"Except for LAT837. She'll go with you if you have no objections."

"No objections." Oa'phrok wasn't sure whether he felt relief that Hanaia would

accompany him indeed or a queasy uneasiness that he would be piloting a hearse. "Thank

you, Doctor."

"Be in the exit bay at 31:45:00."

"Yes, Doctor." Oa'phrok watched Casinov, now muttering to himself, continue down

the corridor and vanish around the next bend. 31:45:00, the doctor had said. Sooner thanexpected he wouldn't be covering another shift in the comm-chamber.

Oa'phrok stared down at his soft-soled boots for a moment. He needed to pack a

duffle-canister, including extra clothing for Hanaia. And get his health release from the

station med-tech. Reacquaint himself with the controls of a Class 5 ship. Most of all, he

needed to find Kaullen and let him know the scheduled departure had been advanced. He

suddenly and fervently wished he hadn't turned in his hover platform.

1010001101010110101011101010110100000001010001101010110110001000010000100010100010000100000000010001000010000100

10100010010100001010110010100001000000010100010010100001

10101000010100001010100010100001000000010101000010100001

01011111111110111111111111110111000000001011111111110111

00000001010001100000001010001100000000000000001010001100

00100000010101001000100010101001000000000100000010101001

The transfer-ship carrying the living people from the cryo-pod was the more modern

of the two. Oa'phrok saw the pilot, a tall woman with close-cropped black hair, glance at him

dismissively before snapping to attention when the station's pilot commander approachedand handed her a set of document discs.

Waiting his turn, he gave the exterior of the older transfer-ship the hearse he


17/28



would pilot a final examination. It seemed in order. He hadn't located Kaullen but hoped the

big man had left some message on-board, perhaps on a tiny, ultra-thin board like the one for

splicing recordings of the comm-chamber. Delivery of the deceased surely hadn't figured into

any scheme Kaullen devised.

"Have you done a delivery before?"

Oa'phrok turned and looked up at the pilot commander. "Not for a long time, sir."

The commander handed him a set of document discs. "The top one goes to Jonathin

Whyte, head of Port Bermuda's security. The second and third go to the coroner and

Casinov's adjutant respectively. The rest go to the mail division. Got that?"

Oa'phrok took the discs and placed them in the courier pouch slung over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir. I'll " He saw Kaullen swagger into the bay. Were it not for the big man's roguish

grin, he might have looked haggard. " I'll deliver them as instructed, sir." The commander

gave a curt nod and returned to the other pilot.

"Hey, short-timer. Actually got a message from the JellyFish for you." As Kaullen

drew near, he went to one knee before Oa'phrok. "I've rigged the CH 4 tanks to explode," he

saidsotto voce. "The escape-scaphe is an old model; I disabled its track-trace links. Steer for

an asteroid near the Port, jettison in the scaphe, and detonate the ship. Head for Jerem "

"The outlaws?" Oa'phrok whispered.

"They'll give you sanctuary. I programmed coordinates."

Oa'phrok reached up as though to scratch his ear and removed the translation crystal

from his earring. With it clamped between his fingers, he held out his hand. Noacknowledgement flickered on Kaullen's face as the big man clasped his hand and felt the

crystal passed to him in the handshake. "Play the code-breaker game you'll figure it out.

Tell them thanks and I wish them radiance. And," Oa'phrok added, "don't call them

JellyFish."

Kaullen's eyebrow lifted briefly then the corners of his eyes crinkled. "As for the little

lady," he said in his normal voice, a boisterous voice others in the bay could hear plainly. He

leaned closer and whispered, "Look angry, Hop-Frog, and hit me. I've got a reputation to

protect."

Oa'phrok hoped his outraged expression appeared convincing. He balled up a fist and

punched the big man in the nose. Laughter erupted in the bay as Kaullen lost his balance

and fell sideways onto his hip. Trying to maintain the impression of indignation, Oa'phrok

pivoted and marched to the transfer-ship's loading ramp.

On the ship's bridge, Hanaia stood next to the pilot's chair. She glanced curiously at

Oa'phrok as he came to stand next to her. "Wasn't that your friend?"

Oa'phrok looked out the viewport. He could see Kaullen was on his feet and wiping a

trickle of blood from his nose and upper lip. The big man caught his gaze, winked, andgrinned up at the ship. "Yes," Oa'phrok said softly. "My friend."

He felt Hanaia take hold of his hand. Strength and courage seemed to flow through

her grip to him. Oa'phrok looked at the hand in his, Hanaia's hand so delicately shaped,


18/28



warm and utterly real.

111111101101111111111011010000110111110111111010001111110111010

111001000001000010001000010100011000010001011000001010110101000

111110000000100000110010010110010101010001010010101100000001010

000000000000000000000000010100000000000000000010000000000000010

101000110010000111111111101111001110011010111101010111011101111

100000100101011100000001010010100001110000110010100000000010001

000110001101111101010000010100100110100110000010101001000110011

G.L. Francis is a Christian writer and artist married 25 plus years to her best friend, G.J. She has

worked in machining, electronics, and animal healthcare. Regardless of jobs, she believes serving

God and exalting Him happens in the trenches of daily life. A long-time SFF fan, she thinks the

genre provides an excellent vehicle for exploring Gods truth and the application of His truth in

worlds where the demarcation between good and evil often has greater clarity than in our world. "I

like adventure. In story or in daily life, adventures with God are the best -- theyre epic. No matter

how great the obstacles, God is greater. His victory and glory shine."


19/28


The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas

THE BYZANTINE APPLE

Jarkko Pylvs

Once upon a time there was an old apple tree that grew on the border of the Byzantine

Kingdom near an old virgin forest. (In reality the apple tree didnt grow much any more because it was very

old.) The year our story begins there was a rich harvest and many of the apples showed their red and delicious

cheeks to the eye of the observer. But one apple of this particular tree was more beautiful than all the others,

with smooth and shiny red cheeks, sweet and delicious to eat. The apple knew this about itself, but didnt

whisper anything about it to anyone, because it was Byzantine.

It was autumn. The apples of the old tree reached the peak of their maturity

with red cheeks and after that started to fall one by one from the branches onto the nearbyground. One apple fell on the rocks, another into a watery puddle, a third the most

beautiful one - onto the wet grass. The grass received the most beautiful apple tenderly,

embraced it affectionately, and the most beautiful apple kept its beautiful colour and shape.

Meanwhile two snakes that had emerged from the shadowy depths of the virgin forest

wriggled on the wet grass.

The snakes noticed the falling of the most beautiful apple and each immediately thought, I

wish to bite that apple. One snake said to the other, Move from my path, because I wish to wriggle there

first. The other snake replied, No, I wish to wriggle there first. So move away from my path! The snakes

argued and hissed. The most beautiful apple overheard, but didnt whisper anything about it, because it was

Byzantine.

While the snakes argued neither noticed that the prince of magic himself, the mystical fairy

king Oberon, had at that very moment arrived in an invisible disguise. Oberon snapped his noble fingers and

suddenly supreme magic was done! In the blink of an eye the most beautiful apple was transformed into the

most beautiful deer of the forest, which strode quickly towards the noble trees of the virgin forest. Oberon

snapped his noble fingers again and suddenly supreme magic was done a second time! The snakes were

transformed to hunters who hunted the most beautiful deer with bows and arrows.

In the blink of an eye the deer was at the border of the noble trees of the virgin forest, where it

stopped to drink fresh water from a bright stream. The hunters noticed and knew this was their moment.

They aimed at the deer with their bows and arrows. One hunter said to the other: Move away form my aiming-

direction, dear brother! Im about to shoot that deer with my bow and arrow! The other hunter replied, No!Its you who should move away from my shooting-direction! Im the one whos about to shoot that deer!

After the hunters argued a while, they launched a pair of arrows towards the most beautiful

deer of the virgin forest. The arrows f lew fast through the air, one coming from the left side and the other from

the right . The first arrow hit the side of the most beautiful deer of the forest. The second arrow sailed over the

deer without hitting it. I hit the target, the deer is mine! shouted the first hunter triumphantly. No! Im the

one who hit the target, therefore the deer is mine!, shouted the second. The hunters couldnt stand one other

any more and so they grabbed hold of each other and began to wrestle.

While they wrestled the fairy king Oberon snapped his noble fingers again and look - supreme

magic was done a third time! The most beautiful deer transformed into a most beautiful maiden. Even though

the maiden was bleeding from the wound of the arrow, she turned back with slight smile - as a true princesswould smile. When the hunters saw this they both thought: The most beautiful eyes in the world! More

beautiful than any jewels! I wish to have this maiden as my wedded wife! But in the blink of an eye the

maiden disappeared into the shadows of the noble trees of the virgin forest.


20/28



The hunters decided to pursue the maiden, chasing her in the shadows of the noble trees of the

virgin forest. Before they set out after her each took a young branch of the old apple tree, because they had

been taught that it would bring good luck in the chase. For the first ten miles the hunters pushed each other

towards either side of the forest path as they chased side by side after her, but somehow they managed to

continue their trip. The hunters managed to trace the maidens path by keeping their eyes on the drops of

blood that had fallen on the ground from the wound. Finally the hunters came to a crossroads where there

were no drops of blood on the ground. At the crossroads the path separated into two.

You may go to the left from here, my brother, and I shall go to the right, said one hunter tothe other. The second noticed the broken stems of ferns further along the rightward path. Lets do so, my

brother,. he said to the first hunter, who himself saw the broken stems of ferns on the path to the left. And so

the hunters parted at the crossroads and went on separate paths. Both hunters kept in mind the eyes of the

maiden, which each considered to be the most beautiful eyes in the world.

The Knight

The hunter who chose to go to the right from the crossroads, ended up after a ten kilometres

walk at a sandy cartroad outside the virgin forest. There were many travellers on carts and horses on the road.

One of them said to the hunter: Would you like a ride to the city? The hunter, who now found himself to be

one of the travellers on the cartroad, answered : Yeah, sure. So the hunter climbed up onto the cart andaccompanied the rider. Soon they started a conversation.

-So tell me, O rider, what kind of city is this to which we are heading?, asked the hunter.

-There is a large population in this city and the people speak various languages, answered the

rider.

-Is it a rich city or a poor one?, asked the hunter.

-It is both: There are many rich people, but even more poor.

-What else can you tell me about this city?, asked the hunter.

-It is the capital city of the Kingdom.

-And which kingdom is that?

-The Kingdom of Byzantium.-What is the name of this city?

-Constantinople.

-And who is the king?

-There is no king in this kingdom, answered the rider.

-How is that?,asked the hunter.

The rider told the hunter about the present situation. About two weeks ago the old king of the

Byzantine Kingdom had gone to fight the fierce, notorious, fire-spewing, and terrible dragon. The dragon lived

in an old mill about thirty kilometres west of Constantinople. The people of the Byzantine Kingdom were very

fearful of this neighbourhood. No human being dared to live there because of the dragon. Thus it had been in

the Byzantine Kingdom for the past thousand years. The rider told the hunter that the dragon had taken the

king prisoner and by now had maybe also eaten the king.

-Has this dragon previously taken human beings hostage and eaten them?, asked the hunter.

-There are no known cases that I can remember, but this neighbourhood has been avoided by men

and women for a very long time because of fear of the dragon, answered the rider.

-Where exactly does this terrible dragon live?

-About thirty kilometres west of the capital city of Constantinople,answered the rider.

After this remark both men fell silent.

The cart finally arrived in Constantinople, the capital city of the Byzantine Kingdom, and the

hunter dismounted and thanked the rider for the ride. There were lots of people on the streets mourning and

grieving the passing away of the king and the miserable state of the Byzantine Kingdom. The hunter headedstraight to the royal palace of the king and volunteered to finish off the much-feared and notorious dragon.

The highest general of the army of the Byzantine Kingdom accepted the hunter as fit for active military

service. And so the hunter was provided with an iron suit of armour, an iron shield, an iron sword and a

warning:


21/28



-This is a terrible dragon, which didnt hesitate to attack and eat the king of our kingdom, the

highest general told the hunter.

-I will remember your warning, General, said the knight.

The hunter who was now transformed into a knight with iron armour, shield and sword

began walking west from Constantinople, the capital city of the Byzantine Kingdom. After about ten

kilometres on the deserted road, the knight came to a crossroads where he met an old, poor beggar man whowore a wornout rag. -Greetings to you!, said the knight.

-Greetings to you also, answered the old beggar man, adding,Do you have any charity alms for

me, O Knight?

The Knight knew that it was unchivalrous not to give alms to the poor so he looked to see if he

had anything to give to the old beggar man. He realized that he didnt have anything besides the young branch

of the old apple tree, the iron armour, iron shield, and iron sword. The knight pondered that he could not give

the branch of the apple tree, so he decided to give away the iron armour. So he said to the old beggar man:

-Take my iron armour to the marketplace in the city and sell it there. This way you will have good

money - use it wisely.

The old beggar man thanked the knight and left for the city.

After walking a second ten kilometres on the deserted road the knight arrived at a second

crossroads. Here stood an old beggar woman dressed in an old, worn out rag. The knight greeted her politely

and she greeted him in return. After this the old beggar woman asked for charity alms. Again, the knight

knew that it was unchivalrous not to give alms to the poor and so he looked again to see if he had something to

give. The knight pondered and considered that he could not give the branch of the apple tree. So he decided to

give to the old beggar woman his iron shield. And so he said :

-Take my iron shield to the marketplace of the city and sell it there. This way you will have good


The old beggar woman thanked the knight and then left for city.

After walking a third ten kilometres on the deserted road the knight arrived at a thirdcrossroads, which was very close to the mill of the dragon. Here he met a young beggar boy who wore a worn

out rag and greeted him. The young beggar boy greeted him in turn and then asked for alms. The knight

pondered once again, considered that had could not give the branch of the apple tree and so decided to give his

iron sword as alms. The knight said to the boy:

-Take my iron sword to the marketplace of the city and sell it there. This way you will have good


The young beggar boy thanked the knight for the iron sword and gave the knight a package of

red-hot lozenges, saying, These will help you in your task.

The knight continued on his journey. He did not turn to look back, but if he had done so, he

would have seen that the beggar boy was no longer in the crossroads, but there was the mystical Oberon, the

king of magic himself, instead. As he walked closer and closer to the mill of the dragon the knight didnt fall

into despair because of the difficult situation into which he had put himself, but pondered the words of the

young beggar boy instead. How could he now conquer the fierce dragon, when he had no iron armour and no

iron shield and no iron sword?

Finally the knight arrived outside the dragons mill. Since smoke rose from the open window

the knight concluded that the fire-spewing dragon was inside. After a moment dedicated to thinking, the

knight collected his courage and raised his voice to shout,

-O Dragon! Can you hear me? Within the next blink of an eye the fierce, fire-spewing and

notorious dragon stood in the doorway of the mill with its fierce appearance, watching the knight with huge eyes

that shone like firebrands, breathing with a heavy rattle, and emitting smoke and flames from its nostrils.

-Stop your burning with fire, O honourable dragon, said the knight to the dragon.

-I have not came here to fight with you, but wish to be your trusted friend instead. So, here, take

a package of red-hot lozenges as a token of my friendship, continued the knight, offering the package of lozenges


22/28



to the dragon.

Next came a moment of tense silence. The dragon stared at the knight with its huge eyes

which were like millstones. Then it said to the knight:

-Thank you, O honourable knight. I welcome your friendship with great delight, because I

havent had a friend in centuries after my parents deserted me about thousand years ago. Everybody is afraid of

me in this neighbourhood and avoids me, which causes me great sorrow. I am a very lonely person.

The dragon took the package of red-hot lozenges in its paws and gulped all of the contents into

its huge mouth which was burning with flames and smoke. After swallowing the lozenges the dragon burped

loudly.

After this the knight continued :

-I want to be your friend, but nevertheless must ask you: Why have you taken the king himself of

the Byzantine Kingdom as your hostage, and do you happen also to have eaten him?

-No, not really,said the dragon.,I have not eaten him and I havent taken him hostage. In

reality I am a peace-loving dragon and eating human beings or taking them as hostages just doesnt fit with my

life values. But nevertheless I know the fate of the old king of Byzantine Kingdom.

-So tell me about it, my friend, said the knight to the dragon.

So the dragon told the knight that the old king had came to the dragons mill one late evening

in autumn and had suggested a plot: He wished to frame himself as dead, having died in heroic battle against

the dragon. The old king told the dragon the reason why he wished himself framed as dead:: The king had

lately grown tired of secular nature of his post as a king and tired of the myriad of secular worries that came

with this post. He had started to yearn for the peaceful life in prayer of a Christian monk. The king said that

if the dragon agreed to take part in this plot, he promised to pray for the dragon in the monastery. So, the

dragon agreed.

-The old king only wanted to make peace with the God Almighty and die wearing the cowl of a

monk, thats about all there is to it, said the dragon, finishing his story.-All right. I believe you, O dragon,said the knight, So, tell me: would you now like to take part in

another kind of plot, if the reward would be gaining lots of new friends?

-Tell me about it, O Knight!, said the dragon, much delighted.

And so it happened that the knight returned to the city and told everyone there

that he had domesticated the fierce, fire-spewing dragon. The inhabitants of the city were

much astonished by this news and decided unanimously to choose the knight as the new

king to replace the old king,, who was alleged dead. The dragon started to work as a miller

in his mill and because of this this new lifestyle gained a lot of new friends, because many

people in the Byzantine Kingdom started to visit the dragons mill carrying grain so that itwould be ground as flour there. They took the flour back to the city, sold it in the open

market place, and finally baked it as bread in the homes.

The knight, who was now the king of the Byzantine Kingdom, was very wise in all of his actions

as a ruler. There was still a gap between the rich and the poor in the kingdom, but the new king remembered

how he had become the ruler. The king lived in the royal palace in a modest way, eating modest bread,

tightening his belt, and wearing worn out old rags. He wished to donate all of his fortune to the poor of the

Byzantine Kingdom as alms to the hospitals and the schools and the orphanages and because of this the new

king was very much loved in his kingdom.

The new king planted the young branch of the old apple tree in the garden of his royal palace.

Over the years and decades the branch grew and became a large apple tree, which gave good harvest. Thisparticular apple tree had a peculiar feature. Every year on the very same date in autumn the trunk of the

apple tree began to bleed drops of human blood. Some people in the Byzantine Kingdom sensed that perhaps

these drops of blood reminded the king of some sweet memory in the past, but no one knew the content of this

specific memory.


23/28



The Troubadour

The hunter who chose to go right from the crossroads ended up deeper and deeper in the depths

of the virgin forest. He wandered in the forest for days, weeks, months, and finally years. During these years

he obtained his food from the virgin forest and slept at night under the trees. He made a f lute from the young

branch of the old apple tree and played it as he wandered. This flute had a peculiar feature: as the evening

cooled down the f lute began to play on its own a certain melancholic, languishing melody full of desire. Every

time the hunter heard this melody, it brought back to him the sweet memory of the maiden wounded by the

arrow.

As the years passed the hunter realized that fairies moved about and lived in the depths of the

virgin forest, which was now his home also. Soon he started to converse with them. Finally he became friends

with the fairies and learned the bird language they spoke and got to know their habits. The fairies taught

the hunter various songs, dances and games. The hunter shared his booty with the fairies and played the flute

for them. In those years the hunter and the fairies often spent time together with great delight. Soon the

hunter also started to write poems in the virgin forest, writing his poems in both the language of humans and

the language of fairies.

Many of the poems of the hunter dealt with spiritual topics. Once he wrote, for example, a poem

like this.

Prayer

There is a rose

pale as snow

secretly concealed

in the most secret

room of my soul

this rose has been

baptized with blood

of the Redeemer

The name

of the rose

is Prayer

and it moves

mountains

Another time he wrote a poem called, Love is a tree mystical.

love is a tree mystical

l o v e i s a t r e em y s t i c a l

i stand in the shadow

by its side

its fruits grow fast

in my eyes

in night time

together with daytime

spring time, summer time

autumn time

and even in the winter time

in all the colours of the rainbow

and while watching it i grow myself too

to each person this tree has something to offer

to each one with the way which pleases each one

to whom the suffering


24/28



This one shall have the suffering

to whom the passion

That one shall have the passion

to whom the tears

This one shall have the tears

to whom the kisses

That one shall have the kisses

to whom the miracles

This one shall have the miracles

to whom the nails

t h a t o n e s h a l l h a v e t h e n a i l s

Sometimes his poems dealt with erotic fantasy and desire, such as, for example,

this poem of his:

i n t h e d a r k

dream

and reality

are mixed when

i touch you

in the dark

carefully like

a deer of the forest

refreshes itself

from water

of the stream

of the virgin forest

carefully like

a butterfly

who skims

with its wings

the pollen of a flower

and our memories

are united

our hearts

sing

a song together

and between us

happens

what happened

in the fairy tale

there grows

wings of angels

between our lips

there grows

a bridge with

scent of roses

between our hands

there grows

a secret garden

between

our souls


25/28



there grows

the first fruits

of love between

our loins

The hunter wrote many of his poems in the cool moments of the evening while

the flute played its melancholic, languishing melody. In the years the hunter lived in the

virgin forest he had learned a great number of songs and dances and games of the fairies.After the hunter had lived in the virgin forest for ten years he ended up at the edge of the

virgin forest, at a cartroad which led to a nearby town. When the hunter found this

cartroad he decided to leave the virgin forest and search for new experiences in his life. In

town the hunter met people who asked him to play his flute. He started to play and

realized that in this way he could bring joy to the life of many of his fellow human beings,

who had many sorrows in their lives.

The hunter became a wandering troubadour who travelled from city to city, town to town, and

county to county and as he journeyed played his flute and sang to the common people. Occasionally he also

wrote poems which he recited in front of the people when asked to do so. Finally the wandering troubadour

ended up in the kingdom of Persia and little by little learned the Persian language. In the years thetroubadour spent in the Kingdom of Persia, he wore a simple linen tunic and lived a poor and simple life just

like the holy men of Persia, the Sufis. The troubadour rejoiced when people around him were rejoicing, g rieved

when people around him were grieving, and in his time there he loved the life of the poor and simple common

people.

While living there he heard that the Kingdom of Persia had an exceptionally beautiful queen,

whose eyes were said to be more beautiful than any jewels and who was rumoured to know the secret

language of the fairies. It was also said that the queen loved roses more than anything else. All this caught

the interest of the troubadour. He decided to go to meet the queen in the royal palace in the capital city of

Persia, Persepolis. He hoped that the queen would turn out to be the same maiden for whom he had searched

for years now, that is, the lady who had been wounded by the arrow years ago. At the palace the king of the

Kingdom of Persia greeted the troubadour in a friendly way. The king had heard of the troubadours musicaltalent. The king asked the troubadour to play and sing at a great party which was to be held at the royal

palace the very next day.

It was a most beautiful spring. The birds sang joyously and the apple trees had

begun to bloom. During the cool moments of the evening the flute played its melancholic

and languishing melody. The troubadour, who had been given the key to a guest room in the

royal palace, saw from his window how the full moon cast light on the palace garden, and

that a single white rose had miraculously started to bloom even though it was only very

early spring. The troubadour also observed a very beautiful lady pick the single white rose

in the moonlight. He concluded that she must be the queen of Persia since many courtly

ladies of the bedchambers followed her. The troubadour heard a nightingale sing, and atthat moment decided to write a poem for the queen.

The next evening the king and the queen attended the party together with the courtly people.

The queen wore a veil which hid her face, revealing only her eyes. The troubadour was asked to perform. He

rose from from his seat and stood before everyone. Then he met the eyes of the queen. By this time the

troubadour saw that these eyes were truly more beautiful than any jewels, that they were like those of the

maiden he had searched for all these years. The queens eyes were the same colour as the eyes of the lady who

had been wounded by the arrow years ago. The troubadour sang and played for the courtly people of the

Byzantine Kingdom. Afterwards he recited in front of all the people, in the language of fairies, a poem he had

written the previous evening.

N i g h t i n g a l e s s o n g f o r t h e r o s e

Do you not fear

that i might fall in love


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with you the beautiful stranger?

You the forbidden fruit

you the untouched rose

who wondrously are posed

in front of me on your bed

fragile and naked

bare and blossoming

full of desire

need and wanting

do you not fear

that i might want

to touch you

in this enchanted night

with moonlight like this

when your petals are

dropping damp and dreams

or are you just passing by

You look only one look

with smiles of beauty

and then you continue

your journey

and leave for me

only thorns

Y o u

who silently shed

the twinkling of the stars to my wings

y o u

who drop your tearsof solitude in this broken night

y o u

who secretly slip

your silky beauty into my heart

y o u

who softly touch

my heart like a blow of wind

y o u

who full of glowof desire press close against my heart

This poem touched the heart of the queen so deeply that she burst into tears when she heard it.

Thunderstruck, the king of Persia commanded his soldiers to throw the troubadour in jail. The troubadour

learned that he was accused of wooing the queen of Persia, which was as serious a crime as treason in the

kingdom of Persia, and for which there was only possible punishment: the death penalty. Later that night the

queen came secretly to see the troubadour in the jail house.

-Do you love me?,asked the queen.

-I love the lady with the arrow wound in her side. Show me your side so that I can be sure , saidthe troubadour.

The queen showed her side for the troubadour and the troubadour saw that it was smooth and

beautiful, there was no sign of a scar made by the arrow. The troubadour concluded that he had been


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mistaken: the queen was not the same lady as the one for whom he was searching. The troubadour sighed

deeply from frustration and after this the queen of the kingdom of Persia left him alone. The troubadour had

his f lute in the jail and the f lute started once again to play that melancholic and languishing melody. Tears

came to the troubadours eyes because he was far from his beloved and because his life could soon be put to an

end.

All that night the troubadour remained awake, inspired to write poems. As dawn rose he

started to play his flute. Doves lit on the windowsill of his jail cell to listen to his playing. When the concert

ended, the doves left. Soon after there a single dove white as snow lit on the windowsill. The troubadour sawthat a red silk ribbon hung around its neck and that hanging from the ribbon was a golden key. The

troubadour took the key from the neck of the white dove and used it to try the door of his cell in the jail house.

The key fit the lock and the troubadour thus escaped from the jailhouse and avoided the death penalty.

The troubadour wandered back along the same road on which he had walked to the kingdom of

Persia. The journey lasted days, weeks, months, and finally years. At last the troubadour ended up at the

edge of the same virgin forest which he had left years ago. In the forest the fairies welcomed the troubadour

with delight and held a great welcoming party for him. The mystical fairy king, Oberon, the King of the Magic,

was also invited to the party together with his spouse, Titania, the queen of fairies.

During the party the troubadour agreed to recite his poems. Before reciting one of them he

said it was one he had written in prison, and that it told of eternal desire and love that had not yet beenrealized, but which perhaps one day would be fulfilled. Then its more real than anything else, but now its only

fantasy compared to the reality. After these words the troubadour recited his poem.

When the white blooms of apple trees are dreaming

I didnt

know it before

but now my eyes

are opened

this spring

when the whiteblooms

of apple trees

are dreaming

all the fierce,

burning letters

of the Bible

spoke about

the beauty

of your eyes

all the psalms

which i opened

in the slow moments

of the night

tender as silk

all the

promises

of the living God

pierced by sunbeam

all the words

spoken by tears

glorified in the night

and their meaning

which i searched in my heart

in the middle of pain and anxietyin this uneven neighbourhood

which is called the world

in the moments of both joy and grief


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when fortune and misfortune were changing

all the spiritual canticles full of tears

all the verses of the song of songs

all the brightness of the new heaven and new earth

all the lyrical moments of creation

of the living God

the new jerusalem

the garden of tears

adam and eve before the fallall this in one handfull

of smiles of the scent

of your locks

sang even in one

fiber of your hair

sweeter than

anything

that i had

experienced

ever before

This poem touched the heart of Titania, the queen of the fairies, so deeply that she shed tears,

while at the same time Oberon, the king of the fairies, smiled mysteriously and clapped his hands.

The Maiden

But what became of the maiden who was wounded by the arrow? What was her

fate? Did she secretly in her heart choose the other hunter? Or maybe there was a third wayin the crossroads of the virgin forest and the maiden had chosen this third way? And maybe

this way the maiden had disappeared once and for all, forever. And maybe the mystical fairy

king Oberon knew but never told about it to anyone.

Jarkko Pylvs is a university student in in Western Central Finland and a journalist. He's studying

World history and Semitic languages and cultures and, as such, has studied Hebrew, Coptic, and

Greek, as well as theology and exegetics. One of his latest articles dealt with Human Rights in

Russia, namely the Freedom of speech, or lack there of. He has written several other articles on

Documents

The Cross and the Cosmos - Issue 09