At the stars

(For the Knight)

There are times when the Knight and I would patter around the school after our classes, then decide to lie down in the middle of a grassy somewhere implicitly not so allowed, where the sky was unobscured and seem just within your reach. We would look at it and think about it, our thoughts spanning the length of truth and the fantastic.

The last time we did so, one ventured to ask what I would be, in his opinion, if I belonged to that sky. His answer was very curious, if not altogether endearing. However, it reminded me of a story that I had in mind a long time ago, when one was still in the habit of fashioning complete universes--so complete it had even its own cosmogony and literature. He was, and still is, doing that sort of things, something that makes me tremendously happy in knowing, and partly selfish, whenever I hear his tales, as I never do get enough of them and insist that he keeps on weaving them. Methinks we both are the reverse Arabian Nights, he is the Scheherazade, word-spinner, and I am Schariar, spouse-killer, or rather, one who has yet to outgrow the other world of words, weary I am of this world.

It is for his sake, that he reminds me of it, that I will retell the story.

---

It so came that the Golden Maid had grown so fond of her own toy that she decided to abandon the further dwelling to reside in the newer land.

Left by her sister, the Silver Maiden lingered alone in those parts. Unable to bear the brightness of the sun and careful not to vex her sister by keeping to the other's side, she kept herself as far away from all as much as she could, silent in solitude and madness of what she knew would be. All else were too far away, even her companions in the dark, remnants of the tears shed for the lost child of the First Mother. These fires, these stars, watched her from afar, awed and fearful of her melancholy gleam. It was not like theirs for it was far too cold, and she uttered nothing in reply even if they sang to her and each other. Among them were Herders, brighter than the rest, caretakers of the fainter ones, cautious to gather those around with their mantles of wisp and dust.

One of them had, by chance, took his course far too near the Silver Maiden. To his surprise, he heard the Maiden singing. It wasn't that she was silent, but she was only too far away to be heard. Closer and closer, he edged to the Maiden to hear her words, and he saw her for herself, beneath the forbidding frozen light. And if it was curiousity and pity that brought him near, now it was something else that made him overstep the final distance between them.

In the fear of finding another so near, the Silver Maiden ran, with the Herder only a few steps behind. When she grew weary of running, she stopped and awaited for whatever harm she perceived from him. But the Herder threw his mantle about her and drew her to him, asking why she was alone.

The Herder's words broke her madness, and the Silver Maiden forgot the darkness and her visions, and finally returned the Herder's embrace. Within her, her sadness remained, indelibly marring her, but then, only the Herder and his fire mattered.

From then, the Silver Maiden awaited the Herder's coming, waning as he sojourned with his flock across the expanse of the sky, shining fullest when he was there again.

---

There are other parts of the story, which would be too long to retell, and one is running on limited time. It's nowhere near Tolkien (God bless his good pen), but then again never did I endeavor for it to be even levelled with him. Good heavens, what an ambition! It was made out of fun and for the sake of knowing really if I could make a universe as a writer. However, here I am, thinking that this was made many years past, how foolishly it was made, and that only now did I find meaning in this simple tale.