The Chaos of ImaginationÂ
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Patrick S. Smith - writer, poet, and knitterÂ
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A link to one of my poems - From my book "The Chaos of Me."Â
HEROESÂ
Dedicated to emergency workers everywhere, especially the Firefighters, EMS, and Police of New York City who, on September 11, 2001, showed the true metal of the United States of AmericaÂ
Even with all the power of the Seeress, some things can not be avoided.
... When one tries to distill facts from grandeur in stories of the Seeress, a startling revelation becomes clear: Not all instances have a good choice…
... One then must wonder what evils the Seeress must have to choose at times…
—Mistress Aiode, Sage of ElhrubYear 722
“Mom, why did you tell that blacksmith where he could find his wife? You know he will beat her again,” ten-year-old Hani asked her mother. Her eyes sparkling in the light of their small campfire.
With no wind, the mid-spring air hung heavy. Frogs were croaking in the stream near where Sarior and her daughters camped.
Sarior sighed at the question. Before she could explain, her oldest daughter, Merthe, spoke in slightly more than a whisper. “Why must you always question Mom? The woman was his wife, so Mom helped him find her, and keep your voice down, Dorine just fell asleep.”
A slight scowl came across Sarior’s face at Merthe’s response to her sister. “Merthe, your sister asked a question to learn and understand why I did what I did. It would serve you to listen so you may learn the full truth of the world and your powers.”
Sarior sighed again and began rocking the little girl she had been cradling in her arms. “Yes, Hani, the man will beat his wife again. Did you try to discover what her fate was if I had not revealed to the blacksmith where he could locate his wife?”
“No,” came the sheepish reply from Hani. She lowered her head as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
“If I hadn’t told the blacksmith where his wife hid, other cruel men would have discovered her. Ones worse than him. They would have taken money from other men so they could use her as they liked.” Sarior’s eyes focused on the fire as she spoke.
Hani and Merthe both looked at the fire’s embers after hearing what their mother had told them. “Why do I not see that, Mom? I see the man beating his wife, then I see him lying in bed with a fever,” Merthe said. She leaned slightly forward, looking for some missing detail.
“It is because the threads are now woven and other fates no longer exist. Had you looked at his wife when we met the man, you would have seen a different fate for her. A worse fate as strangers would have beat her worse than her husband does. And her sons would have become slaves while they would force her daughters to serve men as she did.” Sarior adjusted the blanket that wrapped around Dorine.
Suddenly, Hani’s face lit up. “I think I see the blacksmith dying and the woman finding a new husband. One who treats her better. But it is shadowed and I can’t see it well. Can you Mom?”
“You see a possibility for her,” Sarior said, her lips drawing out to a slight smile. “Yes, the blacksmith will die of fever. As for his wife finding a new husband, that is in question. Certain events must come together for that to happen. Things not involving her or her husband.”
Hani again stared at the embers, as if studying something. “I can’t sense a way for us to help her have this new husband.”
“The path may not exist yet, or it is not within our power to influence directly. That is the shadow you sense over it,” Sarior said, brushing the hair out of the face of the girl she held. “Don’t dwell on the matter, as I have already touched Fate’s hand enough.”
“Could we take action upon the men who desire to make women harlots?” Merthe asked, clenching her fists.
“People,” Sarior said, shaking her head. “The people who wished to turn her into a harlot. There were women who would have also helped make her a harlot. Sadly, we have done all we can for now. If we try to do more, we would earn enemies that would pursue us and we could not help others.”
Hani’s eyes began to water and tear up at her mother’s explanation. “But what good is us knowing if we can’t help? It is like Fate is being mean to us.”
Closing her eyes and pursing her lips slightly, Sarior said, “Our sight allows us to help. It is imperative you girls learn to know when, where, and how to help. The path we desire people to follow isn’t always the path they can walk. My grandmother, Deragel, sat a five-year-old boy on a path that led to his death in battle. If she had done nothing, he would have become a prosperous ruler, but one who would have tortured anyone he thought who opposed him. Hundreds would have suffered because of him. She still agonizes about making that decision, even knowing there were only two threads for him.”
“But how will we know the correct choice?” Merthe asked, with a slight tilt of her head.
“I will give you my mother’s answer when I asked her, and I wish there was a better answer. View as many possibilities as you are capable of and be true to yourself. Help with the least effort, as helping too much is worse than not helping. Remember, though, some paths are set and nothing will change it. This you must learn on your own.”
“Now it is getting late. To sleep, both of you.” After telling their mother good night, the sisters laid down to go to sleep.
***
When they awoke the next morning, they found their other sister, Feota, already awake, trying to roll up her blankets. Their mother was staring blankly at the fire.
“Mommy said when you wake up, we need to take Dorine to the stream and we all wash up,” Feota said to her two older sisters.
“Has something happened?” Hani asked.
“I told her I had a dream about ships and then she saw them. She’s been looking at them since then.”
“Feota, go with Hani and I’ll take Dorine. I hope Mom will explain this to us when we get back.” Merthe reached down and picked her sister up, and followed Hani and Feota to the stream.
Only a few minutes had passed after the girls left when Sarior tamped the fire down. Her face held a grim expression as she said in a whisper, “Damn you, Fate. Why must you make me sacrifice one of my daughters?”
The Chaos of ImaginationÂ
Â
Patrick S. Smith - writer, poet, and knitterÂ
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To find more of my writings, please visit:Â Â https://patrickssmithauthor.wordpress.com/Â
Some people encounter the Seeress and do not realize it.
... As evidence implies that the Seeress, knowing the hearts of people, only announces herself as the Seeress to give weight to her proclamations or counsel. This has given rise to speculation that she often passes unknown among people and helps others without them knowing she was there...
—Mistress Aiode, Sage of ElhrubYear 722
A woman stopped her wagon near the farmhouse. The wagon was a simple affair, not much more than a common box wagon with a shelter added to it. A pair of mules who didn’t seem to care pulled it.
The woman climbed down from the wagon and made straight for the farmer, who was preparing to milk his two cows.
“Excuse me, good sir. Can I trouble you for a skin of milk for my baby niece? She’s orphaned and I am all she has in this world. I have coin so I can pay.”
“You can keep your money. I’d never hear the end of it from my wife if I took your money so you could feed your niece. Now if you had enough coin, I’d sell you that scrawny cow over there. She’s bound for market next week.”
The woman looked at the two cows for a second before saying, “Thank you, sir. I don’t know about keeping cows, but I would think about selling the bigger one. She has an air about her. She harasses the other one and won’t let her be. I think if you separated them, the smaller one might do better.”
“I appreciate the try at some advice. Just sometimes, cows don’t turn out as fit as we’d like. Do you have a skin handy? Cause it is time I get to milking them.”
The woman handed him an empty skin she’d been carrying on her shoulder. The farmer soon got work filling his bucket. His practiced hands filled his bucket to a level where he filled the skin. After filling the skin, he tied it closed and handed it back to the woman.
“Thank you again. Hopefully, this will last until I can return home and find my goats,” the woman said with a smile and a slight bow.
“You may want to hurry, then. That milk may not be fit by evening,” the farmer warned as the woman climbed up into her wagon. She waved goodbye as she set the mules off again.
Not long after she left, a little girl of about five came out of the wagon and sat down beside the woman and asked, “Mommy, why did you lie to the man? The milk is for my sister.”
“Yes, the milk is for your sister, but I lied to protect us. Had I told the man it was for my daughters, he could have had questions about why I needed the milk. It is not good for a woman to have a child and have no husband,” the woman explained.
“But you have no husband and have me and sissy.”
“The Aranians have children but no husbands, and you have heard the mean things some people say about them.”
“Oh. But why did you not tell the man to sell the fat cow so the skinny one could get bigger and provide him with many calves?”
The woman smiled at this as she said, “Again, to protect us. To tell him which cow to sell and why may have made him guess at who we are. Who I am. He may have expected us to make decisions for him. By telling him what he might do and a little of the why, he now must make his own choice.”
“But what if he keeps the fat cow?” the girl asked.
“Then he keeps it and will be hard pressed to have more than three cows while that one lives. Now, go back inside and check on your sister and practice what I have taught you to shape your mind.”
Throwing her arms around her mother, the girl said, “Yes, mommy.”
***
A couple of decades later, a woman traveling on foot approached the farmhouse. It was nearing evening and the sky should be red, but it was black with the coming storm. She saw the clouds in the distance illuminate with flashes of lightning. In the barn, the woman heard some cows protesting the coming storm.
The woman approached the farmhouse and knocked on the door. The farmer’s wife answered it. “May I help you?” she asked as she examined the stranger who had knocked.
“Yes. There is a storm coming, and I wanted to ask if I may spend the night in your barn?” the traveler replied.
The farmer’s wife looked at her with a sidelong glance before saying, “By the look of you, I’d say you’re a northern person. What brings you here?”
“Yes, my parents were desert people, but they gave me to the Aranians. I presume because my father wanted a son and not a daughter. I’ve been traveling to find what this world wants of me.”
“Well, you don’t have to sleep in the barn tonight. We have an extra bed you can use for the night.”
“Thank you, but I would prefer the barn. I’ve spent so much time sleeping in tents and under the stars. A proper bed and roof bothers my mind. And those fine sounding cows I think would be soothing on a night like this. How did you come about them?”
“It’s odd. Many years ago, we had two cows and one was sickly, which we were going to sell. For some strange reason, my husband kept her and sold the good one. It didn’t take long for the sickly one to fatten up. She produced several fine calves who have provided more. The twenty head we have now are all from her or her offspring. If you had seen that cow in the beginning, you’d never believe me,” the woman said.
“But if you prefer the barn, so be it. I’ll tell my husband so he won’t wake you.”
“Don’t worry about waking me. If he does, then it means I should have already gotten up.”
“Fine then. If you need anything, just knock.”
“Thank you, I will,” the traveler said.
“Well mother, thanks to you, it appears they chose well,” she thought to herself as she headed to the barn to sleep.
The Seeress. The stories about her are countless. Who she is and where she comes from is shrouded in mystery. People say she is the harbinger of good tidings or calamity.
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