random excerpts from

World of Sharlain

by Peter J. Ponzo

inspired by (who else?) J.R.R. Tolkien

About the World of Sharlain, a Tolkien world, created by the King of Light for his amusement. Therein lives Eba-evin, the Prince of Darkness, whose evil intent is to conquer all worlds (in particular the World of Man) by entering through the Door of Monash.

The story is told by an old man, living in this World of Sharlain.


First Interim

I am old and my memory is less than it was, yet I will tell you the story, for soon I will surely forget, and soon I will die, for I am not long-lived as are others in this land, yet my hair, as you see, is white with a hint of green, and that says something, does it not?

It began with ghosts, or at least a discussion of ghosts, and I am certain, though I was not present, that it took place at a weekly poker game. You must understand that I have been told the circumstances by others and I relate them now as best I can, from faded memory. At the time, were I present, I would have been skeptical as well. Indeed, I did not believe in ghosts or dragons or, for that matter, flying horses; it cannot be so, yet, can anyone really be sure? Stranger things have happened. And now, in this land, we have been witness to much stranger things. Much stranger things.

You will be the judge.

That is all past. Anyone who lives here, with hair of green, would scoff not at a belief in ghosts, but at any disbelief, for we have all seen the Ghost of Chalma and have ridden horses that fly and ... yet, I digress. What was I about to say? I was about to say that, were it not for the discussion of ghosts, perhaps I would not be here, now, with my beautiful wife and beautiful children. As you can see, your hair is quite green. I do believe that it stems from what we eat; the mushrooms perhaps, or the green berries that grow in profusion by the Stream of Life.

Why am I here? At times I think that I made an error in judgement; I should have stayed. Yet, I have been happy. Had I stayed, would I have been so happy? No, but then, can anyone really be sure?

I was speaking of ghosts, and while it is still fresh in my mind I will tell you the story. It began, as nearly as I can tell, at a poker game, or have I already said that?


CHAPTER 1
Other Worlds


            It was the fourth Thursday of the month and they were gathered at Dan Woller's house. His wife Kathy had made the tiny sandwiches, egg salad filling, cut into quarters, then had gone to play bridge with a neighbor. Tom filled his plate with sandwiches six-at-a-time, pushing three-at-a-time into his mouth.
            "Okay, what did you guys talk about last week, after I left?" said Dan.
            "Ghosts and goblins," Peter grinned. "Gord has a theory. He says that if you -"
            "No, don't tell Dan my theory. He'll just laugh it off, as usual," said Gordon, frowning. This was going to be another terrible evening, he could see it coming.
            "Come now, tell me this theory. I'm due for a good laugh," Dan said. "Besides, tonight we're in my house and you know the house rules: my wish is your command." Dan stared directly at Gordon, wagged his finger, grinned.
            "Okay, let me tell it," said Gordon, resigned to the fact that he would explain and Dan would laugh. Nevertheless, it was better than having Peter explain the theory and really provoking Dan's mirth. Perhaps he could tell it as though it were a joke, something humorous, not something that he really believed in. "Here's the theory," he began. "There is a world apart from this one that we know and love. A world of fantasy, a world of ghosts, goblins, dwarfs and flying horses. Maybe more than a single world, maybe several worlds, some with ghosts, some with goblins. Some of us, Tom maybe, see into this other world when conditions are right."
            "Like when Tom has had too much to drink," added Peter Jacobs.
            "Right," continued Gordon, grinning. Maybe if he made light of the theory then the guffaws would be minimized. He tried to grin while explaining, but it wasn't all that easy. "Which world Tom sees is problematical. Maybe the world of ghosts, maybe a world of dwarfs. Only Tom has the special power to observe this other world, and only sometimes. But when he does, then we all have the same opportunity if we are in contact with Tom, physical and mental contact."
            Dan Woller cocked his head and squinted. "Like, I'm supposed to give Tom a big hug when he sees a ghost, then I'll see it too, right? This Tolkien world. I'll see it," he said, his grin too wide.
            "Something like that," said Gordon, trying hard to maintain his smile. He really didn't like Dan Woller. "Now Dan, pay attention," he continued, lowering his voice and wiping the smile from his face. "Maybe you'll learn something. When Tom sees into another world I hypnotize you. You hold on to Tom, I hypnotize Tom, you're both in a trance, you're in communion, you see the same things, experience the same things. You can enter this other world at the precise moment that Tom has established the opening. You take advantage of Tom's special power and enter with him."
            Dan began to laugh, first softly, then with head held back, roaring with laughter, his greased hair splitting into a dozen pointed, shaking strands. "I enter another world, with Tom. Kicking and screaming. Holding on to Tom. Quite a handful I'd say."
            Peter leaned forward and looked at Gordon. "Did I hear you say that you would hypnotize Dan?"
            Gordon smiled again and nodded, then raised his hands to either side of his head, shaking them and shaking his head. "T'ain't jes Tom who got dose magic powers. Lordy, no."
            Dan began again to laugh and Gordon's smile turned quickly to a frown. He really didn't like Daniel Woller, never had. Dan was stunted in his creative abilities, had a brain like a benign tumor, criticized every new idea, laughed at things he didn't understand, expounded on things about which his knowledge was infinitesimal. But Dan was his boss. Why they had selected Dan as the head of mathematics at Corrigan College was a mystery. Perhaps being critical of everything and everyone is a necessary prerequisite. It wasn't necessary to have any ideas of your own, just as long as you were sufficiently critical of the ideas of your colleagues. Perhaps their colleagues at the college saw this critical response to any novel idea as an indication of intellectual enlightenment. Gordon knew better; Dan was a mental midget.
            Gordon stared at Dan for a long time then leaned forward and whispered. Dan stopped laughing and listened. Gord whispered again.
            "What? Hypnotize me?" Dan frowned only for a moment, then began to laugh again, but stopped when he saw that Gordon was serious. "Okay. Sure. Go ahead. Try it." Dan crossed his arms across his chest, squinting as he often did, to indicate disbelief.
            "Hey! This should be good, that I guarantee," said Tom, putting down his glass and swallowing hard the last of his quarter-sandwiches.
            "Gordon? This could be dangerous," said Peter warily. "Where did you learn the art of hypnotism?"
            "Don't worry. He won't succeed." Dan grinned and now put his hands on his hips. "Go ahead, Gord. Try it."
            This would be good. Gordon felt better than he had for some time. This was going to be a good evening after all. He rose from his chair and stared down at Dan. "Let's go into the other room. I need some darkness and some quiet and some comfortable chairs."
            They followed Gordon to the living room. Dan sat on a chair, still grinning, and Gordon stood in front of him. Peter turned off the music. Tom took a gulp of his whiskey and leaned back to enjoy the show. Gordon looked around, turned on a single light, placed his hands on Daniel's shoulders and whispered:
            "Be still, be quiet, think of nothing, look at my finger, it moves so slowly, back and forth, it brings the sleep, it brings the night, your mind goes blank, down, down, into darkness, into sleep -"
            Tom's mouth was open, egg salad perched precariously on his lower lip. It was working. By God, it was working. He saw the grin fade from Dan's lips, saw his squinting eyes develop into a blank stare, saw that Dan was now in a trance. Tom leaned forward. Peter Jacobs stared intently, not at Dan, but at Tom Barclay who seemed almost in a trance himself, his hands placed delicately on his knees, his eyes glazed.
            "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."
            Peter turned to Dan Woller. That was Dan speaking, wasn't it? What did he say? Peter rose slowly from his chair, worried. Hypnotism was nothing to play with; it could be dangerous.
            Gordon Chaplain smiled then raised his hand and Peter sat down again. This is too good to be true, he thought. His first attempt at hypnotism and Dan had gone under like a rock in a cesspool. He was tempted to make Dan do something stupid, embarrassing, something which the math department could laugh at. At the next departmental meeting, he could bring up the subject of hypnotism. And now gentlemen, under Other Business, our leader has some words of wisdom, words wrenched from another world for our edification. Professor Woller? You have the floor. Tell us of these other worlds. Borgo-nom achewan, if you please.
            "Gordon?" whispered Peter. "You've got to wake him up. This is dangerous."
            Gordon looked at Peter. Yes, he must bring Dan out of the trance. Too bad.
            "Daniel Woller, you will awaken, slowly, rise from the darkness, rise to the light, open your eyes, you feel fine, you feel good."
            Daniel Woller opened his eyes very slowly, blinked twice, looked about, saw Peter Jacobs frowning, then smiled.
            "See? I told you Gord wouldn't succeed."
            Peter started to say something but Tom blurted it out: "But he did succeed! He did!" Thomas Barclay was on his feet. "Gord had you under ... hypnotized ... you were really gone, really gone, that I guarantee!"
            The smile vanished from Daniel's face, replaced by a scowl. "What are you talking about?" He looked up at Gordon. "What the hell is he talking about?"
            Gordon smiled, his eyes slits of pleasure. "He's right, Dan. You were indeed hypnotized. But you won't remember a thing." He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, smiling.
            Dan rose quickly from the chair, scarlet blotches rising in his cheeks. "I don't believe it! You can't hypnotize me, I'm, I'm, it just can't be done."
            "Hey Dan," said Tom. "You were talking funny. You said something like Borgo borgo borgo."
            "No," said Gordon slowly, enjoying the moment. "What Dan said was this: Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan." Gordon said it carefully, enunciating every word. He stared directly at Dan, still smiling.
            Daniel began to sweat, his forehead shining in the dim light. "Okay, that's it for tonight," he said quickly, jumping to his feet. "Game's over, no more poker, time to go home, go home." Dan walked to the hall closet, confused. He fumbled with the closet door, pulled out his coat and turned to open the front door. He stopped and leaned heavily against a wall. It was his house. He looked at the floor and whispered, "please guys, go home now. It's time to go home."
            They all left immediately, without a word. Gordon Chaplain turned at the door to look back at Dan, to explain, to apologize if the experience had upset his boss. That was the least he could do. Dan Woller was clearly disturbed by the event. Gordon hadn't meant it to be a harrowing experience, but it had been, for Dan. Perhaps he had gone too far.
            Gordon didn't have a chance to apologize. Dan shut the door, stood there for a moment, then walked to the living room and collapsed in a chair, his face ashen, his cheeks wet with perspiration.
            "Prince of Woller, you are a fool!"
            It was Kathy. His wife was standing by the door, frowning.


CHAPTER 5
the Door of Monash


            Day came early to the mountain and the slopes were laden with morning mist of gray. Dark lay the valley below, the silver stream wending its way with a shining that came ghostly through the haze. The giant bird moved darkly across the amber sky, wings arched, gliding into the maw of the valley, dissolving in the glow that was Dragomir.
            Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, staring up from where he lay, listening to the thin sounds of the morning wind which swept down the mountain into the valley. For some time he lay without motion, without thought, without word more than a breath.
            He raised himself to his elbow, turned to see down into the valley with its gown of mist, still and silent but for the whispering wind. He rose unsteady to his feet and gazed into the distance, his hand arched above his brow. Across the emptiness, across to the far side of the valley rose the dark and shadowy hills, rising from the shroud, soaring into the dim light of morning.
            He stood on a ledge, a finger of stone which ran across the scarred face of a mountain. Before him, the valley. Behind him a black cavern, a dark and open mouth in the face of the cliff which rose vertical and cold from his feet to beyond his vision. He staggered back against the hard rock, into the cave, into the darkness until the day was but a circle of light. There he fell, collapsed, closed his eyes, collected his thoughts.
            Had he come to the World of Sharlain?
            Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, sat up, breathing heavily the thin air, feeling the cold stone by his side, gazing at the mouth of the cave. How long had he lay, dreaming? His eyes began to see in the darkness, walls rising to a vaulted ceiling, the depths vanishing into black. He rose and walked into the blackness, against the cold wall, groping. From the floor a dim light illuminated a stairwell. He placed his foot upon the first step, breathing softly, his breath a mist before his face. The light brightened and he took yet another step and it brightened once more and he took another step. Twenty seven steps, down into the belly of the mountain, each step brightening his way until he reached the cavern below, bathed in ochre light, ceiling soaring to unimaginable heights, the far wall too remote to observe. He stood on the last step and gazed out across the vast expanse; spires of stone rose forbidding to the ceiling.
            A path of small tiles wound its way to beyond the spires and he stepped onto the first tile, warily, his arms raised to either side, and he followed where it led until the path stopped before a golden tower of stone. Embedded in the base of the tower a plate of gold surmounted by two embossed dragons, each with nostrils flaring, flaming.
            An inscription:
            Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.
            The words to open the Door of Monash, from the World of Sharlain. He reached out to rub the brass, to repeat the words, to reenter his world. There was a noise, scraping, approaching from the depths of the cavern, then a wheezing. He turned and peered into the darkness. The light that had emanated from the stairs now vanished into a black void. It came closer, the scraping, the wheezing.


Second Interim

Now I will rest for some minutes, for you will understand that I am old and this story makes me weary; it makes me sad. Yet, you see that it was as I said: skepticism and disbelief. But can anyone really say that it could not be so? Stranger things have happened. I have witnessed stranger things. But, to search for a door, as though such a portal of wood or stone existed? Don't you see? It is a natural assumption by those who live in a world free of ghosts or dragons. And the old man who preached the end of the world. It is very strange, is it not? Who would believe in him? Truth cannot, by its nature, identify itself. I now think that, were he to have green hair, perhaps that uniqueness would have elicited increased interest, greater concern for his message.

But no, for when the dragon visited the world of Man, was there a greater understanding?

Yet, I get ahead of my story.


CHAPTER 14
Mountains of Mune


            The amber sky faded to starless black and the long shadows enveloped the land and the armies of the Dark Lord halted their march, the flying creatures nesting restlessly on the slopes of a rocky hill, the Ardens sitting about fires flickering in the night.
            Daniel sat on a ledge overlooking the darkened plain, a small fire burning by his side. As far as he could see there were small fires and a curious murmur as the armies of the Prince of Darkness bedded down. When he saw Eba-evin approach he jumped to his feet and bowed, only slightly. Daniel was, after all, a Prince of the Kingdom of Woller and commanded respect, but Eba gave none for he neither feared nor respected any man or beast.
            "At the first ray of light I shall guide my armies through a Door," said Eba with a flourish of his wings, shaking his head, thin tendrils of flame whispering from his nostrils. "We shall arrive in Dragomir and destroy the forces of Man before the day has ended." He threw back his great head and roared with laughter and the Ardens nearest him drew back in fear and the roar carried to the farthest fires and all that heard shivered.
            "But the King of Light, do you not fear his wrath?" asked Daniel.
            Eba leaped into the air and screamed in anger.
            "I am the Prince of Darkness and I am the King of Light! I fear no thing!"
            "But, the light from the Mountain. They killed -"
            "Silence! When I have destroyed the armies of Man I will level the Mountains of Mune, for I will be Lord over all worlds and no false God will stand in my way! The old Age has ended and a new Age begins!"


Fourth Interim

Please, bring me the wine that I might drink and continue ... weary though I am. And be thankful that you will stay and end your years in this land of plenty, of harmony, of love, of understanding beyond all reason. But thanks comes from recognizing your blessings, does it not? Were you to accept that which you have, without knowledge of those who have not, then the pleasure would be diminished. Perhaps it is for this reason that I tell you this story, that you may be thankful for your life, such as it is.

Ah, but I must continue for the days grow fewer. Listen well, my children.



            Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, pushed himself to an elbow and looked across the beach all aglow in the morning light, then across the Sea of Chalma to the distant cliffs where dwelled the Dark Lord, thought of the visit of the Ghost and his miraculous escape from the Abyss, the attack of the winged beasts, then he thought of Sandy and smiled at her passion, her eager body too quick to receive him, her low cries of ardor. He rubbed the red welt on his neck.
            "Sorry for that." Sandra Brickle lay by his side, a mischievous smile illuminating her face, her eyes sparkling, her robe hastily pulled about her and tied at the waist.
            Gordon placed a gentle finger upon the dark mole that was on her chin, and she blushed.
            "A mark of beauty," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.
            "Nice of you to say it, but -"
            "No, I really mean it. In some cultures, woman with beauty marks are very much in demand." He caressed her chin. "In South America, in the jungles of the Amazon, there is a tribe where the men worship the women with just such a mark. Other women are relegated to serve as beasts of burden, but those with such a badge of passion ...uh, of beauty -"
            "Of passion? Did you say a badge of passion?" Sandra pulled him to her and smiled.
            "Well, sort of," he said beneath his breath.
            "And the beautiful and talented Sandra Brickle has such a badge of passion," she moaned, placing a kiss on his cheek, then smiling into his face. "And these teeth, somewhat misaligned, are they, too, a sign of, of-"
            "Virtue, love ... uh, beauty," he stuttered. "Symmetry, uniformity describes a machine without soul or the capacity to love, but the individuality of these teeth -" He ran his finger across the smile and Sandra Brickle took his finger and sucked and pulled him to her.
            "It's time to climb that mountain," said Gordon, pulling away, hoping to change the direction of conversation.
            Sandra shook her head, looked wide-eyed up the steep slope. "He's up there?" she asked. "This King of Light? Can he get us out of this, this place ... back to my bedroom?"
            Gordon pushed himself to his feet, his pants falling about his ankles, and Sandra giggled and he quickly pulled them up to tie at his waist with a thin belt. He looked about and saw that his shirt had drifted out to sea. He grunted and began to walk to the trees which grew twisted and stunted at the base of the mountain. "C'mon!" he shouted, and Sandra rose, reluctantly, and followed.
            For hours they climbed the mountain, clinging to rocky ledges, pulling themselves from wooden stump to gnarled root, and the day diminished and they rested on a ledge, bruised and weary.
            "Do you know where we're going?" asked Sandra, breathing heavily, her terry cloth robe torn and streaked with dirt, her gaze directed up the face of the mountain whose top seemed hazy in a gray mist.
            Gordon leaned back and spoke slowly, gasping for breath between words. "I saw, earlier, something, uh, a glow or something, maybe a cave, can't say."
            Sandra squinted against the bright sky. "I can't see anything."
            Gordon closed his eyes as though asleep, then he answered. "Neither can I, not now. But we'll keep going. I'm sure there's something up there, where the light came from, the bolts of light that killed those things." He looked down and saw the dark shapes strewn across the beach, far from where the two had spent the night in each others arms. He remembered her eagerness, the inexhaustible energy, and he fell back and sighed a weary sigh.
            Sandra jumped to her feet. "Okay, let's go!" she cried and began again to climb and Gordon groaned and thought of her vigor, her passion, and he was tired once more, but rose slowly and followed.

            The day faded into twilight and the dark shadows ran ragged down the mountain as they crawled to the entrance of the cave. It was cold and fine powdery snow lay about. They had seen the cave earlier, from farther down, glowing in the shadows, then it had vanished in the mist, then appeared once again. Now they lay exhausted at the entrance, breathing heavily, legs still hanging over the edge. It was Sandra who first saw the shimmer of light from the dark interior, nudged Gordon, then crawled into the cave, then stood and peered into the black depths.
            When Gordon looked up she was gone.

WEED (unfinished)   and   Sharlain   and   Runner   and   Pink   and   Willow   and   Digger