The Capital of Lux
64 Autumn
Some Other Salinger
“One of the greatest tragedies of time is the way it closes doors that ought not have been forgotten. Left sealed long enough and the lessons fade, the stories go from a roar to a whisper, and eventually fall silent …
So the wise saying goes, ‘Beware the doors you choose to open …’
“However, I prescribe to the notion that it is equally unwise and perhaps more in line with the above quotations drawn from the text Forgotten Histories in Our Time by the Sage Flitsun Gravelstone that we should beware the doors we choose to close!
“I implore you to consider the following passage from a translation of a translation of what is perhaps a prayer, a mantra, or possibly even part of a ritual spell that directly references the goddess Brunhilde.
Ahem…”
Beware the Doors
Hammer held in hand at the break of day.
The strength to lift and the strength to let fall.
To break is to build as is the old way.
We strike for we know that time takes us all.
In Brunhilde’s name stone and steel we tame.
The sun rises high above the mountains east.
Our task is to seek no fortune nor fame.
For those who boast most are surely the least.
Hammer held high the sun falls to the west.
We strike as we live ‘cause our hearts still beat.
Though the work never ends we all must rest.
Hammer laid beside us in the long sleep.
Long as folk have eyes and breath in their breast,
Work never ends, until we join the deep.
The massive lecture hall was silent despite the fact that there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. No one cleared their throat or fidgeted for what seemed like forever as the Teacher looked out over the crowded auditorium.
“Well,” she stated calmly, cutting through the quiet. “What does it mean?”
A few hushed whispers drifted through the crowd, but no one spoke up or raised a hand for several moments.
“If no one has anything to contribute we’ll move onto the next …” She stopped mid sentence as she noticed a large firbolg boy standing with a hand raised. “Yes, you there. Something to share?” the Teacher asked skeptically.
“Forgive my delay in response, but I reconsidered my initial thoughts before choosing to share. At first examination the passage sounds like a straightforward call for the strength to work together and create greater things as long as one draws breath. A noble pursuit surely, and a very typical example of the type of propaganda many religious orders utilized to create the community mindsets that maintained service amongst their various spheres of influence …” the firbolg said clearly as he adjusted his glasses and shifted his large frame uncomfortably.
“However …” he said a little less confidently, “the structure belies a different meaning … it’s not a prayer, or a mantra, it’s a sonnet, or rather … a little song, and I do believe one of mourning as one’s hammer is laid to rest. Perhaps even one hammer in particular, Brunnhilde’s, whose work had been completed,” The boy stammered hurriedly as he sat back down, and waited.
It only took a few moments before the room erupted in laughter, and the big firbolg sunk into his seat as far as he could go, which wasn’t very far at all.
The Teacher quickly quieted the crowd with a curt gesture and a firm expression, and then said a familiar phrase.
“Ah yes, Salinger Farthsmir Morel, interesting interpretation… as usual,” she said tersely.
The young man winced as if he had been struck upon hearing his full name, but the Teacher continued unphased.
“As we can all see in the evidence based research on the following page …”
A few hours later Salinger left The University. The greatest place of learning in all the Kingdom. The white stone walls hummed softly as he passed by them. Inlaid with brass and cut blue crystals that danced in the shifting light. The whirring of tiny illuminated clockwork creations flitted between the tall buildings like fireflies through an old growth forest, and the city skyline groaned and shifted as afternoon fell into dusk like some sleeping colossus stretching at the end of a long day. He crossed through a beautifully manicured park just in time to see the bioluminescent flowers open in response to the setting sun.
He paused there for a time. It was only a year ago that he caught a glimpse of Queen Lil’lith walking across this very path flanked by her lightning knights. Each of them adorned in their jet black armor like sculpted obsidian carefully fused with thin lines of brass wire. Black and gold, like the Queen with her ebony plate mail and her golden hair. This place was the center of the world, it had everything.
He loved it, and so wished it would love him back.
Each neighborhood was densely packed with the myriad architectural styles representative of the mosaic of cultures that coexisted in the kingdom. Clusters of distinct yet similar structures that moved through each other like families through a crowd during a festival. The smells of every type of food imaginable waited to greet his senses around each corner, and most of all there were the stories. He’d always found a way to take the long road to every destination he could. Hoping to bump into an elder telling a folktale, or a visitor spinning an overly elaborate yarn about their travels. More often than not he did, and he’d curated quite the collection in his eighteen years. Not that any of his teachers seemed to have shown any interest beyond redirecting him to the “standard curriculum” and “established historical accounts.”
His favorites were all the ones that had been adapted into rhyme, or better yet song. The ones with an unlikely hero at the center that was forced to leave everything and save the day despite insurmountable odds. Alone and resigned to his quest until evil was vanquished. He hummed an old tune to himself as he went past the art museum and toward the concert hall.
humming
Duh dum dee dum da dum dum.
Lies somewhere beneath our feet.
There’s no need for goodbyes, just eager eyes
Hum dum dee dum dee dee
We’ll dance to the beat, but not with our feet
Hmm dum dum ding da dee
It’s where we’d like to be
Dah dum di dum dee da dee
With you right here next to me
He’d only left Lux City once in his life, and barely remembered the journey at all. A sleepy little town bordered by sheer cliffs on the coast. The kind of place unlikely heroes might emerge from to save the day in the old tales. It was just a quick vacation according to his parents. They stayed there a few days, and then the three of them came back home. He only had a few fragments of things left from that place. The smell of salt air, the laughter of the local children playing, one in particular with a wide smile and wild red hair, and the pieces of that song drifting across the room of some bar or inn. He longed to travel again one day, but everything was already here!
A smile spread across his face as he went up the Concert Hall steps, and a few well dressed patrons opened the doors and brushed past him. He could hear his mother playing her harp on the main stage just beyond.
He reached behind him without turning to look back, and grabbed an outstretched hand then paused to utter a name, but he couldn’t remember it. A cold chill washed over him causing every hair to stand on end for a split second, and he looked back and down at his outstretched hand. A gentle snow was falling, and his hand was empty.
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