Pillar and Moon

This is an ancient tale of how two immortals, once at odds, came to be immortal lovers whose love is still evident to this day.

In ages past, the earth and sky were held firm by a tall, strong pillar.  Spread out before the pillar’s feet were all the lands of the world. Hung upon the pillar’s shoulders was the firmament from which shone Sun and his friends, the stars. Sun held nothing but disdain for Pillar, whose roots were in the earth.  Sun strode confidently across the sky, and Pillar was content to ignore his posturing, for Pillar’s domain was the world.

Mountains looked upon Pillar with awe and dreamt of being tall.  The plains looked upon Pillar in admiration, and dreamt of being strong.  In all the world, the lands envied and marveled Pillar, for he was unequaled in strength or resilience.  At the sound of his voice, the earth stood still, as the power of it thundered across the plains and buffeted the mountains.  For many ages, the world turned and Pillar was content, for he was master of all beneath him.  He was respected, he was just, and his power made him proud.

It would be to the sound of beautiful laughter that Pillar’s world would shift.

One night, high in the heavens, a vision of beauty unknown to Pillar appeared.  Her figure was slender, yet full, and upon the sky she danced.  All the world was aglow with her beauty, which shone brightly from her for all to see.  The mountains and plains arose from their slumber and turned their eyes upon her.

Pillar too, was enchanted, yet the pride of long ages warred with his awe for this new beauty.

“Turn away from her, dear mountains and plains!” Pillar’s voice thundered across the world and into the night sky.  The mountains and plains, long accustomed to Pillar’s temper flinched at the power of his words.  Some turned away from the sky dancer, but most remained transfixed as she turned slow pirouettes across the sky.

Anger boiled deep within Pillar and turning to the newcomer, he set the power of his voice upon her.  “Cease your dancing!  Who are you to turn my loyal friends from me?  Who are you to claim the night sky which rests upon my very shoulders?”

The dancer paused at the power of Pillar’s voice and he smiled, for even this heavenly dancer must heed the power of his words.  Pillar’s smile faded as the dancer began swirling across the night sky once more.  He opened his mouth to shout the dancer down from the sky, but was stopped by the sound of beautiful laughter.

“I am Moon,” said the dancer between laughs.  There was mirth in her laughter and no small amount of mockery.  This enraged Pillar, but he was troubled, for each soft peal of laughter from Moon seemed to twist around his stomach.  Moon’s glow was like a soft caress, her laughter sent shivers along Pillar’s body.  Still, his pride would not let him succumb to Moon’s beauty.

“I am Pillar,” he announced proudly.  “All the world is held firm beneath me and the sky rests upon my shoulders.”  Having stated this, Pillar felt his composure return, for he knew his words to be true.  Emboldened by his returning spirit, Pillar spoke his mind.  “You are beautiful Moon, more beautiful than all the lands beneath me or all the stars in the sky.”

At this, Moon laughed again, but Pillar thought he heard a little less mockery and a little more genuine mirth this time.

“I am pleased that you find me beautiful, Pillar, but I see the lie in your words,” Moon replied.  “You wish to keep me as your own, but I dance where I wish.”  At this, Moon began to slowly dance away from Pillar, further across the night sky.

All sense of reason left Pillar.  Panic and rage surged through him in its place.  “You will not deny me, Moon!  I will continue to hold the sky for you, but only if you dance for me and me alone!” Pillar’s voice smote the sky and rent deep cracks throughout the earth.

Nimble as Moon was, even she was thrown off balance at the rage in Pillar’s voice.  She was scared, yet her own stubborn nature would not let her give in to Pillar’s childish tantrum.  Her retort was scathing.

“You would drop the sky, crushing the earth and all you hold dear?  The sky is vast, Pillar, and I would find other places to dance.”  Moon said.  Even through the musical lilt of her voice, it became clear that Moon’s voice held power as well, and Pillar realized he would not be able to shout her down.

For the first time in his life, Pillar was humbled.  He could not reach into the sky to grasp Moon without dropping the sky and crushing all he held dear in the world.  He could not leap into the sky to catch her, for the world would collapse in his absence, and shatter upon his return.  Pillar saw that he had been a fool, one unfit to lead the mountains and plains.  In his heart grew the heaviest truth, that he would uphold the sky, and keep firm the world no matter what.  He planted his feet, and the earth ceased trembling.  He squared his shoulders, and the sky swirled steadily overhead once again.  Pillar looked above, seeking to apologize to Moon, but she was already gone.  In her place was Sun, who looked down upon Pillar in anger.

“You would threaten the sky which is my home and the home of my children?  You dare to try and shout down Moon, my most beloved sister?  You will never have her, Pillar, I will see to that!”  At these words, Sun raced across the sky, pursuing his beautiful sister, who held all the sky and world in awe.

Left in quiet contemplation, Pillar saw that his tight control of the mountains and plains had been kind, but unfair.  Carefully, and ever so slowly, Pillar loosed his grip on the earth.  Slowly, the world began to spin, and the mountains and plains ambled where they wished.  In time, the very face of the earth would change, as the land beneath Pillar’s feet roamed where it wished.  At times, Pillar’s friends would clash, and great earthquakes and eruptions would result, but Pillar would set them right and calm them.  And always, Pillar would look to the sky, hoping for a glimpse of Moon and her beautiful dance.”

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Kellen set aside his lute and took a deep drink from his glass.  At some point, Casper had swapped his mug of water out for a glass of wine, which suited Kellen just fine.  After all, he was telling a story from times long gone.  The stillness of the room drew his eyes up from his glass.  The room was packed, yet the dozens of patrons were hardly breathing, and every eye in the room was upon him.  Searching for a particular set of green eyes, Kellen found Leah’s face in the crowd and gave her his sauciest wink.  She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him, but motioned for him to pick his lute back up.  So, she was just as eager as the rest of the crowd for him to finish the story.  Very well then, thought Kellen, he was never one to disappoint an audience.

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Moon was as good as her word, as Pillar would soon find out.  She danced across the sky each night.  Each night she turned her radiant face further and further away from him, until he could only see the faintest outline of her against the dark of the sky.  In desperation, Pillar called out to Moon.  He spoke to her of his long vigil, of the burden of supporting the sky and safeguarding the earth.  He spoke to Moon in a voice rich with power but devoid of malice, pride, or fear.  He spoke to Moon the truth in his heart and hoped that she would hear the sincerity in his words.

The next night, Moon did not appear.  Despair and regret filled Pillar.  His foolish pride had cast away the one beautiful thing he had ever truly wanted.  He had opened his heart to Moon and she had turned away completely.  The day after Moon’s disappearance was the worst of Pillar’s long life.

“She has chosen to dance elsewhere, Pillar,” Sun gloated.  “She will never be yours and you have all your long years to contemplate how her decision was due to your own rash action.”  Sun strutted away across the sky, leaving Pillar miserable as the sky turned dark.  Even Pillar’s friends were hesitant to approach him, and could only watch from a distance as Pillar stood with his head bowed, with the sky spinning slowly overhead.

And then came the first glimmer.  It was faint at first and Pillar fought against the rising hope that threatened to burst forth from his chest.  Against the eastern sky, a sliver of pale light appeared.  Moon had indeed returned and was slowly dancing her way across the sky.

Pillar wanted nothing more than to rush to her, to hold her tight against his chest and tell her all the hopes and fears held deep within his soul.  Instead, he stood firm upon the earth and kept his shoulders square against the sky.  He did not call out to Moon, but simply watched her, and knew that she was aware of his watching.

The next day, Sun’s strut seemed a little stiffer than normal and he did not gloat as he passed by Pillar.  Pillar tried to keep a close guard on his excitement, but the earth rumbled underfoot with the thundering of his heart.

Over the next few nights, Moon would appear and dance her way slowly across the sky.  Her dance was the unhurried and carefree movement of someone who does not care who is or is not watching.  It was a dance done because walking was not enough.  Moon danced, and Pillar watched, happy to hold the sky as Moon turned in slow, spinning steps.  Each night, Moon turned her face a little further out of shadow.  As the nights sped by, Pillar could slowly see more of the soft curve of her cheek, the gentle outline of her brow, and the graceful slope of her neck.

Finally, Moon turned her face enough towards Pillar for him to see her expression.  The glint of mischievous intelligence shone in her dark eyes.  But what truly made Pillar’s heart skip was that he could see the hint of a smile on her lips.  Before she had left, she had indeed heard the truth of his words.  He had offered her the gift of his heart and she had accepted, dancing her way back to him.  Chased by Sun and all his friends, Moon had chosen Pillar over all others.

Sun was furious.  His words roared forth with heat and rage that scorched the earth and turned the ground around Pillar to cinders.  A younger Pillar would have heaved against the sky, sending Sun tumbling away, never to be seen again.  Pillar had changed and grown.  Instead of responding with violence, he merely shrugged away Sun’s fury.  The effect sent ripples across the sky and Sun lost his footing.  Threatened with falling from the sky, he skipped backwards instead.  Immediately, Pillar felt the heat from Sun lessen, and green things began to grow upon the earth once again.  Too stubbornly proud to retrace his lost steps, Sun cursed and raged from his new spot in the sky, but refused to come closer.

Each night, Pillar and Moon would talk and each night she would move a little closer, turn her face a little further towards his own.  Having seen countless ages spin across the sky and pass underfoot, days and nights were nothing for Pillar, yet he longed to see Moon the moment she was gone from his sight.  Moon felt much the same, but the light of her dance was needed throughout the sky, no matter how much she had grown to care for Pillar.  He in turn had come to realize this, and did not seek to hold what must not be caged.  She had chosen him and that was more than enough.

Thus it is that the moon dances through the night sky.  Thus it is that the earth turns.  Thus it is that the moon ever comes back and turns her gaze to the earth.  Immortal Pillar, who safeguards the earth and shoulders the firmament above.  Immortal Moon, the radiant beauty whose presence brings hope and love even in the dark.  Two lovers, ill-met but well-fated, a boon and example for all lovers in the night.

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Kellen’s words hung in the air of the tavern and the last notes from his lute sang sweetly after them.  The audience was motionless for a long moment, then movement slowly became evident as people sat back from the edge of their seats, or remembered to blink or breathe.  The applause started quietly, almost timidly at first, but soon swept through the tavern in a thunderous roar, accompanied by pleased hoots, whistles, and laughter.  Kellen grinned and nodded to the crowd, but refrained from bowing.  Bowing was for showing off and bragging, both of which Kellen supported when the purpose of a story was to increase his reputation as a bard.  This story was for the audience, for the men and women whom had already started pairing off to find comfortably private corners in the tavern to hold back the chill of the night with each others’ company.

Speaking of which, Kellen thought, as he scanned the crowd.  A pair of silk-gloved hands slowly entwined their way around his shoulders from behind, and the subtle scent of lavender and cinnamon accompanied Leah’s embrace.

“Did you like the story?” he asked.

“It was alright,” she teased back.

Kellen snorted.  “You know full and well that the story was good.  You just won’t give me the satisfaction.”

He cleared his throat as she nibbled on one of his pointed ears.  “Oh, it was a wonderful story, Kellen.  As to the satisfaction, well that’s up to you.”

The End.

 

A Story at The Wistful Hearth.

Kellen took a long draught of water from the mug near his stool.  Storytelling was thirsty work, even for an experienced bard.  Sometimes a bit of liquor was just what a story needed to help add fire to a momentous battle or a fight between mortal foes.  Other times, an aged wine was perfect in helping evoke the flavor of ancient deeds set in the far flung past.  Water though, water was good for clearing the mind, a boon for starting a new story.

Setting the mug aside, Kellen flexed his hands, relishing the crackling sensation as the nimble and slender digits popped lightly.  Taking up his lute from its resting position in his lap, he made a show of tuning the instrument, but really he was eying the crowd, gauging its collective mood.  Kellen let his eyes wander, trusting in his sharpened bardic instincts to filter out the relevant cues that would influence his next performance.

The tavern was thick with patrons, and as Kellen had rightly guessed, the tavern was in an area safe enough and close enough to the residential district that a fairly balanced mix of males and females were now present.  Casper Lark, the proprietor of the tavern was merrily chatting with several regulars by the bar.  Even as he talked, he quietly pushed drinks into the newcomer’s hands and took their offered coin, seemingly as an afterthought.  Kellen smiled inwardly.  Lark was a man who knew how to work a crowd, something Kellen could always appreciate on a professional level.

Kellen well knew that in a few bells time, the men and women present would have enough liquid courage in them to try their hand at dancing.  For now though, he would help ease them into their mugs with a story.  And here Kellen was faced by a crises he had long grown accustomed to.  What story should he tell? A sad story would get the crowd deep into their mugs, and on a cold, dark night like tonight, the liquor was sure to pour.  The deal Kellen had with Casper would ensure him a percentage of the night’s sales, and even though Kellen had recently acquired a rather decent windfall, he was never one to turn down honest coin for an honest night’s work.  He wasn’t much for turning down dishonest coin for dishonest work either, but the crowd needn’t know that.

He could spin a raucous, and ever so slightly lewd tale, one that would have the patrons laughing at the story as they reflected on how the characters in the story mirrored their own lives.  A slight, impish grin spread across Kellen’s face.  He knew a particularly good tale involving a donkey and a cheese wheel that he’d been dying to tell.  Still, the story didn’t quite fit the mood.  Not yet, at least.

A glimpse of a silk-gloved arm in the crowd decided Kellen’s mind.  There was only one woman he knew that would come rub elbows with modestly wealthy traders and shop owners while wearing exorbitantly expensive silk gloves.  Even in the muted light from the tavern’s lanterns and the fire in its twin hearths, Kellen guessed that those gloves were dyed a very distinct yet tasteful lavender.  Leah, his lover and economic windfall had a debilitating weakness for silk gloves and that particular color.

Knowing full well that his harp was ready to leap into vell asul, joyful noise, at a moment’s notice, Kellen ceased twiddling with the tuning pegs.  A novice bard might have strummed a loud chord to gain his audience’s attention, but Kellen was no street-side minstrel.  No, Kellen Pock, bard to kings and queens, gnomish adventurer and daring-doer needed no mean trick to gain an audience’s attention.

Adjusting his posture, Kellen became still.  A deer in the forest, sensing danger, will become still.  A man, poised between that point of salvation and a precipitous fall to his doom will become still.  Two lovers, ensnared in the fire of passion will catch the others’ eye, stopping all thought, motion, and breath.  This was the nature of Kellen’s stillness.  It spread out from him in a slow wave, like the cold of the world’s deepest lake.  As it passed from patron to patron, conversation dwindled and ceased.  Slowly, all eyes turned to Kellen as a hush fell over the crowd.  The world itself seemed to balance upon a razor’s edge, not daring to breath, not daring believe.  To the sound of vell asul, Kellen began to speak.