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+--- Thread: The Grist (/showthread.php?tid=1436)
The Grist - BIAD - 10-31-2023
I thought it was going to be just an ordinary Tuesday, but he'll be here soon and then I'll be on my way.
This will be the last time I light these lanterns on the bridge and somewhere deep in my heart, the task
will be missed, but not the lonely trek to accomplish the chore. It was on such as a night as this cold
winter's eve that I first met Accam Dey and on a similar one in an Autumn not too long ago, the wily
wayfarer did what he did to me.
I suppose I should explain to the reader of this tale who-is-who and how it all came about.
I'm the Miller's daughter, the last in the line of the Jessup family and because of that night that the
tinker came to my little home beside the river, I am unmarried and without kin to pass my name onto.
I'm a spinster... yes, that's the correct term in these parts.
For nearly a century, my descendants have illuminated the stone-built crossing of the Bulmer river.
The four ornate lanterns positioned at either end of the bridge were first erected nearly a century ago by
some long-forgotten Blacksmith. I'll wager is name was Bulmer.
The moon watches my lonely vigil and I know I don't have much time left. At least, not here in Merricott.
So I light the lanterns every night and the village further down the valley is grateful. The Midnight Mail
Rider can bring the news posters and the gossip from the surrounding shires for Merricott's residents to
devour during their morning ritual of drawing water from the village's well and even though the Postman
doesn't actually arrive at midnight, that's the title he is given.
There's something captivating about it I suppose. But anyway, I'd better get back to my tale.
Alas, the well-tanned Gypsy with his sack of clanking mysteries arrived at my Father's door with a promise
that he had something the village's only Miller would find invaluable. I will admit that the tin flour jug that
my Pa purchased was something to behold, but we had no idea the winking-and-smiling tinker held other
thoughts of payment.
For two straight days and nights after the traveller's visit, my Father and several men from Merricott searched
for the charming man with the fancy-gold rings on his fingers and wayward nature. Of course, I had no idea
any-such hunt was underway as I lay in my bed surrounded by whispering women and my weeping Mother.
If memory serves, I was violated, spoiled and plundered. These were words softly breathed around the room
as my brow was cooled with a damp cloth and urged to take more broth from one of my Mother's best spoons.
I recovered, that's what women do. They accept their lot in a world of men and go on. Grain is still to grind
and sacks are there to be filled. Just as the Gypsy had took his fill. Ten years ago... ten whole years ago
since a stranger altered my state in the community and caused me to attempt to take my life.
The recollection is still vivid of that night... that night I met Accam Dey.
The season when all the trees and plants disrobe had long passed and after the hamlet's Winter Solstice
celebrations had ended and the coloured rags around the mill's eaves had been taken down, the daily
chores became the focal point of living again.
I had taken to carrying a gully-knife from my Mother's kitchen when I had to visit Merricott and even though
I was sure that the man who had molested me would never again dare to stumble down the thoroughfare
that crossed the bridge, the handle of that weapon was always damp from my hand.
Oh, they were always happy to see me and I know that as I passed any of the women busy scrubbing a
doorstep or hanging linen on a line across the main track of Merricott, a welcoming smile that never quite
reached their eyes would always await me. I know in my heart that the happiness they poured onto me
was really pretentious sympathy. 'Oh isn't it a shame...?' really meant thank God it wasn't me or mine.
One can only take so much.
It was only when I stood in the cold shadows beneath Bulmer's Bridge with the knife at my wrist, did I
first become aware of what a coward I was. I couldn't do it. The current was strong enough to take my
body away from any chance of saving me and the loss of blood in the icy river guaranteed that I would
never again have to endure the sickly smiles and the condescending tones of the Merricott women.
My parents were asleep in the leaning old adobe structure I'd called home for sixteen years. The old
waterwheel creaked it's view on my father's nightly decision of not allowing it to gambol with the peaty
water of the Bulmer. The bloated ashen moon mocked the mechanism's restraint from its lofty place as
I stared at my chilled skin and wished for bravery.
I have never held any fear of the night, even after the episode with the tinker. I recall that somewhere in
the back of my mind, I hoped that he would reappear so that I could try my hand with that gully-knife...
and cut his excuse-for-a-heart out. The shadows deepened as the moon pulled some scudding cloud
around itself.
Yet, I could not make that slice, I stared at the blue vein that had moved life along it's highway and had
pumped harder as I'd struggled beneath the gold-strewn hand of the vagabond who had ruined that life.
I believe I can say that at that moment, I was the loneliest person in the world.
"Then it is a paradox..." the huge black wolf had said. "...If you are estranged and I am beholding to
nothing, how then can we be both alone and yet here... together?" Maybe some would have never heard
the end of the sentence because of a faint, maybe some would have just loosened their bowels and ran
the race of the prey. And maybe I should have done these things.
"But here we are you and I, a killer seeking a drink and a girl wishing to taint that water" the confident voice
had came again and the large eyes glittered with a hint of dark humour. I remembered to breathe.
"You can kill me wolf, I am willing for you to take me..." I stuttered "...There is nothing for me here" The words
had seemed to emerge by themselves as I'd never considered that the appearance of the chest-high beast may
be the agent of my demise. Glassy-eyes blinked behind the steam of his breath and then the big wolf stepped
closer.
"You have been marked by one of your kind and so you wish to die?" the tongue-lolling mouth asked and nearing
my position, I saw the long flesh-rending teeth that guarded it. "And you wish for me to be your executioner?" the
monster stated with a small snort.
Yes, the sable-furred creature stood up to my trembling shoulders and his head was as big as a cow's. The moon
had reappeared and failed to enhance the stygian hue of the wolf's coat, he was truly midnight on all-fours.
Cunning sanguine eyes scanned the sleeping mill and replying with my own study, I noticed paws that were
larger than my Father's own hands. "Do I measure up?" the wolf whispered and I'm certain the velvet voice
didn't come from his long snout.
Then that huge head turned to face me and I stifling a whimper of fear, I awaited the butchery. I would be
gone and the villagers would have something else to gossip about. With my hands wringing my apron,
I closed my eyes and accepted my fate.
The sound of water being lapped caused me to open an eye and powerful hind-quarters were my only view,
the wolf was taking a drink from the river. Once more, I could have ran, I think that I could have even pulled
my knife from it's place in my petticoat and wounded the beast.
Maybe the injury would have hampered his chase of me?
''I am Accam Dey and the last of my kind...'' the wolf introduce himself without looking at me. ''...So your
ponderings would have two progenies extinguished tonight'' he added and shook water droplets from his
whiskers. My hand went back to throttling my apron.
The moon decided that slumber was too early within it's ribboned quilt and so, gazed down at the two
strangers below. A pair...? Kindred spirits or just a meeting of the lost? We stared at each other for a
moment and then Accam Dey spoke once more.
''I will be here again tomorrow night and if you decide not to colour the river with your gore, I would be
blithe to speak to you about your woe'' he said with a tone that rivalled a flocculent pillow. I'd have sworn
the wolf winked. Then he was gone and needless to say, he didn't eat me.
I slept well that night.
By the time Christmas came around again, I had met with the wild creature called Accam Dey many evenings
after that first encounter. Yet, there were times when the wolf would excuse himself from a coming visit, but
he never told me me the reason why. And I never asked.
The warmer nights would find this odd couple sitting on the lush grass where the eddys of the river ignored its
width and allowed a small calm area where the water tarried. The over-hanging bank promised ground-hugging
turf and a comfortable place to take in the view of the illuminated bridge. I had always imagined it as almost
grotto-like in the way that the elderflower bushes surrounded it.
Accam Dey would always wait until the torches had been lit before he stepped from the shadows and greeted
me. It was late-August when he gave me the gift.
My Father believed I was trying my hand at fishing and even though he had frowned at the idea that I should be
alone beside the Bulmer with the coming dark, I assured him that I would be close enough to the mill to flee if
any stranger approached.
Anyone on two legs, that is.
''A trout will make a fine supper...'' the sooty-furred monster offered as he panned his gaze across the windows
of my home. ''...And night fishing is best kind'' he added and brought his kind-eyes to mine as he softly sat beside
me on the grass. The line and pole nodded occasionally, but I believed it was just the current saying hello.
''On evenings like this, I can see why you would want to stay in such a peaceful place'' Accam Dey mused without
turning his shaggy head to look at me. His comment was not without merit, it was truly serene. The sky was that
pink-blue colour of a warm-cloudless evening and a red full moon rested on the tree tops along the road. It would
only be an hour or so before the stars appeared. We sat there and soaked in the halcyon air and felt the heartbeat
of the land beneath our backsides.
I had never heard him sigh until then, but that is what he did. Blacksmith's bellows encased in a body of muscle
and pitch-cloth. ''I have been cogitating regarding a gift I have for you'' he suddenly breathed softly beside me.
The homemade float on the end of my line curtsied and then went back to it's summer drift. Since that first night
when Accam Dey introduced himself, he had never hinted that he had the ability to doubt. He is a wolf fearless.
With the distant sound of a whip-poor-will arriving from the copse across the river, I gently touched the massive
shoulder of Accam Dey and whispered that whatever he felt was appropriate, was fine with me. It was daring,
but he was my only friend.
The large eyes fixed on me with serious earnest as he spoke and my wary mind raced with what he was about to
say. If these encounters were part of my healing, then I didn't want it ruined due to some needless requirement
of tributes.
''The human that scarred you, the road-wanderer that did what he did... I encountered him'' Accam Dey said softly
and stood to his full height. I can only guess that my own eyes were as big as the Sunday tea saucers that my
Mother kept to one side for when the Priest visited.
The giant wolf sniffed the air and glanced towards the mill. One could imagine that somewhere a rat or mouse
was partaking of some fallen corn in the storage barn and Accam Dey knew it. ''Please let this not stand between
us'' he said enigmatically and without a sound, slipped away into the shadows of the bridge.
It was the Gypsy's hand. The dirt and blood-stained rings were still there and in hindsight, I would suggest the taking
of the limb -and possibly the killing of the miscreant who had dragged me into those leafless elder bushes on that
Autumn night, must have only happened a day ago. ''It's the only way I know of assisting in the closure of your...''
Accam Dey stood over the severed hand and gathered his dictum. ''...It's what I felt was appropriate'' he corrected
himself.
I held him then. The huge feral killer that roamed the land and forded the gulf between man and animal.
This creature of the night that could snap my bones without a glance, stood and accepted my gratitude.
Burying my head into his thick mane, I murmured the words ''thank you''.
There was no scaly-catch that evening and it may have been to the fact the fish dined on the grubby flesh of five
gold-gilded fingers that had been tossed into the water during another lament from the whip-poor-will.
A passage in my life had ended and a bond had been created, Accam Dey had turned the page.
My parents passed on eight years later with my Mother coming down with the consumption and then Pa drinking
himself to lay beside his dead wife a few months afterwards. They say love is binding, don't they? The evening
following my Father being put in the ground, Accam Dey appeared again and we talked of loss and grief.
''Life is fleeting and it's only when it's gone do we ponder penitence, do you agree?'' he had said as he sat on his
haunches between the two graves. ''Your tears will do naught to ease the travail you will wear'' he added with a
staid tone.
I was tired. The day had been full of consoling faces, busy hands and kitchen mutterings. The mill had become a
wake parlour once more and the requiem moved between the curse-like ordeal of my family and deliberations of
where flour would now be obtained. It was only when the villagers finally began to leave, did I tell them that the
grist-grinding would continue.
I would go on.
''So you will remain here, pulverise seed and pass your days talking to an animal... your only friend?'' Accam Dey
asked through my day-dreaming and mentally, I shook my self-pity away and looked towards the big wolf. The
daylight had almost gone and the nine-or-so bags of corn near the storage barn seemed to demand that I take
up my Father's reins and engage the waterwheel. Life is not only fleeting, but also a trammel.
Pulling my cape about me, I answered and could not keep the signs of resignation from my voice. ''It's my lot...
my place in this world'' I said and failed to fight back the tears that had been waiting for too long. The wolf looked
towards the falling sun and seemed to be deep in thought, the furry brow creased to show his mind was jousting
with his heart.
''There is a place...'' Accam Dey said as I turned to accept my milling chores, ''...a place that I have visited from
time-to-time'' A cool breeze ruffled his bristly fur on his back as I halted to hear his words and I knew his acute
awareness would alert him that I was attentive to his comment.
''Sometimes when the days begin to shorten and the air tingles with the promise of frost, I have sought warmer
climes to ease these aged bones'' the calm, subdued wolf uttered. Though his voice was bucolic, Accam Dey's
eyes hinted at a serious proposal was sparring with his rational and it was winning.
''This world isn't what you think it is...'' he murmured and sniffed the zephyr for the sign of quiet hare or sleepy
rabbit. "...And I would like to show you the truth" he whispered into that same cool draft of air. Glancing towards
the watermill, my mind nudged my soul and asked me to linger. Then he told me.
And so I'm here. With the flickering flame of the lantern as my witness as I await Accam Dey's shadow to alight
the frost-kissed bridge. My life here is over and just like those perverse gold-sheathed bones that canker on the
silty-bottom of the river, I will be forgotten.
There's a land out there that where I can begin again, where no waterwheel will mark my time and no millstones
that will mock my crushed spirit. My companion is here and it's time to go, but in memorial of those who bore me
and raised me, I slip my hand into my petticoat pocket.
As the tossed corn-seeds cause ripples across the oily surface of the Bulmer, I say goodbye to the home that loved
me and the burden that everyone assumed I'd carry. I'm never doing that again.
The End.
RE: The Grist - Moon68 - 11-01-2023
I very much enjoyed this. Bravo and good job.
RE: The Grist - BIAD - 11-01-2023
(11-01-2023, 07:16 PM)Moon68 Wrote: I very much enjoyed this. Bravo and good job.
It's an oldie... I've had writers-block for quite some time now!!
RE: The Grist - Moon68 - 11-02-2023
(11-01-2023, 08:15 PM)BIAD Wrote:(11-01-2023, 07:16 PM)Moon68 Wrote: I very much enjoyed this. Bravo and good job.
It's an oldie... I've had writers-block for quite some time now!!
I can relate. Here's the last thing I wrote, like, 2-3 months ago.
Universal Spin
RE: The Grist - BIAD - 11-02-2023
(11-02-2023, 02:22 PM)Moon68 Wrote: Universal Spin
The Keepers are an old race, older than the concept of time, the oldest in fact, evolved shortly
after the Big Bang spread particles through infinite space to create the stars and the systems that
orbit around them...
...For eons they travelled the blank infant void looking for the first signs of life, a spark to say they weren't alone,
a faint candle to attest that the unique inestimable burst of energy wasn't a mere flatulent instance of trapped
chaotic subatomic particles.
But in all that time of wayfaring the black barren endlessness, the Keepers found nothing... nothing but forsaken
orbs jostling for warmth around fiery infernos of plasma and a few noble gases drifting to towards nowhere.
Arriving at the realisation they were simply the monarchs of nihility, they plotted onwards to find an affinity. Maybe
they missed something, maybe they were looking in the wrong place? It would be only when the finest minds of
those who were the first and only to be spewed from the violent beginnings of reality, did they understand why
they weren't alone.
The clue was the high whining sound coming from a machine in Tandy Beau's laboratory, something the old
scientist assured the figure standing behind him wasn't a noise from their universe. It was an artificially created
radio wave coming from somewhere close, a sterile planet mostly made up of water...
RE: The Grist - Moon68 - 11-02-2023
(11-02-2023, 04:17 PM)BIAD Wrote:(11-02-2023, 02:22 PM)Moon68 Wrote: Universal Spin
The Keepers are an old race, older than the concept of time, the oldest in fact, evolved shortly
after the Big Bang spread particles through infinite space to create the stars and the systems that
orbit around them...
...For eons they travelled the blank infant void looking for the first signs of life, a spark to say they weren't alone,
a faint candle to attest that the unique inestimable burst of energy wasn't a mere flatulent instance of trapped
chaotic subatomic particles.
But in all that time of wayfaring the black barren endlessness, the Keepers found nothing... nothing but forsaken
orbs jostling for warmth around fiery infernos of plasma and a few noble gases drifting to towards nowhere.
Arriving at the realisation they were simply the monarchs of nihility, they plotted onwards to find an affinity. Maybe
they missed something, maybe they were looking in the wrong place? It would be only when the finest minds of
those who were the first and only to be spewed from the violent beginnings of reality, did they understand why
they weren't alone.
The clue was the high whining sound coming from a machine in Tandy Beau's laboratory, something the old
scientist assured the figure standing behind him wasn't a noise from their universe. It was an artificially created
radio wave coming from somewhere close, a sterile planet mostly made up of water...
Nice! I guess it's your story now, lol.
RE: The Grist - BIAD - 11-02-2023
(11-02-2023, 07:35 PM)Moon68 Wrote:(11-02-2023, 04:17 PM)BIAD Wrote:(11-02-2023, 02:22 PM)Moon68 Wrote: Universal Spin
The Keepers are an old race, older than the concept of time, the oldest in fact, evolved shortly
after the Big Bang spread particles through infinite space to create the stars and the systems that
orbit around them...
...For eons they travelled the blank infant void looking for the first signs of life, a spark to say they weren't alone,
a faint candle to attest that the unique inestimable burst of energy wasn't a mere flatulent instance of trapped
chaotic subatomic particles.
But in all that time of wayfaring the black barren endlessness, the Keepers found nothing... nothing but forsaken
orbs jostling for warmth around fiery infernos of plasma and a few noble gases drifting to towards nowhere.
Arriving at the realisation they were simply the monarchs of nihility, they plotted onwards to find an affinity. Maybe
they missed something, maybe they were looking in the wrong place? It would be only when the finest minds of
those who were the first and only to be spewed from the violent beginnings of reality, did they understand why
they weren't alone.
The clue was the high whining sound coming from a machine in Tandy Beau's laboratory, something the old
scientist assured the figure standing behind him wasn't a noise from their universe. It was an artificially created
radio wave coming from somewhere close, a sterile planet mostly made up of water...
Nice! I guess it's your story now, lol.
GULP!
