Tale of a Nocturnal Sojourn- Chapter 3

 A Portent Script

In eager anticipation do the dark hours wear,
for, who knows, what the message of destiny shall bear?

It was five moons since the hour of my birth. They would come visiting with the onset of the sixth lunar, the messenger of destiny with his two attendants carrying his black writing feather and the pot of his dreaded invisible ink.

Passage of time and flow of water can undo the most stubborn stain. But impossible was it, even for the Gods, to alter a script written with the invisible ink that flowed from the messenger’s feather.  The unseen script, written on the forehead of a newborn, on the sixth moon of its birth, would be its inevitable fate. Life blindly followed the cursive flow of his black feather, like the entranced serpent that dances to the haunting tunes of the snake-charmer’s flute.

My hour to receive the messenger was here. All my slaves were to be excluded from this queer liturgy. The messenger was to be left in solitude for his discreet performance.

Much deliberation and toil were expended to ensure appeasement of the solemn visitors. Sprawling tables of purple and black jade were left laden with a luxurious assortment of offerings as was deemed fit for them. Torches of fragrant sandalwood burned around the enormous dark chamber in exquisite holders of gold, studded with the good-will invoking gem of jasper. The undulating flames of the torches threw grotesque patterns of quavering shadows upon the rugged boulders of the chamber walls. Thick candles of aromatic wax and fascinating bunches of bleeding hearts, mountain laurels and blue hydrangea stood among lavishly laid platters of exotic fruits and bizarre delicacies of the nocturnal realm. Morbid glassy eyes stared from the severed heads of rams that stood in platters of crimson soup, brewed with their own blood. Delectable flavours of spices swirled up from the split bellies of the roasted wild boars as their hoofless legs remained thrust toward the heavens as though in a silent cry for respite. So was a feast truly befitting the guests of the heiress of Hell. Libations of the highest order were served in amphora of moonstone so that the legate of fate deliberated at leisure and wrote my destiny under the influence of ecstasy and contentment imparted by the choicest nectars of the underworld.

Wrapped in the luxurious tenderness of the feathers of the rare blue bird, I was laid in a cradle of alexandrite, the king stone of good fortune. It rocked in the southerly wind that blew across the chilling waters of the silver river, while the moon sent shafts of cold blue light through the high arches of the chamber walls.  The brilliant colours of the diaphanous stone alternated as the cradle rocked to and fro. It shone in a brilliant hue of azure in the silvery blue light of the moon and turned a bewitching magenta as the cradle rocked back towards the warm yellow fire of the glowing sandalwood torches.

The startling screech of a wild owl announced the rise of the sixth moon on an ominously stormy sky. Heavily laden nebulous clusters, clouded the sullen face of the sky; revealing and hiding the sallow lunar crescent in rapid turns. Long crooked lines of brilliant white lightning shot from the ghastly purple horizon, threatening to cleave the sky into pieces. A violent thunderstorm broke out as three dark shadows appeared upon the chamber floor. They seemed to glide on the floor and drew in closer. My destiny was duly written upon my forehead in a ritual that no mortal can ever describe…

It was long since the moon had set in the westerly horizon. The fury of the thunderstorm had ceased. A damp chill filled the air as the fragrance of sandalwood and wild flowers loomed in the dark chamber. The heavy wood creaked open as the long slender silhouette of the maven appeared at the door. The eunuchs, carrying mother of pearl lanterns followed. Little heaps of fine grey ash lay scattered under the golden holders of the sandalwood torches. The chamber floor lay littered with leaves and petals of the flowers, ravaged by savage gusts of the impetuous storm. Thick streaks of melted tallow had flowed down the body of the candles and ran around their base as though the candles had grown roots of wax.

The maven’s face bore a vicarious thrill as his keen aquamarine eyes perused the chamber keenly for the ‘signs’. Empty amphora of nectars and leftover victuals on the platters, gave fair evidence of a satisfactory acceptance of the appeasement offerings. He smiled at the eunuchs, who looked up to him, following his smile with grins and looks of bewildered relief. But suddenly the maven let out a terrified shriek and leapt aback with a startling violence as though jolted by a frightful shock. His eyes dilated in unspeakable horror. He collapsed to the ground, utterly devastated.

On the floor, amidst the wet torn petals, lay an apple half eaten, a loathsome worm wriggling out of its rotten core!