Abaddon XIII

When she awakened the next morning, she was surprised to find a coating of frost covering her blanket and the ground. She glanced up at the sky and shuddered. If she was right, there would be snow before the day was out. As if in response to that thought, one delicate (but icy) flake promptly landed on her nose. Her first impulse was to snuggle back beneath the blankets. That, and cry. But, after all, she was the one who couldn’t wait to leave her father’s kingdom behind. Gritting her teeth (again), she eased her way out of the blankets and was soon shivering despite her cloak, two cotton and one flannel blouses, and her cotton and wool skirts. Brrr . . . when would Bonpo ever have that coffee ready.

Rationally, she knew that once they started walking, her body would begin to warm up, but she was too cold to think rationally. And, if the cold wasn’t bad enough, a fine mist of snowflakes had begun to fall. If they didn’t get moving soon, she would be soaked from the sticky flakes. Her toes and fingers and nose already felt frozen. Eluned sniffed and began to stamp her feet. She needed to make a trip into the woods but the thought of raising her skirts even a fraction of an inch. Not that she actually had much choice, she grimaced. She eyed the woods in disgust, then looked longingly back at the fire that was roaring happily once again thanks to Bonpo’s ministrations. Jabberwock was sitting there, apparently carefree, as he seemed to be watching her quandary with great amusement. She glared at him and he barked with laughter.

“Valdaree, valdara, valdaree, valdara ha ha ha ha ha,” he started singing. If looks could kill, Jabberwock would have been silenced immediately. As it was, Bonpo, missing entirely the fact that the Bandersnatch was pestering the Princess, took up the song as well:

“A knapsack on my back,” he sang , lustily, is his rich bass. The Princess shrieked and stomped off into the woods. “What?” he asked Jabberwock, much taken aback by Eluned’s response. “What I do?”

“Not a thing,” he was assured. “Not a thing.”

To give the Princess some credit, she returned to the fire seemingly embarrassed. “I am sorry for my outburst,” she apologized, formally. “I don’t know what got into me.” And I don’t know why Jabberwock has become so short-tempered with me, she thought. But, if she had really thought about it, she would have realized that both Jabberwock and Bonpo were as uncomfortable as she was with the dropping temperatures. The flakes were beginning to fall more quickly, and they all continued to glance at the sky as they gulped their hot coffee and bolted down some oatmeal. They left their camp barely an hour after first awakening and not a one gave it a second glance when it disappeared from sight as they turned the bend in the trail.


The snow was falling so thickly that the trio could barely see a few yards ahead of themselves. Because Bonpo’s stride was so long, Eluned was leading and both Jabberwock and Bonpo nearly fell on top of her, when she tripped over a root hidden by the snow and tumbled head first along the path. The curse she bellowed would have sent the Queen into shock. Jabberwock was dumbfounded, but only because the Princess had obviously spent more time with the castle’s various servants (who would have cursed like that? The stable hands? The domestics?) than she had let on. Bonpo was caught so off guard, that he brayed laughter. Eluned righted herself, brushed as much of the wet snow off her clothing as possible and continued to march. But it wasn’t just the cold that made her cheeks red. And, every time Bonpo snorted with laughter (it took a good mile and a steady ascent to calm him down the first time) as he remembered her outburst, the hue in her cheeks would deepen. They hadn’t stopped for lunch yet, and she wasn’t sure she could make it the rest of the day. Not only was she frozen and tired, but she had humiliated herself, and that, along with the fall had taken a lot out of her.

As a matter of fact, when it came time to stop for lunch, she started shivering so quickly, that Jabberwock suggested marching rations. Despite the fact she was tired of walking, she wanted to stop even less. She gratefully accepted the pemmican Bonpo offered her and gnawed on it as they continued their climb to the next campsite. She was sure they would arrive early. They had been walking steadily all day.


It must have been the snow, but about the time they figured they should be reaching the campsite, they could find nothing that resembled a flat spot with a permanent fire ring. Three pairs of eyes squinted through the falling snow and bluish light over the course of the next few miles, seeking anything that even slightly resembled a spot to camp. They had long since given up on finding the actual site, and Eluned was at the brink of despair—her feet were throbbing and cold, her nose ran constantly and was chapped, as were her lips and cheeks, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt her finger tips. Where, oh where was the site. And precluding the actual site, why, oh why couldn’t they find at least a half-way flat spot in which to camp for the evening.

The bluish light was beginning to fade to grey and still the snow came tumbling down. Eluned was the first to voice their fears, although she tried to make it sound lighthearted, “This must be the Snow of Misery,” she laughed (or was it a sob), “because I sure am miserable.”

“I imagine this is the prelude,” Jabberwock answered. “If this were the actual Storm, we wouldn’t even be able to walk.” Bonpo grunted his agreement. This snow was bad, but it was a spring shower compared to the hurricane that was the Snow of Misery, which had been very aptly named.

“What happens if we get caught in the storm?” Eluned asked, quietly. Neither Bonpo nor Jabberwock responded. How to tell her it meant certain death? Not only because of the amount of snow that would be dumped on the mountains and block the pass from either side, but because they were carrying only a few days rations—enough to get them comfortably down the eastern side of the range and to the village that sat on its lower slopes. Presuming they could build themselves some sort of shelter to last them ‘til the worst of the snow melted, they would run out of food (even if they rationed it) long before that happened. The Snow of Misery could easily keep the passes blocked for up to a month, depending on how much snow fell. They would be lucky if they made it a week if they were unfortunate enough to be trapped. At that moment, Jabberwock could not think of a more dismal death.

Eluned had begun to moan softly, as if every step brought her insufferable pain. No doubt her feet were nearing frostbite in those relatively thin-soled suede boots. If Jabberwock had thought about it, he would have made sure she was better outfitted for the trip. He had known they would be crossing these mountains, and yet he hadn’t thought of warning her about either the potential for severe cold nor the fact that if she weren’t used to it, the hiking might cause her feet to feel as if they were being struck continuously with a baseball bat.

It hadn’t occurred to him because he always trotted around on four legs. He eyed her, guiltily, and started looking harder for a spot to camp. Obviously, they had passed the site. “All right,” he barked, “I give up. Let’s just camp in the middle of the trail!”

Bonpo and Eluned stopped so suddenly that Jabberwock ran into the giant’s left leg; it was like running into a tree trunk.

Bonpo didn’t waste any time. Setting down his load of food and blanket, he tromped off into the woods to gather wood for a fire. Unlike the previous day when she had to force herself into the woods to gather wood, this time she took off quickly after Bonpo. The idea of standing still for even one minute in the constantly falling snow made her shiver uncontrollably. So, despite her throbbing feet, she scavenged with Bonpo, pawing away snow and numbly picking up fallen branches.

Back on the trail, Jabberwock was kicking aside snow in an effort to get as firm a base as possible for the fire. He sighed. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about setting the woods on fire. Bonpo returned with wood, and with what seemed like magic, soon had a fire blazing. Eluned followed shortly with more wood and began pacing the perimeter of the blaze, passing behind Bonpo and Jabberwock as she made her circuit. In some ways, she was afraid to stop, fearful that her body temperature would drop too much if she stilled herself for even a second. Eventually, exhaustion won out and she wrapped herself in a blanket, and sat as close to the fire as she dared.

Using snow for water, Bonpo elected to make a soup for dinner. The more hot liquid he could get into the Princess, the better off she would be, he decided.

All things considered, it didn’t take long for the soup—just a matter of rehydrating the vegetables and meat (and several more forays into the woods to gather an overnight and morning supply of wood). Once they had savored every last drop, Bonpo pulled out a tarp and rigged them a covered space close to the fire. They had to suffer the occasional blast of wind blown smoke, but at least they were free of the snow (although Jabberwock worried whether the tarp would withstand a night’s worth of the precipitation).

Bonpo saw him eyeing the roof of the tent, and offered to occasionally wipe it clear during the night should the tarp begin to sag. There was a collective sigh of relief from both Jabberwock and Eluned; the latter snuggling down into her blankets and drifting off to sleep to the sounds of the crackling fire and the murmured conversation between her two companions. Oddly enough, she felt content.

Abaddon XII

The last of the logs had died down to coals. Next to him, wrapped around his small body for the meager warmth it provided, the Princess slept soundly, peacefully, the sleep of innocence, youth, and exhaustion. But not so for the Bandersnatch. He was far removed from the Misrule Pass. The Vale Vixen bloomed lushly around him. He inhaled the scent of tropical flowers, hummed to the symphony of birdsong and falling water, the sweet music of Kamali’s laughter; and remembered a day when immortality and the immensity of time were something to look forward to. For eternity was not questioned in paradise. It simply was.

Since the slaughter, he had worried the question of time like a bone, gnawing it incessantly, unable to break through to the marrow. He and Kamali had once spent a perpetuity staring into each other’s bottomless eyes. There he had known heaven, the answer to life and life everlasting. The glyphs of all great questions spiraled and danced, revolved and whorled in the depths of Kamali’s eyes, and Hiurau had no need to ask for explanations. He had known.

But. The slaughter. It had changed all that. As they fled heaven, their haven, like Adam and Eve exiled from the Garden of Eden, all knowledge disappeared. Survival. That was all that mattered. All unknowing they had entered Gehenna—the Devastation—and suddenly Hiurau was plunged into his own private Hell.

How long had he been alive? How many years had he spent in the bliss of Vale Vixen? Had he ever been a child? Surely? He could no longer remember. Time after the slaughter had been counted, painfully, second by second. Eternity measured by the slow burn of the sun across the sky, the cold light of the moon that gleamed off his silver fur. Sometimes he wondered if he even slept but he knew that he must for surely the nightmares that ravaged his mind only snaked their way into his unconsciousness when he closed his eyes? And, the serpent, his nightmare, was time.

He sighed, and Eluned stirred. He had long ago come to terms with time. At least, that it was a matter that needed to be dealt with. His views on it varied constantly. One day, he was perfectly at peace with the concept of a nonspatial continuum; the next, silently raging over the need for it; the next, pondering the apparently irreversible succession of events from past to present to future that marked his time. He wished he could freeze Eluned’s time, suspend her in ageless innocence—virginal, naïve, guileless. An Angel. But he could no more stop her from aging than he could prevent her from having her heart broken or from recognizing her purpose in life. For, contrary to their earlier discussion, he did have an inkling although it was still true that he was a pawn, albeit a willing and important pawn, in the great and secret show.

Freewill not withstanding, much was preordained. From the rise and death of prophets, false and true, to the tossing of a golden ball (not maliciously) into a forest where it rolled silently across a carpet of moss softer and more richly green than the velvet cloak that swung from the ivory shoulders of a certain queen, and across the moss and into a clearing filled with flowers (none more lovely than a certain princess) where it bounced with a gentle dinggg! against a wonderful tabernacle of granite and quivered to a halt precisely in the center of a fairy ring of toadstools.

Perhaps he should close his eyes and attempt some semblance of slumber, but he feared the flickering figures that would play upon the screen of his eyelids. Since the previous eve when suddenly reminded of the atrocities of the Devastation—first the Barrow Wight, then the Dzu-tch, Bonpo—he had been unable to banish them from his thoughts. Indescribably horrible—the suppurating flesh, the oozing craters of their eyes, craggy teeth in the lipless caverns of their mouths and the odor, fetid, rotting, putrid as if they were actively decaying. He shuddered. Would he ever forget? Was he supposed to? He felt a hand heavy against his ribs and his heart stopped for a moment before he realized it was only the Princess, comforting him even while she slept.

He wished he could delay the trip. They would make it through the pass in a matter of days. And then she would fall in love. And have her heart broken. And learn quickly how harshly cruel love, and life, could be.


Jabberwock was moving in his sleep, skinny legs jerking and muffled squeals issuing from his chest. Once again, Eluned put out a hand to calm him, but this time she awakened completely. The nightmares again. He seemed to experience them almost nightly.

A log in the fire popped and Eluned froze. Surely it would have died out by now? She had already been dreading getting it going again. She sat up and looked around and her movement awakened Jabberwock.

“What is it?” he grumbled. A twig snapped in the woods behind them and Jabberwock and Eluned scrambled to their feet, hearts pounding.

“Who’s there?” She squeaked. A monstrous hand pushed aside the branches of a fir that stood at the edge of the small clearing they had camped in. A giant body followed it, ducking under some of the higher branches.

“Bonpo!” The Princess wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You scared me to death.”

“I solly,” he dumped an armload of logs next to the fire. Da fire was out. You want me . . .”

“To explain just exactly what you’re doing here?” Jabberwock interrupted, sarcastically, but there was a peculiar glint in his eye.

A huge grin split Bonpo’s face. “What? You haf to ask?” Jabberwock rolled his eyes and flopped back down the fir needles. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

Bonpo chuckled and turned to his huge pack. “What? What?” Eluned asked in frustration. “Why do I always feel like I am not even present when you two are having a conversation? Would you care to explain to me why you’re here?” She glared at Bonpo’s wide back as he measured some coffee into a pot. He turned and settled the pot firmly into the coals before answering.

“I rearize when you arrive dat I was meant to be wit you,” he said, simply. “O’course, Jab have dat feerin’ too.”

“Why?”

“I no know reason. Jus know it meant to be.”

She looked to Jabberwock for further explanation. He only stared back, unblinking, eyes reflecting the oranges and yellows of the jumping flames between them.

“Omni.” A statement.

“Likely as not.” His skinny rear ascended as he stretched. Absolutely no doubt as to why they called that particular stretch “downward dog,” she mused. He shuffled off into the woods as Bonpo was removing a heavy black frying pan from his pack. The woods beckoned to her as well. She couldn’t complain about having him with them on their journey, she thought, crouching behind the ubiquitous fir, certainly they would be much safer and she was far from an experienced cook!

As she stepped back into the clearing, Bonpo was expertly cracking some eggs into the pan alongside some bacon that was already beginning sizzle. Her stomach twisted in on itself and she realized that the few bites of bread she managed to swallow before slipping off into an exhausted sleep the previous night had done nothing to nourish her fatigued body.

There was no cream for the coffee (guess he couldn’t carry every possible concession in his pack) but it tasted marvelous anyway. Of course, hunger was a great spice and the eggs, bacon and leftover bread renewed her energy, considerably. Yes, it was definitely going to be an advantage having Bonpo along, especially considering their former breakfast prospects had been only the leftover bread bread and water.


They spent the next few hours in silence. The clearing had long ago been leveled out as a camping spot for those traveling across the mountains. Not a hundred yards down the road and they began to ascend once again. It would be nearly noon before they made it to the pass, and nightfall before they reached the campsite halfway along the pass.


It wasn’t true, but it had seemed that every step they climbed the temperature had dropped a degree. OK. Maybe half a degree. But, it had definitely gotten colder the higher they climbed toward the pass. At one point, she had begged to stop, and pulling out her blood-stained (all right, it was grass-stained) blouse, pulled its soft and warm flannel over her two cotton blouses. Hmmm . . . maybe she should pull her cotton skirt on; but then what would she have to keep her warm between stopping for the night and getting the fire going? Sigh.

Bonpo waited patiently, but Jabberwock looked disgusted at the waste of time. Although, it was probably more a matter of standing still and his body cooling off than her procrastination.

Even with stopping for a cold lunch—leftover bacon and eggs between rapidly staling bread—and the Princess adding more layers to her frigid body, not to mention those “necessary breaks” and the not-so-necessary (I can’t walk another step! Dramatics indeed.), they made pretty good time and arrived at the pass campsite a good hour before sundown.

All Eluned wanted to do was sit, but she gritted her teeth and wandered into the woods to gather some blow downs to keep the fire going. She had no doubt that Bonpo would have it started and roaring by the time she returned! Well, she rationalized, not only am I cold (she couldn’t even feel her fingers), but I am not used to this type of walking. Gee, Jabb had four legs to walk on and she couldn’t imagine Bonpo ever getting tired. Besides, they both seemed acclimated to high altitudes. But, as far as she was concerned, it felt as if her feet were trying to push their way through the soles of her boots. But, heaven (and Omni) forbid that she be thought of as weak! She was just as capable. She just didn’t have as many miles on her yet.

She stumbled back to the campsite with an armload of wood and Bonpo nodded approvingly as he lifted it from her outstretched arms. She wanted to stick her tongue out at Jabberwock as if to say, “See, this isn’t a waste of your time.” But, she knew that was a juvenile reaction and that she really needed to refrain from doing that again, if possible. She was growing up, after all. Eighteen years old. She relished that thought for a moment. Eighteen years old and on the adventure of a lifetime. She tried not to feel too smug. But, but . . . well, she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting to that knight-in-shining-armor; her Prince Charming. As she huddled by the fire (She was right. Bonpo had gotten the fire going.), and she was enjoying its warmth, her exhaustion led her mind in directions she preferred it not go. Like: what would he look like, this man who was to sweep her off her feet? She tried to imagine. She wasn’t really sure what kind of hero she was looking for, but she knew that as soon as she saw him she would know. Her knees would go weak. Her breath would be taken away. Eye color, height, hair. Well, she had nothing to compare those to. She would just know.

She guessed it was bizarre if she actually thought about it, and she was, despite part of her telling her not to, but she had never found any man within her father’s small realm (well, even smaller than normal because she was talking just within the castle walls; technically they were within her father’s realm for another five miles) attractive. She was distracted. She stood to see if she could still see the castle from this point on the pass but there were too many trees not to mention clouds and miles.

Had she known that even on the best day she wouldn’t have been able to spot the walls of her father’s castle from this viewpoint, she might not have strained her eyes so hard. Or, had she known that from this particular vantage point, she was taking not only her last (for quite a while), but most comprehensive view of her father’s kingdom, she might have paused a moment longer. But that was yet another piece of knowledge she would remain blissfully ignorant of.

Anyway, she thought as she returned to the fire disappointed but not knowing why (she didn’t recognize homesickness because she had never left home before), she was beginning to wonder if attractive and exciting men existed solely in the few novels (belonging to Queen Fuchsia, of course) that she had chanced upon and devoured time and time again.

Certainly there weren’t any likely suspects in her father’s kingdom, or at least what she had seen of it, and believe me, she had looked, more than once. Tantalizing smells were beginning to issue forth from the cookpot over the fire and she was easily distracted.


Once again Bonpo worked his culinary magic. No actual meat this time (well, maybe some salt pork) but the beans tasted as good as any gourmet meal. How did it come to be that she was always that hungry; that thoughts of food and filling her belly could surpass thoughts of men? Who would believe it! On the other hand, as she was drifting off to sleep, snuggled warmly in her wool blankets, she couldn’t help thinking of soft lips pressed to hers, yielding warmly, and sparking a fire in the depths of her belly. With a nearly inaudible moan, she drifted off to sleep.

Abaddon XI

“What’s your problem, anyway?” Eluned asked when the inn had disappeared from view. She already missed the comfort and company it had offered.

“Problem?” he asked.

“You seem to be suffering from a bad attitude,” she complained.

“So, you’ve discovered another side of me.”

“I don’t mind seeing yet another side of you, but if I were acting the way you are you would want to know what is wrong with me.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s true,” he admitted. “I owe you an explanation although I am surprised that you don’t have the faintest idea.”

“Actually, I do. I’m sure it has to do with meeting Bonpo and stirring up memories of the past. How come you never told me about Kamali?” her voice rose, accusingly, “and the destruction of your kind, the flight out of Dziron, the horrors of The Devastation?”

“It is a long story and to be perfectly honest there hasn’t been a time in the past eleven years that I felt you were mature enough to understand my past nor handle its ramifications.”

“I think I am ready now.”

“I concur.”

They continued to walk in silence while Jabberwock gathered his thoughts.

“Mine is a long and sad tale said the Mouse,” Jabberwock began, then replied to himself, “It is a long tail, certainly, said Alice, but why do you call it sad?”

The Princess held her tongue. The Bandersnatch was trying to explain, even if it did seem a most unusual way!

“My given name is Hiurau,” he continued, sighing, “and I was born of the Janawar in the Vale Vixen.” The silence continued for another ten minutes before Jabberwock spoke again, changing the course of his focus. “When Kamali died, I spent the next two hundred years trying to find a reason to continue to live. I became involved in mysticism, cabalism, shamanism. You name it. I studied it. Maguses abounded and I drowned myself in their teachings. But I could never seem to fill that empty space in my heart. But, I continued to read and read and read . . . anything about any subject . . .

“. . . and one day I picked up a children’s book by Lewis Carrol. But that wasn’t really his name. It was Dodgson, Charles Dodgson.” He stopped, abruptly, and the Princess almost spoke but thought better of it. His story was coming out, twisted and irrelevant as it might seem.

“Through the Looking Glass was the name of the book,” he continued. There was a poem in it.” He cleared his throat and recited in a voice scratchy with emotion:

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.”

The tears ran down the Princess’s face in a steady stream. Oh, her poor Jabberwock. His family, his friends, his people, well, his Janawar, so cruelly hunted down and slain. It was too much for her to bear. How could humans be so inhumane? She often wondered if Omni had created humans imperfectly on purpose. Perhaps It had still to perfect creating. Maybe next time around humans wouldn’t be so cruel, selfish, greedy . . . next time around, if there was a next time around, if humans didn’t destroy themselves first. The Oral spoke of a great battle, the Har Meggido, to be fought by the forces of good against evil. Where those forces were to come from, she had no answer. She wondered, particularly, about the great warrior who was prophesied to lead the forces of good. She knew of no man worthy in this world, although admittedly she knew very little of the world outside of Zion other than what she was taught by her teachers, Jabberwock and Brother Columcille.

She took a deep breath. She was allowing her mind to wander. Anything but dealing with the problem at her feet. Impulsively, she knelt upon the rocky track and hugged the small mammal to her. For hundreds of years he had wandered this world, and others, searching for a reason. How had his travels brought him to her? Were they really so important? There had to be a larger purpose.

“There is, but do not ask me what it is.”

“Why? Because you don’t know or because you cannot tell me?”

“I’m just a pawn . . .”

“Is that what life is? Some cosmic chess game? Omni making move after move. Is It playing against something, someone? Or is It just amused by the consequences of Its actions?”

A delighted grin parted Jabberwock’s grim muzzle. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. I spoke rashly. I should have said, ‘I am a willing pawn.’ Don’t forget free will. I only meant sometimes when we are open to Its will, we must follow a path we do not necessarily wish to travel, be led in a direction we may not necessarily wish to go. But, I am happy to say that there appears to be hope for you yet, my dear. Hope for you, hope for this world and perhaps others.”

“In other words, ours is not to ask just to do.”

“You betchum Red Rider.”

“You say the oddest things. Who is Lovecraft?”

“Another writer.”

“One who has seen the horrors of the soul?” It was a statement. She wondered if Lovecraft had seen the execrations of the Devastation. If the Bandersnatch could find entrance to other worlds, surely others could as well. How many worlds were there?”

“If not here, perhaps in another world,” Jabberwock said, musingly.

“So, the only reason the Janawar were destroyed is because the Dzironi were afraid of your magic?”

“Humans need very little reason to commit genocide. Have you heard of the Gaeans?”

“The goddess worshippers?”

“They were very nearly wiped out several hundred years ago.”

“But they were strong.”

“Tenacious.”

“Always religion,” Eluned sighed. “Always over which God to worship and how. And power. Who can be dominated. Possession. Greed. Men.” She glared at him.
The Janawar are not human and therefore are not guilty of human weaknesses. We lived in peace, always . . . “ he trailed off, remembering what prompted the discussion.

“I’m so sorry,” she hugged his tiny head. “It just makes me so tired. So tired.”

“There are many who wish to save the world.”

“I don’t pretend to think that I am the one. To be perfectly honest, I am not even sure it’s possible.”

“That’s entirely up to You-Know-Who.”

“If It is there. Sometimes I wonder.”

“Breaking Faith, Princess? I am shocked.” But his tone of voice said otherwise.

“Father would kill me.”

“And it would break your mother’s heart.”

“Well, they need not worry. Faith is there more often than not. When I argue with myself I always find Omni in the end.” Omni, as It was crudely and commonly called, was derived from the fact that It, the Supreme Being, was omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient, or so it was said. A trinity of powers for the three-in-one.

“Do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?”

“Omni,” she faltered. What did she mean? How do you explain faith? She looked at Jabberwock, oddly. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“What?” he asked, all innocence.

“Don’t give me that. You know exactly what I mean.”

“You are absolutely positive, in your heart of hearts, that there is a God?”

She pondered for a moment before nodding her head, vigorously. “Yes, Jabb, I’m sure of it. A god. A supreme being. I guess . . . I guess I just wonder why?”

“Why?”

“What is this being’s purpose for us?”

“Purpose? Other than to love It, love one another? That’s not enough?”

“No. There has to be more.”

“Spoken like a true teenager. Perhaps there is no other purpose.”

“Don’t say that. It’s unconscionable.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I cannot believe we were put here as some experiment or some vast diversion . . . “

“Ah, the cosmic chess game again . . . a satire, tragedy, melodrama.”

“Satire,” she sighed. “No, I cannot believe that.”

“And once again I ask, is love not enough?” They reached a steep stretch in the road where it climbed out of a switchback. The Princess felt the muscles in her calves and thighs tighten; the exertion stole her breath. She was going to be sore tonight. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and she wasn’t sure how high the Misrule Pass was, but she knew they had a lot of climbing left to do before they reached it. On that thought, she began to look forward to lunch—just a moment to sit down, catch her breath. What was she doing here, in the Mountains of Misericord, with this strange little creature, the last of his kind, asking herself rhetorical questions?

She was on the quest of a lifetime, but would she find any answers? After all, what on earth did she know about love? How could she know if love was the answer to her questions? Yet another question she couldn’t answer. Best now just to clear her mind, question Jabberwock more thoroughly later, when she could breathe again.

Abaddon X

“What’s the real reason you left Dziron?” Eluned asked, testing her coffee with a tentative tongue. It was still too hot. She set it gently back in her saucer and looked Bonpo in the eyes.

“I terl you, too corld.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It’s not that much warmer here,” she insisted. “There has to be another reason.” Jabberwock was watching her with wonder.

She waited for Bonpo to answer, unbuttoning her skirt to relieve the pressure on her overfull belly. Bonpo had filled her with an exquisite soup of stuffed dumplings, rice and stir-fried vegetables, lemon mousse and shortbread. She tried her coffee again. Almost.

Bonpo sighed and his chair protested, loudly, as he resettled his weight. “I no know how say dis.”

“You killed someone.” The Bandersnatch stated it for him. The Princess was startled.

“Really?”

“Dhami Dhole know all,” Bonpo acknowledged.

Her eyes searched the Yeti’s face. Fire burned along the high cheekbones, the dark, tilted eyes danced across the table searching for distraction, anything but the face of the beautiful princess.

“Well,” Eluned asked, “are you going to tell us why? Obviously, it’s not something you’re proud of. Was it self-defense? You must have had a good reason. I don’t think you’re a murderer.”

“No. Not kirrer. Ret me exprain. I kirl not forl me. I kirl for sao.”

“Sao?” Eluned asked.

“Snow leopard,” Jabberwock defined.

“You killed a snow leopard? I don’t understand.”

“No. No kirl sao. Kirl for sao.”

“You killed a man? Or another animal?”

“Hunter. Sao arlmos extinck. Dis man, he poacher. He kirl many sao. Mus stop.”

“So you just killed him?”

“I cause avaranche so he die.”

Eluned laughed. “It’s not funny but it is. Sounds like justifiable homicide to me.”

“The ‘he needed killin’ defense? I wish I’d had Bonpo around 300 years ago,” Jabberwock groused. “We could have used his help when we were being exterminated by the Dzironi.”

“No. You no unnerstan. Never right take rife.”

“I still don’t understand why you had to leave,” Eluned prodded.

“Big mistake kirl dis man. Big man, big name. Search party t’reaten udder Dzu-tch. I tol’ reave.”

"The other yeti ran you off!” Eluned was aghast. “How could they do that to you? Wouldn’t it have been easier to hide out for awhile?”

“You no unnderstan. I bleak ancien’ raw. No bring ‘tention, danger, to home of yeti. I know dis yet I kirl man anyway.”

“You should have broken his neck and carried him to a lower elevation,” the Bandersnatch said, coldly. “At least that way he would have been found right away and perhaps you wouldn’t have suspected. Certainly it would have kept away the search parties.”

“Yes, better sorution,” Bonpo concurred, “but I did not want touch dis man.”

“We learn from our mistakes,” Jabberwock chided the giant.

Bonpo laughed. Eluned was glad the yeti had a good sense of humor. She glared at the Bandersnatch. Why was he being so contemptible?

“Is it always this empty?” She indicated the inn’s dining area.

“Vely quiet ‘cep on res days.”

“It’s been very relaxing,” she yawned, “and the wine, the food, and the company have been outstanding.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jabberwock said.

“You mos’ werlcome. I have queshuns forl you, but dey wait ‘terl morning. I show you your rooms.”

“Please.” Eluned stood and stretched. “I am exhausted.” She arched an eyebrow at the Bandersnatch. I’ll talk to you later, her look plainly said.

Once more they ascended the creaking stairway. The room Bonpo opened for her impressed the Princess. She took in the large feather bed with its fluffy down comforter and the cheery fire in the fireplace and felt her lids growing heavier. Bonpo produced a flask from his vast pockets and set a snifter of brandy warming on her bedside table. She idly wondered if she had not actually died earlier that day and this was heaven.

As his back retreated down the hallway, Jabberwock tagging along at his heels, she called, “You’ll probably have to wake me in the morning, Jabberwock.”

“Oh, I wake,” Bonpo offered. “What time you want get up?”

“At dawn,” the Bandersnatch answered. “We stopped short today. We have lots of time to make up.”

“Why are we in such an all-fire big hurry?” Eluned asked.

“Tell her,” Jabberwock ordered the yeti.

“If you no closs mountains nex’ few days, you be trap in Snow of Misely.”

“Snow of Misery?”

“Yes, rate winter snowstorm come same time each year.”

“Satisfied?” Jabberwock asked.

Lacking a better retort, Eluned extended her tongue, “Phooey on you.” What was his problem, anyway?

But, in the morning, Bonpo didn’t ask any questions. Eluned wondered if they had had further conversation that night—in Jabberwock’s room or down by the fire or even somewhere else. Certainly, it seemed as if the two shared a deeper connection than one could see on the surface. She wondered what they had talked about while she was drowsily sipping her brandy and enjoying her own fire, daydreams and warm comforter. She had even wondered, if idly, whether Bonpo had helped her drowsiness along . . . a little secret something slipped into the flask? But, of course, she was extraordinarily exhausted—both physically and emotionally. Either way, it didn’t take her long to slip off to a most restorative and dreamless sleep.

When Jabberwock awakened her at the crack o’dawn the next morning, she was sound asleep and it took her more than a few minutes to fully awaken. But, once she did, she felt re-energized. She did regret sliding out of bed. The fire had died out during the night and the room had grown chilly.

She debated re-starting the fire but decided against it because by the time it actually had any effect on the room, she’d probably be a mile or so down the road.

As she dressed, she began to regret her decision to bring only warm-weather clothes. Instead of gaining the warmth she desired, she seemed to be losing it. And, it appeared that there would not be an opportune moment any time in the near future to not only wash her clothes, but to allow them to dry. Only two days into the trip, and she was ending each night completely exhausted! And now there were intimations of being trapped in the Snow of Misery. That was definitely a feeling she wanted to avoid at all costs. Misery. Even saying the word made her feel miserable!

Instead of donning the flannel blouse she had worn the previous day, she opted to layer. She just couldn’t bear the thought of putting on that blood-smeared blouse despite the fact she could only barely discern a grass-stain or two (at the most) on the front of it. But she had felt that blood soak through her collar!

She put on a couple of lighter blouses and her wool skirt (again!) before plaiting her hair, surveying the room (she had even somewhat made her bed) and treading lightly downstairs.

Bonpo (Bless his heart!) was ready with a hot, but not too hot, cup of coffee and cream. She sipped it, eagerly, relishing the sensation of the hot liquid as it made its way down her throat and warmed her belly. Bonpo set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven turnovers in front of her. She watched, nearly mesmerized as the steam wafted from them. Finally, she picked one up and tasted it and she remembered Jabberwock harassing her about the food the night before last. She could feel herself salivating even as she took a bite. Apple, flaky, cinnamon . . . mmm. She nearly shuddered. Too bad Bonpo had a job, she’d hire him as her personal cook!

As Eluned enjoyed her breakfast, Jabberwock sat grimly on the bench opposite her. She purposefully ignored him. She had had a wonderful night’s sleep, she was not about to let him disrupt her digestion with his grumpiness. She thoroughly enjoyed her turnover and coffee and decided that she wouldn’t even ruin things by talking about serious matters. She made small talk with Bonpo and left Jabberwock to his own thoughts.

Abaddon IX

The hills had closed in around them, many of them topped with barrows and standing stones, when the first drop of rain landed, splat, on the top of Eluned’s head. She was surprised by its warmth and reached up to touch the sphere of precipitation that was now trickling through her hair to her scalp. It didn’t feel right. It had too much texture for water. And, not only that, it was warm! When had rain, except maybe in the most tropical of climates, or perhaps in the desert (well, she could hope) been warm? She withdrew her hand and stared in horror at her fingers. Blood! She lifted her face to the skies as if she expected to see ruby red clouds raining garnets of blood. She saw nothing but the ashy clouds above her; felt the warm, unpleasant smack of another drop against her forehead. She wiped it away in disgust and turned to see Jabberwock watching her, eyes mirroring her fear and repulsion. His hairy brow wrinkled in perplexity.

A large drop splattered his moist, black nose, and he shook his head, spraying droplets of blood all over the white roadbed. Eluned began to moan and picked up her pace in an effort to avoid the rain. But, the faster she ran, the harder it fell. The soft clay of the road was soon a sticky red paste. Blood dripped from the Princess’s ebony curls and slowly soaked her shoulders and insinuated its way inside of her wool cloak, staining the collar of her white blouse.

As suddenly as she started running, she stopped. Eyes rolling, wildly, she searched for cover. Panting, the Bandersnatch finally caught up with her.

“What is wrong with you?” he gasped, scrawny chest heaving.

Eluned stared down at him as if she were talking to a madman. His gray fur was matted with blood. Even his eyes reflected the bright, dark red that coated the landscape with its evil smell.

“Take a deep breath,” he ordered, “and calm down.”

The thick, metallic smell was asphyxiating. Gagging, she continued to search for cover, mumbling, “out, out, out.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jabberwock barked, frustration and fear echoing in the rising octaves of his doggish voice. His precious princess was losing it in front of his very eyes and he had no clue as to why the rain had prompted this insane behavior.

She was now mumbling, “blood, blood, blood,” while simultaneously scrubbing the slimy liquid from her carnelian lips with a blood smeared fist.

The short, bristly hairs on the Bandersnatch’s neck stood at attention. Ears pricked and alert, tail ready to march, he carefully eyed the hills around them. A phantom was at work, a Wight, a creature of the barrows, home to the dead, had spotted the Princess and was spinning its evil web . . .

Out of the corner of his eye, Jabberwock saw a flash of gray wool and mud-stained suede as the Princess suddenly turned and sprinted up a barrow. His eyes widened in terror when he saw where she was heading. A door had opened in the barrow where heretofore none had existed. And Eluned was running toward it as fast as her lithe young legs could carry her. Using all the power available to him, Jabberwock screamed with his mind, “STOP!”

The Princess reacted as if struck by lightning. Hands to head, and back arched, she briefly resembled a bow before her feet began to slip from beneath her and she rolled, ungracefully, back down the wet, grassy slope.

She had barely reached the bottom before she began scrambling back up the hill again. Pupils large, lids heavy, she looked drugged, or, perhaps, hypnotized. With only a modicum of regret, Jabberwock sunk his razor sharp teeth into Eluned’s hand as it sought purchase in the slippery turf of the barrow.

She screamed in pain, but her eyes cleared and she looked in disbelief at her friend. Blood was trickling from his narrow jaw but he retained his grip until he was sure the Wight had lost its grasp on the Princess’s mind.

Eluned looked around her in dismay. The door at the top of the barrow had disappeared, and the blood was gone, replaced by a cold drizzle. Tears slowly cleansed the mud and grass from her face. Unconsciously, she wrapped a linen handkerchief around her wounded hand.

“A Barrow Wight,” Jabberwock explained as they stumbled the last few feet to the road.

“A . . .,” she whispered, face gray with shock.

“An apparition,” he muttered, “the putrid, dripping, eidolon of unwholesome revelation.”

“Eidolon?”

“H.P. Lovecraft.”

Eluned buried her face in her hands, shuddering. “There was blood . . . everywhere. It was raining blood. I was walking in a stream of blood. The hills were red with blood . . . blood . . . blood.” Her hand ached, terribly, and she was shivering with shock and cold. She began to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she managed when the sobs had finally subsided, “I just didn’t expect our journey would be so . . . so . . . uncomfortable.”

“I always told you you were too much a romantic,” Jabberwock chided her, but kindly. “If you can hold out another half hour or so, we’ll reach the last inn before the mountains. We’ll call it an early day. You need rest and warmth . . .”

“Mulled wine,” she interrupted.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

“Warmth,” she continued. “The desert. Heat. Sun. Sand. Blue Skies.” The last mile disappeared beneath her feet as she chanted a mantra of and for comfort.”

They came to a crossroads. Straight ahead, the Mountains of Misericord towered above them so high Eluned could see only the lower slopes, shrouded as the mountains were in billowing robes of cloud. An ancient sign creaked and twisted in the breeze. The archaic lettering, a remnant of the Great Demesne, was weathered beyond legibility. Tracing the indentations with a finger yellow with the cold, Eluned discovered the track led north to Muskroe and south to Seagirt. She looked at the Bandersnatch, eyebrow raised. Would they be heading north or south or would they continue their journey to the east?

“We’ll be traveling so far east we’ll be west,” he answered her unspoken question.

“The desert?” she asked, hopefully. Didn’t the Draconian Desert lie beneath the eastern slopes of the Mountains of Misericord?

Jabberwock only smiled and inclined his head toward the inn. The slate roof was covered with mosses and lichens creating the effect of a natural patchwork quilt. Smoke curled from the chimney, dipped and swirled with the currents of air before settling on a path to the heavens. Golden light brightened the windows and beckoned cold and weary travelers. With a sigh and a groan, the Princess and the Bandersnatch set their stiff muscles in motion, leather soles and sharp claws slapping and tapping the cobbled path to the door.

Except for the crackling of the fire, the inn was blessedly silent. It was also empty.

“Hello!” Eluned called, shutting the heavy oak door on the cold air outside. “Hello?” She tried again, making her way over to the fire.

Silence, and more silence. Eluned and the Bandersnatch shared an uneasy glance.

“I don’t like this.” Jabberwock whispered.

“You don’t think . . .” The Princess looked over her shoulder, nervously.

“There’s no telling . . .” A door slammed somewhere above them and they both jumped. Eluned screamed. She clapped a slender hand over her mouth in case another shriek should try to erupt. Her eyes rolled, wildly, in their sockets, for the second time that day. The throbbing in her hand reminded her of what had happened the last time she lost control. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“Ello!” Basso profundo. “Ello? Body dere?”

“Hello,” Eluned squeaked, cleared her throat and tried again, “Hello! Yes!” What sounded like an elephant was lumbering down the stairs.

The largest man she had ever seen appeared at the bottom of the staircase. He had to be at least eight feet tall, Eluned estimated. But he wasn’t just tall. He was large. Not fat, exactly, but he appeared to be carrying a couple hundred pounds of muscle, alone, on his barrel-chested torso. He had to weigh at least a quarter of a ton, she thought as she unashamedly gawked. Thick, shiny (he was clean, that was a plus!) and straight blue-black hair framed a face as broad as China. Dark, slanted eyes, a squat nose, and a full, smiling mouth seemed somehow out of place on this giant.

“Yes, can I help you? Yes?” His hair, poorly cut (as if someone had stuck a bowl on his head and chopped around it), swung around his face as his head bobbed up and down. He was making Jabberwock dizzy.

“We need.” Eluned stopped. She didn’t know what she wanted more—mulled wine, hot food or a warm bath and bed.

“Yes?”

“We need a room and food and bath and wine and,” she bit her full lower lip, thinking, “well, I guess that about sums it up.”

Their host was staring at the Bandersnatch, wonder in his Mongol eyes. “You,” he addressed Jabberwock, “You da Dhami Dhole.”

“Historically speaking,” the Bandersnatch sighed, and then smiled, wickedly, “and you must be the Dzu-tch.”

The giant bellowed laughter. “Teoleticary speaking, yes. I eight-feet tarr. I eat beef.”

“Dami? Dole? Dzu? Dzu?” Eluned sputtered.

“I get wine,” their host left the room, chuckling.

“Explain.” The Princess ordered.

“I hate it when you get imperious,” Jabberwock kvetched, but he was actually enjoying himself.

“Exprain, prease,” Eluned amended, sitting on a bench in front of the snapping fire. “He recognized you. What’s a dami dole? What’s a dzu-, a dzu-whatever you said? How did he know you could talk?”

“Are you quite finished?”

Eluned rolled her eyes.

“It’s Dhami, d-h-a-m-i, Dhole, d-h-o-l-e.”

“Yeah, so?”

“A dhami is a sorcerer or necromancer.”

“A ledgerdemainist, thaumaturge or magus? Her look was cold. If Jabberwock had been capable of blushing, he would have done so.

“I told you the truth. So I’m a living legend, what can I say?”

“I still don’t understand. What’s a dhole?”

Jabberwock muttered something unintelligible.

“What did you say?”

“I said a dhole is a doglike mammal.”

“A calnivole, too, no?” Their host rejoined them with a steaming jug of mulled wine and two, thick, clay goblets. He poured for himself and the Princess.

“Where I come flom,” he said, “Dhami Dhole myfrical cleatures wif many powers. Didn’t know Dhami Dhole stirl exist.”

“Like telepathy and prescience?”

“Yes, terepafy. Know future, too. Tought Dhami Dhole ting of past. Can’t berieve Dhami Dhole here, fole my eyes.”

“Wait a second. Did you say creatures? Plural?”

“Prural, yes.”

“I have reason to believe I am the only Bandersnatch in existence,” Jabberwock explained.

“Bandelsnac?”

“That’s Bandersnatch, you oaf,” Jabberwock was miffed. It was important that the Princess never doubted his word.

“Jabberwock the Bandersnatch,” the Princess indicated the grouchy Dhami Dhole. “I am the Princess Eluned of Zion.”

“Bonpo,” he introduced himself, extending a hand the size of a hamhock. Eluned clasped it, tentatively, but Bonpo was surprisingly gentle.

“So,” she eyed the Bandersnatch, “I thought you were immortal?”

“Unless killed. I don’t die of old age.”

“Kind of like a tortoise, huh?”

“I suppose that’s an apt enough comparison.”

“Are you sure you’re the only Bandersnatch in existence?”

“Vely rikery,” Bonpo said, “In Dziron, onry myf, regend.”

“Which reminds me,” Eluned turned to Bonpo, “What’s a Dzu-whatever Jabberwock said?”

“It is Yeti.”

“Yeti?”

“The abominable snowman,” Jabberwock helped him out. “A creature about eight feet tall that eats cattle.”

“Abomneral snowman!” Bonpo’s laughter clapped like thunder. “Vely good, vely good!”

Eluned was edging away from the laughing giant. “Sounds like a pretty good description to me.”

“Eat cow, not human,” he was still laughing.

“So why did you leave the Peaks of Vulpecula?”

“Too corld.”

Eluned shivered but she was no longer listening. Vulpecula. Didn’t that have something to do with the word, fox? “Why Vulpecula?”

“Vely qrick, dis woman,” Bonpo’s face was flushed with admiration.

“What else is hiding up there in those mountains?” She asked the Bandersnatch. “Dragons, unicorns?”

“Too corld.”

“I heard you,” she snapped.

“I meant too corld for dragon.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “Solly, I mean, sorry.”

Bonpo sailed off into gales of laughter. Jabberwock was grinning, too, in his usual way—teeth bared, tongue lorring, uh, lolling.

Eluned shivered and moved closer to the fire. Bonpo refilled her cup with hot wine and stood.

“I fix hot baf.” He shambled back up stairs, steps creaking loudly beneath his weight. In the ensuing silence, they could hear his continued chuckles muffled by the sound of splashing water as he filled a tub for the Princess.

“How come there are no more Bandersnatches?” She sipped the soothing, deep red liquid. Somehow, she just couldn’t compare it to the similarly colored liquid that had nearly made her lose her mind only hours earlier.

“Genocide. About 300 years ago, we were considered warlocks. We were hunted down with dogs,” he spat the latter word, “spitted and burned.”

A cold chill insinuated its way once more through her body. She shook her head in denial. She didn’t even want to imagine. “No wonder you despise dogs,” she said, quietly. “Were you the only Bandersnatch to escape?”

“No, there were others. We scattered to the four winds.”

“I assume you can reproduce.”

“Most certainly, but only if we have a mate.”

“You didn’t have a mate?”

“I did.”

Eluned’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say.

“She was killed when we crossed The Devastation of Pelf.”

“You crossed The Devastation! I thought, I thought . . .”

“Thought it was impossible?”

“Yes.”

“Very nearly. But there is life there, the most repulsive,” he shuddered. “Lovecraft, himself, would be hard put to describe the terrors, the monstrosities in that wasteland.”

Lovecraft again! She’d have to ask him about that later. “She wasn’t . . .”

“I couldn’t save her,” his voice cracked. Nearly three hundred years later and it was still like it happened yesterday. “It was hiding beneath the sands. It’s fiendish claw tore into her flesh.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Suffice to say that Kamali did not suffer long but I carry the anguish of that moment for eternity.”

The Princess was stunned into silence and tears stung her eyes. She had been meeting with Jabberwock almost daily for eleven years and she had never had the slightest clue. Not an inkling or intimation, not even an indication that he had once loved as she might never even hope to love.

The yeti was pounding down the stairs. She wondered how long the staircase would last beneath his weight.

Jabberwock stared, morosely, into the fire remembering a time more than three hundred years earlier when love was life; and life was a hidden, verdant valley in the Peaks of Vulpecula. A time when there was little to fear; when the Janawar (for Bandersnatch is what the Jabberwock chose to call himself in his new life) coexisted peacefully with the yeti, yak and snow leopards; where lotus bloomed in cerulean pools and snow never fell; and why was a question that did not require discussion.

Eluned quietly stood, leaving Jabberwock to his memories and tears and still-aching heart. She followed Bonpo up the stairs and the gentle giant did his best to climb silently.

Easing her sore body into the hot, scented water, the Princess inhaled the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses and slowly her muscles began to relax. But, her mind was racing. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems; everything always takes a lot longer than you think it ought to, and that seemed to particularly apply to her at this point. Had she really been so self-centered that she had never pressed Jabberwock on his past? Why had it taken her eleven years to find out about her great-grandmother? Kamali? How long had she been taking things at face value? She was beginning to scare herself. Eluned vowed to look deeper—at herself, the Bandersnatch, at everyone and everything she came in contact with. Surely the climate was not the only reason Bonpo had ventured here from Dziron. This was a cold land, too. The Mountains of Misericord towered above the inn and brought snow and storms nearly three seasons out of four. Surely if he had desired warmth he would have journeyed farther south. There were many warm lands in the south—the Desert of Tarshish, the Favonian Islands, the Kingdom of Adam, to name just a few.

She resolved to question him further after her bath. Jabberwock, too, for that matter. She sipped at her wine as she contemplated her new self, or at least what she hoped would become her new self. She chuckled. Perhaps, she would turn out all right, after all.

Abaddon VIII

Dawn was stretching her golden limbs when the Princess was awakened by Jabberwock. “Oh, I slept terribly,” she complained.

“You don’t have to tell me,” snarled the Bandersnatch. “I had to listen to the rustle of straw as you tossed and turned all night.”

Eluned padded over to the washbasin and splashed cold water on her puffy face. “I feel like I slept in the dragon’s lair last night.” She poked, tenderly, at the tired flesh beneath her eyes. “I must look like a dragon,” she croaked and bared her teeth at Jabberwock.

“Sorry, my dear, but I am afraid you couldn’t even frighten a mouse. You always look beautiful whether you are mad or sad or even when you are tired.”

“Well, thank you,” she pulled a wide-toothed comb through her tangled curls. “I’d hate to meet my knight in shining armor and look like a fiend.”

“Not to worry,” Jabberwock yawned, waiting for the Princess to get dressed and idly wishing he could see the expression on the face of the first man to see her undressed. Uriel, preferably. She was something to behold.

“You’re holding out on me,” she said, with a laugh. “You know who my prince charming is, don’t you?”

“I mean only that when you finally meet him, he will be enraptured despite your appearance.”

She studied him for a moment, comb raised half-way to her hair. Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “I assume that’s all I am going to get out of you?”

His eyes broadened in mock innocence, as opaque as the dark wool of her long skirt. “All I can say is that you’ll know him when you meet him.” At least, he hoped so.

“Hmmpf,” she snorted, tossing her comb into her satchel. She opened the creaky wooden door of their chamber. They tip-toed downstairs, but Zelda was already up and insisted on pressing a mug of hot coffee into Eluned’s fragile hand. Her long fingers curled around the cup, thankfully. Her fingers were numb with the cold. She sipped, greedily, at the strong brew, relishing the sensation of the hot liquid as it slid down her throat and began to thaw her insides. She usually preferred it with cream but heat was priority and it wasn’t long before the warmth in her belly started to spread to her extremities.

Biscuits, warm with melted butter and thick honey, were wrapped in a red-checked cloth and shoved into her tapestry bag. The two backed out of the inn’s massive front door, which had been standing open the previous evening in order to dissipate not only body heat but body odor. Today, only Eluned’s eagerness to hit the road gave her the strength to shove the door open with her back. Although she would pay for that later with a bruised shoulder blade. With the Princess stating the necessary good-byes and thank-yous to the hovering Zelda, they finally made it to the wide white track that led toward the mountains.

“Be yer sure yer dersn’t be wantin’ bread an’ cheese fer yer lunch?”she chirped.

“We’ve made plans,” Jabberwock spoke, leaving the poor woman leaning against the door jamb, mouth agape.

Eluned sent him a reproving look but was soon choking back the laughter that threatened to explode from her throat.

It was her turn to be eyed, sternly, and she tried to apologize. “I guess I . . .”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “we’re both tired, and,” he grumbled, “we have a hell of a long way to go today.”

“Hell?” The Princess raised an eyebrow in mock (aw, what the heck) shock.

“You’re a bad influence, my dear.”

She leaned down to kiss the soft hair on top of Jabberwock’s small and round skull. “But you love me anyway, right?”

He rolled his marble eyes. “Indubitably. It looks as if we’re in for a storm.” He changed the subject.

She watched the roiling, boiling clouds gathering over the snowy peaks to the east—the Mountains of Misericord. The jagged mountains were hidden beneath a cinereous, churning mass of clouds. She looked, worriedly, at the Bandersnatch. They, well she, at least, was not prepared to travel in the rain. She shuddered as the wind picked up, buttoned her wool cloak. Head forward and bowed against the wind, she tromped, determinedly, ahead, and Jabberwock had to trot to keep up with her.

Abaddon VII

The raucous laughter and loud talk were silenced by the entrance of the Princess and her Bandersnatch. Eluned surveyed the dim, smoky room with curiosity and was delighted. The rough hewn plank tables and benches and the even more roughly hewn men and women that occupied them brought a secret smile to her lips not dissimilar to that of the Mona Lisa. This is life, she thought. The air reeked of tobacco, wood smoke and human sweat. Eluned inhaled, deeply, entranced.

Jabberwock, on the other hand, was regretting his decision to stay here. We should have camped beneath the stars, he thought, observing the shocked faces of the inn’s customers. As he was wondering whether or not there would be any trouble, the innkeeper, a tall, thin man reminiscent of a great blue heron with his bushy black eyebrows, scruffy white beard and long, thin and pointed nose, rushed forward with his bright-eyed robin of a wife.

Eluned wondered if the innkeeper’s wife would awake her the following morning with an “ain’t you ‘shamed you sleepy head?” Jabberwock had often said that very thing when, during the past decade, she had nodded off over their lessons.

“Princess,” the innkeeper croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Princess, welcome.” He glanced down at Jabberwock and back at the princess, yellow eyes twitching, nervously. “Norm’ly we doesn’t allow pets, yer Highness, but,” he glanced back down at Bandersnatch and mumbled something.

“Oh, dear, dear, don’t worry,” the innkeeper’s wife twittered when she saw the lightning flash of anger in the Princess’s eyes, “o’course yer pet kin sleep wit yer. Boris, shame on yer,” she nudged her husband with a plump little hand. “Yer fergettin’ yerself and yer manners. Show’m t’ther room. More’n likely ther want’a be freshnin up afore supp.”

With little more than a backward glance at Eluned and the Bandersnatch, Boris led the couple through the still silent crowd and up the stairs at the far side of the big room. As they ascended, the talk and laughter began again, quietly at first then rising until the din was so loud, the Princess couldn’t hear herself think.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The Princess asked as she shut the door behind them. The thick walls and the heavy wooden door shut out most of the noise.

“What? And be thrown in with the horses and mules for sure!” Jabberwock scolded. “That is, if they didn’t throw me on that spit and burn me alive, and you, too, for that matter. Just because you’re a princess doesn’t mean you can’t be a witch. Burned at the stake we’d be and no one would ever say a word! No. Sometimes it is better to keep your mouth shut.”

Eluned paled and began to survey the room. “Is this their best?” she asked, shocked. Touching the thin, straw mattress, her face paled even further. She looked as if she expected to be attacked by bed bugs. She wiped her hand on the soft, gray wool of her cloak, then spying the pitcher and wash bowl on a rickety table proceeded to wash her hands. The soap smelled strongly of lye.

“Enjoy it,” he said, his eyes snapping with amusement, “tomorrow we sleep on the ground.”

“The ground?” She was horrified.

“You wanted the adventure. I never said you would get luxury accommodations.”

“I think that I would rather sleep on the ground than in that bed.”

“Well, don’t tell the innkeeper that. You’ll insult him.” As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Eluned jumped, guiltily. But it was just Boris’s wife (Zelda, she introduced herself) wanting to know if they wished to supp in “ther room.”

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Eluned said, remembering the silence and the curious, bordering on rude, stares of the country folk downstairs.

“Ale er wine?”

“Wine, please.” She was a very polite princess. Zelda bustled off. Eluned had another moment’s misgivings when she suddenly imagined Zelda arriving with a platter full of plump and juicy worms. Her fears were unfounded for the innkeeper’s wife soon returned with two heavy pottery bowls filled with thick, savoury stew, steaming, fresh-from-the-oven bread, sweet, creamy butter and an earthen jug filled with cool, spiced, red wine. The Princess hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the food was set before her. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she had been so eager that morning to leave her prison of eighteen years behind (a castle, she reminded herself and felt a momentary guilty twinge about her devastated parents), that she had thought of doing nothing but putting one foot in front of the other for so long that not only had she forgotten to eat, breakfast or lunch, but she had had to be reminded about the gift she clasped in her hand.

“You’re salivating,” the Bandersnatch remarked when Zelda had left them to their meal.

A pretty pink tongue was directed at Jabberwock, “Phooey on you,” she replied, spooning the rich broth into her mouth.

Abaddon VI

“Try asking Omni.”

“In other words, you don’t know.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So, you do know,” she stamped her foot. He simply gazed unwaveringly into her eyes. She sighed. “But you’re not going to tell me.” She withdrew from beneath her blouse, the small, suede pouch she wore around her neck, and slipped the stone inside. And it was a long time before she thought of it again.

Eluned slung her bag over her shoulder and was soon ambling down the road, every step bringing her closer to the mountains in the east. Behind her left shoulder, the sun slowly burned its way toward the horizon hidden from her sight by the castle’s walls. Another mile and the castle and the world she was leaving would disappear from view as she and Jabberwock entered the foothills that rolled in muted tones of brown and gold into the mountains beyond.

“Queen Fuchsia was from the fertile lands beyond the Devastation of Pelf.”

“You mean the Kingdom of Bramble?”

“Yes, but that is hard to admit now. Of course, it wasn’t so corrupt back then. Anyway, that is where I met her . . .”

“Am I like her?”

“She is the reason I am here now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me finish my story. When she reached her eighteenth birthday, she was sent to your great-grandfather’s . . .”

“King Seraph?”

“Yes . . .your great-grandfather’s kingdom to be his bride. I attempted, through cajolery, even bribery, to inveigle her to disappear. I knew that what she was doing was not right for her, that she was marrying the king through a misguided sense of honor and responsibility. I knew, even then, that it would all come to a bad end, that at the very least, it would leave her name tarnished and battered, never to be spoken in her land or any other.

“But she married the king with much pageantry, pomp and fanfare, not to mention a touch of theatrics and more than a little bit of grandeur, glitter and gaudiness.”

“Garish?”

“Definitely so, as if to rub my nose in it all.”

“But you knew her too well.”

“Goes without saying, my dear. By the end of the year, young Fuchsia was expecting her first child . . .”

“King Simeon.”

“Yes,” the Bandersnatch sighed. He would never get accustomed to Eluned’s constant interruptions. “. . . and chomping at the bit the whole while. The child was barely weaned before she was beseeching me to rescue her, to ‘take her away from it all’.”

The Princess laughed, a pleasant sound like the comfortable burbling of a brook, “she didn’t last very long, did she?”

“Fortunately, she did manage to accomplish the one adjunct expected of her—she bore the king an heir, a male heir, which definitely improved her situation.”

“You mean it didn’t matter so much if she took off.”

“It was a great embarrassment to the king, of course, but the onus for the debacle . . . “

“I hate that word!”

“Debacle?”

“Onus. It makes me shudder. Would it bother you if I asked you not to use it again in my presence?”

“What?” He sputtered. Trust Eluned to disrupt a story by objecting to the use of a word, a rather common one at that.

“It’s just that that word gives me the creeps.”

“The creeps?”

“You know very well what I mean. Can’t you use burden instead of onus. Ack, I don’t even like saying it!”

“Perhaps it is too close to sounding like anus.”

“I don’t mind the word anus. I just don’t like, you know, that word I don’t want to say.”

“Then I will rephrase the entire sentence. After all, my dear Princess, I am your servant.”

“My friend. Not my servant. You’d make a lousy servant. You can’t button buttons or bring me breakfast in bed. You can’t even make a bed.”

“A figure of speech, that’s all. What I meant was that your wish is my command, so to speak. Does that make you happy? Don’t take things so literally—it could get you into serious trouble.”

“Anyway, who was the burden on?”

“Fuchsia’s people were blamed for her indiscretion . . .”

“That’s a nice way of putting it!”

“If they hadn’t lived beyond the Devastation, they would have been sent there.”

“Will we pass through The Devastation on our journey?”

“No one passes through The Devastation. You know that.”

“But you can do all kinds of magical things.”

“Limited telepathy and the ability to speak are about the extent of my so-called magical powers.”

“You’re immortal,” she said, and shivered for she had the strangest sense of déjà vu, well not exactly déjà vu, more like prescience. She shook her head as if to clear it of the fog that was creeping through it, hiding thoughts, exposing others.

Jabberwock looked at her, oddly. “That hardly makes me a ledgerdemainist, a thaumaturge, a magus.”

“Great,” sighed Eluned, “I am on the adventure of a lifetime with a four-legged thesaurus.”

“Besides,” the Bandersnatch sniffed, feigning hurt, “The Devastation is to the west, beyond the Plains of Naphtali and the Sea of Blood. We’re currently traveling east. The sun is directly to our backs. You know that.”

Eluned felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck. She had often wheedled her nurse into telling her stories of the Sea of Blood upon whose shores the Aberrations of The Devastation dwelt. Absolutely nothing existed in The Devastation, the former Kingdom of Pelf. Not even the most loathsome, abominable and vile creatures that inhabited the furthest borders between the Sea of Blood and The Devastation. “It’s probably just as well,” she whispered, eyes wide with fear. “I am not sure I want that much adventure.”

“I ventured that way, myself, once, but that’s another story and we’ll have plenty of time for stories but right now I would like to finish the story I began hours ago.”

“It hasn’t been hours. You certainly love to pout!”

“No more than you, my dear.”

“Yes, but I am a princess. It just seems a bit unseemly for a Bandersnatch.”

“And how would you know what is seemly for a Bandersnatch and what is not? I don’t have to remind you that I am the only Bandersnatch in existence. I make my own rules. I determine my own actions.”

“Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.” Eluned laughed and bent down to ruffle his coarse fur, paused to scratch behind his long ears. “You’re absolutely right! So, you and Fuchsia departed the Kingdom of Zion, sneaking out in the dead of night?”

“It was dawn, and I dislike the word, sneak, but yes, that’s what we did.”

“I’m surprised my father let me go with you, then.”

“So am I. I am actually quite amazed that Brother Columcille and I were able to convince him of the necessity of your leaving. Anyway, when we had first arrived in Zion, Fuchsia and I parted ways at the forest.”

“And she’d visit you there during the day?”

“Never as often as you and I met.”

“But she did when she was young, did she not? When you lived in the Wilds of Discord?”

“Yes, that’s true. We’re about three miles from our lodgings.”

“That gives you another hour to finish the story.”

“You’ve made me lose my train of thought,” Jabberwock groused. “All these interruptions.”

“Complain, complain, complain.”

He sighed. “We maintained our relationship through the birth of her son and his weaning, and then began making plans to leave. She wanted to head back toward Bramble, and we eventually arrived in Zapple,” the Bandersnatch paused, sure that Eluned would interrupt. After all, Zapple was notorious; often compared to Sodom and Gomorrah. She disappointed him. “There Fuchsia became quite the star on the Zenon Strip.”

“Star?” The Princess was perplexed. A star? On the Zenon Strip? Did they go to another galaxy?

Jabberwock began to chortle in his wheezy, rasping way.

“What? What?” Eluned was blushing. “All right. I give up. I’ve heard of Zapple but the Zenon Strip? A star? What are you talking about?”

“Basically, Fuchsia became an actress, not unlike the mummers that perform at the castle. The Zenon Strip is the district in Zapple where the actors and actresses perform. When you have a successful career in the theater, you become a star.”

Eluned was horrified at the thought of her great-grandmother sinking so low as to perform for money, but was intrigued by the concept of becoming a star. It sounded so brilliant. “Why is it called a star?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because they are self-luminous or maybe because they are full of hot air. Or, perhaps, because they are the featured performer and their name was once marked with an asterisk.”

“Maybe it’s because an excellent performance is rewarded with a star,” Eluned mused, “or maybe, it’s because . . .”

“Does it really matter?” It was Jabberwock’s turn to interrupt. “Suffice to say that she did become a star. Not surprising, really, she always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“Did you really save her from a dragon?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I heard talk. Besides, what about the fairy tale you told me on the first day we met?”

“Gossiping, you mean. It wasn’t an actual dragon. It was an abomination, a nameless monstrosity from the borders of The Devastation, seeking fresh meat. It had wandered too far into the Wilds.”

“She was outside the castle walls?”

“She never obeyed her parents.”

How romantic, Eluned sighed. For years and years she had been longing for similar adventures. Perhaps, at last . . .

“Are we on our way to meet her?” The Princess asked. “I can’t wait!”

“Darling, you’re grasp of geography is dismaying, and I know better. Please use that pretty little head instead of just your emotions!” Then the Bandersnatch added, gently, “Fuchsia died the day I met you.”

Eluned’s face fell, tears once again pricked her eyes. She had already developed a strong bond of feeling, of kinship, even love for this woman, a woman so like herself. “So why are you doing this again?”

“Because when you were born, we both agreed that you would have the same opportunities that she had had, but that you wouldn’t have to make the same mistake that she had made.”

“You mean marrying against her will?”

“She didn’t want you to marry and give birth to a child that you would never see again. You are so much like her, even when you were young. I suppose that is what eventually killed her—not being able to watch her son grow, marry, have his own children and grandchildren. She didn’t want you to have to make the same, horrible choice.”

They hiked on in silence.

“Thank you,” Eluned broke the silence, half an hour and a hundred yards from their lodgings later.

“For what?” Jabberwock’s eyes reflected the serious fjord green of Eluned’s own.

“For rescuing me from the dragon.”

Abaddon V

“So, what did he give you?” Jabberwock indicated the clumsily wrapped package clutched in Eluned’s left hand. They were walking, had been walking for hours, side by side, down the great road that led out of King Seraphim’s castle and into the largely cultivated lands that surrounded it. Mostly groves and groves of fruit trees—plums, pears and cherries—that in a few months would be covered with a fairyland of blossoms.

The Princess stopped, dropped her satchel on the hard pack, and ripped and shredded the gossamer tissue of the package her father had pressed into her hand as she fled her home of eighteen years.

Her fingers, stiff from hours of gripping the small box, fumbled at the lid. Throwing her head back, she took a deep breath and tried again. She could already feel the tears stinging behind her eyes. Why did she have to cry so much? The ornate ring and stone nestled on a bed of purple velvet inside the box broke the dam. She could barely see the ring’s design through her flood of tears. She swiped them angrily away so that she could study the contents of the small container. Like her valise, the golden ring abounded in mythical creatures: a miniscule knight battled a dragon, lovely maiden at its clawed and horny feet; a beautiful virgin (for only virgins can see unicorns) embraced the one-horned creature beneath the mourning boughs of a weeping willow; and, what was this? The Bandersnatch?! Sitting upon a rock in the middle of a forest in apparent discussion with a young princess clutching a golden ball to her flat chest?

She looked at Jabberwock in awe. He looked rather nonplussed, himself. Maybe puzzled was a better word.

“Are you not going to read the note?” he asked, impatiently. She picked up the box at her feet, retrieved the thrice-folded parchment.

My dearest daughter,
It breaks my aging heart to see you leave these walls to seek the mostly cruel wonders of the outside world. I have long teased your mother, and in your presence, that you get your ways—passion deeply felt and hunger for adventure—from her side of the family. But that has never been true. I have always known well from whence came those generally unacceptable characteristics. My grandmother fled these very walls in the company of your little pet, leaving her husband and son to fend for themselves. I had this very special ring (it has been in the family for centuries) engraved especially for you. A plain gold band didn’t seem appropriate. I am sure the gods won’t mind. Be careful my darling, and remember that we love you, as your mother no doubt told you, desperately.
Your loving father


Eluned’s head was reeling. Her great-grandmother (she’d heard the whispers—it was a forbidden subject in the castle) had known the Bandersnatch, had headed off on a similar adventure?

“What, where, wh…,” she sputtered.

“Pull yourself together,” Jabberwock replied, crossly. Count on the king to be the first one to throw a monkey wrench into his journey, although no doubt she had a right to know.

The Princess closed her eyes and took a deep, imperial, breath. She raised her head on its long, delicate neck and peered, aristocratically, down at the Bandersnatch. “I think you have some explaining to do.” A storm raged in her regal eyes, pearly teeth clutched sovereign lower lip in suppressed wrath.

Never piss off a princess.

Plopping herself down in the middle of the road, Eluned crossed her legs and waited.

“Well, we’re off to a mighty good start,” Jabberwock drawled.

The Princess stared at him, perplexed. Where the hell had that come from? Her lips thinned and lightning flashed in her eyes. “Cut the crap,” she returned, tartly. She had read the line in a book she had discovered hidden beneath the floorboards in the storage space beneath her window seat in her bedroom. It had her great-grandmother’s flowing script:

This book is the property of Queen Fuchsia of Zion

A script that did not look dissimilar to her father’s. She had read the book a dozen times since she had discovered it. She had found it whilst looking for her own secret hiding place. It was a book of adventure, of mythical beasts and fearsome dragons and knights in shining armor. It had always filled her with excitement. It spoke of other worlds and other ways of living. At any rate, her reply was enough to catch the Bandersnatch off guard. He surveyed her for a second, with an odd expression on his furry face, and then sighed, and lowered himself to the pavement, front legs crossed before him.

“Are you ready?” Eluned asked, honey voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Quite so, your highness,” Jabberwock replied, his own eyes sparking with annoyance. “We’ll be lucky if we make tonight’s lodgings,” he muttered under his dog breath.

“What?”

The Bandersnatch scratched, absently, behind his long, pointed ear. The left one. The Princess was growing impatient and frustrated. If she didn’t need Jabberwock to make it, make it, wherever the hell it was they were going, she’d leave him right now.

“It was long ago and far away,” the Bandersnatch began his tale.

“And the world was younger than today . . .” Eluned interrupted. She had heard him start more than one fairy tale this way.

Jabberwock glared at her. “Would you like me to recount the story or not?”

The Princess sighed and rolled her eyes. “Pray, please continue, kind sir.”

“Patience is definitely not one of your virtues, my dear.” The Bandersnatch grinned (or was he growling?).

Eluned studied the scuffed toes of her boots, concentrated on stilling her wildly beating heart. Did it really matter that she was following in her great-grandmother’s footsteps? And what about her great-grandmother’s great-grandmother? Had she, too, skipped along this wide, white, track, Jabberwock at her young side? She was her parent’s only child. What did that mean for the Kingdom of Zion? If she had to marry Uriel, then who would rule Zion when her father and mother were gone? Would the two kingdoms join or would they rule them jointly? Would she be able to produce another heir to the throne, or thrones, for that matter? She was actually the current heir to the throne. Queen Eluned. Why was nothing ever simple? This was an aspect of her adventures that she had never considered; that would now constantly tickle at the back of her mind.

“But I’m young,” she whispered to the Bandersnatch. “There’s lots of time, right?”

“Plenty of time,” he replied. “Do you still want to hear about your great-grandmother?”

“Of course.” She stood up, stretching. “But, we shouldn’t be wasting time sitting here.” She looked at him as if it had all been his idea. “You can tell me while we’re walking. If we don’t get a move on, we might not make tonight’s lodgings.”

Jabberwock was forced to suppress a smile. Had he really expected her to grow up overnight?

“Oh, and what’s this?” She had slipped the golden ring onto the ring finger of her right hand where it seemed to fit perfectly. But, as she returned the note to the box, she noticed the stone again. She carefully picked it up and studied the gently glowing stone. “Moonstone?”

“I believe so,” Jabberwock agreed. The stone had the pearly glow of a full moon. Mysteries and their answers seemed to swim in its depths. Despite the fact it was no bigger than the smallest coin of the realm, it was nearly hypnotizing. Jabberwock cleared his throat.

“Why did he give me this?” Eluned’s brow creased in perplexity.

to be continued...

Abaddon IV

IV

So, tomorrow she would celebrate her eighteenth birthday. She didn’t even know what to expect on the day’s dawning. She knew her anticipation of the event was nearly more than she could bear, but not because of the normal associations made with birth days but because of what the date promised—freedom. It was less than twelve hours until dawn and officially her birthday and the wait seemed interminable.

She stared out the leaded glass of her bedroom window, high in the turret of the east tower. She could just see the snow-capped peaks of the mountains over the castle wall. Tomorrow, she shivered, she might be lodging beneath their slopes.

Jabberwock had hinted at another world—a world which reflected fear and worry in his glass eyes. But, if that were so, then why was he so determined to show it to her? Surely her father’s world, outside the castle walls, would have been enough to satisfy her curiosity? But the Bandersnatch knew her better than she knew herself; at least, that was how she felt most of the time. She sighed again. She must trust him completely. If it hadn’t been for the strange little creature she would soon be married off to King Uriel and she would have to spend the rest of her life bound within the walls of yet another castle. And, she doubted she’d find a friend comparable to Jabberwock in its woods.

Stretching, she vacated her window seat, unconsciously smoothing the pleats of her soft flannel skirt. Catching a glimpse of huge eyes and creased brow in the gilt-framed mirror that occupied a far corner of her tower room, Eluned turned to survey herself. What would people see when they met her? Her long, white throat curved toward a well-defined, slightly cleft chin. High cheekbones accented her oval face. Skin as white as fine alabaster, hair as dark as obsidian, and eyes as liquid green as a coral sea reflected back at her.

Untying the black velvet ribbon that unsuccessfully attempted to control hair savage with curls, Eluned experimented with different styles, piling the corkscrews atop her small head, letting it hang, barbaric, around her face. She liked it like that. It made her feel untamed and gypsy-like, primitive and savage. She wanted to strip down and dance nearly naked around a fire. She wanted to meet an equally wild-eyed man. She wanted too much. A fine spray of tears misted from the ocean of her eyes. It was hopeless. Her expectations for the rest of her life were too high. Tomorrow would never come.


But, tomorrow always arrives and this Wednesday morning dawned pink, orange and purple around the mountains to the east. The Princess had barely slept the night before and was up, goose down comforter wrapped around her slender shoulders, to watch the sky lighten from velvety black to deep purple and blue. Eluned waited with trepidation and anticipation for the appearance of the sun. She longed to feel its warmth against her face; to finally experience the freedom it would bring as it summoned the new day. She wondered where she and the Bandersnatch would go first. Some place warm, she hoped, for she lived in a mostly cold land and was born in an always cold and snowy month. She hated being cold and during the long winters it sometimes seemed as if the sun had deserted her father’s kingdom permanently.

The sun crested behind the mountains reflecting shimmery gold light into her eyes. She blinked, lifting her face to the light; shivered with delight, throwing the comforter onto the floor. She always made her bed but never again, not here, anyway! She bit her lip. On second thought, was that really the impression she wanted to leave behind. She bent over and picked up the crumpled duvet, placing it back on her bed and smoothing it out. She even picked up her pillow, re-lumped it, and reclined her stuffed unicorn against it. She was going to miss her little Eira. There had been countless times in the past 18 years when she had hugged the doll to her chest as she fell asleep; she had cried many tears into its soft fabric as well . . .

It was time to pack. The Princess had saved this final act of preparation for the very last moment because Jabberwock had told her she could bring little more than what she was wearing. A medium-sized tapestry bag would have to suffice for she would have to carry it, herself. Gazing, reflectively, into the depths of her closet, she wondered what to bring. They would just have to go someplace warm. That was all there was to it. She couldn’t possibly carry all the clothes she would need to keep warm. Eluned decided she would wear her wool cloak to begin with and toss it whenever they reached the warm place, a desert, most definitely. She would ask him to take her to a desert.

White, then. The choice of color wasn’t difficult. She wore white in the spring and summer, black in the fall and winter. She would carry white, wear black. Long skirts and dresses were all that were worn by women in her father’s kingdom. She had often wondered what it would be like to wear pants. She wondered now what people wore in the desert, what kind of clothes they wore in the world they would be exploring. Would she stand out? Would people look at her and laugh? Would it be obvious that she was had led an amazingly sheltered life?

Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs that were obscuring her thoughts, she donned her favorite blouse and skirt, reined in her hair with a lace ribbon. Sprawled coltish on the floor, she pulled on thick wool socks. Shoes were tossed overhead and on to the marble floor behind her as she scoured the armoire for appropriate footwear. Ah! She pulled soft leather boots over delicately arched feet and lean calves.

Nightshirt, toothbrush and other necessary items were tossed into the tapestry satchel on which virgins and unicorns danced through an enchanted forest. She was ready to go. She was shaking. Her heart felt as if it were racing. When would the Bandersnatch be announced? Where in creation was he?

Pacing the pink marble floor, kicking throw rugs impatiently aside as they got in her way, she wondered if she could stand waiting another minute, even another second.

A gentle knock at her door. Her heart stopped.

It was her mother. Tears coursed down her royal cheeks. The Princess, uncharacteristically, threw herself into her mother’s arms.

“I wish you didn’t feel as if you must embark on this . . . this folly,” her mother whispered, holding her only child close to her breaking heart.

“Mother, we’ve discussed this!” Eluned cried, petulantly. “Please don’t try to stop me. Not now! Not so close . . .”

She heard the commotion downstairs and stiffened. Jabberwock must have arrived. Her mother slowly distanced herself from her daughter and, almost as an afterthought, kissed Eluned gently on the lips.

“I know I haven’t told you often enough,” she sighed, patting the tears from her cheeks with a silk handkerchief, “but I love you, desperately.”

Tears made a journey of their own down the rose-dappled cheeks of the princess. “I will miss you, Mother,” she whispered. “Both you and Father, but mostly you.” Grabbing her colorful valise, the Princess flew out of her room and down the winding stairs, disdaining to look back at her chamber, her mother. She didn’t want to stay. She must away. She must!

But, it wasn’t going to be quite that easy. At the bottom of the stairs, the King and Brother Columcille and the Bandersnatch watched her descent.

“A word before you leave,” her father said, quietly. His eyes were brighter than usual.

“Yes, Sir.” The King led the way to the sitting room and they settled themselves. The Princess was anxious to leave, but it was clear that her father was not in a hurry. She grudgingly accepted a cup of coffee and allowed the maid to stir some cream into the porcelain mug decorated with the Kingdom’s heraldic symbols. She stared into the tawny liquid and waited for her father to say whatever it was he felt he had to say, mentally rolling her eyes.

“I am not really sure how to begin,” he started, cleared his throat. “I would imagine that you are aware that your mother and I are not thrilled with the prospect of this so-called, uh, journey.” He was silent a moment, heaved a sigh and began again, “But, Brother Columcille and Jabberwock, here, have convinced us that it is of utmost importance that you be allowed this chance; that it is essential to your growth in The Way. And, so, you shall go. BUT, and this is a very strong and absolutely essential “But.” You must be back at this castle by your 21st birthday. You will marry King Uriel. The date has been set and will not be moved. Do you understand?”

Eluned’s eyes echoed with mutiny, but she inclined her head and murmured, “Yes, Sir.”

to be continued tomorrow...