Discworld and Member Articles
|
|
|
Written by TheJackal
Thursday, 25 August 2005 |
Now let us move away from that time, for it happened many years ago. Instead, let us move forward to the present, where even stranger events are about to take place…
Stavromula is a simple planet. It has basic goals, such as making sure it correctly spins on its axis, and never drifts out of the Sun’s gravitational pull and off into space. It’s not Stavromula’s fault that its inhabitants are insanely complicated, each with their own idiosyncrasies and foibles.
The predominant species on the planet are, according to themselves, Humans. However, the predominant species in the adjacent solar system also happen to go by the same distinction. This could lead to future lawsuits between the two planets over who coined the name first. However, this shan’t happen for a long time (if ever) because both currently think they are alone in the Universe.
Of course, to think that you are alone in the whole of the Universe, which is so large that it’s immeasurable, is an extremely stupid outlook. Maybe some people just pretend they’re alone because they don’t like being unable to control things, especially if they happen to be millions of light years away. How ironic it is to know that the Humans living on Earth have long been looking for life in space, searching its depths and outer reaches, when all along they never looked carefully enough to see who had moved in next door.
Maybe one day, a few thousand years in the future, a Stavromulan will pop in for a chat, a cup of tea, and to complain about the weather.
When Nemoy was young, his grandfather used to tell him all kinds of extravagant stories: from those involving fearless heroes, to tales of buried treasure chests and strange curses that were placed upon them. And so it befell that Nemoy himself told stories of mighty adventures. Alice, Nemoy’s mother, did not much approve of these stories. She called them Tall Tales, and scolded her father more than once for telling them to Nemoy.
Perhaps Alice wanted Nemoy to be the perfect son, as he was the only child she had. But Alice would never live to see her son grow up and become a man…
Down at the end of their long, rectangular shaped back garden, was situated a meandering river. At its edges, the river was only shallow, but it became quite deep in the centre. Nemoy had been warned many times about how dangerous it could be, but it was still his favourite place to go; whether he was playing imaginary games, or hiding from his parents. Nemoy hid a lot from his parents in the last few days that Alice was alive. They were arguing again, mostly over petty things, and Nemoy hated being in the house.
It came to pass that, on one gloriously sunny day in early August, Nemoy was down at the river again. Looking back now, he couldn’t remember why, but odds are it wasn’t for any important reason. Nemoy could only recall picking up some small stones and attempting to skim them across the river. It was one of these stones that, just before reaching the other side, had hit something bulky.
The part of the river that passed by the back of Nemoy’s house was about ten feet wide. The current moved pretty fast, so it was unusual for anything but very heavy items, not to be swept away downriver.
Only part of this strange, colourful object was above the waterline, so it was hard to tell what was under the dirty water. There was something though which looked familiar to Nemoy. He had seen that yellow coloured object before.
Knowledge is a powerful thing. It can take your breath away. As Nemoy realised what exactly it was that he was seeing, he felt like he’d been kicked hard into the stomach. The object looked like his mother.
No, it couldn’t be. Why would she be in the river? She never went near it. She was always telling him not to go near it! It was ridiculous. It must only be her yellow shirt that was in the river. But why was it there?
These thoughts and many more raged through his eight year old head. He had to know the truth. It only took a second to realise Nemoy couldn’t jump into the river himself. He was a bad swimmer and the current was too strong. He would have to get help.
The next thing he knew, Nemoy was running back towards the house as quick as his little legs could go. He dashed through the back door, startling his cat, who had been lying only yards from it. Darting and dodging his way through the neighbouring rooms in the house, Nemoy finally found Mick, his father, in the dining room.
Nemoy, all a fluster, told too quickly what he had seen. At first, his father did not seem to believe him. Maybe he thought it to be another one of Nemoy’s Tall Tales. But then his dad realised Nemoy was serious. Nemoy had never before seen such a serious look of urgency and anguish in his eyes.
Both father and son then ran immediately towards the river and the secret that it possessed. Stopping at the river’s edge, Nemoy’s father rapidly assessed the situation. The look of horror on his face told Nemoy that his father also feared the worst.
Then, without pausing to even take off his shoes, Mick leapt into the river. The leap itself covered nearly half of the river’s breadth, and within seconds, he had reached the object in the water.
It was Alice.
Mick, who had always been a hard man, broke down in tears; Nemoy fell to his knees, almost in a total daze of disbelief. Deep inside he had been expecting it, but now it was deathly true.
Nemoy felt like he was falling. His mind couldn’t land on soft, familiar ground. Round and round his head went, never stopping nor slowing down.
They buried Alice two days later. For everyone else, life went on. In the following twenty years or so, Nemoy had never again felt that same pain and deep sense of falling. Until now.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you think you’ll die. They lie.
Nemoy has just proven this. The life threatening experience he has just had cannot be denied. After all, a word commonly used in conjunction with the word “cliffs” would be “sheer”. Falling off a cliff also happens to be (with very few exceptions) a once off occurrence, with a permanent result at the bottom. The word ‘splat’ comes to mind. That is why you won’t hear too many people telling their friends in the pub about the time that they fell over 300 feet off a cliff, onto the jagged rocks below, and still had time to go to Mass afterwards. Nevertheless, in Nemoy’s case, this just happened (except for the Mass part).
The last things, however, that Nemoy thought of before hitting the ground, were the big, sharp rocks below, quickly advancing upon his horizon. Oh, he also cursed a lot.
Nemoy kept his eyes closed. To open them up would result in him having to acknowledge the world around him. And that could be anything. There were so many possibilities and Nemoy didn’t know where or when he was or could be. His memory of what had just happened was a little bit hazy. His memory of what had just happened was a little bit hazy.
What Nemoy did know, was that he had been walking along by the cliff’s edge, minding his own business. He did this a lot as a way of relaxing and also, as a bonus, for getting a bit of exercise. Mostly though, it was to relax. He’d had a tendency lately to get worked up about the most miniscule things. For example, day-to-day trivial things like burning his tongue because his tea was too hot could lead to serious amounts of swearing, and oftentimes, broken furniture. In more serious cases, Nemoy would awake the next day in a dungeon as the blanket for a man named Bob.
His third doctor had prescribed going for walks to help Nemoy relax when he felt like losing his temper. Please do not ask what happened to the first two.
Nemoy’s back currently felt like someone had pressed a thousand tiny needles into his spine. He felt cheated.
‘I thought you aren’t supposed to feel any pain in Heaven?’ he said to himself pitifully.
The fact that he’d never believed in any of the Gods wasn’t the point. It was the principle of the thing.
‘Maybe I’m in Hell then?’
Although being a firm non-believer in any type of God whatsoever, Nemoy did believe in the existence of a Devil or its equivalent. I guess everyone needs someone to give out to every now and then, when things don’t go according to plan. He found himself doing this a lot more these days.
Nemoy opened the corner of his right eye and cursed. Reality dawned in all its plainness.
‘I’m still here? What the hell? I should be dead now. Just look at my spine!’
Nemoy winced at the shape of his back, which was currently making great efforts to stay at a ninety-degree angle in the wrong direction. On the third attempt, with more cursing and a few cracks, Nemoy managed to self-right. He took a few shaky steps forward before falling back onto the ground.
Smeer flinched as the figure hit the rocks below. He knew Nemoy might be an Immortal, but even they still felt pain.
‘Master Rubeus, it’s true. He really is the Chosen One.’
‘Yes, I can see that Smeer,’ replied Rubeus.
Rubeus gave the cowering man a scowl. It was the kind that one gave to someone who had just stated something obvious but still thought it somewhat of an achievement to do so.
‘You should be congratulated, Brother Smeer. In discovering this man, you have done the Order a great service. Tell the others to make the appropriate preparations.’
‘Yes, sir. Very good, sir.’
Smeer limped away graciously. He was happy to leave. Each second seemed like an eternity when Smeer was in his master’s presence; even on days like this, when he was being praised somewhat.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if Rubeus were just a ruthless man. But Brother Rubeus was not like that. When he looked at you, it seemed as if he was looking through you. A chill would form around your body, quickly developing into a shiver. Soon after, your hands would start to get clammy and you would sweat uncontrollably.
You could come to Brother Rubeus with a perfectly valid complaint, and feel lucky to come out with your life. Not that is, that anyone would ever try to complain. Well, not twice anyway. To do so once would be to sign your life away. Sure, Rubeus would listen to your complaint, so long that is, as you were finished by the time he got one of his many knives out. Even if you ran, the knife would have reached you before you could reach the archway of the door. Throwing knives was one of Brother Rubeus’ many specialities. He had a lot of spare time when he wanted it, and was a perfectionist.
Rubeus remained by the cliff face, a million thoughts circling through his head. He knew that Smeer had the IQ of a bean, but he had been, by sheer chance of course, the one who had discovered the Chosen One. After all, one tended to notice someone being stabbed in the back during a tavern brawl and not even coming close to being mortally wounded.
‘Soon your time will come,’ he spoke softly to nobody in particular. ‘Oh yes, soon.’
Nemoy awoke from a most wonderful dream. In it, he was King of Druids’ Realm, the finest of the four Realms. Thousands of people had lined the streets to greet him, with each bearing a humble gift especially for him.
Reality struck its first blow when he tried to breath. Nemoy managed to cough up most of the sand. Next came the explicit pain in his back, finally followed by his memory.
‘What the feck happened? I mean, you’re just minding your own business and next thing…wham: you find yourself at the bottom of a cliff with your back trying to play limbo.’
Nemoy slowly got to his feet, his head still spinning like a merry-go-round.
‘I’m going to find the bastard that pushed me off that cliff and when I do, then we’ll see who can do the most tricks with his spine.’
 |
|
|
Subscribe to this comment's feed