Brighid of Byrness

Grimmael led Brighid down a warren of dimly lit hallways and up a flight of narrow, stone stairs; it wasn't long before she was altogether disoriented. "How much farther, Grimmael? I know I didn't want to be housed in the same wing as the dragon, but this seems like I'm being exiled in another country!" "Harumph," grunted the servant, squinting at Brighid through the folds around his scarred eye. At length, he stopped in front of a rough-hewn oak door and inserted one of the ancient keys which hung from his belt. He hobbled inside and lit a candle next to a substantial four-poster bed. In the hearth, a small fire smouldered. Brighid crossed the shadowy room, knelt in front of the fireplace, and uttered the fire-making incantation; immediately the logs burst into flame. Looking around, she noticed that the room was modest but decorated in a shabby chic style that made her feel right at home. Her cloak was draped over the back of the single chair, and her traveling bag sat on a vanity alongside a ewer and basin. Seeing the bag reminded her of her mission, and she grabbed the small pouch of herbs and healing supplies from within. "Now, please take me to the nearest entrance, Grimmael, so that I....." turning, she noticed that the man had already departed. "Well, he can't have traveled too far," she thought to herself. "He walks excrutiatingly slow!" Brighid stood in the doorway and looked both ways, but there was no sight of Grimmael. "I think we came from the right," she mused," or maybe from the left?" Taking a deep breath, she turned to the right and proceeded down the hallway, hurrying in order to catch up to the errant servant. But there was no Grimmael at the end of that hallway --- she decided to take a left turn -- and no Grimmael at the end of that one, either. "What can I do? I'm hopelessly lost within the Pen's labyrinthine passages!" Calming her panic, she stopped and closed her eyes. The shadow said that Fate had been directing her footfalls; well, perhaps it would continue to lead her now. Eyes still closed, she started forward, guided by a strange thrumming which was slightly perceivable within the silence. With each step, Brighid wondered whether or not Fate was guiding her toward her destiny, or merely toward her death....

"Z-z-zool...don't move," Brighid urgently whispered. "There's a jitterbug inside your frame. Top left corner." Zool rolled his eyes in that direction, holding his breath. Brighid realized she wasn't breathing, either, in sympathy with her painted friend. Wait...maybe jitterbugs couldn't affect those composed of binders, pigments, and oils? Brighid breathed in slowly through her nose, still not wanting to jeopardize her friend by attracting the bug's attention just in case her hypothesis was incorrect. Opening her mouth to form the question, she realized that the storm outside seemed to have stopped mid-breath, also; after such a relentless racket, the quiet seemed especially ominous. In that pause, she heard the report of a gunshot from outside the Pen's thick walls. "What was that?!" she shrieked, forgetting all about the jitterbug. "It sounded like a gunshot. I need to go help, but Grimmael took my bag of healing herbs and potions to my room, and I don't know where that is." Ignoring the jitterbug, Zool called for the strange little man, who seemed to materialize at the table out of thin air. "Grimmael, please show Brighid to her room; she needs to fetch her traveling bag. And make sure she doesn't get lost!" Turning his gaze upon Brighid he added, "Please be careful, my lady. All is not what it seems within the Pen, and tonight we've witnessed that firsthand. I will...uh...have to await you here for now...though, if I could, I would go with you! Hurry back...safely." Brighid felt the urge to hug her friend goodbye; faced with that impossibility, she lightly placed her hand upon the portrait's frame and smiled reassuringly at him. "I'll be back soon, and hopefully I won't find a dancing fool in your place!" She turned and followed the hobbling servant out the door. How had he appeared at the table so quickly? His uneven gait was infuriatingly slow...

Brighid was momentarily taken aback by the cloaked form’s confession. She looked down at his outstretched hand and contemplated whether or not she should take it and follow him back to the table. That was the easy way, wasn’t it? Who can go up against Fate and win? “Wait just a minute,” she responded. “I’ve met beings like you before, when I walked in the shadow realm between this world and another. But I’ve never seen any of you out here. How is it possible? How did you cross the border?” “All things are revealed in due time, my lady, and it is not time for you to know how and why I alone was allowed to leave the shadow realm.” He smiled his most winsome smile at the woman and hoped it was enough to distract her from questioning him further. “But you mentioned an ‘Army of Darkness’; are they following you from the shadow realm or are they creatures of another sort? How can I just turn my back on impending doom and danger? These are my friends in here.” Brighid motioned toward the table where her newfound friends were sitting and drinking. “And The Mighty Pen is their home. Why would you want to destroy all these people? Who sent you here?” she demanded. “Again, my lady, I cannot tell you. Though, I think if you clear your mind of the present confusion you will remember some of the signs and situations you’ve encountered over the last few months, and you’ll see that Fate has also directed your footfalls all the way from your faraway cottage to this very spot.” “You know about my past?” Brighid asked quietly, a bit of panic creeping into her voice and across her face. “Do you know about him? My lover? Was he also part of Fate’s plan to get me here within The Pen?” “Yes, I know about the man who came into your life and your bed seemingly by happenstance, and then left both quite violently. I know him well.” He paused as Brighid looked into his eyes, searching for some sort of answer within them. Strangely, all she could make out was a sad melancholy. “But that’s the past, and this…” he gestured within the Boaz Room, “…is the present. Come, Brighid, let’s join your friends while there’s still time.” The cloaked figure assumed the shape of James, and Brighid took his arm. She would have to stick close to the shadow if she was going to figure out a way to cheat Fate. Together they walked toward their empty chairs around the table…and toward their destinies.

“Whatever you do, don’t let the jitterbugs discover we’re hiding under this table,” Yasmina quietly murmured to Brighid. “The swami and I lived through an outbreak when we were the guests in the palace of Maharaja Hari Ram Singh, and it was a dreadful ordeal. We were both bitten; watching Noguru dance the Rhumba was not a pretty sight.” “There must be something we can do. If only Zool’s rubber chicken wasn’t trapped within the swami’s turban. That funky fowl would probably have these nasty pests eaten up in no time!” Brighid closed her eyes to better think. “I’ve got it!” Yasmina excitedly whispered. “Traveling with the swami’s entourage I’ve learned a thing or two about theatrics and sleight of hand trickery. I’m quite sure I can pull the tablecloth off without calling any attention to ourselves. We can hide underneath with only our feet exposed, make our way over to the potted plant, and retrieve the turban. Once we open the trap door, the chicken can escape and will be free to do his thing!” Brighid nodded her assent silently, and the two of them crawled out from their hiding place. Quick as the twitch of a fairy’s tail, Yasmina removed the white cloth without dislodging a dish or drink. No one noticed the make-shift “ghost” bumble its way toward the potted plant. “Pssst…over this way,” Rydia called to Yasmina and Brighid from within her leafy hideout. Following the elf’s voice, they stumbled upon the turban which had again been dislodged from the swami's head; the blue arm reached out and smacked them both on their feet for being so clumsy. Reaching down, Yasmina grabbed hold of the flailing appendage and pulled the squirming turban inside. She held on for dear life while Brighid opened another trap door, releasing the irate chicken. He instantly started squawking and flapping his wings, creating quite a sensation within their tent-like disguise. “Ah! Bah! Help! No! Ergh! Eeeeyouch!” interjected the two women as they were pelted by the careening chicken. “Throw off the tablecloth; he needs to be set free!” Like a drunken arrow, the chicken bounced off the ceiling, floor, walls, and dancing bodies as he targeted the jitterbugs. It was short work before he had picked the place clean. Presently, the poison started to wear off, and one by one the exhausted dancers flopped to the floor, too tired to make their way back to their tables. Zool crawled out from under his chair and pushed up against the very edge of the frame, straining to see what his rubber comrade would do next. The chicken’s stomach was distended by the amount of jitterbugs he had ingested, and it literally dragged across the floor like a cannonball as the bird flopped and flapped its way to the middle of the room. As if on cue from within an off-off-Broadway production, a spotlight appeared around the unlikely hero, and the band struck up an oompah-pah polka. Unable to resist the urge due to the large amount of jitterbug toxin coursing through its veins, the bewildered bird raised his wings and commenced dancing the Funky Chicken.

Ah...very nice! The addition of Jerry makes it sublime (I went to as many Dead shows as I could)

Chillaxin' music tonight...I'm beat

I always loved the character Tik-Tok. I've only read a few of the Oz books.

Thanks... ...and love this video!

Turned my 200 watt stereo up to eleven!

I'm settling in on the couch to read Allegiant, the third book of Veronica Roth's Divergent series. I read a lot of YA novels so that I can talk books with my students (Not the correct thread...but just put this album on the turntable: Jaga Jazzist Live with Britten Sinfonia)

Last track on the album, but I'm sitting in front of the stereo and listening to better enjoy knopfler's guitar playing...before flipping it over and listening to the whole thing while making dinner...

Brighid managed to avoid the onslaught of ovoid-shaped missiles by hiding behind Zool’s frame. From this safe vantage point, she took in the chaotic spectacle playing out on the dance floor: rubber eggs whizzing every which way through the air while partiers simultaneously danced and ducked, trying to keep from being hit. Zool was right to be concerned; the Boaz Room had been infested by jitterbugs! It didn’t take too long for the swarm of bugs to find their marks and sink their teeth into humans, animals, and creatures alike; soon, those affected crowded onto the dance floor in a frenzy of fruggin’, jerkin’, twistin’, and watusi-in’. Brighid turned away from the madness, and peeking around the other corner of the frame, surreptitiously took in the figure of James Crow. Something small niggled in the back of her mind. What had James said to Yasmina about Scheherazade? That she was off meeting her death with her partner in crime? It was quite obvious that James was Scheherazade’s partner, and Brighid had seen them both jump through the portable window. If so, what was he doing back in the Boaz Room without her? “James,” Brighid addressed the man as she arose from behind the portrait. “Who exactly are you, and what is going on around here?” Before the stunned man could reply, he was overcome with the desire to sashay out into the midst of the throng. Once he made his way to the center of attention, he stopped dramatically and proceeded to flash fluid arm poses in beat to the music, exhibiting a fierceness the likes of which had never been seen within the walls of the Keep.

Well, never had a BMX...so cruiser, so I can cruise down the boardwalk next to the ocean Join the circus: Be a clown or be an aerialist?

Silver. It's shinier! Pogo stick or scooter?

Scarf...and a turtleneck if I move back to Maine! Book or e-reader?

Mini van (if I have to choose) -- though I have fond memories of the station wagon my mom drove when I was a kid. Sunday nap or check more items off your "to-do" list?

Partially out of breath from all the dancing, Brighid plopped herself enthusiastically into the empty chair next to Zool. “What an extraordinarily entertaining evening this has become,” she effused, gathering her hair into a pile upon her head and fanning the nape of her neck with the swami’s turban, which he had thrown onto the table during one of his wild passes around the dance floor. “Ouch!” she exclaimed as a slender, blue arm reached out from within the turban and pinched her exposed skin. Dropping the turban on the table unceremoniously, she looked over at her silent friend and noticed he was sitting rather somberly within his painting, pensively staring at the card James Crow had slipped him. “What’s the matter, Zool? Aren't you having fun? Why are you staring at that playing card?” The pictorial image of her new-found friend slowly lifted his head, and Brighid thought that she could make out a slight glistening at the corner of his eyes which hadn't been there before; although, it was hard to tell in the semi-dark room. With a subdued smile, the debonair man rose from his chair and bowed dramatically low. He straightened and rearranged his hair which was sitting rather askew after the formal gesture. “Lady Brighid, excuse me my brooding. I am sorry to say you caught me dwelling on some not so pleasant memories. Let’s pour ourselves another drink and kick this party up another notch!” To illustrate his point, Zool threw his rubber chicken up into the air, and using his walking cane like a baseball bat, knocked the flimsy fowl clear out of the gilt frame where it was plucked deftly from its fateful flight by the turban’s resident appendage.

Pretzels...hard sourdough ones! Sink or Swim?

Psychological (not sure why...just going with the gut!) Sweet or Savory?

Ha...got it (I think)! Sometimes we paralyze ourselves with the fear that we can't keep measuring up. Lay down that fear and walk away from it...

I'll echo Zool's sentiments...I love happy endings! (Sometimes we just forget that we're all connected and never alone )

Now I've progressed to another one of Steven Wilson's collaborative albums (with Opeth's Mikael Akerfeldt)...all over the place tonight (and still grading!)

I was inspired to write an haiku after listening to the uplifting music you've posted.... ...and now I'm listening to Tristan und Isolde on vinyl So much music that sends you soaring...

My heart expands, flows. This moment is eternal; there is no other.

Gorgeous...and I appreciate the soothing break! The video reminds me of going to see the cherry blossoms in DC.