CLIARCHD'S GATE

Chapter 1

The Poet Magician, the Fairy and the Gate

Deep in a forest, not too far from civilization as most know it, lived a magician who dabbled in poetry, or more precisely, a poet who tinkered with magic. And as magicians who wax poetic, this magician was extremely, well, passable, but as a poet who could turn words inside out, he was really top of his form and stood out as a most singular man in his field. Truth be told, there are just not that many poetic magicians, nor are there more than a pixie's hand full of the other sort, but we must give him his due, or there would be no story to tell.

The forest folk all respected Cliarchd, (for that was how he was known,) because he treated all in turn with his kind words and performed magic for them. Now, you should know that the kind of magic that Cliarchd performed was not the hocus-pocus, misdirection that other so-called conjurers, wizards and prestidigitators would employ to confuse and infuse unsuspecting targets of their oft bad-natured sport. No, Cliarchd's magic went directly to the heart and soul of whomever he touched and it's fair to say he touched many a soul in that forest not too far from civilization, as most know it.

And the curious folk he touched would query after his family and how lucky they must be to have him, and Cliarchd would only nod his head and politely excuse himself and move on to his next appointed round.
As truth would have it, Cliarchd had no immediate family save for his constant shadow, Tinker, a unique fairy, so unlike the other fairies who chided her for her tinkering ways. However, Cliarchd had twice been affianced and wed, but curiously enough, both unions ended in separation with nothing more to say or have said. It seems that, as much affection and attention the poet magician could muster for his mates, there was something akimbo, something amiss that would pester and beleaguer him. And even after a long, lost week of magically poetic meditation, he still could not grasp the complexities of his predicament.

Fact was, Cliarchd lost all his magically poetic powers when he was co-joined with those he truly loved. Call it a curse, call it a misguided act of fate, but there it was, the one emotion that allowed him as the beloved one prevented him from following his calling.

Although Cliarchd was blissfully addled about such matters, he knew, lodged somewhere in the back of his grey matter, there was something amiss when it came to associations of affection and he steered clear of such encounters until one day when a strong, angry wind blew a small cluster of fairies off course and into his corner of the forest, not too far from civilization as most know it.

Now, I don't know how much you may know about fairies, but suffice it to say, for the most part, (with exception to the afore mentioned Tinker,) they are playfully delightful creatures who oft times possess a slightly belligerent (perhaps too strong a term, but close to the point to be made,) side to their personalities. Well, who could blame them, for even though they are, like you or me, real beings possessing all, if not more, qualities that most would envy, they are oft derided for their independence and sometimes captured and kept as pets, their wings clipped so as to keep them from escaping. And that is how the fairy known as Rowan, fell, literally, into the healing hands of Cliarchd.

It seems that Rowan had just made her escape, aided and abetted by her tiny fairy tribe, from being held captive, and it was Cliarchd who made time to administer to her immediate needs for his words and touch and in short fairy order, set her on the path to recovery.

With Rowan on the mend, and never having a second thought in his cluttered, precision-driven cranial sphere, Cliarchd set about inventing, spells, contraptions and all manner of paraphernalia that afforded a better existence for all his fellow beings in that forest not too far from civilization, as most know it. And although the term "inventing" may be thought to be an ill assigned activity for such as Cliarchd, the poet side of the limited partnership of poet-magician suggested the term "conjure" had a bad, bad resonance to its toll.

Cliarchd's latest contraption, a gift (his inspiration here-to-for unknown,) to his fellow friends of the forest and its environs, was an engineering faite un complet. And though he never professed to have any proficiency in that arena, Cliarchd was always amused by the minuscule leaps and bounds he accomplished during such an endeavor.

No, he was much more a poet and magician and all the more comfortable with potions of portions of words within worlds. And when it came to pass for him to build his gate, and so as not to embarrass any one other should it fail, he chose to undertake the project himself, even to the exclusion of his apprentice, Tinker.

The inhabitants (if you could call them such, for there was neither an inside nor an outside to the gate,) all felt quite safe on either side of the structure that spake of filigree and such like. It was just as Cliarchd had wished, for there was no hedgerow, no fence line, no course of rock and stone delineating one area from another; just a gate, a portal through which one could witness another side of sides and behold wondrous visions never before revealed to the naked eye.

Although he could not, nor would not take credit for Rowan's recovery, he was as a proud father as he watched her dart hither and thither, landing upon his beard from time to time, or teasing him by flying about in circles that would dizzy even the most steadfast observer. And that is precisely how it came to pass that the true magic of the gate was discovered, for it was Rowan who, on one of her thithers or was it a hither. (no one recalls it precisely,) passed through the gate, setting off a spark of events.
The gate, having been finished for all in tense purposes, (though Cliarchd will argue to this very day, that it was never completed until Rowan provided the finishing touch,) and all had accepted the gate's polite intrusion as one would a forest bear clearing the cobwebs from his brain after a long hibernation. Safe and complacent they felt until the bruin realized he had not eaten for a few months. (Cliarchd kept a rather voracious-sized supply of buffalo berries and water lilies for just such occasions and the forest bears would show their gratitude by not eating anyone of the immediate family.) This would perhaps also stand to explain why Cliarchd, as he labored to assemble the gate, was oft heard muttering to himself about the sort of victuals that would feed the beast.

At first glance, the gate had appeared to be quite formidable, regardless how organic its design. Upon a first encounter, one may have perceived it to be quite solid, but as witnessed, the fairy, Rowan flew straight through the structure with nary a scratch nor a catch upon her wee person.
At the instant of her passing, the gate seemed to moan, not unlike the murmuring drone that would escape Cliarchd's lips as he awoke from an afternoon nap. Then, the structure began to glow until the framework took on a vine-like appearance, the interweaving runners forming openings that transformed from translucent to transparent. No matter from which side the gate was viewed, it was generally perceived by those who were present that day, that the other side appeared quite brighter and (dare we say) more inviting, although it was merely the other side of the gate.
Amidst gasps, gulps and gadzooks, amongst those gathered, was the speculative clamor to be enlightened as to the use and benefits the gate was portended to provide. Near to overwhelming were the requests until Cliarchd stepped into the cacophony and imparted a simple haiku

"Listen with your eyes
Speak not of what you see but
What you thought you felt."

Chapter 2

The Gate of Reflection

Wondrous!

Stupendous!

Marvelous!

There were ever so more exaltations than words available to employ in their jubilant accolades. The gate provided a centerpiece around which, young, old and a vast array of populace in between could gather and dance and cavort (safe to mention, there had not been much cavorting hereabouts for some time in this forest not too far from civilization, as most know it.) It was pure joy that emanated from the gate. Throngs would pass by, sigh and perhaps cry at what they beheld through the woven portals of the gate. And among the trivial visions (although nothing witnessed was ever trivialized,) there was one revelation to be noted early on as discovered by Angel and Legna, two wood nymphs who happened to be twins, and who were as mirrors to one another.

They would oft delight those assembled with an impromptu performance, by facing one another, pretending to primp and preen before an imaginary mirror. One would proclaim that she was more beautiful than the other sister while the other twin piped back, in penny-whistle fashion, that she was even prettier; which or the other 'twas difficult to say as they were so like the other.

Tinker, as she fine-tuned a tuning fork or weighed an element of portion, would admonish the foolish waifs for taking sides on such a frivolous issue. Rowan would, snickering, agree, offering her observation that the twins were plainly not the beauties they thought themselves to be as Rowan volunteered herself for that post. This gesture was just enough to add a bit of bitters to the cocktail which would perturb Tinker just so as to delight Cliarchd, just so enough.

Little wonder their friendship grew, as it was their caprice for Cliarchd to shrink to Rowan's size or cast a spell that allowed her to be as large as she wanted until the spell wore off. And they would engage in discourse and intercourse and dialogues after a fashion until it became quite clear that there was something more than just enjoying each other's company that drew them together.

In the while, the twins, in an encore performance of their Vanities, had placed themselves on opposite sides of the gate, and to their alarm, could not see the other, as did they in their earlier performances; that is to say, they saw one another, but scarce did not recognize whom they saw. There was a great thrashing of arms and limbs, and all manner of posturing that replayed time and time again as the two, in round robin fashion, took up places on opposite sides of the gate, only to see someone playing the part quite differently than the engagement in which they had played a mere moment before.

Confusion turned to bemusement and then to solution as the two, hand in hand, took a position, both on the same side of the dividing portal. There, in direct, opposite juxtaposition, stood, not two, but one individual who looked like neither but who was instantly recognized by both. And as the twins embraced, and each, in turn confided to the other, "You are prettier than I," a voice from the other side of the gate was heard to whisper," But I am the prettiest."


Chapter 3

The Gate of Admission

As you my recall, Tinker was not like the other fairies, this difference owing perhaps to the fact that she, like Rowan, had once been detained as a pet herself; her wings clipped so as to prevent her escape. Soon after making her get-a-way, much to her despair, she learned that the beastly host who would hold her captive, was more butcher than baker when it came to clipping wings and trimmed too closely, damaging the nerve endings, and thus preventing the young fairy from ever flying again. And there is nothing, mind you, so ornery as a grounded fairy.

Cliarchd made exhaustive attempts to repair the damage, even to the point of fabricating replacement wings; low the scar tissue was much, too deep and each successive attempt left both parties weakly disappointed.

Though one could not/nor would not blame the poet magician for Tink's condition, Cliarchd felt obliged to look after her and took her under his wing. And when Tink protested his gesture of hospitality to be gratuitous, he simply appointed her to the rank of his apprentice and put an end to the discussion, (or so he thought.)
Tink refused to address her new master as "Master." And rightfully so, her new, soon-to-be disposed of title, master agreed. He quite agreed that in this society in this corner of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it, no one is master over another. But, how then, should Tinker the apprentice address him?
It was so decided that when Tink stumbled across an appropriate AKA, (Alias Kindly Assigned) she would so anoint him. And stumble she did. One day when she, unmindful of her surroundings and in a hurry to do Cliarchd's bidding for the day, she tripped over the poet magician's staff. Her tiny, albeit quite performance-like fairy voice could be heard in the last row of the balcony as she let out with an uncharacteristic, "DOC!" A word, which, as found in some archaic fairy archives, is not such a nice word, but Cliarchd did not take offense and rather enjoyed the informality the name suggested.

Tink was grateful for his attention so much so, a deep and spiritual relationship grew between the two. And to have been a fly upon the wall during one of their debates regarding any and all aspects of life here, there, or most anywhere, that fly would have thought the two were married.

While Tink was not permitted to assist Cliarchd, in the construction of the gate, she was dully assigned to monitor the everyday crush of activity around the new attraction. She observed sadness turn to joy, solemnity grow into hilarity and a multitude of other emotions inundate the area around the gate. But nothing was so dramatic as the transformation of one local resident of the nearby glen who happened to be passing through.

'Tis true, land or space was not a commodity in this corner of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it. Everyone was pleased to have just enough space to exist and if the family grew, so did the space allotment; that is to say, there was no allotment, just an abundance of a lot of just enough to go around. Even the troll who exacted a fee to travel over his bridge would rebate the tariff once the bridge had been traversed.

Not so was the social system whence the visitor had traveled. Everything had a price or was taxed or assessed a fine and, upon seeing the gate and the wondrous visions he beheld, he insisted Cliarchd allow him to represent the poet magician in a commercial venture that would have Cliarchd's Gates throughout the realm. He insisted a vast fortune was to be made, a suggestion to which Cliarchd responded with a shrug of his sloping shoulder. What need did he have of a fortune; he had everything and anything he could conjure.

When the visitor suggested he think of the power and influence such an endeavor would bestow upon the inventor, the response was but another shrug. Who should he influence and what power did he not already possess?

Cliarchd inquired if this wayfaring huckster had actually looked into the gate and with a gentle prod from his staff, Cliarchd persuaded the hawker to take a gawker position. And Tink, who was monitoring the drama unfold before her, noted for the first time, the influence that Cliarchd held over the gate, for at once the gate darkened and a low rumbling was felt afoot.

And however ominous the vision seemed to the casual onlooker, the gazer was actually cheering and chanting encouragements much like those heard at a grand tournament, until Cliarchd intoned, this to be the Gate of Admission.

Here you surrender
That which is not earned but learned
To gain admission.

In the moment it might take a pixie to wink, tournament cheers and huzzahs had turned into sobs of despair, as "DOC" made issue that with all the fortune, fame and fancy finagling, there was absent one important element.
Cliarchd spread is arms wide, his cape, splendidly adorning his frame which now seemed twice as large as usual. And he spoke,

"Open wide, I call on thee,
This gate in the forest,
Inside, set your mind to wend.
For herein lies my treasure
I'll share without measure,
For my dearest fortune
Is one I call friend."

With that having been said, a great wash of light accompanied by a flood of warm, balmy wind spewed forth from the gate, bathing the two until they seemed to vanish, leaving a gaggle of ganders gathered there that day, standing amidst a hush that was deafening.

Tink, who had just crossed her last "t" and dotted her closing "I"s on her journal, whispered to herself, "Well done, DOC, well done."

Soon after that stunning display, there came a new resident, who having given away all his ill and well-gotten goods, found just enough of the lot he needed to live among his new friends in this corner of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it.


Chapter 4

The Gate of Blessings

As Rowan grew stronger, she exercised her prerogative as a fairy and became a trice more independent and, "flighty" as a lay, who would not comprehend the complexities of a fairy, might describe her actions. Every succeeding day she gained strength and confidence, more time was spent consorting and flitting about and less time appointed for indulging the healing soul who had to be contented to admire her from a distance, looking the other way when he found it troublesome to watch her enjoying her freedom.

And in a weak moment, his personal guard having fallen asleep on his watch, he let forth an almost silent whisper in Rowan's direction; a whisper that floated so softly upon his breath, the mere flutter of a butterfly's wing would scatter the contents to the corners of the universe. And for that instant, the universe obligingly stayed all activity so as to provide the perfectly still atmosphere for his pronouncement to float aloft and then slowly descend to alight upon an unsuspecting fairy.

A startled Tinker, who was no more than a hare's stride away from the poet magician, had unwittingly intercepted his message and required confirmation of its content.

"Did you just say, 'I love you?' she hesitantly inquired."
Just as startled, for he was caught between his reverie and the reality of the situation, Cliarchd managed only to mumble and gulp a response. Cliarchd, for the first time in this account, and assuredly, for the first time in many an eon, was at a loss for words.

Being the practitioner of logic and surveyor of precise calculations, Cliarchd's apprentice sought to reconfirm her findings, and when she posed the question as to his affirmation of love for her, an embarrassed Cliarchd managed to respond with a shuffling of feet, a shrug of his shoulders and a shadow of a smile that only a Mona Lisa could appreciate.

Again, the universe paused as his vow was replayed in the form of the slightest echo. The echo made its way to front and center only to disperse as does the morning fog that raises its curtain to reveal that day's performance.

Tinker paused, eyed her teacher and friend through the narrowest eyes and responded by graciously accepting his statement of affection and allowing that, perhaps, she supposed she loved him too.

Now, for a fairy to have formed any acclamation of love, (even as non-typical a fairy as was Tinker,) much less articulate said acclamation, was very uncharacteristic. Of course, Tinker was distinctly uncharacteristic; still, she was a fairy, and what of Cliarchd? Of course he loved Tinker, but not in that fashion, not as he loved Rowan or did he, indeed love Rowan? Perhaps he did have affection for the two, but if not in that fashion, then in what state of address should his amorous feelings pose?

As for Rowan, for whom this affirmation was intended, it could be conjectured that she never received his verbal missive, but then, that would be to underestimate the extraordinary sense of hearing fairies possess. And upon reliable information passed on by a truly reputable source, It was said than Rowan, caught between a hither and thither, wavered ever so slightly and ceased her flight just long enough to whisper, "I love you too." And with that, she darted off amidst a sea of airborne dandelion seeds erupting from the meadow like fireworks at a great celebration.

Reportedly, this was the last time Rowan was to be seen, but certainly, not forgotten, as accounts of her escapades managed to find ways of trickling back, as did the brook that ran through this corner of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it.

As for Tinker, she thought not much of this notion of love as she was far more entertained by her duties monitoring the gate.

There came to the gate one day, a young couple who had found love and had apparently mastered it, for there was a grandiose display of clutching hands, and caressing of faces amidst showers of kisses, as these loving zealots requested of Cliarchd to preside over a blessing of the union.
As one, or a least a few to many, may or may not have knowledge of the rituals in this corner of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it, it must be stated that marriage did exist, perhaps not in a form that may be recognizable by many, or at least a few to one, but, none the less, a solemn ritual that binds together lovers and families and friends.
To preside at such a fete was an honor, and although Cliarchd officiated at many such occasions, it was a position of appointment, rather than station that dictated the official, and any sort of being could request a blessing of the union.

Cliarchd even performed a blessing betwixt a bear and a great hive of honey, for (whom/what) he (the bear) professed his unwavering devotion and love. Even though Cliarchd foresaw a dismal future for the two, he carried on and performed the ceremony, as it was not for him to cross a bear so in love with his honey. And true to his prophecy, the great beast, drunk from a keg of Meade that had been appropriated from a local village for the festivities, devoured his wife on their blessing night and woke the following morning with a pounding ache to the head, and a sweet, sticky snout.

As Cliarchd prepared for the ceremony, Tinker noticed, and not for the first time, a disturbance in the gate, much as ripples appear on a pond as a water bug sets out for the distant shore. And when she called the anomaly to Cliarchd's attention, she took note, (for that was part of her job description,) that he seemed to be annoyed, and, for the record, this had been the first such occurrence so noted by Tinker, much less those who knew Cliarchd. And Tinker wouldn't be worth a dam if she didn't also take note that the more agitated the poet magician became with her persistence regarding her observance, so did the visions in the gate.

Cliarchd immediately came to the realization that he may have given cause for his apprentice to be concerned and he attempted to allay her fears, informing her that he had noticed the ruptures in the gate himself and subsequently made a few adjustments.

Cliarchd had indeed modified the gate, for instead of a single complex vision, there seemed to be a gate within a gate, within a gate, which he undertook to explain. In his analogy, the three gates represented the complexities of the union between the two who had asked for the blessing. For he believed that in every relationship there are three, not two entities. One represents "You," as another represents "Me" with the third partner being "Us."

As he spoke, the gates commenced to pulse and then slowly turn in alternate directions until the three gates became a blur that offered up visions of the lovers, accompanied by the disquieting notion that all in attendance witnessed, (but felt what they were feeling,) as one by one, the lovers images were replaced by those who were bearing witness to the ceremony at hand.

Even more disturbing was the disorientation created by the spinning gates that formed a vortex, threatening to wrench any and all into depths of the unknown as images blurred within and without the gate. Then, without so much as a whine or whimper or whoosh, the gate ceased its voracious growl, leaving no one to doubt what to feed the gate as there was one less person of note who was absent at roll call.

It was apparent to Tinker and all too apparent to Cliarchd that there had been a malfunction in the gate mechanism. However, to the on-lookers gathered that day to witness the ceremony, there was nothing but wonderment and, the gradual wave of applause that eventually washed over the clearing 'round about the gate, as they congratulated the poet magician for the performance, served only to reinforce their naïve perceptions.

Acting upon her fairy intuition and realizing that she, alone, may have to confront the issue of the rogue gate, Tinker quickly dismissed the guests to higher ground at the reception, where, as she hesitantly assured, Cliarchd would make as equally dramatic appearance. Of a matter of truth, Tinker was quite uncertain if she would ever lay sight upon her tutor again.


Chapter 5

A Prisoner of His Own Device

It was apparent to Tinker and all too apparent to Cliarchd that there had been a malfunction in the gate mechanism. However, to the on-lookers gathered that day to witness the ceremony, there was nothing but wonderment and, the gradual wave of applause that eventually washed over the clearing 'round about the gate, as they congratulated the poet magician for the performance, served only to reinforce their naïve perceptions.

Acting upon her fairy intuition and realizing that she, alone, may have to confront the issue of the rogue gate, Tinker quickly dismissed the guests to higher ground at the reception, where, as she hesitantly assured, Cliarchd would make as equally dramatic appearance. Of a matter of truth, Tinker was quite uncertain if she would ever lay sight upon her tutor again.

It was very unlike Cliarchd to have made any modifications to the mechanism that controlled the gate's functions without sharing the parameters with his apprentice, but she also reckoned that, from her recent observations, the gate had been greatly influenced by the emotional stress that Cliarchd had been displaying of late.

By now, the gate had become nothing more to the casual observer than a dull, window-like aperture accompanied by a pulsating hum. To Tinker, who normally did not expect the worst to be, considered the gate a potential disaster waiting for an appropriate cue to wreck havoc upon this place deep in a forest, not too far from civilization as most know it, and Tinker set about to meticulously inspect the gate.

Hindsight of this event would have assuredly placed Cliarchd in a column designated for heroes, though he most certainly would have eschewed the title, insisting anyone faced with a similar calamity, would have reacted in similar fashion. From his vantage point within present sight, Cliarchd was pondering his most recent motivation as being quite imbecilic. Foresight would have one believe, had not Cliarchd intervened and sacrificed himself to the calamitous maelstrom the gate was creating, there is no telling what devastation may have ensued.

Although the gate's dimensions were a discrete twelve meters square and much less than a meter in depth, the gate's inventor found himself standing in an immeasurable, cavernous space, delineated by what seemed to be a gate turned end to end, side to side, side to end, end to side so as to surround him in total, placing him at the core, a position not unlike being in the heart of a colossal kaleidoscope. He could not discern the composition of the gate, although it was quite translucent, as Cliarchd could perceive shadows and movement of figures without this vast chamber.

He made an attempt to hail one or all of the alleged persons outside his domain and was met with a deafening cascade of his own words echoing back to him as errant projectiles he could not evade. As he was stationed at he core of this structure, he was uncertain as to being struck down, beaten up, or merely slapped around. Of this one thought he could be certain, regardless of the proclamation regarding sticks and stones, words could definitely hurt.

Whilst Cliarchd was tending to his plight, Tinker was tending to the garden, for that is what her tutor often called the vines, tendrils and roots which were a major element of that magically misbehaving device. As Tink probed and pulled and prodded and poked, it became increasingly apparent that the gate was on the verge of a sort of evolutionary transfiguration and there was little to naught that she could or would attempt to stay that evolution; furthermore, the single signal that she perceived to be her tutor, seemed to emanate from within which perplexed her as she determined the structure to have no volume per se.

Cliarchd was definitely on the inside looking out, but each attempt to alter his predicament would cause a riff in his chamber of confinement, resulting in the walls of this grand beast growing darker, less and least translucent and more formidable. And as it was his nature to observe, even under the most arduous circumstances, he thought he could perceive images on the walls of his cell that seemed to be relaying a story, albeit a cinematic presentation of the life of a poet magician we have come to know as Cliarchd.

A discomforting thought occurred to Cliarchd that his gate was nothing more than mausoleum as he witnessed what seemed to be his life passing in front of him. Normally, a person such as Cliarchd would certainly be cognizant of the images passing in front of his visage, but weakened by the recent occurrences and considering his emotional state, the inventor was perhaps, partially, if not completely oblivious to what may have been quite obvious to a third party of neutral status.

True, the images that paraded past and around the ragged voluminous structure were in fact a review of events in his life, but closer inspection would reveal the imagery to have been of only recent chronology and harkened back to a period that commenced with the construction of the gate. In fact, the imagery pertained to the events associated with the gate and played as a primeval rerun. Perhaps, had Cliarchd been in a more advantageous possession of his faculties, he may have realized that the gate was ill and in the manner of an infirmed patient, it was in fact, stating the signs and symptoms of its infirmity.

Cliarchd was not at immediate risk from the apparatus, but he was a clear and present danger to himself, as he drifted from errant thought to idle lapses in his judgment. It was as if he were turning inside out as his thoughts became words that hung in the air all about him. As the gate became less and less translucent it began to glow and the atmosphere within began to smolder and increase in temperature and as the temperature rose, the polysyllabic fragments of words commenced to melt and fuse into phrases and clusters of words that began to orbit the poet magician. From time to time the melee of ill-littered locution would collide with a sizzling splat, producing a heretofore-unknown string of verbiage that resembled a calligraphy that may have been designed by an ancient culture

Tinker, nearing exhaustion and frustration locating the riff in the gate, literally tripped upon a possible solution to the recovery of the gate's functions, as well as those of he mentor and inventor. As mentioned in a previous passage, the gate was thoroughly rooted to the earth, and while clearing the clearing, she did indeed stumble upon a plumb stone, employed in an era many years prior to the present. And on this relic was, imbedded, a small metal (perhaps silver,) delineating the precise point from which to strike the coordinates for subdivision of the surrounding environment.

Etched about the fascia of the stone was an archaic calligraphy, which Tinker recognized immediately. Although, she was familiar with the archaic script, (fairies have an extraordinary capacity for retention of details and what would seem to be trivial information,) it would take time to translate the calligraphy and even more time to ascertain if it applied to the crisis at hand. It was quite apparent to Tinker that she needed help, and with a little more than a thimble full of trepidation, she approached a cluster of fairies, gathered about the transforming gate.

Cliarchd, momentarily transfixed amidst the altercation of a transcendental form of alphabet soup colliding about him, abruptly realized that his environment was becoming unbearably hot to the point of near suffocation, as the word "HOT" formed before him and launched itself at the poet magician, leaving the word branded in his hand, burning embers cascading to the ground as he raised his dukes in defense. This incident was enough to shake Cliarchd from his befuddlement and realign his perspective of the situation.

With a grandiose gesture he raised his arms outwardly, then, with the authority of practiced movement, he reached his arms upward and then together, clutching his staff firmly with both hands and then heaving a great sigh that emanated from deep within his chest, he thrust the staff to earth causing a thunderous rumble that shook his environment to well beneath the roots that served as the foundation.

An overwhelmingly hot wind, its origins swirling from the point of impact, rose up and engulfed Cliarchd, spinning him into a blur, raising him a good league off the ground. Again, he stretched his arms wide, slowing his involuntary pirouette to a slow turn and then, bringing his arms back together with the same affirmation as before, he thrust his staff upwards and then slowly rotated his stave of power counter to the swirling tornado that held him captive. Tinker was not ready for the seismic assaults Cliarchd had created and much to the antitheses to her stalwart character, was shaken to her roots, fearing the worse for her mentor. Her plan to communicate with Cliarchd that she was nearing a solution to his calamitous condition, was at a stall and she feared that any hesitation on her part would seal his fate. Her negotiations with the fairies merely brought on snickers and cajoling, (and not in defense of their aloof attitude, but more in explanation, they simply do not equate disaster in the same context as others might.)

As in any complicated situation, the simplest plan is, more than naught, the superlative solution. However the complexities of its execution is exacerbated by the simplistic wrench in the works.

Tink was able to decipher the inscription on the plumb stone easily enough. The letters "TOH" simply stated in the archaic script, meant LOVE. The interpretation of the word and how to administer that interpretation to rescue Cliarchd from a device of his own design was the challenge. Had she been able to pierce the gate with an all seeing eye she would have immediately grasped the solution emblazoned upon his hand. That is to say, the inverse of "HOT," as seen by any who might cast a glance in the poet's direction, would read simply, "TOH." And in the day when language was being invented "TOH" meant every thing that we now associate with that particular four-letter word.

Oft times, in a time before a word was bisected, dissected, inspected and rejected, the simplest solution for a simplistic settlement was a simply stated, single soliloquy.

Time was at a premium as Tinker realized the connection of the gate's dysfunction to the emotions that fueled the dysfunction and, as the dawn slips silently up behind, only to slap the face of one turns to witness the bright new day, Tink grasped the key that would unlock the device that held her tutor captive.

Chapter 6

The Gate of TOH

Ciarchd had confronted the burning conundrum of rhetoric only to face the frigid, icy jaws of reason. The white-hot walls of his containment became as blocks of ice; silvered blue and sub-zero.

Now, Cliarchd's thoughts formed from the short, labored breaths he now consciously rationed. Instead of joining and colliding as previously witnessed, these phrases and paraphrases and expressions of the idiomatic, simply cracked and fell at his feet creating a sort of base to which he was slowly becoming attached. Although, he labored not to think, he was compelled to turn, over and over, thoughts that led to one, and only one conclusion that immediately cracked and fell upon previous reasoning, constructing around Cliarchd creating a wall of ice that threatened to encapsulate him. Pity, he did not have an all seeing eye to pierce the wall that, by now, was a solid sheet of steel-blue ice that surrounded him.

Tinker studied the plumb stone, intently; her head cocked to one side as if to listen, should it speak. And in this forest not too far from civilization, as most know it, stranger things were known to happen. She surrendered to a heavy sigh and was about the cast the stone at the structure that once was the vehicle of insight and loving truth, when a voice was heard to say, "Do not cast love aside so compliantly, less it would touch no one. Do instead, pass it on to one who is deserving of its truth and beauty."

While it would be quite a tale to tell if the stone proved to be so wise, this voice was familiar to Tink and she immediately recognized the timbre and lilt that was Rowan.

Tink was less startled by Rowan's appearance than by the insight she imparted, to which Rowan responded that her insight was merely the remembrance of a homily oft quoted by Cliarchd. And at that very moment, Tinker knew what must be done to extricate her mentor from his own device. For it was from love that the gate was built, and it was from love that it found its resolve, and it would be from love that it would flourish once again.

And without hesitation, Tink passed the plumb stone to Rowan, giving her a knowing look of affirmation.

By now, Cliarchd stood transfixed, nearly cloaked by a wall of ice, his pale to blue skin, rigid and cracked. Gone was his power to overcome the frigid advances of reason, as he was nearly frozen in place, seemingly abandoned by those he loved, and those who loved him.

Perhaps, he reasoned for one final, defiant gesture that love did not elude him, as he previously conjectured, but that he merely passed it on to one who deserved. And with that knowledge he could be at rest.

He lifted his eyes upwards, at first unaware of the pin spot of light that began to grow in size as well as intensity. Only a moment later did the glowing become so intense as to spar with the light of mid-day and take the crown of laurel for its brilliance.

And at the point of illumination, a tiny fissure appeared and the fissure became a fracture and the fracture spread to become a crack which sheared and sliced its way to intersect with other fissures and fractures and cracks and a great symphony of crackling rumbling underscored the erratic destruction of a dream gone awry.

And in a flash of a moment, that Cliarchd, to this day relives daily, he caught a glimpse of a shadow at the fringe of the glow and he remembers thinking to himself, that she had not abandoned him. And at that moment, a tiny, flying figure of a fairy, exploded through crackling exterior of the frozen wall, causing the icy mausoleum to give way, shattering into the tiniest shards of glittering ice that hovered and floated for days upon days upon end.

And the tiny, flying figure of a fairy, laden with the sparkling remnants of gossamer ice, came to an unsteady, albeit not-so-gentle landing upon Cliarchd's beard, launching a cloud of the sparkling ice to mingle with the crystalline debris that was still wafting about this part of the forest not too far from civilization, as most know it.

Still a fairy-tad uneasy, she managed to stand and flick the poet magician right squarely upon the nose as if to say, "Don't you ever do that again" and abruptly, without fanfare or a "How do you do," she made her way to his ear, and whispered gently, "TOH...I love you."

Cliarchd, chuckled, sending the minute heroine tumbling down his beard to her original point of landing. Clairchd drew a slow breath, as he gazed into the fairy's clear, blue eyes and vowed, "TOH, my little Tinker, TOH."

From high above, Rowan flittered hither and thither, commanding a thousand, perhaps two thousand, oh, who would dispute three thousand fairies furiously beating their wings faster than the eye could comprehend, to provide the light needed to locate the flaw that held love at bay.

And as to the flight of one former fleetingly flightless fairy? All she needed was a few minor adjustments in the equipment that Cliarchd had designed for her, and the courage to love.

And the gate? It stands as it has always and will all ways still stand.

Listen with your eyes
Speak not of what you see but
What you thought you felt.

Here you surrender
That which is not earned but learned
To gain admission.

Herein, discover
That which had been undisclosed

In the name of TOH.