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Cranberry Winters Issue 04
...---***Cranberry Winters***---...
(hidden faces)
Issue 4, June 1996
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- _A few thousand words from the editor_
- _The Goddess Called Rain_, a short story
- _The Party_, Shalimar Steinberg
- _Argyst_, a short story
- _Otherwise, Empty_, a poem
- _Depression, Inc._, a short story
_The Long Awaited Words from the Editor_
9 June, 1996
As some of you may have noticed, it has been two months since the last
issue of Cranberry Winters. So - is it just that I can't count, or is
it that this magazine is no longer monthly?
Ding, ding, ding! You've got it - I can't count _and_ this magazine's
no longer monthly! It's bimonthly, to be precise, with the next issue
out in August.
This is not just a testament to the wonders of procrastina... oh, wait
just a sec. I'm getting tired. :) I simply realised that at my rate
of productivity (recently), I'm going to run out of decent stories and
quickly.
But, wait! I will write, I will! In fact, I've even managed a couple
of incredibly short poems in the last few months!
I hope you enjoy the latest issue of Cranberry Winters magazine. Send
it to your friends, stick it in your boss' mailbox at work.
Deborah Bryan, 17
Cranberry Winters editor
_The Goddess Called Rain_
Deborah Bryan
12 March, 1994
The Goddess called Rain dances across the water, her hair about her face,
constantly falling into her eyes. She does not notice; she simply dances.
This is what she has always done; this is what she will always do. Before
humanity existed in the Middle World, Rain sprung up from the multiverse,
destined only to dance. Dancer on the Water, that is Rain.
Rain is not the name that she is known by to the other gods who have seen her.
And no one in the Middle World knows what her name truly is, and so we call
her Rain. We call her dance Rain, but very few people have memory of this
Goddess called Rain. She speaks to no one, she dances alone, ever dancing
over the water. This is Rain. The moment she falls from her dancing, no more
rain may be born. Our world will die. Rain has a kind heart-she continues to
dance though she grows more tired by the day; by the minute.
The world of the Gods is a reflection of our own. It is not to say that the
Gods were born to be Gods over humanity; the Gods are human. The world in
which they reside is not unlike our own, with the exception of that the magic
that is life remains in their world. They have kept this secret, and bear no
ill will against us. The Gods are a wise humanity, else they would not be our
Gods. And when we have figured out how to live and see the magic in our
lives, we will no longer need these Gods. Rain may quit dancing and take her
eternal rest-rightfully hers, away from the quietly watching Gods.
Rain is a beautiful Goddess. The other Gods can not help but love her, her
beauty and her grace, her upturned face, her commitment to life. Not her own
life, for she can not desert us like that. And while some complain that the
rain falls, Rain takes no insult, for that is not her duty. Only to dance.
And to dance. When she dances out over the water, the water splashes around
her feet. Beneath the water is our world, and should she dance heavily,
floods would come. And when she dances lightly, there is only a light rain.
Sometimes she must dance lightly; she grows tired. The sacrifice for humanity
and all so that they might one day learn the value of life. The value of not
only humans, but the life of the land and the animals that surround them. And
one day all the Gods may take their rest, and be raplaced by an equal on this
earth, which will then be the outer earth, protector of the newly middle
earth, which must protect and teach the inner world until it has grown past
it's despair and hate, to a level equal that of our humanity of the Middle
World.
Rain was once human. Rain is still a human, but such is not truly the case.
In a minute way, she holds the lives of Middle Humanity in her hands, but
there is no way that she could clench them into tight fists. Rain is a
Goddess for the sacrifices she makes, and the sacrifices of the Gods and
Goddesses are rewarded when it is their time to turn full circle. They will
rest beyond the boundary of the worlds, long enough so that their spirit and
vitality will remain, even through their rebirth into the Inner World. So
Rain dances, and perhaps the next time she is born into the worlds of
humanity, she will not have to sacrifice all of herself. She might truly rest.
Rain down on us.
_The Party_
Shalimar Steinberg
Standing quietly, no one noticed the girl in the corner. Feeling unsure
where she would be wanted or just in the way, she stayed back and watched
everyone else rush around chatting happily. When someone noticed her,
out came, "Hey, start on the fruit salad!". But when she got to the
counter someone had already made a fruit platter. Who? Mom.
Always one room ahead and one joke earlier, her mother was everyone's idea
of fun and parties. Feeling guilty, yet annoyed nonetheless, she glared
at her mom's back. Turning, she sees her cousin about to hit his head in the
play fight he is having. Shouting at him to stop, she hates the shrewish
way she sounds. Comparing it with the fun and childish humouring voice of
her mom, she once again comes out feeling like a stick in the mud.
Later as her mother runs around trying to get her to dance, and finally
goes over and dances with someone else, she thinks of how she is always
embarassed and, while envious of their carefree behavior, she is still
embarassed by it. Finally, she just sits back sullenly and complains about
being tired until her dad makes her mom take her home.
The next day, she goes to school and brags to her friends about what a
cool mom she has.
_Argyst_
8 July, 1996
"Come, lay down. I've a story to tell you." The woman, the stranger
with the soft voice and the veiled face, pulled back the coverlets on
the small straw mattress in invitation. "It's not so very long, and
the ending ... well, the end of my story will surely capture you. So
please try to stay awake, Argyst."
Argyst came into the room, pulled off his dung-covered shoes, stripped
of his shirt. He knelt by the mattress for a moment, tempted to move
the veil from the face of this woman-stranger. "No," she said, "there
is no time for this. I must tell you this story ..." Her voice was
magic; a soft, musical voice that enchanted Argyst. She patted his
mattress impatiently. "Come, quickly now."
How he wished this stranger would climb in with him! Instead she
knelt by the bed for a moment, waiting for him to get himself
comfortable.
Argyst is in bed now, covered with one of his small coverlets. It's
too warm for anything more than just this one. He wonders a moment
about this whole situation, but it doesn't seem as odd as it might
have. He waits now. The small, graceful woman sits down next to him
and begins to speak.
"There was a man, a young man in a small village who tended to cows,
as he was poor and a few cows were all that his poor father had to
give him. This young man has few friends and many of these 'friends'
tease him about his stench after a long day of work when he comes
to the cantina for drink and a little companionship. He pretends it
doesn't bother him, but it hurts. He wishes he had a friend, a
wife-figure, perhaps, to talk and listen to."
"That's funny," admits Argyst, "he sounds like me."
"Hush, hush, Argyst, I must tell you quickly. Time is running
short. One evening, after a long day selling milk in the market,
he comes home and finds a woman waiting by the door. A rather
normal-looking woman. He asks if she is waiting for him; she
says that she is a gift from her parents. Though he is poor, her
parents say he is strong and will sire good, strong children.
For a moment, he is surprised, but no longer than that. He
takes her in, listens to her talk about her life for a while,
saying nothing of his. He feels there is nothing to tell.
After a short while, he is aroused. And now he has a woman. He
takes her to bed, she neither protesting nor inviting. They ..."
The woman pauses, gestures eloquently with both hands. "Well, we
can figure what they did. And they did this for many nights
after, as well, after long days of showing the woman his cows and
training her how to talk to them, soothe them, and milk them.
"And clean up after them." The woman-stranger is silent now, but
Argyst thinks she must be smiling.
"After a while, the woman begins to feel sick and can't join her
mate in the fields. Her belly begins to swell. And near nine
months from the time she has arrived, she gives birth. Twins.
Fine young male twins. They celebrated, when she was strong
enough to do so.
"They raised these twins as best they could. The boys were
beautiful, strong. They helped their parents out sometimes, but
would sneak off other times to watch the warriors training in the
town." She pauses for a moment, aware of Argyst's wandering
attentions. "Argyst, come to it. You must listen to me.
"Young girls pined for these twins, and spent many hours talking
about them and how pleasing it would be to serve them, wife to
husband." There is distate in her voice. This is not the path
she has chosen, and does not understand why many others do choose
the life of a slave. Wife to husband. She continues, "The twins
do not pay attention. All of their attention is on the warriors.
They ignore offers to work and to apprentice.
"Eventually they are old enough to join the small town military,
and the captain takes them on without testing of any sorts. They
are the perfect warriors, strong, quick, silent. Oh, I'm taking
too long." She is speaking to herself. "Must hurry; she's
readying herself." Argyst wonders what she's speaking of, and
waits again for her to start.
"The twins are favorites with the captain - they become his
enforcers, his right- ... and left-, I guess ... hand men. When
he dies, they are at the top. They quickly show their true
nature; they are violent, cruel men. Any who chooses to
disobey is tortured, given a second chance to admit his loyalty.
If he does not plead with them or state his loyalty, he is
tortured longer, and then killed when the twins tire of the
torture.
"Soon no men disobey; now the military is under control. They
make rounds of the rapidly growing village, enforcing production
as they see fit. Any women who take their fancy are captured,
locked in a chamber, raped as the twins see fit. Many die.
Some give birth. The twins kill these babies; they see no
purpose in keeping them.
"One woman comes to them one day; a beautiful, proud woman.
One twin attempts to grab her - he thinks she would be a
beautiful addition to their growing collection - she has him
on the ground in no time. 'I am not weak, as you are,' she
tells the twin on the ground. 'Now,' she speaks to the
standing twin, 'I have come to offer myself to you. As a
proper wife, not a bitch in a jail. Come with me, let us
be married.' And so they are. This woman bears a child,
a female child. Many would be disappointed, would blame the
woman on this curse. A female! But he does not, because any
child of hers will be strong, will join him in battle. She
is unique, so different from any other woman. He is glad to
have her, and does not take advantage of her. He couldn't;
she could kill him in a moment.
"One day, though, she becomes sick. No one knows what it
could be, and no one can help. She dies after a long
struggle with death ... Her husband becomes angry, and he
is more vengeful than ever before. He and his twin rule
the village and have plans to move out of the village
before long, extend their rule.
"The daughter is growing, and she is more beautiful even
than her mother, and stronger. She is trained as a male
and fights as a male.
"Her father watches her grow, and begins to desire her.
He follows her sometimes, and beats any man or boy who
would look at her." Under the veil, the woman-stranger's
eyes are ablaze. There is anger now in her voice. "He
rapes her now in the night, takes her against her will.
He would like for her to become pregnant with his child,
but she doesn't. She had found before a witch-woman to make
her sterile; she never would want to be burdened with child.
That she will not become pregnant angers her father; he
abuses her and rapes her more violently than ever before.
The woman-stranger speaks calmly to Argyst now, Argyst who
is enthralled by her story. "She leaves one day, when her
father is off torturing the poor villagers, enforcing his
production levels. She leaves with a stranger, a woman
who claims that she has many magics to teach her. This
woman who she leaves with tells her many times how strong
her magic will be once it is developed ... Oh, no, she's
leaving just now!" She is distraught now. "I must hurry
now, and leave some things out.
"The woman learns these magics, all sorts of spells, and
becomes a more powerful sorceress than any have ever
seen or suspected. When her teacher dies, she reads
through the childish writing of her once-instructor,
finishes the lessons on her own.
"She goes back to her village, travels through many
villages that are now controlled by her father and uncle.
It has been years, but she is as angry as ever.
"She waits in the forest by her village until night, now
that she is there. She feels her uncle's presence, runs
to him. He is alone in bed. She wakes him, and runs
him through - her own sick sense of humor comes into play
now - with his sword, though she has her own. Too bad now
that he had claimed no need for guards, relying on his own
skills.
"Now she hunts for her father. She finds him, with many
guards about, and challenges him. He does not recognize
her voice, and can not see her through her veil. 'I do
not fight women, bitch.' The guards are laughing, and
one attempts to grab her. She pulls him toward her,
snaps his arms. He is wailing now, and none of the
guards are laughing. They aren't quite sure what to do.
"'You will fight a woman now, demon-man.' He unsheathes
his sword, and the guards move away. It is a short fight.
Before he has even one move in, she has him spilling his
insides; she is superior. The guards grab her, though she
has won fair, and one among them heals him. He is a
witch, too.
"She could feel this now, and berated herself for not
noticing it sooner. She was thrown into a jail, without
her sword or daggers, to wait for her father.
"Soon he comes to her ..."
"Hello? Argyst?" There is a woman calling from the door.
"Tell her to wait, Argyst - tell her you must get dressed,"
the woman-stranger hisses at him.
"Hold on a moment, if you would," Argyst shouts. "I've got
no clothing on. Let me make myself decent!" He is curious
now - the story must be coming to an end. "Get on with it,
if you're in such a hurry." Argyst is tense now, wondering
who is at the door. He has more than one reason for
wanting her to hurry.
"Yes ... he comes now, unveils her. He is shocked. There
is a man with him, a man with odd equipment that she has
never seen before. 'Do it, mark her skin. Her forehead.'
He stands at the door while the man marks her. Despite
her pain, she is silent.
"The marking-man leaves, and her father stays for a
moment. 'Just think of the fun we're going to have, you
and I," he laughs. 'But now I've got more pressing
matters to attend to, so you'll just have to wait for me.'
"He leaves ..."
"Argyst, what's taking you?" The woman shouts impatiently
from outside.
"Tend your cows, woman ... it'll be another moment or two."
Now he is simply curious as to what is going to happen, not
worried at all about the woman waiting outside his door.
She will wait as long as necessary out there, and this woman-
stranger seems in a hurry. He doesn't want to be left without
an ending to this story.
"The woman knows she can not kill her father now; he has
thought to put magical protection put on himself.
"Something else comes to mind. She puts her veil on after
feeling at the mark on her forehead, crouches in the center
of the floor. She closes her eyes.
"In a moment, she is gone. Her father comes back to an empty
cell and runs back to his magician, figuring what has
happened.
"He isn't quite right, though. She hasn't just left the cell,
transported herself away from the jail, she has moved to
another time. It is the only way she knows of to win, to undo
all of her father's evils, rid the people of this demon-man.
"And where is she now?" Argyst asks, caught up in the story.
The woman-stranger reaches for her veil now, pulls it off.
"Can you tell me, Argyst, what the mark on my forehead is? I
have no way of knowing ..."
"Why, yes," speaks Argyst. "It's a dragon wrapped around a
sword." Something comes to him, and he stops dead. "No,"
he whispers, and moves back toward the wall.
"The only way I may undo all of these wrongs is to kill his
father. His poor father Argyst." Argyst closes his eyes.
"There's no way around it, is there?" A tear falls down his
face.
"No, grandfather," she says, and holds him to her. "This is
how it must be. I give up as much as you, remember; I will
never live." She holds out her hand, closes her eyes. A
form begins to take shape in her hand. It is a small vial.
"Drink this, Argyst. Quickly." He does so, more quickly
even than she would have imagined, because he has no desire
to dwell before he slips away. He has never sacrificed so
much, and never sacrificed so quickly.
"Damn it, Argyst, I've been waiting out there forever!"
A woman marches into his room, stopping when she sees the
beautiful woman in white holding Argyst, her long red hair
flowing over his face. This woman is at a loss for words,
stands at the doorway mute.
The woman-stranger closes her eyes now. The end is very
near. She begins to cry. Never in her life has she
cried, and now the tears fall freely. "Oh, goodbye ...
I don't want to leave ..."
Argyst falls limp and the marked woman in white spasms briefly.
"Never tell anyone of this, woman," she instructs, and
disappears.
The woman runs to Argyst now. "What has happened to you? On
God's name ..." She leaves quickly, to find someone to help
her with the body.
Everyone presumes that the causes for young Argyst's death are
natural, as there are no reasons to believe otherwise.
And yet, as a nameless woman walks by his small hut, she
remembers something for a moment. She stops, tries to catch
hold of it. It's gone. She shakes her head.
Memories of things that never have happened.
_Otherwise, Empty_
Deborah Bryan
13 May, 1996
I awoke to an empty bed
In my dream,
a monster had tried to caress me
to _love_ me
Imagine that -
a putrid, smelly ol' monster
I stroked the bed lovingly
No monster for _me_
_Depression, Inc._
Deborah Bryan
18 Octobre, 1995
A little nick here and a sudden pull that brought the gentle soul to
an agony it had never known in its years of life. A smile played across the
blood-red lips of the giant Lady Darkness as she brought the shred of
soul closer to her face for inspection. She sniffed for a moment and felt
once again a surge of wicked joy. "I believe you're a perfect addiction
to this quilt, my little friend!"
Deaf now to the screams that forever pierced the Lady's stitching
room, She rummaged through piles of writhing quilts until She found the one
She'd had in mind. It had been years since She had touched this one,
perhaps as many as a hundred. Quilt in one hand, shred in the other, She
brought the shred around the others until She saw a bit of rogue old
Irishman who would drive this slice of gentleman insane.
"Lady, Lady, it's just about dinnertime!"
"Just a moment, m'Lord!" Lady Darkness gathered her skirts in one
hand and ran across the room. She wildly ran a needle and thread through
the Irishman, through the gentleman, back through the Irishman.
"Dinner, Lady! Hurry on!"
"Oh, patience!" She shouted back in excitement. "Just another
moment and I'll be finished!" She cut the thread and knotted it at the end,
dropped her needle on the ground and viewed with satisfaction her newly
completed patchwork of torn souls.
"Pefection," she whispered, and tucked the mass under her arm.
"Desperation, despair. M'Lord will love this."
With that, Lady Darkness ran to meet Her Lord, exchanging her quilt
for a bit of food.
"Astounding," Lord Darkness praised her work. "How do you manage,
time and time again?"
A deep blush tinged her pale face as she replied modestly, "To see
their agony relieves me of my own."
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To contribute, mail
brideb@efn.org
To receive this bimonthly, mail
brideb@efn.org
You can find my webpage at
http://www.efn.org/~brideb/Deb
Thank you for reading!
