Wednesday, May 30, 2018

A Tale of the Navel: Meeting Juno

On May 9, 2018, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a prompt involving a chicken, a fever, and a cold night.

Gabrielle was delighted. She does her best to show off obscure fowl deities in the Navel whenever she gets a chance, much to Damian's chagrin.

Damian was really hoping to be elsewhere for this prompt. Being a sadistic, ahem, challenging author whom likes to explore the plot possibilities of my characters's dislikes, this ended up being a story about him when he first came to Omphalos and the Navel. The tale swelled to an enormous size, which is why I'm dividing it into two.

This is the first part...


The chill of the darkness wrapped itself around Damian, stinging his cheeks. He exulted in wandering outside the bounds of Omphalos by himself. 

He was free. Free to go wherever he willed without an escort. Free from the looming shadows of his Aunt Duessa, Una, Van, and all the others watching him. 

No longer was Damian confined to his aunt’s estate, forced to seek out the silent whenever he could to snatch a moment to himself. 

A pity Omphalos was so small, yet the garden at its border was satisfying extensive and leafy. Vast enough to hide beneath the clusters of flowers and fruit ripening on the vines. 

The darkness in Omphalos’s garden didn’t owe its allegiance to his aunt. Its shadows might respond to him rather than someone else. There wasn’t a statue in sight, no imprisoned bridegrooms or unlucky maidens unfortunate enough to catch a lady’s eye, gracing the grounds, and subtly influencing the areas around them. 

A large gazebo crouched at the heart of the roses, buds and bloods crawling up its sides. Open, yet filled with shadowy crevices in which a boy might hide things. 

“Good evening.” Damian made the gazebo a little bow, acknowledging its wary welcome. 

Perhaps the petals on the roses creeping up a delicate pillar trembled, ever so slightly in response. 

“I hope we can come to an arrangement which will be mutually beneficial.” Damian kept his voice pleasant, amiable, doing his best not to distress any spirits which might animate this lonely structure. 

He backed away, head lowered, keeping an eye on the gazebo. Heat crept up his neck and face, in spite of the cold. 

Perhaps it was time to return to the Navel, disappointing a haven as it was. 

Gabrielle’s Place of Power was hardly the temple of breezes and song Damian had imagined she’d create. Once he’d dreamed of his master blazing her presence to the world in overwhelming light, a strong glow which invited smaller lights to join with hers. Together they’d created a magical sun which would eclipse everything. 

No, ‘Brie had chosen to invest herself in a small shop with little space, crammed bookshelves with a jumble of crystals, boxes, dolls, waterpipes, boxes, statuettes, panpipes, wooden ducks, and dozen other items with no practical use. The Navel’s wares crowed the store, leaving little room for anything else. 

This wasn’t what Damian had hoped for when he left Duessa’s estate with Gabrielle. 

He took a deep breath of chilled night air. The air kissed his cheeks, cooling them in turn.

After which, he reached for the fence. He undid the latch on the only barrier between the silence of the garden and the noise of the cobblestone road with its cottages, taverns, shops, and all the people going to them. 

One of them was the Navel. His new home. 

Damian exited the gate and stepped onto the road with a sigh, acutely aware of all the villagers stopping to gawk at him. 

Let them stare. Damian was an arachnocrat. He was an Ashelocke. The opinions of these villagers meant nothing. 

No. A soft voice whispered in his inside of his head murmured, a voice he couldn’t ignore. It was too much like Christopher’s, the friend Duessa had claimed as a marriage feast. You’re trying to be more than an arachnocrats and an Ashelocke. Aren’t you? This is your home. These people live in your home. They matter. 

Damian bit his lower lips. For a moment, his vision of the street and everything on it swayed. 

“Oh, what a pretty boy!” A high pitched coo cut through his dizziness. 

Damian started, alarmed at the sight of a woman’s stout figure, waving her additional arms at him. 

A second glance revealed that the stranger only had two arms. They were attached to chubby hands, which clasped each other with glee. 

“Oh, you poor thing!” The stranger raised her interlocked fingers to her lips. “Are you lost? Do you need to find your way home?”

“No, ah, my lady.” Damian fumbled for the right address. Maybe he’d just imaged the arms. 

If he hadn’t, it didn’t hurt to be respectful. 

“I’m Gabrielle’s protege.” He kept his eyes lowered, not daring to raise them to the level of a lady’s chest, let alone her face. “Gabrielle of the Navel? She gave me permission to go for a walk, so I was exploring the garden.”

“Were you, dear? What can be ‘Brie be thinking, to let a delicate creature like you wander about in the cold?” The strange lady clapped a hand to Damian’s forehead. “Why, you have a fever! Tut, tut, I must return you to the Navel at once!”

“Thank you, my lady.” Her hand felt like a scalding brand on his forehead. “There’s no need for concern, though. Arachnocrats don’t get sick.”

“Oh, you musn’t call me my lady!” The stranger drew him into the musky heat within her cape with a strong grip. 

For a moment, Damian felt the touch of an extra arm. 

“Nor am I a mistress, well, not any longer.” The stranger heaved a sigh which made her ample bosom quiver. “I’m simply Juno these days, a regular customer of the Navel’s and Gabrielle’s, the poor lost lamb.” 

“Poor lost lamb?” Damian echoed, drawn into Juno’s slow, shuffling step down the street. Light blazed in a lamp overhead, a feeble flicker compared what Gabrielle carried within her, concealed from the world. 

“Why, bless you, dearie me, yes! Why else would she surround herself with trinkets meant for other people?” Juno clucked her tongue in disapproval. “She should think of herself more often, she’d be ever so much happier! Still musn’t complain, after all, ‘Brie is the only one who sells that special tea, oh, what is it called? Calming Breath? It should be Husband’s Compliance!” Juno tittered at her own joke. “It’s the only thing which keeps mine sweet and docile, tee hee!” She giggled again. 

Damian was having a hard time following the conversation. Attending a lady’s gossip, examining it for any careless word which might reveal an advantage was a skill Duessa had insisted he cultivate, for all it was a lady’s weapon. Half of Juno’s confidences floated through his mind, refusing to settle down with any weight. The street, the glow of the lamps, swimming with the coming of night wobbled around him. 

“All ‘Brie ever does is think of herself.” Careless words, ungrateful, which might betray his master. They slipped off his tongue of their accord. “This shop is her dream, all she’s ever wanted.”

“Oh ho, is it now?” Juno let out another shrill titter, which rang in Damian’s ears, leaving him quivering in its wake. “Just because the Navel isn’t your dream doesn’t mean it’s hers, sweetmeat. Just because she’s not living for you doesn’t mean she’s not living for other people.”

The heat in Damian’s face and neck grew scalding. “I never said she was. I wouldn’t never presume to expect her to.”

Damian Ashelocke was only too aware that he was a boy and an arachnocrat. He couldn’t expect his dreams to come true, not his visions of light and power, shapeless images he couldn’t always articulate.

He’d have to open a Door to the legendary Shadow Forest to truly comprehend them. He’d have to go somewhere beyond his Aunt Duessa’s grasp. 

None of that was possible. Only if half of the tales about the Shadow Forest were true, it was a place where the impossible became possible. 

Damian swayed on his feet, only to be steadied by Juno. 

“Oh, you poor, fragile creature!” Juno cooed. “You should be in a place filled with warmth and flowers, not out in a cold night. ‘Brie ought to be ashamed of herself.” She guided Damian to a green door with a gryphon knocker. “Here we are, back at your master’s place.”

Here indeed. Damian tilted his head up to see the familar sign swinging in the wind of a woman’s rounded stomach, centered upon her belly button. 

“Oh, my!” Juno paused before the door, distracted by something in the shop window. 

Damian moved his head, staggered away from her rescuer to said window. He pressed his forehead against the gritty glass, savoring its chill. 

Only to find himself nose to nose with an aggressive beak, half open in mid cackle. 

He let out a little cry, stumbling back into Juno’s arms. Yes, a chicken stood in the window, frozen in the middle of stretching her wings out in a sinister fashion. She appeared to be on verge of pecking his eyes out. 

“Now, my little love, I’ll admit that bird is in decidedly bad taste, but it’s nothing be frightened of.” Juno wrapped him in her thick, smothering embrace. “It’s just a hen. Not even a real hen. This is a simply a tacky simulacram made of feather and painted wood.”

“What’s it doing here?” Damian asked through chattering teeth. 

“Well, ‘Brie prides herself on her Navel being the center of all things bizarre.” Juno loosened her grip, allowing Damian to breath. “It appears she’s finally outdone herself, if such a thing is possible.”

“I wish she wouldn’t.” The chicken swayed, moving from claw to claw in angry dance which felt like it was just for Damian. It demanded a sacrifice. If he didn’t bring it a worm or some seed, it would peck him to death. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Juno.” Damian did his best to extricate himself from Juno and avoid looking in the direction of the window. “I can let myself in.”

In truth, he didn’t want to be alone with that thing in the shop. Not that he would be. Gabrielle should be home.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly leave you here in such a state, sweetmeat, truly I couldn’t!” Juno grabbed him in her arms, smothering him with another embrace. “I’ll see you inside, safe and sound, before todding off home. There’s something I need to scold ‘Brie about, yes, there is.” 

Juno released Damian from the full force of her thick arms, while keeping a firm grip on him. Trapped beneath the folds of her cloak, he found himself steered toward the door. 

His captor rapped on the wooden’s barrier in a sharp knock before opening it, giving Damian a gentle push through. 


The familar door chimes jingled, announcing their entrance to ‘Brie. 

To be continued next Wednesday; June 6, 2018...


1 comment:

  1. Poor Damian. ~shakes head~ And I know what you mean about sadism. I just had my OC lose an eye, or so she fears. ~evil grin~ Thank you for sharing. And Happy Writing!

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