Dear friend(s),
I've been working on this story for a while, and have been too cowardly to finish it. If I write it in installments and post it for the "world" to see, I think I'll be more likely to finish. And so, here you go: The Adventures of Lady Jaine.
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After wars of steel and shield arose and fell, and good kings took the western Isles, there still arose in mighty times the seeping sins that struck them all. Kingdoms fell and rose, some shades darker than before, in this time still those who fought and fight and will have sought for the good and pure and right. One such fighter, not the best, but striving, improved by words and soon by deeds, her story, I shall tell.
It was a fair morning when a red-haired maid leaned far out the window, shielding her eyes from the winter wind which whipped about her tresses like a plaything. She hummed and sighed, stamping her foot a bit against the floor.
“Ahh, my love, where art thou? My heart counts the seconds of thy lingering,” sighed she, pulling herself from the window and pinching her cheeks, if chance the wind had not reddened them sufficiently.
“Histrionic,” declared girl from the corner. Her finger marked the word on her parchment, her bright eyes danced, and her dark braid swung back so that the end brushed the ground behind her chair. “’Deliberately assumed affectation.’ And why don’t you close the shutters? I already can’t get closer to the fire without my dress igniting.”
The ginger slammed the blinds closed. “Perhaps if someone loved you, you might understand.”
The brunette shrugged, and resumed her reading.
The chamber door flew open, and a girl followed it, tripping over her skirt and hiding her face in the brunette’s lap.
“Lady Jaine,” she sobbed, “we’ll never get out of here alive! The ogre looked like she was going to eat me again!”
“Sissy, really,” Lady Jaine patted the girl’s hair, “she is an ogress, not an ogre, and I’m sure she will not eat any of us.”
“Sissy, you don’t have enough meat on you for her fancy,” sneered the ginger, Lady Narcissa. “And she won’t eat Jaine since she sweetens her up all the time. That’s why I need to get out of here.”
“I protest any accusation of sycophancy,” protested Lady Jaine. “And Sissy, don’t worry. I shall speak with her.”
“While you’re at it,” called Narcissa, “see if she’ll give us something better to eat. I can’t have my love seeing me so thin.”
Lady Jaine circled down the tower stairs, until she reached the guard room where the ogress waited.
“Good morning, foul creature of the underworld,” greeted Lady Jaine. The ogress liked her mainly because Lady Jaine cared little for political correctness.
“Mornin’, human wench. You sniffing for freedom today?”
Lady Jaine had not thought of that yet. “Perhaps. I came to negotiate a favor.”
“Eh?” Lady Jaine could not see the ogress, but for her red eyes glowing from a shadow. “What be the favor?
“Little Sissy, the milkmaid. I wish to bargain for mental comfort. You frighten her excessively, so I thought to
trade you a word for her peace.”
“Eh! I give her more peace than me mates would down below. But here, where’s your word?”
“‘Ataraxy,’ meaning perfect peace or calm state of mind.”
“Ahh… ‘tis a good one. And one for your leave?”
Lady Jaine squinted her eyes in thought. “And why is it you so eagerly wish for my departure?” She saw the ogress’ eyes bounce in glee.
“Nah reason. But I’ll do you a bargain. One hour a syllable.”
The lady shrugged nonchalantly. Underneath her composure, she felt simmering curiosity. “Spelling or definition?”
“Spelling.”
“Word: Eleutheromania. Meaning: zeal for freedom, including mania or frantic desire. Although it seems your eleutheromania applies to my freedom more than your own.”
“Why, that be a tail of a word. Give us a different one!” The ogress obviously did not expect that length. Seven syllables, seven hours.
“That’s the word,” prodded Lady Jaine.
“Fine then! ‘E…L…U…’”
“Incorrect. ‘E-L-E-U-thero-mania.’ Shown here,” Lady Jaine displayed her dictionary. The ogress glared, but the door opened. The ogress evaded the flooding light, and Lady Jaine slipped outside. She inhaled the fresh air, sighed, and began walking toward the village. Trouble usually settled in the masses of the ignorant, so Lady Jaine could think of no better place for evil to infect than in the village university.
A group of black robed university students sat outside the university gate laughing loudly. Lady Jaine watched them as one team sling a mugful of ale toward the opposing team, who had their mouths opened to catch the liquid. When the slinging stopped, the drinking side began singing. Lady Jaine had heard of this game before – it was called “ale song,” where the sole goal was to make one’s opponents so intoxicated that they could no longer sing in harmony.
Lady Jaine would have passed them, but one lad called to her. “Come, Lady Jaine, here’s a game you can partake of!”
“I have no desire to, Loafer, but in the meantime, you should say: ‘Of which you can partake.’”
“Of which thee thou can’st thee partooketh ofeth!”
“‘Of which thou canst partake’”
“Of canst…” Loafer would have replied, but his innards then hastened him to the bushes.
“There!” cried an opponent. “He sings no longer!”
“He’ll be back!”
“I can’t hear singing!” taunted the opponent.
“You don’t hear singing, not that you can’t unless you are as deaf as you are stupid,” muttered Lady Jaine. Normally she, as a lady, would not mutter, but as it was, she was the only person interested in her opinions, and she heard herself perfectly.
A black-clad figure emerged from the gate. “Gentlemen, please.” The lads quieted in respect. “We are all winners here. Please, let us not suggest one team or individual’s superiority over another, but let us be equals in our own sight. Truly there is no such thing as winner or loser, right or wrong, but the way the individual sees it. I see you all as right. Now, please, let us go in to study.”
The students followed their teacher, and even Loafer crawled behind them. Two remained, however, they being sober enough to recognize Lady Jaine’s bountiful beauty.
“Greetings, fair one.” The first swept off his cap. “My name is Worldly.”
“And I am Ignorant.”
They bowed low before her, and Worldly took her hand. “And though wonder we what lonesome lady might wander into our premises so alluringly unaccompanied, we thought we might befriend her.”
“I am Lady Jaine, and I warn you, in such an allegorical world as this I choose my friends by the dictionary.” She snatched her hand away before Worldly might kiss it. “I have equal wonder at the words of that man. Who is he?”
“He? That man is Bedlam, our professor,” offered Ignorant.
“I would like to meet him.”
Worldly glared at Ignorant. “His words are wise, yes, lady, but I’m sure his charms are shallow.”
“Why, we see maidens leaving his chambers frequently, and how charming could he be if they keep leaving?”
Lady Jaine denied intimidation. “I would like to meet him, and discuss his words. Do you approve of the manner of his dismissal? Surely it is a ridiculous game and rightly dismissed, but the application of his said principles undermines hierarchy and by nature devalues his own claims of authority in being in the position of teacher. Rightly should he be called Bedlam, but I would add to him the name ‘Contradictory.’”
“By St. Pan, she knows him already!” exclaimed Ignorant. “That’s it, lad, we’ll have no chance with her.”
“But do you agree with his philosophy?” asked Lady Jaine.
Ignorance shrugged.
“It is a nice, friendly way to look at the world,” said Worldly.
“But it does not work in the realm of logic.”
“That’s okay. Didn’t King Logic die years ago?” asked Ignorance.
“Just take me to Bedlam.”
