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Reciparium/Gurgu/2

RECIPEARIUM

COSTI GURGU
Total words: 58,000

A.
A good Dish must look so disgusting, that a bitter taste will come on
your tongue activating your stomach glands immediately you see it. Then a
throatic spasm will jostle you and you will feel your stomach wrinkling and
crawling up your throat. Only then you can say: "Yes, I have so much
appetite that I cannot live one second with the thought that I will not taste
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this Dish."
(From "The Gastronomic Teachings of Master
Recipear Plabos")

I. HITISSH LEOMI

The green aquatic wasteland spread locked in the incandescent circle

of the horizon; from its expanse, the sun had focused on a single point -- the
skeleton. White and stuck in the liquid like in a jelly, polished, with the skull
of shiny bone protecting uselessly his brain. The ancestors' horde ran
desperately through the hot labyrinth of the gray matter, seeking a shadow,
but the sun rays were burning, boiling, transforming everything into white-
sizzling ashes.
He stumbled and opened his eyes panting. He shed tears. The image
of water played in front of his eyes. It wasn't in the nightmare, but seemed
like. The sun climbed up too much for him, and the road -- a huge white
snake hemmed with red -- extended from one edge to the other of the
horizon shinning tiresome for the traveler sight. All around, the green liquid
desert was punctuated with clusters of rust reeds and dry cracked stones. A
boomerang-bird soared to greet the noon, rolling frenetically around its
weight center. Morminiu drew out the water skin-bag and drank thirstily,
then breathed deeply. On the left, the farthest bank of the Suspended Plain
of Water rose like a wall, marked with a spur gilt by the day's gold. Both the
bank and the path overflowed in this last mark where the road should end.
In the end, Morminiu went around the spur, kept his balance with
difficulty and stopped with his breath short. He was on the lip of the
Suspended Plain. A magic world spread at his feet, a world which he had
dreamed and prepared for his whole childhood and youth. The water fell in
small cascades from terrace to terrace to the bottom of the valley, where
towered the biggest and the most beautiful Carami -- the Royal Carami, the
Capital of the Green Kingdom,.
The city covered an immense surface, guarded on a side by a range
of mountains with rocky peaks at the Suspended Plain level and overflowing
on the other side over a dry expanse painted with lakes of a clear crystal
green color and with forests of the legendary blue land-trees. The monster-
city faded in the distance under the heat waves of the noon. Here and there
on the steeps of the mountains and on the slopes of the Suspended Plain's
bank, clusters of sequ of a sickly color contrasting with the vigor of their
knotty trunks had grown into a hazy marsh.
The green-gray-glossy Carami's body rose from the muddy water of
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the lake formed on the bottom of the valley. He displayed a fleshy mass with
stretched muscles and veins jerking under his wet skin. On a flank, a bony
surface was covered with thousands of tiny protuberances. In the water,
tentacles shapes were moving, prisoners of powerful streams.
The path descended in steps, from terrace to terrace, discovering the
city in depth. In the valley the path unfurled itself straight to one of the
wide-open mouths of the monster.
A slight hesitation began to dominate Morminiu. Climbing down, the
way seemed more difficult. From a certain level the sun remained behind the
rocks and trees, and a cold shadow settled down in the surroundings. On the
bottom of the valley Morminiu could only creep to the hideously opened
grotto-mouth with walls on which drooling rivulets flew.
The city's structure covered the whole horizon. Morminiu noticed that
Carami had the skin protected by a mucus layer. It looks like the lake was
trying to cover him through any means. Right on top of the entrance was
one of the bony zones. Morminiu stopped panting. What seemed from the
distance simple excrescences were skulls incorporated in or grown from the
city's body. Thousand of skulls swinging mildly in the movement of the
Carami.
The fright choked him. His body strained; his back hairs raised and
made him look like a swollen ball covered by a thick brush. His instincts
urged him to run away, but Plaboss voice interposed like a miracle over the
nightmarish image, "When you enter the city don't get scared. Carami is a
tender and frilir loving organism. He is not frightful, but our image about
him is -- an image created firstly to serve the power and only then to assure
dwelling. Everything that is frightful exists inside us and not in the nature.
Dont be afraid of the bony zones. They represent only an evidence of the
dead population. We keep their spirits, the city keep their physical forms.
And don't forget, when you enter give him the tribute of sequ. This is the
most important thing."
Morminiu drew out quickly the tribute and moved towards the
entrance smiling foolishly, even though he knew Carami couldn't see, only
feel him in a different way. Cold air and a sweet reek of fermented sequ
slammed him. He jerked violently and advanced panting, ready to throw the
sequ bunch into the starving paunch of the city. The skulls above the
entrance shook once more towards him, then he got in. Big frozen drops hit
him on the top of the head. He walked rapidly to avoid the slivering rain and
stopped bewildered with his flesh trembling, trying to accustom with the
dark unpenetrable for one who just entered from the daylight.
He was already on a bridge that crossed a deep and broad ditch. On
the bottom of the ditch something moved in a sneaky way, hindered by the
friction with the brown walls. Morminiu looked one more time over the
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bridge edge and threw the tribute. Something like a gigantic snake lashed
through the air catching the thrown sequ, then fell with a splash back on the
bottom of the ditch, where a violent swarming suddenly burst. Morminiu
caught the parapet and stood still waiting to find his termination at any
moment.
The noise of the movements from depths grew and sudden that
particular something lashed once more exactly near the parapet. Snorting,
Morminiu stepped back and fell down. Something greasy touched his
fingers through the bridge beams. Morminiu jumped back on his feet like a
spring. His eyes had already accustomed with the dark, so he groped to the
other end of the bridge. Short thumps tested the parapet and quick touches
caressed his boots. Morminiu stumbled and fell on his knees. Wheezing he
crawled on what he guessed it was the bank. Cold and wet bone. He turned
and looked back. The bridge had remained behind, he was panting, his
trousers had gotten wet on the floor. He rose. His sweat flew in streams
through his back fur. He heard a grumble. Astonished, Morminiu looked
around and saw a silhouette at roughly two feet in his front. The road was in
the same direction. He approached and looked with fear -- there was a frilir
shoved in the water up to half of his body and hidden in a recess. One of
those with a permanent job, not ever to be tempted to leave it, implanted in
the Carami's body. In time, they fed the syrup of fermented sequ directly
into their blood. This frilir was probably the guardian of the bridge,
especially planted there to guide the travellers and to watch the paying of
tribute. Morminiu approached and heard him snoring. The frilir stank of
alcohol. His head rest on his chest, and his hands had fallen on the floor.
Between his fingers laid an extinguished torch.
Morminiu straightened up suddenly. He kicked, furious, and the
frilir's head banged. His groans and gasps muffled the swarming from the
ditch. He kicked once more then avoided the bridge guardian's hands that
were hitting everything around him. His scared screams filled the Carami's
tunnels. Swearing loudly but breathing relieved, Morminiu arranged his
backpack and went away, following the single visible road.
Shortly afterwards he entered the real city. A greenish light came
down from heights, very bright at the last floors, soft at the first level. The
streets bustled with variegated people in a continuous pandemonium. Lots
of stalls, grotto-shops, crowded one into another and merchants selling in
passed all sort of haberdashery. The city was a huge bazaar. But the
commotion and the agitation died down suddenly near the extensive squares
adorned with fountains and statues, and flanked by Palaces. In these zones
was silence, the light was brighter, and the air was clearer.
The squares displaying imposing palaces alternated with large
aggregations of avenues and stuffy-crammed with dirt and goods -- streets
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where bizarre scaffoldings grown from the wall's bone itself were
preeminent. A genuine labyrinth of worn out structures and broken welled
shells, forming miserable cells, from which frilirs in rags dangled their feet.
But on the avenues, the scaffolding were replaced almost entirely with
recesses or cocoons swollen over the pavement.
The roads and the walls were ossified. Morminiu felt them alive. He
even saw them sucking greedily every drop of humidity, litter, slops drained
from dwellings.
"After you go through seven squares on Avenue One, take the third
street on the left and go straight on for another three squares. In the third
one, on the right, you can see the palace of Hitissh Leomi", the old master
had told him before his departure. "When you'll be asked, tell them you are
sent by the Master Recipear Plabos. You have to address him with 'Great
Hitissh' or with 'Your Highness'. In any circumstances don't brag that you
have the 'Essential Book'. All you know is here", Plabos had taught him as
well, knocking his forehead.
The Hittish's Palace was a real monster in comparison with the
others. The bone of the walls had blackened, and the frames of the vents
and windows were full of barnacles. The entrance looked like a wide
opened muzzle adorned with curving fangs.
Morminiu tried to open the gate but then he retreated cautiously. Two
white drods made their appearance from behind the Palace, jumping from
one paw to the other. Crossed fangs surrounded their small red eyes. Their
backs were armed with long thin spines, fines like hair threads all over to
the end of the tails. The detachable spines left in their victim a substance
notorious for the pains produced. They stopped in front of the gate and
scratched the pavement with their paws.
Morminiu put forth his hand, looking permanently at the drods, and
banged the bell that was emblazoned with Lormont family's coat of arms.
After a while, a servant went out from the Palace. He drew nearer slowing
down obviously when he noticed that at the gate was only a provincial.
"If is not something important, you're in deep trouble", he informed
Morminiu with a preoccupied expression.
"Tell the Great Hitissh that I am sent by the Master Recipear Plabos."
The servant began to open with slow gestures the gate's bolt.
"Don't do any mistake." Morminiu hurried, feeling he sweated
abundantly. "Just tell him this name -- Plabos and you'll see."
"All right. The gate is open now. If the drods see you leaving they'll
jump on you. So, it's better to wait until I come back."
The servant turned his back and walked to the Palace entrance.
Morminiu tried not to look anymore at the red and round eyes of the drods
-- which scraped nervously with their paws -- for not being tempted to run.
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After an endless waiting he was sure he will fall in front of the gate with the
drods stuck to the bars and quavering excited. The servant appeared
walking a little bit faster and Morminiu breathed relieved.
"Come in, but remember that Im watching you", the servant warned,
obviously unsatisfied.
Morminiu entered with his fur bristled up, feeling that he had weights
hanged on his feet when he passed the two guardians of the Palace.
"I understood that Plabos sent you", the Hitissh addressed him.
He was laying sprawled on a couch made of a curved bone grown
from the floor. The bone was covered on the upper part by a thick and
fleshy layer. The Hitissh sipped slowly, with an upsetting noise, from a
glass. He was so fat that it was sure that his pleasure had turned into vice.
"Yes, Your Highness", Morminiu answered quickly, smiling satisfied
by his finding.
What is the problem?"
"I am sent to serve you."
"You're lying, Plabos is dead", hisssed suddenly the Hitissh and the
couch spun faster than expected, bringing Leomi face to face to Morminiu.
Only then he noticed on the stranger's cuffs the Plabos' signs of Master
Recipear.
"No, you're not lying", he corrected himself and his voice turned into
a kinder grunt. "What do you hope?"
"Your protection and the freedom of ascension."
"How do you want to climb up, if you've come to serve?"
"Don't forget that Plabos was the Master Recipear of the Kingdom
and the Counsellor of His Majesty", uttered sweetly Morminiu.
"Do you dare to doubt my memory?" thundered the Hitissh. "Do you
want to blackmail me? Careful boy, you're here just as any bumpkin. I can
throw you right away to drods!".
"I didn't mean to upset you, Great Hitissh, but my noble profession
doesn't allow me total obedience. I thought that putting at your disposition
mine and Master Plaboss experience will be enough for the trivia I asked in
return: protection and the possibility of ascension. You have been the best
friend of the Master and that is why I came to you. Otherwise with such
recommendations I would go directly to the King."
"What recommendations, you, idiot? Plabos had been exiled from
King's order!"
"Yes, Your Greatness, but the recommendations are about the
profession, not about the person. And the King appreciate the art."
"Boy, I don't like empty talk. How could I know you're a recipear and
not a simple chef or even worse -- a cook? And especially, the Masters
successor!" he added for himself and moistened his fleshy lips. A little
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thread of saliva drained on the corner of his mouth while his much too
bulged eyes studied the new-comer with avidity.
The office was almost in dark. The Hitissh spun again the couch and
returned in the initial position, displaying his profile. He looked at the
interior court of the Palace, while Morminiu wondered what'll be next.
"Do you know my rule?"
"No, Sir."
"Who promises and doesn't give deserve only the heathen death, and
even before the five hundredth Dish. I hope you really get this into your
head, boy. I never forgive."
"The Master told me, Sir. You won't be disappointed. Allow me to
hand you my gift, with profound gratitude", added Morminiu.
"Ah, Leomi, I'm sorry I'm disturbing you!" a thin voice intervened
with a sweetish intonation.
Morminiu turned around a little bit surprised by the interruption, and
noticed a frilira in the far off corner of the room, waiting the consent of the
Hitissh. He started but he controlled his reactions in time.
"It's all right, Donasa, come in. We've just finished. Did you say
something about a gift?" The Hitissh returned suddenly to Morminiu,
measuring him suspiciously, but with a breath upset by curiosity.
"One of the best tea which have ever spread its aroma under the light
of the three Daughters of the Sky."
"Under the Daughters' light ?"
"And never in a Carami, your Greatness. It's prepared from aquatic
plants known only to me. It's an absolute secret. I named it 'The Gods'
Green'", specified Morminiu.
"Some secret of Plabos?" grunted the Hitissh who couldn't resist his
appetite.
"Plabos?!?" Donasa jerked surprised.
"He didn't know it, Sir. It's the first gift I'm giving to you. I know all
Plabos' secrets and a thousand more to make you happy. I am here to serve
you, to offer you pleasures that nobody have ever tasted."
"Pleasures, secret recipes, aquatic plants, yes! Who gave them to
you?"
"I, Great Hitissh. I know the aquatic life and that is offering me an
advantage above all recipears, including Plabos. And everything is here",
added Morminiu knocking his forehead.
"An aquatic tea!"
"From aquatic plants, Sir" , rectified Morminiu with a erudite
expression.
"You have to prepare it for me right away, boy -- what did you say it's
your name?"
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The recipear stopped his breath of relief and uttered with penetrating
voice:
"Morminiu, Great Hitissh!"
"A name worthy of your noble profession. Morminiu, run and make
that tea. Then come back and tell me the story of its recipe. But hurry up! I
don't like to wait. Babon", he hissed for the servant, "show him the kitchen
and give him everything he needs."
"I don't trust him, Sir."
"Err!? We shall see, Babon. Now do what I said."
"Yes, Sir. Over here, boy."
"Morminiu, servant."
Babon turned surprised, covering the entrance with his huge stature,
but Morminiu thrust himself on his feet in front of him, with his lips purseed
in disdain.
"Stop it! I want that tea faster", the Hitissh intervened with a shrilled
irritated voice.
The two frilirs exited silently, obviously unsatisfied of the equal
treatment applied by the noble, shutting the door with as little noise as
possible.
"Plabos, Leo? Plabos?" the frilira straightened to the couch
inquisitively.

1. The Hitissh' Palace is big and grim. Everywhere can be seen traces
of many generations and of another life, more prosperous and brighter. At
this hour, three quarters of the Palace is left in dereliction and this
impression -- of surviving in pasts shadow -- disheartens.
The life is dark and tensioned in my protector's house. A few good
weeks have passed since I arrived and I still haven't succeeded in getting
using to it. Partly because of Donasa, partly because of Babon, partly
because of the mouldy atmosphere that sickens the Palace. I didn't believe I
will ever say that but I miss the sun and the daylight. However I think I will
pass over this. Before coming in the Carami, people told me I'll miss the sun
and I ammended them: the sun won't bother me anymore. This is the way
the townpeople think and I've been educated and raised especially to live in
the city. To be a real townpeople I had began to live a nocturnal life beside
my master, Plabos. And all these because only in the city you have the
chance to be promoted on the social hierarchy and the biggest opportunity
is, of course, in the capital. Even so, now I miss the sun. But I'll pass over
this.
A few days ago I discovered in my wanderings through the Palace a
locked door in an abandoned area. The only locked door in such an area. It
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seemed odd to me, because the Palace is filled with treasures: extremely old
furniture in the most eclectic and vanished styles, mosaics, statuettes of
famous artists, fabrics of water spider-tailor which has disappeared for
centuries in the cities, their works becoming works of art paid with
enormous sums, and many other marvels. What could that room hide more
valorous than the other treasures, for being locked.
I climb down the tower steps, glossy and slippery in other times, on
which now my soles glue. I have began to inspect the Palace two weeks
ago, immediately after I escaped the stinky Babon's tiring supervision. I
have to admit that he is a guy and half, body and soul devoted to the old
man. But that's exactly what I don't need now. I have to outwit him
somehow.
I remove with a kick a spider-tailor, our common and much too
spread house spider. This one is an fat one, forgotten here probably from the
better times. The swollen body, as big as a frilir head, rolls down the steps
splashing disgustingly. Just when you would think it will smash and spread
on the walls it rises with a quick movement on a thread caught on a vent. I
sidestep it and continue my way.
Today I'm finishing the search of the last of the four towers. Through
their domes made of crystalline, the city panorama is astonishingly
beautiful, even more because they are the highest towers. Maybe, only the
Royal Palace's ones are a little bit higher, but no other building exceeds
them. From their top I can see a large part of the city's first floor and vast
areas from the next two floors. As about the other levels, those situated
immediately under the monster's back, everybody thinks they don't deserve
the effort. There is the territory of the social inadapteds, the starved ones,
the thieves and the criminals, anyway, a misery. I'll see!
From up there, the city looks cleaner and tidier, but in fact the
Palaces save it. They were generally built in the last two centuries, more
recently than this one. Even the Royal Palace is extended and mainly re-
built, keeping only the Holy core from the old settlement. The newest
constructions are quite different from the rest. They are Neotoists --
miraculous overhangs and interlockings of transparent or lively coloured
crystalline, reinforced with thin and long grown bones bent in impossible
positions. It seems the bone cultivating has become a reality! Some people
assert that those are not produced bones, that in the last centuries have
appeared new spaces, accidentally discovered in the extreme north of the
Carami organism, toward the presumed head. Spaces with a particular
structures and rich in this kind of bones as well as in other new building
materials.
According to the stories, the Royal Carami is the oldest one in the
world. He was born at the beginnings, in the legendary Sea, where he
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dwelled for a while. Then he went out of the land and settled for his
childhood in these places, near the Suspended Plain. Since then he has still
grown. We are talking about thousands of years, because the frilirs have
found him here more than a millennium ago already big enough. I just keep
wondering how would he look at the end of his childhood and when it will
be that moment. Maybe a new phase of evolution will start then and he will
leave for other places. What would this mean to us? To know him better he
should be investigated in detail. Anyway, I have to know him by heart; I
dont want to be again in that terrible and ridiculous situation as when I
entered the city.
I climb down a few more steps and I smile -- Carami: home animal,
or Carami: pet-house.

R. WORMIH IN PLABOS SAUCE (GOURMET RECIPE)

There are three complementary sides which determine the personality
of a frilir: gastronomy (the gourmet side), politics, and love (the sentimental
side). The rest is salads or pickles for filling the routines.
I will begin as it is natural with food for the gourmet side of the
friliric spirit, submitting you an entirely personal recipe:
INGREDIENTS: ADULT WORMIH -- Crawler from the land-
worms family, with its vital organ (coreul) in the centre of its tubular body.
The body is protected by a circular stomach-layer, where the swallowed
food is stored, in order to be assimilated after fermentation.
PLABOS SAUCE OF SWAMP -- For plant and insect
broth, based on bloodge.
SEQU-TULAPA FLAVOURED OIL -- With hot spices,
preferable from sallow butterfly wings.
THE PREPARATION STORY: Take the fragrant wormih and
tenderize it at alive under the light of the three Daughters of the Sky. The
diffuse light will drive it mad and the cold air of the night will tremble its
stomach-cover. Thus its membrane widens impressively, preparing the
future storeroom. If it will not call for mercy, it means is not enough
tenderized. Keep it away from fright, not to wrinkle his flesh.
Finally, presuming it is tenderized enough,
dont let it rest but put the greedy and shivery animal on a sweet maidenly
leaf of the moamoam. The thrill of the two beings merge and the pleasure
juice will flow from the wormih, soaking the fluffy layer of the maiden.
Tragically, the wormih starts to devour the leaf without facing anymore its
hunger in order to reduce the stomach layer at the normal dimensions. In the
end the hunger will urge it further and the second thrilled leaf will tempt it at
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the extremity of the stem bent over the container where the Plabos sauce of
swamp boils impatiently. As I said, it is indicated the sauce to be flavoured
with bloodge. The starved animal will descend the faith road to the second
leaf which is used as a cruel lure. On this route, the steam of the boiling
sauce penetrates the stomach-membrane, softening the just eaten food. But
in its run after food the wormih will not realise the trap because its vital
organ is deeply buried beneath flesh. Arriving there it springs upon the
allurement and eliminates another and final jet of pleasure liquid, leaving the
body disburdened of its sweet-bitterish load.
In the boiling sauce it will not have other choice than falling to the
bottom of the container, allowing the Plabos sauce to penetrate near its life
centre. The distance that has to be covered through the sauce must be
exactly appreciated. Otherwise the slightest touch of the vital centre would
attract the hideous death, and would thicken its flesh.
With its stomach-layer softened like a sponge and with the flesh
circular flavoured in the Plabos sauce of swamp, the wormih falls free from
the honourable height of a foot through the orifice in the bottom of the
container, straight in your plate. There it scatters into a well mixed and
sparkling white sauce stew. In the middle of the plate remains the coreul
throbbing bewildered in its primitive naivet, still protected by the crystal
clear crust with bitter taste.
It is necessary to pour the oil of sequ-tulapa flavoured with hot spices
(therefore preferable from sallow butterfly wings) and heated to boiling,
directly over the precious crystal of the coreul. This way it melts and
evaporate the whole bitterness. Depending on taste, we can also sprinkle a
pinch of pollen of the Night Daughters Flower.
Serve it preferably warm, with red wine at the client temperature, for
Gourmet Meal.

(From "The Gastronomic Teachings of Master Recipear

Plabos" )

II. Babon and the Drods

Rrom the very beginning Morminiu had succeeded to impose the rule
that while he was working in the kitchen nobody may enter there. And most
of the time nobody wished to be there: a thick smoke and a sour pungent
smell had already started to pass the bony armour of the door.
Dizzy from the smoke, the recipear approached the packing system.
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He unfurled the thin and transparent membrane that grew on the kitchen
wall. It was the best thermal insulator, obtained through selections that had
lasted hundreds of years. He wrapped the first plateau with sure gestures,
practised for long. He cut, then spun the pack and arranged it in such a
manner that the blood drop which drained from the membrane's cut would
fall exactly on the joining of the foils edges. Touching the foil, the blood
drop glued quickly the edges. Morminiu had time just to apply his signet,
then the blood seal solidified in a few seconds. He repeated the operation
with the other two plateaux as well and after placing them on the service
table he sent them outside the kitchen.
Feeling more and more uncertain on his feet, he picked up all the
remained ingredients and threw them into the oven. Any recipe presented a
value just in case it was a savoury masterpiece. Only then he opened the
ceiling. A cold and humid air draught refreshed the kitchen. The smoke and
the steam were inhaled on the fleshy tube that got lost upwards to the lungs
and the external vents of Carami.
After he looked around once more and was sure he hadn't forgotten
anything, Morminiu exited the kitchen. The two drods were watching over it
with their round eyes hidden under the fanged mouths that surrounded them.
"Hi, sweethearts!" Morminiu approached them directly, feeling
uncomfortable as every time he was near them. "That's it, stay nice.
Morminiu has nothing with you."
He advanced as easy-going as he could toward the Hitissh' office, not
succeeding in getting rid of the feeling that he will be attacked from behind.
"In 30 seconds they devour a frilir as big as Babon!" Leomi had told him.
Remembering, Morminiu felt how his stomach cowered more and he started
to whisper:
"Damn it. I even don't have time to scream. And Babon would
probably come to save me dragging his feet: ten seconds a step, ten seconds
the second step, how much has remained? Aa, ten seconds and I still have to
do another five steps. Such a petty for this talented boy, tz, tz, tz!"
He entered the office with a sigh of relief then immediately he
wrinkled his lips in sign of respect:
"Good evening, My Lord. Did you sleep well?"
"He slept very well because you didn't disturb him", Donasa
intervened caustic. "Why don't you just send your parcels, without bothering
our master?"
"That is his will My Lady. That's business. And anyway, the largest
part of the earnings gets into His Greatness Treasury and..."
"And if you'd work alone your business, the largest part of the
earnings won't get into his treasury as well? Recipear, he needs rest, and
from now on he will have you here just once a day."
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"Donasa, light of my eyes, don't be so harsh. The boy just respect my
orders."
"But you're so tired, Leo!"
"I've survived things more difficult. Morminiu, I want a Gods
Green."
Donasa strained suddenly and bit her lips in anger. The recipear
stepped forward and bent protectively over the Hitissh:
"Your Highness, it was about only one tea per day."
"Yes, and you should renounce at this one as well and sleep more,
and resume your treatment with plants of red", she interposed again.
"Whats the matter, Morminiu, don't you have any aquatic plants?"
Leomi blinked tired.
"On the contrary, Your Greatness, but..."
"Then make me a tea. I need an aquatic tea."
Morminiu raise triumphantly, but with a puzzled expression towards
Donasa. She retreated and crouched on an armchair in the dark corner of the
office. Then the recipear drew near the service table and touched the packs.
"Later Morminiu, later. Now, I want the tea."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"In fact, send them and tell me after, what was about."
Morminiu bent in sign of obedience, then he raised from the table a
small flagon made of green river stone, polished in thousands of facets.
"You've already made it? You always know my wishes." Leomi
sighed satisfied.
"Always for serving you as best as possible."
Turning around with the little bottle toward the Hitissh's couch,
Morminiu added severe, "Babon, take the parcels and give them to the men
from Harissh Mim. They're waiting in the front courtyard."
"You take them, don't order me", the servant blustered nervously.
Morminiu stopped theatrically with the tea in the air, a few fingers
from the Hitissh' nose, so that the sweetish steam tickle his nostrils.
"I regret Your Greatness, but I'm obliged to tell you that I will resign
from Your Lord service. Living together with this churlish is impossible for
me anymore. I am a recipear, an artist, who meant to offer pleasures and I'm
forced to carry, to do the low work of the house because the servant is
slothful. All Carami's nobles talk to me with great respect and this
blockhead behave as if he is His Majesty himself!"
"Morminiu, please!", the Hitissh intervened surprised.
"No, My Lord, I'm decided. Its I, or him!" he finished and spun back
placing the tea on the table.
"Uuff!", groaned Leomi exhausted by vice.
"My Lord", Babon started vehemently, "get him out. This lick-spittle
 14

conspires against You!"

"Yes, Leomi", spoke coldly Donassa, slithing like a snake from the
dark corner of the office. I don't like this Morminiu who comes to stir up
the memories. I can smell revenge. Banish him until is not too late."
"I'm leaving", Morminiu decided suddenly and catching the little table
straightened to the exit.
"Take him", ordered Babon salivating and the drods prayed from the
corridor on the recipear.
"Harss Babon!", spat Leomi the command that was hidden in their
tiny brains and could be used just once in a life. One command conditioned
in secrecy for each one in the house.
The two drods changed abruptly their direction and Babon crumbled
down, torn by the fangs of their circular mouths.
"Exactly 30 seconds", appreciated admiringly Morminiu hiding his
fear and nausea.
"How could you?!" screamed desperately Donasa.
"How could you think I'll kill my recipear?" groaned Leomi,
exhausted. "Morminiu, give me that tea or I'll die. Donasa, leave us alone."
The Hitissha left the office scared, shaking of horror. The recipear
sent the little table with the packs, then shut the door quietly and returned to
the noble with the small flagon in his hands. He raised the top and fixed it
only for introducing a straw, but doing this close enough for Leomi to catch
the magic glints of the tea.
"Let me see it just once, please!", begged the Hitissh childishly.
"Forgive him Gods for too much courage", uttered Morminiu with a
surprised voice, but his eyes were following the noble's reactions.
"I don't think I'll resist any longer to temptations", continued Leomi
taking between his palms the small flagon and bringing the straw to his lips.
Suddenly he stopped and tried in vain to open the small top that seemed to
be a single piece with the container. "What's the secret, boy? This traps
drive me crazy!"
"They aren't traps, Your Greatness. But what secrets would they be, if
they're not well guarded? Add that is ill-omened for the drinker to look at his
tea. Sometimes is better not to find out certain things."
Leomi sipped feverishly and closed his eyes. Slowly, his body
relaxed.
"Tell me, whom did you prepare the recipe today?"
"To the Harissh Mim. He celebrates his hundredth Dish."
"Pffuh, just his hundredth? Fool old man", Leomi snorted with a
superior air. "Before Plabos left I had already reached the 350th Dish. I've
always missed his friendship", added him after a while.
Morminiu stood thoughtful. Those words meant a lot. 350 Dishes
 15
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
when Plabos had left. Dishes celebrated in just five years and since then, in
25 years with Donasa, he couldn't add more than seven on the list. This told
very much.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Forgive me", started Morminiu. "I was thinking what nobles displays
your person. Only the King could brag with such an experience at such an
early age."
"And you, boy, how many Dishes do you know?"
"Me, Your Greatness? I don't think is of any importance ..."
"No, no, no. I couldn't ask Plabos. But now I want to know. Lives of
Master Recipear are always covered in mystery."
"Your Lightness, as the title of Master Recipear ..." slipped Morminiu
the idea with a vaguely intimated air, because with all his fame that was
spreading since he'd arrived in the city, he was still just the Recipear of the
Lormont House. One of the few thousands recipears from the Royal
Carami.
"Ah, no Morminiu. Don't feign modesty. You know you deserve it,
and next week I want to present you to the Court and appoint you formally
the Master Recipear of the Lormont House, and then to ennobled you. It
will be an honour for me."
"Thank you, My Lord! I'll be ever grateful."
"Tell me now, how many Dishes?"
"2300, approximately ..."
Leomi burst into laugh. The recipear tried to smile as well, even he
was seething. He realised that he had reached an artistic level unattended
anytime in the history. Plabos himself, still considered the best artist of all
times, had worn about 1400-1500 Dishes. He, Morminiu, had revolutionised
the art of recipes. Soon he would be known and recognised as an absolute
artist.
"When I think", succeeded Leomi to stop laughing and translate his
cheerfulness, "when I think that in the beginning I threatened to give you to
my drods before the 500th Dish!"
Morminiu remained disoriented for a few seconds, then realised the
real meaning of the nobles words and shared his cheer. Nevertheless he felt
pity for that sensitive old man, aged before time, but vicious to the root. The
Hitissh was vice embodied. He could sell himself only for quenching his
vice, let alone a Babon, or even a Donasa or a good friend.
"And, what's the one hundredth Dish of Mim?" The Hitissh stopped
laughing and panted tired.
"Stone-Fish in Gods Green roots sauce."
"Oh, no! I can't stand to know that what I'm tasting it's going to be
tasted by someone else."
 16

"Yes, but only You, Sir, could follow the Preparation Story, especially
the last part, the show of the greediness and the role of the leader character
in the diffuse water of politics..."
"I know Morminiu, it was splendid. Still, sometimes I think to lock
you here, to create only for me ...".
The recipear's back froze and his fur oscillated between fear and the
calm he should display permanently. Leomi noticed his uneasiness and
grunted amused:
"Don't worry, boy. Your future is much brighter and is already
written."
Morminiu pursed his lips in wonder and adopted a position of polite
waiting.
"Relax, let's have a father to son talk." The recipear opened his gills-
lungs and inhaled deeply, preparing to listen with greatest attention. "Come
here, near me, and be seated comfortable."
Leomi tightened more the blanket around his body and showed him
the noble armchair beside the coach bone, a gesture that imposed to
Morminiu a doubled attention. The armchair was made from two shells,
carved with almost hysterical detail with scenes from the family's history.
The shells were joined with curving bones alike all others used in the Palace
and brought from the western part of the Carami, as Morminiu had found.
The inside of the armchair was stuffed with a muscular layer cultivated on
the shell and having the propriety to harden or soften, following its master's
tension. The recipear seated cautiously, avoiding the bones ends which
covered the armchair almost like a capsule. But he didn't dare to ask about
their sense. Now, the future was more important.
"As I told you, my boy, the first step is your presentation to the Court
and your appointing as Master Recipear of the Lormont House. The second
step will be my death."
"But, Your Highness...!"
"Listen to the end. It's just business. Being my Master Recipear Ill
order you to make a princely recipe for me. As aquatic as possible. We'll go
to the Court and we'll tell its story and then, after the festivity I'll name you
the inheritor of the Lormont House."
Leomi kept quiet, waiting the recipear's reaction. But this one
remained still, digesting the information. After a long time he made an
immense effort to maintain a simple -- smiling -- grateful mimicry.
"What do you say ?" asked Leomi impatiently.
"My Lord, I don't have words. I was simply asking myself if it's all
right, me a provincial recipear... . I mean, I know I'm the best but, like
that, suddenly, it passed just four months since I came and... ."
"Stop with lamentations", barked the noble with false harshness. "In
 17
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
these four months since you arrived, all the city is at your feet. Half of the
noble houses' recipears are thrown out. You're received dozens of offers.
The King himself inquired about you!"
He made a pause for effect, then he continued flatteringly:
"Anyway, it's just a business, I told you. You become the inheritor of
the Lormont House on one condition."
"Anything, Your Lightness."
"I knew you're a smart boy. Plabos would refuse me, but he was a
fool. That's why he ended like this... ."
"My Lord, please." Morminiu rose suddenly, cutting himself in the
armchair's fangs. "No matter how he was, Plabos is my Master and I want
to preserve a nice memory of him."
"Yes, my boy, forgive me. Actually, I cared about that fool. Anyway,
do you accept?"
"But, that condition, what's about?" The recipear uttered the question
from the top of his lips pinched in polite curiosity.
"Just a formality. You have to approve my will in a whole."
"Aha. And in the will it is written that Ill take the title only on paper,
to help my ascension. I understand, Your Lightness, and I'll be eternal
grateful... ."
"Not at all, you're my full right inheritor. From my title to the
pavement in the courtyard. What I'm interested in sounds like this: 1. My
fulfilment recipe will be eaten by you. Do you realise how this will help
both of us? Besides my title and fortune, youll have all my experience for
making your way to the Court. Ill know all your experience and I'll be
happy for ever after. 2. Lady Donasa will remain in this house till she'll pass
away. The two drods will watch over her. 3. The cook and the gardener will
stay in their jobs. Both of them have been in the House' service since my
grandfather. As about the servant we should hire another one."
"I'll take care of this, Your Greatness. I'll hire a young and powerful
one."
"Then, you accept it all?"
"Entirely, Sir. It's the way I would proceed anyway, even it was not
written in your will."
"That's my boy. You're quite a son."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"Did you say you'd be interested in Carami's life? For creation?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm very eager."
"From today, you're free to go wherever you like. I'm happy that you
want to know so much. Soon I'll possess all your knowledges. Do you
realise? 2300 Dishes! It's unimaginable! I just wait my death."
"I'm grateful for my freedom, Your Highness."
 18

"On the desk there is my seal. Take it with you so that no one will
stop you. And before leaving", Leomi grumbled heavily, the tea started to
make its effect, turn the heat on. It's very cold in the old cave. Boy, take
care of you. I'm interested in the ... highest ... degree... how you
preserve... ."
His head pressed between his shoulders and he fell asleep with a
preoccupied smile. His fur ruffled and covered his shivering skin. Morminiu
rose slowly, took the small flagon from his palms and put it on the table.
Then he screwed the horn-couch's cork, so that it could heat and radiate the
warm into the muscular layer on which the noble was laid.

2.
The curiosity urges me to buy the house speciality -- Crevex. A hand
with the skin blackened by dirt pushes in front of me some kind of jug -- a
mummified butterfly, as big as a fist, with a rough hole cut up in its skull,
between its antennae, through which has been introduced a straw. I sniff it
discreetly and I retreat immediately, disgusted. It's a slope made of the bone
-- butterfly's excreta. There are thousands through the Carami's caves,
gnawing the external layer of his skeleton. A real calamity. And the Crevex
stinks of hallucinogen of the worst quality. If Ill drunk it, I would probably
crawl two days in bed. I look around in worry. I realise that everybody is
too drunk to care about me. I take the fluffy jug and go to the terrace, where
I hardly find a free place.
The last floor of the Carami is called Celesthe by the locals. It has no
artificial light source, but they work continuously, cleaning the monster's
back to maintain a transparent roof above their heads. It's night. I distinguish
a sky where the stars are spots negligently smudged by a drunkard's hand.
From the pub only one of the three Daughters of the Sky can be seen, like a
puddle shivering on the ceiling. The night view doesn't look like my
childhood nights, but it reveals me something new. Here, on the last floor of
the Carami, in the unadapteds slums, life gets other meanings.
"Oh, Donasa, sweet vagit!", a wave from my subconscious rattles me.
"You, traitor! Donasa!" I can't abandon myself to the pathetic outbursts of
my subconscious, otherwise I would remain here stock-still, crying till
dawn. And I don't know if it's too wise with so many ugly mugs around.
Thus I shake myself violently throwing away the drowsiness which nails me
down and I begin to quarrel through clenched teeth -- a short, but rather
tough dialogue. I rise a little bit dizzy, tottering, feeling empty inside and the
cold draught that blows up here wipes me like a wet cloth over the drooped
edges of my vulb. I make a few steps to the parapet and I seat myself with
my feet suspended over the city, in the top of the escarpment. A dizzy
 19
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
butterfly over a field of small lights.
"What's up, mate? Don't you feel like butterflying?"
I turn my eyes, surprised. A smashed drunkard takes a seat besides
me. He dangles his dirty feet indifferently. His eyes are hidden under filthy
strands of fur, which hang untidily.
"What's bothering you?"
"Your butterfly. It would be a pity to lose it somewhere."
After the first impulse to give it to him pure and simple, I stop myself
and ask him driven by a strange inclination:
"What do you give me instead?"
"What would you like?"
"What do you have to offer?"
"Just drop it!" he bursts out exasperated. "Babble what you want and
we'll see. You know the market here. Or ..., maybe my eyes are uncertain at
this hour, but your rags are damn new for Celesthe. Ill give you an
information and you'll give me the pretty one."
"The pretty one?"
He winks towards my butterfly-jug and I approve shaking my head
sympathetically.
"Strike paw, gink?"
"Tell me."
"I don't know what the fuck are you doing here in these remote
places, but doesn't matter what's the deal, next time come in dirty, tattered
clothes. There are already some of the more sober guys who've put their
eyes on you. Hope you don't have the pockets full. In fact, it wouldn't
matter. These ones don't talk too much. First they take and then feel sorry
for you."
I give him time to collect himself, then I ask:
"What should I look for around?"
"Are you kidding?" He looks at me intrigued, then shakes his head
sorrowly: "No, you're serious. The guy's come just for a walk!"
"Even so, what should I look for here?"
"Anything. Give me that shit."
"Just a moment."
"We've stricken a bargain, big guy", he utters threateningly.
"Maybe we'll do some business together and I don't want you asleep
before telling me ", I tell him quickly to calm him.
"That is?"
"I don't know ..."
"Come on, throw up everything. What do you want?"
"Others like me, why are they coming here? What sort of business
are they doing?"
 20

"I've told you, anything. Trade with antiquities, art objects, recipes,
information, drugs, crystallidic swarms, chicks, anything."
"And what's the most valuable goods?"
"The recipes, what the mother's vulba! The fresher a recipe, the big
bellied it is. And if its unknown, and I mean everywhere, it shouldn't get
even to His Shitness the King, then you can buy even an army. You can buy
all the chicks from Celesthe, you'll have access even to the royal data bank."
"How's that?"
"Just like that. Pop, bang, that's it, you're in shit. But its fucking
costly, because there are many expenses. Even sacrificed frilirs. If you pay,
they'll do it. Better a butterfly in Celesthe, than a rimshi in Bellyesthe", he
finishes with loud voice and raises his empty jug.
Immediately, all drinkers, less those already sleeping, roar like ones
possessed, raising their beverages.
"Do the same, moron!" exclaims the drunkard smiling.
I refrain from other comments and raise my butterfly yelling, realising
that the guy is more sober than he seems and that, on the spheres of the
Sathaly, opens a whole world in front of me.
At the same moment, one of the sleepers starts scared and jumps on
his feet, directly in the face of another drunkard who still keeps his drink
above his head and roars very menacingly. In the created bustle, I hardly
notice how from somewhere near his lungs, or even from his lungs,
something like two lightnings fly towards the other one who falls
immediately. But nobody pays any attention to them and the party goes on.
"What was that?" I ask surprised.
"Circular blades this small, like my nail. His gills have been
extirpated and replaced with a blade magazine, that can project them with
great speed through his lungs slits, due to the air pressure."
"Extraordinary!"
"Just a fucking natural weapon."
I remain silent and he adds, "Now, give me the butterfly mate and
disappear while it's still bustling. Here the things have got hot and you don't
want to burn yourself, isn't it? I'll distract the others. And walk on the dark
sides. Take this, its my vorb' code. If you have any problem, come for me
here on night. Ask for Mahop. It's urgent, ring the code."
"Vorb, here? I haven't seen any installation around here!"
"I'll manage. If you want to know more, just pay. It's been a
pleasure", he finishes abruptly and derisively, and starts to drink.
I rise carefully and go away. I try to follow his advice because,
indeed, I'm not feeling very secure after all I've seen.
When I reach the lower levels I slow down and cool off. From here,
the road to the Palace is out of danger and only now I do realise what I've
 21
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
been through with my ignorance. But a wave of satisfaction fills my gills-
lungs. Look how my life begins to achieve new dimensions.
A few days ago I've been introduced to the Court. My second step. A
perfect one. The King is an old man greedy for power and life, and this is a
precious information. He was quite impressed by my fame not to treat me
anymore like a provincial. And the most interesting -- tensioned -- moment
was the one in which, in spite of Leomi's jealousy, I offered to the King, in
the audiences covetous murmur, a sphere of the Gods Green. I remember
when I first entered into the Hitissh's house. Though I offered it as a gift, he
threatened me that the one who promises and doesn't give, bla, bla, bla. And
then I made it plenty for him. I made it in treble concentrations. On the
spheres of Sathaly if he didn't like it -- no land plant can produce such
sensations. And he was the first to discover the real world of dream and
pleasures, of escapes. And then, how could I let the monarch not to
experience it? Only that I made him a normal dose. It's useless to hurry up
and be suspected. Who knows when I'm going to need him. Actually, isnt
he the one who banished Plabos? Didn't he deserve it?
So when I noticed he had salivated enough, before he would lose his
temper, I asked the permission to give him personally the tea.
Thus I could observe for the first time the Master Recipear of the
Court, Harissh Tathar. An idiot without any imagination who is content to
use continuously the few hundreds recipes copied by his ancestors from the
greatest recipears.
In the very moment I opened the sphere for the King's pleasure,
Tathar shook and stepped forward, but those around him kept him there.
Then I knew I've opened my enemies list.
Like Leomi, the King tried immediately to penetrate the physical
secret of the tea. What rude impulses! But more tactful than the Hitissh, he
apologised with grace explaining that he understand the secrets of Master
Recipears. Father Sky forbid him!
I stop and present the Lormont House seal to the guards which watch
the entrance in the city's ground level. They bend silently and let me pass.
My feet choose automatically the streets, without need to concentrate to the
road. Down here the air is warmer. I open my mantle and let it flap
negligently.
During the story, Tathar left the Court disguising very badly his fury
-- the ritual of the Story was for the first time disclosed to such a large
public, a detail that perfected my first victory over the Court's Recipear.
Who can afford such an extravaganza? They will soon realise that I am the
only one.
Another character, if not interesting at least important, is Taharissh
Chathu, the closest relative to the King who has remained without
 22

inheritors. And this relationship could be seen obviously from the gourmet-
appreciative manner in which he looked at the King almost permanentlu.
Certainly he is a key-character. I shall watch on him; even more, it seems he
has much influence on Tathar.
My nomination as Master Recipear of the Lormont House has been,
accordingly to what Leomi told me after, the most grandiose festivity of
nomination for the last century. The Hitissh hadn't economise anything and
at least the other two recipes -- some filths told and offered to the Court --
determined a wave of appreciation and popularity that not even Taharissh
had enjoyed. Then a bell sounded in my head and I told myself: "Take care
boy, now it's the moment to retreat with modesty and tickle the inheritor's
vanity a little bit, otherwise you'll fall in the big trap you've set it yourself."
Master Recipear of the Lormont House. Doesn't sound bad!

A.
The biggest insult that can be brought to a frilir is to tell him a recipe
and to allow him to watch its preparation, being aware that it will stimulate
his gastrophisa, but to not serve it to him. An unsatisfied frilir will remain
with his stomach in throat and with a bitterish taste on his tongue because of
the throatic spasm. Then, the vomitus will rise to his brain and his blood
instincts will take over. Your gesture will gain new dimensions in the crisis
moment and the insult will be irreparable.

(From "The Gastronomic Teachings of Master

Recipear Plabos" )

III. The attempt

Morminiu stretched high-spirited and rose from the hammock. He

seized his knapsack that struggled, but this time weaker, and put it on the
table. He remembered Leomi's greedy curiosity when he had returned from
 23
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
the expedition with the load on his shoulder. Leomi had tried to abstain, but
finally he had approached him directly.
"What do you have in the sack, Morminiu?"
"Small discoveries, Your Highness."
"Mmm. Show me quick, just like that -- open the sack a little."
"With humility I ask you for forgiveness but I am afraid I cannot. The
secrets are my only fortune and for the time being, until they will be
transformed into a recipe, everything in here must remain secret."
"Yes, I know. But I would like so much to feel what is called a real
secret."
"Soon you will know all of them, Your Greatness." Morminiu had
smiled cunningly. "You must even prepare yourself for a shock."
"Oho!" had exclaimed the old noble.
The knapsack had writhed on the recipear's back and the Hittish had
started, "Master, I think that truly I don't want to know from now all your
secrets. Maybe is not so healthy."
"Very wise thinking, My Lord. It's better for both of us that some
things to not be revealed just like that."
The sack writhed now as well but already weakly. Morminiu raised
the cage that had been prepared for a ong time and put it on the table. He
held the sack from its ends and shook it quick straight on the cage's mouth,
then he let it fall and flung the small door with force, in time to avoid one of
the tongs. The creature was as big as a hand, with two red shells, thin and
telescopic legs and three pairs of tongs. Its head rolled furiously beneath the
shell from one pole to the other, revealing a constellation of green-
phosphorescent eyes.
"Mmm, you look pretty nice, little beast. I think something will grow
out of you. You look like the tongers from the swamps, but you're smaller
and more beautiful, and that is a flaw which must be rectified. I'm going to
keep you for a while to see how you behave."
The fauna from Carami was quite similar to the one from outside and
yet special. Morminiu looked for a few seconds confused in the room. The
walls were full of flower pots exposed to many kinds of light sources. The
stems and the leaves had covered almost all of them. Morminiu freed a
stand and placed the cage there, close to a vent, then he flung himself into
the hammock. He stretched his lips satisfied and started to smack them
noisily.
A slight knock on the door. Morminiu remained frozen for a moment,
then he asked with a steady voice:
"Who is there?"
"Totin", answered a tiny voice.
"Come in."
 24

Morminiu rose in a seated position. His hands had sweated but were
dried immediately by the absorbent material of the hammock. At one of its
ends, the tailor-spider that had woven the hammock was staying
immobilised into a crumpled of threads in front of an enormous cocoon,
glued on the wall. The material gathered there all the humidity drained from
those who were sleeping in the hammock. A small part fed the spider, who
had became a command centre of all the fabrics in the room; the rest of the
water entered through the open pores of the walls into the citys circuit.
"Master, the matters hasten."
"What do you mean?"
"It's the third time they dispute since your nomination and the subject
is the same -- You, Sir."
"So..."
"She insists to see his will. But he doesn't want, by no means. He
sleeps in the office only for protecting his secret documents. He doesn't trust
anyone, anymore. Only the drods and I feel creepy when I see them... ."
"Well, so far everything is all right. Something new?"
"The Lady insists that he should renounce at the tea. 'It's pure poison'
-- she says. In the end, the Hitissh laughed and told her that from tomorrow
he will take three doses of happiness per day and warned her that he will die
in less than a week. Tomorrow he will make the announcement in the Court
and will decide the exact Story date."
"What about Donasa?"
"She threatened she'll go to the King and shell declare that the
Hitissh had lost his minds because of the tea. With what occasion she'll
lodge a complaint against you; that you want to poison His Majesty. The old
man gave up then and answered angrily to remember the past. He can reveal
anytime everything if she dare to interfere in his plans. After that, they cried
together and he calmed her; anyway, she has a sure future and he won't
leave her on the streets."
"Enough, Totin." Morminiu shorted the story, gloomy. "Open your
eyes and come to me only if you notice something really new. Now go."
The new servant, hired and conditioned by the recipear after Babon's
death, bent respectfully and exited.
"Ah, Donasa, Donasa, it's a hard life. My insides are torn by two
beings!" he uttered the formula and calmed down.
Morminiu rose nimbly, put a few things in the knapsack, then seated
on the bench to put on his boots. He felt light itches on his nape but, being
in a hurry, didn't pay any attention to them. He finished tiding his boots,
raised the sack on his shoulders but suddenly a sharp pain blazed through
his head. A scream reverberated behind his forehead and he fell giddy.
Instinctively, he blocked the external access to his terminal lobe and
 25
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
remained a few seconds motionless to recover. Then, realising what was
happening, he jumped on his feet.
Morminiu folded the small door that hid the false memoric storeroom
and spat behind it. His saliva touched the identifying membrane; the
reaction lasted only a few fractions of a second, then the processing unity
armed with three real memoric storerooms appeared from the interior of the
wall. The Lormont Palace had only two such storerooms but much smaller,
built on crystallidic swarms.
He had brought from home three metacrystalidic fulguses, obtained in
exchange for ten recipes -- a real fortune -- from a traveller coming from the
Far South. The discovery wasn't known here, in the Green Kingdom. The
fulguses' superiority consisted in their efficiency, but first of all, each of
them had the capacity of eight crystallidic swarms. Nevertheless each one
operated like a single unity, that was 800 times faster, orderly and precisely.
In addition, they didn't need replacement, being able of an easy
multiplication. A fulgus was practically an immortal processing unity. Then,
each of them had the capacity of correlating between three to five memoric
storerooms and even the capacity to work in a system. Performances
unattended by the swarms.
Morminiu had succeeded to configure his processing unity, to
synchronise it with the fulguses and to connect it to the Carami's
informational nervous system only two months ago. He had considered that
in the beginning one storeroom for each fulgus was suitable.
When the unity emerged from its hiding place Morminiu looked
rapidly at the whole ensemble -- the unity didn't present any damage and the
storerooms were untouched. He asked for details, then he breathed relieved.
But one of the fulguses was injured and the other two had been coupled on
the safeguard positions. Somebody had attacked the unity, presumably to
penetrate the storerooms. Usually an attacked swarm remains passive -- it
doesn't notify its master because it doesn't detain any telepathic capacities,
and it doesn't defend itself, not having conservation instinct. Thus, if one
finds the way through the blocking labyrinth, he can penetrate relatively
easily into the storeroom. But a fulgus protects the information with its own
life, alerting in the same time its master, with whose nervous system it's in
resonance.
The stranger who had tried to break Morminiu's storeroom had failed
in his first attempt and had retreated. But surely, after the first moment of
surprise he would return. The problem was serious. The attack showed that
despite the Carami's security system, somebody was able to walk along the
informational circuits without being "heard" by the monster-city's nerves.
Morminiu locked the entrance door, then he took the injured fulgus
and put it on the table. He filled a small receptacle with water and
 26

introduced it in the refrigerator drawer. He poured freeze solution on the

nervous terminations of the wall and waited. In a few minutes the
temperature decreased with twenty degrees.
He linked the fulgus' umbilical cord to his terminal lobe and induced
the reproduction command. It was the only way of saving it -- being obliged
to multiply, the fulgus would appeal to its primary information and remake
the origin equation for as many copies as it was requested, ignoring its state
of illness. After finishing the operation, Morminiu de-connected the fulgus'
umbilical cord and put it carefully in the refrigerator box. The reproduction
would last 24 hours.
Morminiu rose and paced nervously through the room. He was
obliged to use the security plan offered by the stranger from the Far South,
as a supplement to the fulguses: he would set a "bell", which should wake
up the Carami's security system every time somebody entered in his unity's
perimeter. Then he would try to create a telepathic cage with energetic
discharge around the unity, in case the thieves were too smart for the bell. A
new attempt, in this last case, would carbonize the intruders and would burn
a good part of the net. At least till the healing of the Carami's informational
system, his unity would be safe.
He stretched contentedly, rounded off his lips confident and
preoccupied and begin to work.

3.
The road is more and more difficult, the path is more and more
steeply -- I don't know where it could ascend --, the gravel rolls under my
soles, unbalancing me. And the gravest thing, the glow-worm fades visibly
and the dark is gaining ground and worsens my trip in the Carami's depths.
"What the ficklin mother's... !" I yell then I stop myself, giggle and
repeat with savour, "What the ficklin mother's I'm so unlucky? I'll never
finish this arm!"
The drunkard's language hold on me from a meeting to the other. I
don't know if it's all right -- it's hard to see the difference between good and
evil when you miss the comparison term. Officially it's bad, the nobility'
school press on the reclamation campaign. But I don't see any harm.
However, it's no sense to mangle it now. I have already blundered in front of
Totin -- lucky me he's mine. But if Leomi could hear me! With mister Vice I
have to be careful: he seems old and doddering, still he has a lively spirit.
The tea softened him a little although I wouldn't bet on this. His moment of
death doesn't come faster to get rid of this tension! He postponed everything
till last minute, perhaps due to Donasa's pressure. I don't think he is afraid --
 27
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
the Hitissh is one hell of a guy. I breath deeply and encourage myself with
loud voice:
"Hang on, Morminiu. You have just a little bit more. Don't express
your feelings, this could destroy you. You've seen Donasa -- she's like a
snake always watching. But won't knock you down some frilira!"
I bent more for passing through under a thick beam. I put my foot on
the other side and I notice surprised that the ascend ends there; there is a
pretty steep slope downwards. I decide to take only one look and to return,
before I'll remain in the dark. Laid on my belly, I crawl under the beam to
the other side... .
On the Sathaly's spheres! What a beauty! I look around and it seems
that I've reached the end of this arm. It's a huge, circular grotto, with a
diameter of at least three hundred feet and much higher. In the top of its
cupola, somewhere up, very high, there is a skylight through which light
flows in an almost liquid flood. A white-blue light, miraculously fixed on the
lake from the grotto's belly. On the lakes surface white, shinny spots can be
distinguished.
I let myself falling like on a chute. On the bottom, I rise and admire
the surroundings; I go to the lake. The traceries on the grotto's wall outrun
any imagination. The blue strands of light work on them together with the
water like some real sculptors. Reaching the bank I notice that the white
spots are in fact flowers. A gigantic species, big like a frilir's head with
gracefully curled petals. I bend over one of them and I see with some
surprise that it's covered by a real fur -- a silky, dense, small fluff of a
radiant white. In the flower's centre there is a bulge filled with a red liquid
and only now I discern that the petals are covered by a reddish web.
Everything it's superb like in a fairy tale and the flowers are the beauty's
embodiment, the apogee of the grotto.
I lay on the bank and look around, enchanted. In such moments I feel
the need to share with somebody my enthusiasm, but maybe I have to be
patient until I'll really afford a friend. I rise and arrange the glow-worm on
the knapsack in such a way to recharge itself from the powerful spotlight.
Then I take off my clothes hurriedly. I want to jump in the water but I halt
myself. My training has been stronger than my first impulse. I take from the
sack a piece of meat and throw it in the lake. No movements, the lure
reaches the bottom of the lake without being disturbed. I wait a while but
still nothing. Quiet.
I make a few steps backwards, then run and jump among the flowers.
I dive voluptuously, without any movements. The bottom it's not too deep,
at about three frilir's statures, so I touch it quickly. My gills have got
automatically operational. The water is blue, crystal-clear and I feel like in a
bath of liquid light. The lake's bottom is smooth -- how would I want it to
 28

be? -- made of bony plates.

I notice with delay a skeleton. I approach -- it's friliric. A little bit
further there are bones spread, perhaps from another skeleton. And then I
realise something I didn't notice from the beginning, because the white
colour of the bony plates was concealing them: the whole lake's bottom is a
cemetery. Seeing a bloated corpse in which two flowers' stems have thrust
their roots, I begin panicky to swallow water. This guy is not dead for more
than two weeks, maybe not even for one week and half. And suddenly, in an
glimmer of lucidity before the deadly fear, I become aware that every plant
has a client from which it had sucked or is still sucking, and I visualise the
pouch with red liquid from each flower's centre; I see trails of blood
reddening the water and greedy roots creeping towards me; something
scratches my leg, I put my sole on the bottom's plates to push upwards and I
feel that my skin glues on their bone; the lake's bottom is burning, the water
is boiling and it's cold like ice; I rest my cheek and my drowned lung on a
velvety petal and its fluff smells so nice and rough, lascivious and old,
inebriating, crude, rotten, of blossomed sequ forests... I spout at the
surface and I want to scream -- but I have no more strength -- and a flower
touches me like silk. I get out crawling on the bank. I break down vomiting.
My stomach is ready to exit through my throat into my mouth. I push it
back. My tongue is swollen and in my nostrils I have a sweetish smell. Of
carrion! I throw up again, wondering how much I could eat before leaving
the Palace.
I fling myself on my back, then I roll at a few meters and I squeeze
my nostrils with my fingers to get rid of the sweetish smell. Big Heaven, I
swam in a carrion soup! And I throw up again soiling the whole place. I feel
I'm choking, I breath in gusts and I think I'm throwing up all my bowels, I'm
ashamed of my vulbs -- wrinkled by coldness, and fear, and gathered into a
small, disgraceful roll -- and, Heaven, I wring out my lungs like some
sponges, pressing them with my palms, they're dirty, glued, sullied by... .
I breath wheezingly, sobbing; I crawl to my clothes. I put on my
clothes without caring about their order. I catch the glow-worm between my
fingers, fix it again on the top of the bone and run away from the lake as fast
as I can. A mystical fear, strange for me, opens my mouth and forces me to
repeat, "This is a sign! This is a sign!... ."
Though, in my subconscious, Plabos and his lessons of reason
struggle to drain the soup that has soaked my brains. "See that even the fairy
can be a carcass filled with excreta!" I hear clearly a voice and my body is
shivering, it's clear, I'm calming.
I feel I'm alone and sometimes it's terrible to be alone.
"How the ficklin mother's I have come alone so far?" I utter and that
warms me.
 29
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
"Here everything is upside down: the hell is up, in Celesthe, and the
heaven is down, in Bellyesthe. If you take them for word, what can be
lower than heaven? I mean, if the hell is higher, what is lower?"
I've recovered myself, damn my boil, I've recovered myself. What the
spheres could have frightened me like that? I'll think about it back home, but
only after a good sleep. And that's it -- for three days no more expeditions.
I keep the glow-worn close to me because it's lighting very weakly --
it hadn't had the chance to recharge itself. I hope I'll reach home!

R: Rock-Fish in sauce of Gods' Green Roots ( Political recipe )

INGREDIENTS: An adult Rock-Fish.
Ceroptes buds; crawling vines from the lake's bottom; a dusk
flower, blossomed at pink; and roots of Gods' Green.
Pond and land reptiles from the dimension of a frog's tadpole
to the size of a silver lizard. Preferable five to seven.
Red wine of swamp.

PREPARATION STORY: Take the Rock-Fish still alive (because the flesh
of any dead politician decays quickly) and remove its whole layer of fat, but
easy and gently as combing it, you must not let it die until the end of the
preparation. The fish is in fact a thick-skinned mountain of fat that
surrounds its spine, which is stuffed with muscular layers. You should
operate with care not to scratch those layers.
Take the wrinkled muscle, aged of pains, and after
you try to reconcile the situation in your hurt soul because of the cruelty you
have acted, to not prolonge its tortures, sink it into a bath of aromatic oil
with sequ-tulapa, which will melt even the last remains of fat, and will leave
the muscle clean and perfumed. Now you can notice how it relaxes and its
wrinkles stretch satisfied. A bath is always welcome. From the oil bath you
need to move it immediately into a smoke towel of cave-flowers.
Now prepare the hot bed of sand, and the sauce. For the sauce pour
red wine of swamp into a griddle oiled with sugar. Place it on the fire and
when the swamp starts to bubble through the wine, and the sugar is ready to
fall from the griddle's walls, put inside the roots of Gods Green -- a little bit
smashed. Leave the mixture to boil further on at light fire, adding on taste
swampy spices similar to sequ.
During sauce preparation, our well dried friend, with its senses
asleep, it is taken and pricked in a lot of places. For not being upset,
introduce into the holes ceroptes buds and then, because we know how it is
 30

with asleep political spirits, tie it fasten with crawling lianas from the lake's
bottom - which have to be well boiled before. Place the fish with vigilance
on the prepared sand bed and leave it there for about half of hour, covered
perfectly with an equal layer of sand - about a palm height.
Because the sauce should be already done at the bed time moment,
take care quickly of the opposition's sympathisers. Take the green frog's
tadpole and feed it in patriotic songs with too much coveted dusk flower -
necessarily blossomed at pink. After it has swallowed the entire flower with
its usual greed, pour the hot animal oil over it, exactly in the digestion
moment, passing the tadpole into posterity. Right away it is offered as pray
to its adversary - the next reptile as size. This one also will swallow it
greedily, probably contaminated, and thus you will be in the position to
repeat the operation with the hot oil. Take out carefully the tadpole's head
from the second reptile's mouth and leave it outside ornamental, as you have
left before the flower outside the tadpole's mouth. Then start all over again
with the third reptile. And so on, until we will obtain a spiral of
immortalised reptiles, one from the other's mouth. The symbolistic you shall
leave it on the consumer's appreciation.
Finally, the last step. Take the hero sleeping in the sand, now surely
well cooked and introduce it uniformly into the already prepared sauce,
arranging it into a circular shape. The reaction will be, as it is called, of
"clearing the waters", in our case the sauce. Because the sauce will gain a
yellow colour and an enviable clarity. The main character - placed as it is
natural in the griddle's centre - will get crystallised instantly. It gets a
brownish colour and crunchy consistence, at least at its surface. In the
middle of the circular shape place the opposition, reduced as well to a
respectful silence. They will have somehow a similar reaction in contact
with the sauce of the truth. Imbibing with it, in just a few minutes they will
be covered by a jelly crust.
Serve it cold with lichens acid at ice, preferably after a tumultuous speech,
for Political Meal.
(From "Recipearial Revolution", by Great Master Recipear of the Green
Kingdom - Morminiu)

IV. The Death Story

"This has been the Death Story of Great Hitissh Leomi", ended
Morminiu with grave voice and remained looking at the nobles who were
there to celebrate the important event.
There had passed quite a lot time since a frilir had afforded such a
ceremony and since everybody was just speaking with regrets about the
glorious times when at least once a month, you could participate at a
 31
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
Festivity.
The last sentence was finally repeated by the "voice" from the
balcony to the mass of frilirs who were crowded on a lateral street of the
Royal Palace. They were forming already Morminiu's fiery admirers. After a
few moments of respectful silence for the dead, the people burst into
applause and ovations.
Hearing the reaction of the street, after the King's silent approval, the
Court manifested in its turn the enthusiasm. The Recipear watched them
victoriously - all great Families participated and he knew it wasn't just about
the title and importance of the Hitissh, but about his fame. In the next days
he would probably receive an uncountable number of requests for mortuary
recipes (the Court was full of old men just ready to die). The nobles, clothed
dazzling in the finest silks brought from the Swamps with Fever, adorned
with the oldest jewels from their inheritance boxes, started to move in
excitement. The servants entered by the score with plateaux full with
delicacies. The Court revived the pomp from Plabos times. The Reciparium
Practice gave it brightness.
Suddenly, The Hitissh began to shiver. He made an effort to clench
his teeth and maintain his vertical position, but his strength was leaving him.
His teeth started abruptly to chatter and his back fur ruffled moistened by
sweat. The majority of those arrived in front of the most important event in
a frilir life, realised only during the Death Story the horror of what was
going to happen. And against their whole education, they couldn't stop their
fear's manifestations.
The audience didn't pay any attention to him for not raising his
embarrassment and fear, and because they treated him as a dead one - the
memories made them pleasure, but they didn't like the presence. Just
Morminiu stared at him intensely for a few seconds then he rose. He was
the only one who knew it wasn't fear in the old noble's case who anyway,
for his vice was ready to absolutely anything with closed eyes. The only
culprit was the tea, that Leomi hadn't served in the morning because -
Morminiu had specified - it could damage the Recipe.
The King's Trust, a massive frilir looking rather as a warrior than a
counsellor, approached courteously the recipear and whispered among the
congratulations of rigour:
"His Majesty invites you, Brilliant Master, for an exchange of
recipes. He is sure you will be interested in new experiences."
"Tell His Majesty I am honoured and convinced that the royal
experience will enrich and enlighten my spirit. However, I had in mind to
write a special chapter in my book, about this."
"Ooh!" the Throne's Counsellor wondered untold well done, then
continued quickly, with low voice: "Then, tomorrow night the carriers will
 32

come to bring you at the Palace."

Morminiu bent respectfully, trying to temper his emotions. The future
was closing in a rush.

***

The door closed in their back as they entered the Palace and they
breathed easily. The animated street's noise lost from its proportion behind
the walls, so as old as thick. The Hitissh had resisted miraculously till that
moment when he fell exhausted on the shiny floor.
"Take him in the Ritual Room", ordered Morminiu shortly and
headed hurriedly to his room.
Arrived, he locked the door and undressed quickly. The most
expected moment was close. He felt how his emotions dominated him. He
put on his shoulders the mantle of Master Recipear of Lormont House,
made especially for this event. Blue, from algae fabric, stitched with thread
of green silk. On its back had been embroidered also with green silk the
Lormont House' symbol - a snake wound on a sword - "The Cunning
strengthen the Valiant". The two superposed letters, the C and the V,
constituted in the old written language an L. L from Lormont.
"The Valiant drowsed by the Vice", translated Morminiu disdainfully.
"I inherit the name of Lormont", he started with his hand on the sword's hilt,
"but I swear I'll found a new House, worthy all respect, that shall rise from
the shame and ruins of the Lormonts. It will be the Mormont House and
thus I won't upset either the too conservative spirits."
He opened the false memoric storeroom, spat and the processing
unity emerged from the hiding place. The "bell" was untouched, but the cage
was sparkling. The five fulguses, still in agitation, gambolled heavily in their
specific manner, incomprehensible for a frilir.
"I request access to PU1", he uttered loudly and his voice was
identified.
"Access accepted. Green alert."
"Explain - green alert."
"Tentative of burglary in the PU1 perimeter. Prompt telekipi reaction
at tenth level. Segment of city's informational circuit burnt on seven loths.
Zone access blocked instantly."
"The attackers are still in zone?"
"They are waiting for the CISRC (the Central Immune System Royal
Carami) to deblock the zone. 75% probability that SSCR (the Security
System Royal Carami) will find and capture them for investigations in the
next five hours."
"Any malfunction in PU1?"
 33
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
"Not any known malfunction."
"Any question from SSCR?"
"Not any addressed question."
"At eventual questions I must be announced immediately."
He hid back the unity. He coupled the vorb to his terminal lobe, then
he dialled the drunkard number and waited. It was the first connection he
wanted to obtain with him. He heard the tone, the connection had been
done, pretty fast after his appreciation, but silence at the other end.
"Mahop, it's me Morminiu", the recipear tried hesitatingly.
"Yes?"
"Can you talk?"
"Yes, what's the boil?"
"I urgently need a few 'hunters'."
"You mean... ."
"Yes, those pills you've told me last time."
"They're expensive. You've to understand is no more general
information."
"How much is one?"
"A water-spider fabric and you have ten 'hunters'."
"A recipe for twenty hunters."
"Where d'you have it from?"
"My business."
"I mean, it's authentic?"
"As authentic as possible."
"How old?"
"3-5 months"
A silence followed, then the drunkard spoke a little bit whispered:
"If it's newer than 6 months, I arrange for you twenty 'hunters' and a
supplement for encouragement. Something knocking-out. Where d'you
live?"
"In west, near the channels", lied Morminiu in purpose.
"Aa, 'thought you heard about the block in System, in the north area."
"No, what happened?" asked promptly the recipear.
"I don't know yet. We talk when we'll meet."
"All right. I need the stuff quickly. I'll wait for you in four hours in the
Silence Square."
Another silence followed, then the drunkard's voice came back:
"Done. In for hours."
The Silence Square was the most sensitive zone in the city. Formerly
it had been the place for bazaar and festivities. But now you can speak there
only whispering, you can't run or clamp your shoes. The Palaces and all the
other buildings in the area had been abandoned because the life had become
 34

impossible. The Square had turned into a grave. It was the least pleasant
place of meeting in the low city, but in the same time the safest for business
with social exiles.
Relative calm, Morminiu disconnected the vorb and arranged his last
details of clothing. When he finally considered he was prepared, unlocked
the door and exited.
"You miserable! You laughed of him! Traitor ...".
The words spouted with hate but also showed that the frilira was at
the end of her strength. Morminiu looked at her attentively and could
distinguish tension under her eyes, a tension accumulated due to love'
fatigue, as Donasa was revealing herself now when the fight was over and
she couldn't stand anymore the abstinence weeks since the Gods' Green tea
had taken her lover. Only now began the recipear to understand some things
apparently inexplicable.
"Was the old man so good?" he couldn't retain himself.
"How can you, you mutt?!"
She tried to slap him but the recipear caught her hands and squeezed
them powerfully.
"I'll denounce you! Ill fix you... ."
Her struggle was more and more weaker and uncontrolled as
Morminiu's grip raised. In the end she softened and slipped with him over
her.
The scene was happening in a Palace's wing which was uninhabited
for two generations, fact that hadn't disturbed Morminiu to choose his room
here, preferring its isolation. The vents were covered with a thick layer of
slime. The walls hadn't been polished, scraped or stimulated in growth as
well, so that they thickened chaotically, occupying almost half of the
corridor breadth and developing monstrous figurines along the icicles and
waves formed from the draining of the slimy water on the walls, that came
from the Palace's sweat in mixture with the friable bone-layer, recently
grown. The air was cold, humid and heavy, persisting in the atmosphere an
abandonment and alienation sensation.
"Why did you betray Plabos?" he asked hoarsely feeling under his
body weight the vicious vibration of Donasa's vulbs.
"I didn't!" said the frilira scared and excited.
"Because he wasn't a vicious like you? You could be sincere with
him."
"I didn't betray him", she murmured shivering harder and harder. "But
he was almost impotent, I would have gone crazy with him."
"And the old Hitissh?"
"Him? Leo is something else, a real force. You just don't know what's
hiding behind his weaken body. But I didn't betray Plabos ...".
 35
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
Morminiu tore the veil discovering her vulbs already open and
thrilled. Her wanton plateau - stretching from her nervous belt as far as
between her legs, in its biggest extension - was waiting seething, while her
body was struggling in a lost fight with itself and her instincts. The recipear
felt as never the stimulation. It wasn't so much pleasure, as nerve and
possession desire. He threw the mantle into the room through the open door
and plunged like in a battle with his spiked plain grown over measure. Its
teeth and spikes nailed her savagely on the floor till the moment their vulbs
joined together. Her body was cold of fright, chill and obsessed exciting.
And then he turned tyrant with a devouring, pure physical pleasure. It was
cruelty. He writhed pulling her after him and making her groaning of pain
until he felt her fainting - they were full of bruises and slime.
And in the middle of the wriggling he knew: There was happening
something more than a possession, because anyway, love was far from what
was there. The whole sexual anxiety of Plabos, his all frustration and
impotency maniacally hidden behind his art, had burst out through an
artificially induced potency, in fact through a double possession. And then
Morminiu was ashamed of Plabos' famous recipes - like "Wanton Plateau",
"Spiked Mountain" or "Vulbian Chill", adored in ignorance by admirers and
tasted with false bashfulness by the courtiers at almost every party. He
could now truly understand them. How many of the great art creations, and
not just recipes, hid obsessions, frustrations, anxieties, admirable masked
under the art's roof? How much was true from Plabos' told and written life?
How big was the Great Recipear and how much of him deserved
remembering?
Morminiu calmed his body trembling. Shadows from past ages and
fornication waved on the walls and the Palace itself seemed to groan incited
by their touches. He felt his body smashed by craziness and started to cry
asking for forgiveness. However, Donasa could not understand him
anymore - she had fainted. He started violently when he heard noise of
steps.
"Master ...", Totin's voice called.
"Stay on the other corridor and wait", barked shortly the order
Morminiu, revolted on himself.
He waited more and more impatiently the decouplation and when this
arrived he rose and breathed deeply, turning his back to the body that was
laid on the floor. He entered into his room and cleaned himself quickly,
arranging again his clothes. Then he put back on him the mantle.
"Totin", he called hoarsely.
"Yes, master", this one appeared from behind the columns that
sustained the corridor's corner.
"Take her in one of these rooms and tie her without possibility of
 36

escape. Then, take the drods and leave them in the interior court, under the
Ritual Room. Lock them there. After that send the Cook and the Gardner in
their rooms."
Without any word, Totin bent over Donasa. He covered and raised
her with a superstitious care. Carrying her on his arms he straightened to
one of the rooms.

***

He entered the Ritual Room with small and heavy steps. He closed
the door and the stirred crowd's weak rumble stopped completely.
The Hitissh had laid on a horn-coach that was emitting heat, for
warming his aged body. When he felt Morminiu, he turned and looked at
him carefully:
"How long has it take!"
"I ask for forgiveness, Your Highness, but at a certain moment my
preparation is more difficult then Yours. As a matter of fact you'll suffer just
an ambient change, while me ...".
"Yes, boy, it's right", the old man sighed. "Do as you think, but... it's
harder and harder for me...", he paused and breathed with difficulty, then he
continued sobbed, "I miss the tea. I don't want to loose my minds before...".
Morminiu bent and started to make the preparations. He lighted the
fire in the huge fireplace and placed upon it the grill. He threw all over the
fire some dry woods which got lighted immediately with a bright flame,
spreading into the room a sweetish smell, of putrefied forest in swamp,
carcasses decaying slowly in cobwebs of spider-birds and flowers of heavy
night.
He unfurled over the table - that was grown from the floor's bone and
carved for three generations with faces, mortuary recipes and names of the
Lormont House's nobles - a seqolosal leaf like a green quilt. He oiled it with
liquid sugar and sequ-tulapa flavoured oil spreading the layer with a broad
and thick brush. He moved rhythmic, like in trance, composing long and
equal gestures at the border between sobriety and ridicule. In the end he left
the brush aside and wiped his hands. He chose the fattest crawler lianas
with their muscles underlined. After he measured them, he cut them very
carefully, then he made them thinner at their ends. He stirred a little bit more
the fire and took care about the grill's temperature. Finally he twisted
solemnly towards the Hitissh.
This one displayed a smile of indifference pretty tortured and rose
shaking. He did a step, then he bent suddenly and opened his mouth and
lungs(fantele?) a few times, spasmodically, but he recovered quickly.
Breathing whistled, he straightened his back and started to take off his
 37
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
clothes. Naked, his fats hung ostentatiously, his vulbs thickened over
measures giving him a monstrous air. He was shivering. He opened again
his mouth, then he began to chatter violently his teeth. But from his mouth
didn't drip anything else than a little saliva.
"I haven't eaten anything ... like you told me ... ."
"Very good, My Lord", answered Morminiu. "You've done as the
Ritual requests."
Then he retreated from the old man way, waiting in a respectful
attitude. Leomi succeeded with his last strength to do the final steps to the
table, where he fell exhausted. His back fur hung wet and discoloured but
thick like in his youth. Only now the recipear gained the right to come and
help him climbing up the table. With kind gestures he arranged and rolled
the noble into the huge seqolosal leaf, leaving outside just his head. He tied
him tightly with lianas from down to up, inclusive his hands and feet
separately.
"Your Highness, there is a limit ... ."
"I know Morminiu, just do what you have to do ... . I know my role.
Be that the Heaven Beings to help us in passing the threshold and the Ritual
to be received."
The recipear strained and raised him on his arms. He put him
carefully on the reddened grill, that was oiled with animal oils. Only his
head remained outside. The leaf started to singe, then it swelled until its
external layer cracked. A white smoke began to rise. After a while, the white
smoke thickened and Morminiu turned the pack on the grill for being caught
by the fire also on the other side. He took care to sprinkle the part that was
slightly cooked with swamp wine and hot spices from wings of sallow
butterfly. Leomi reddened and sweated abundantly. His teeth chattered with
a noise of broken bones. He was with his head down, looking directly at the
flames and observing them how they bit from the leaf advancing slowly, but
surely, towards the body, that till then, they just beaked it in the hot oil
spread on the covering leaf. At the second turn of the pack on the grill,
when he reached again with his face up, Leomi had his cheek skin slightly
burnt, with blood draining from his mouth and swollen lungs like some
sacks hanging along the ears to the neck.
"Now, Morminiu", he pronounced clearly and without allowing the
terror to overwhelm him.
The recipear blinked admiratively and came closer looking at him
attentively.
"I said now, Morminiu", uttered louder and authoritative Leomi.
"Right away, My Lord", he came much closer to be seen. "But first I
have a message for you."
Leomi stared wide-eyes, surprised, and gave signs that will loose his
 38

strength under the baking pressure. He breathed heavier from his cracked
and bleeding lungs.
"Firstly, I want to announce you that Plabos is here as well, with us",
continued Morminiu. "Therefore, in order to accomplish the Ritual we need
his consent too, and he's not agreeing. He doesn't want to agree after your
betrayal. And, in case you've lost your memory after too much heat, I'll
remind you: for an easy frilira, which was obsessed with love, his best
friend betrayed him twice - once, stealing his frilira he had with oath,
through contract, and second, conspiring against him at the Court with a
weak and greedy King and obtaining just for a stinking vice the exile in the
exterior, in the greatest shame, of your best friend, the one who believed in
your friendship until the last moment."
He kept silent for a few seconds, while Leomi agonised in terrible
pains, writhing like a one possessed, then he concluded:
"His believe has been smashed after he had received the insulting
letters sent by the new Court Recipear, Tathar. But now, I , Morminiu,
considering Plabos revenge sufficiently I'll remove the Ritual tortures. But, I
don't have in mind to eat you, Hitissh. You have no place in my soul. Your
wonderful recipe will be enjoyed by your beloved drods and I'll remain only
with Plabos. Good bye!"
He raised his sword and with just one movement he chopped off the
blood-stained head - a face crushed by terror stared with mad eyes.
He cooked Leomi's head quickly like the Ritual was requesting.
Then, waiting for it to cool, he raised the body from the grill and hung it on
the pulley at the window, assembled especially there for the event. He
lowered it slowly, fixing it for the drods to devour it easily and fast. He
placed the cooked skull on a tray and emerged from the Ritual Room. He
went to one of the lateral balconies. The crowd burst in shouts: "Well rise
the new Hitissh! Peace in his soul with his brother!"
Morminiu raised the tray and after a few more shouts the admirers
calmed down. Then, the new Hitissh said:
"The recipe has touched a deep cord in my heart. The Story has been
told and the Death has been received. I am satiated now and a new spirit
haunted me trying to find his balance. So be that Leomi would cheer my
experience, as I cheer his presence. And this," finished Morminiu thickening
his voice, "this is my gift."
He threw the skull in the raised hands sea for getting the present, then
he retreated. He called Totin who appeared immediately - he had assisted at
the ritually speech.
"Totin, I have denounce Donasa to the Mother's Commission. The
Priestesses should arrive any minute now to take her. Help them with all
they may need. I have a meeting. And get rid of those drods!"
 39
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"Yes, Your Greatness."
Morminiu headed with hurried steps to a secret exit from the Palace.
He had just a little time to get in the Silence Square.

4.
I enter the Silence Square's zone and after, the Square. I'm touched
and I shake. It has passed some time since I haven't seen such a vegetable
explosion - the Silence Square's surroundings are a real jungle. But
everything is grey-brownish. A porridge. The plants have a carrion aspect
and the air itself smells of putrefaction. The whole area is a corpse.
I notice Mahop laid down. The Square's surface, some other times
perfectly round, is paved with bone mosaic in games of white, black and
greenish, and has been pierced in a few places by the vigorous trunks of
some dwarf palm-trees. And from the Square edges, the slime has begun its
blind invasion.
In my way to the drunkard I detach my boots from the slimy belt and
go closer to one of the small islands of vegetation. The air is humid and the
temperature is above the average in the city - like in a greenhouse. The
palm-trees' leaves are huge, grown from the small, thick and knotty trunks -
they had no reason to grow upwards, to have high trunks, because they're
not dependant of light. The plants-that-eat-shadows, how the peasants call
them, have always small body and grow more on the horizontal plane. "For
sucking the forgotten shadows and those of the dead ones, glued on the
ground." The leaves are like a skin stretched on bones. And in the middle of
the bowers grow the rock-bush, small and thickset plants, simple monoliths
indented and porous, the only plant that blossoms in the shadow. It makes
maximum one big flower once, which covers its whole surface, like a disc
swollen in centre, filled by traceries and glossy beads. I have never been
dead on the plants-that-eat shadows botany. Therefore, I look at all these
manifestations fully ignorantly.
I hold out my hand and touch a leaf. Bleah! I draw it back disgusted,
cleaning it on my mantle. The leaf flows into a thick and stinky gelatine.
Only now I notice that from the vault is dripping like in caves, but just
above these islands which have broken the Square's isolation. I tell myself
that from up there is nothing else to drip than acid. Acid! But, how could
they survive?! At the already compromised by the acid rain palm-tree's roots
have sprung with obstinacy tens of saplings, momentarily protected by the
probably already dead, or dying, "parent".
Mahop waves his hand to me. I'm coming close to him, avoiding the
other vegetation zones. He rises in a seated position and lean against an
isolated rock-bush.
 40

"Hello, Mahop!" I approach him whispering.

"Hi".
I take a seat next to him, on the floor. I give him the recipe and he
shoves the hunters under my nose - small and glimmering beetles, an
unknown species to me. I ask him where does he have them from and he
laughs amused. Everything in silence. He seems agitated, or more,
impatient. Not that impatience before an action, but like you've done
something and you're anxious to show it. So I ask to make him feel good,
what's new.
"I discovered something, mate. Something what ..., that..., how the
mother's skin can I tell? Something like... ."
"Like what?"
"What d'you give me?"
This is our relationship - an eternal trade. "What did you eat at lunch?
What d'you give me? Something! I ate hotchpotch." I stay and think, and
realise I've decided since I entered the Silence Square. And I don't know
what impulse makes me propose the same to him:
"An information as valuable as your."
"How d'you know?"
"I know. And maybe a partnership."
His eyes glimmer, but he doesn't stay more to negotiate. His
information burns him. It's tougher than the poison from Celesthe that he
sucks through those butterfly heads, and he must pour it at all costs.
"I discovered something in the new zones of the Carami, something
that defies any law of nature."
Suddenly nothing preoccupies me anymore and I become attentive.
The educational conditioning says its word. Still, I keep quiet and let him
discharge by himself.
"It's something like an aura. An ...how can I tell you? It's like a shield
made of I don't know what, that protects everything inside it of every
external shock."
I blink puzzled and he makes a frowned grimace.
"Look: put the shit inside it, inside that aura, and close the system.
Then you want to step on it, you're mad to crush shits under your shoes, you
know wa'I mean. But when you press, your foot slips on something invisible
and the baby is still untouched. Or, you take a bone and try to hit it, to
spread it, you know", he smiles amused and continues, "but the aura
protects it. The bone ricochets and it's intact. Anything you'd do, it will
remain intact."
"How can I tell you, I've got a general idea. But... I didn't understand
what's about."
"Deh", he waves his hand with disgust.
 41
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
"It's all right, I'll think of this."
He draws a flute and wipes it meticulously. At the moment I don't
react, then I open my eyes, terrified: I've got it! Maybe I seem a little bit
stupid, but a small wheel works in my brain all the time and at one moment
or another I explain some things. As instance, the plants from the Square are
gelatinous because they're dripped with acid. But does it drip just like that,
without reason, without being noise? Not because the Square are gelatinous
because they're dripped with acid. But does it drip just like that, without
reason, without being noise? Not because the Square is deregulated or
better - sensitised, and the noise of the vegetation's growth disturbs it.
They're having a permanent war. And then, how would it react at a flute
sound?
It's already too late. Mahop is singing mirthfully and his eyes are
laughing. They aren't suicides eyes and still I'm terrified. And when I hear
the rain's swish I scream and then the flood unleashes. He laughs:
"Cover yourself with me!"
"Crack your ... ."
He throws himself upon me in the last second and covers me. Then
he put the flute in his mouth and goes on singing cheerfully. It's raining
acidly, the floor's bone sizzles, the rock-bush is liquefying and I scream
crazed of scare, then I shut up overwhelmed and close my eyes. And he
laughs. Laughs!
Till the rain stops. Is quiet again. Mahop is motionless. A bitter taste,
of vomit, comes, up my throat. Why did he do it?
"What mate? You've done in your pants?"
I push him scared and retread on my elbows. He's alive, full and
untouched.
"You've got it now? The aura - it's on me!"
I looked at him terrified, then I cool down because a voice tells me:
Aura - it's on him!"
"Hey, hey, hey, d'you mean it didn't touch you? You're ... ."
"In a single piece? Yes! Like nothing happened ... ."
"But, where is it?"
"On me."
"Where? I can't see it."
"I told you - it's invisible. If you touch it with little speed and if you
don't have acidly properties, for example", he laughs craftily, "it doesn't
react. Pure and simple, you can't see it and can't feel it."
"It's impossible. And anyway, what's that?"
"I've supposed it's a defence reaction of the Carami against various
attacks. Against bones butterflies, for instance."
"A Carami's product! Phenomenal! How did you find it?"
 42

"That's it, mate. That's the information. However", he bents

mysteriously over me, "we still don't know everything, either. We're still
researching."
I keep quiet and chew the ideas. There are more than one problems
and I choose the easiest one of them:
"Who are 'we'?"
"Isn't your business."
The calm riposte leaves me open-mouth. That's what I need if I'm an
idiot, but I pass over indignation and change the subject:
"All right, Mahop ... ."
"The exchange, mate. I want my payment."
"Ah, the payment."
I'm thinking feverishly. Shall I still tell him? Who are they? If is not
all right I'll deal with him?
"Yoo-hoo, somebody here?"
"All right. The information is that I'm going Outside. The proposition:
if you want to come with me."
He laughs and I don't know why:
"Come on, sell me something cleverer."
"I admit is not of your information's importance, but how could I
know from the beginning what do you have. You've agreed."
"Wait, wait a minute. Are you serious?"
"About what?"
"You're going Outside!"
"Yap!"
"How's that, have you been banished?"
"No. I'm just going. A little expedition", I add with an important air.
He's confused and looks askance at me:
"Tell me, would you want to come with me?"
"I don't know."
"Are you busy?"
"No, but... ."
"Then, what's the problem? A little walk. You do it frequently. You
could guide me!"
"That's a lie!"
"What?"
"We've never gone out. We're afraid of exterior like everybody else."
"Then, who cleans the cupola? People from the city says that you."
"Ain't us. Mother's vulbs if I know who could be, or if is somebody."
"But, anyway, your unadapted at city's life and you've gone closer to
the light. Then, what's the problem? Come on Outside, to the light."
He keeps silent then smiles wide and hypocritically:
 43
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
"What the mother's skin! Come on Outside, Morminiu. When are we
going?"
"Tomorrow morning, at dawn, well meet at the West Mouth."
"Deal, mate. West Mouth."
As was expected, he didn't come. And I tell myself: these unadapteds
have for sure a problem. But is not the adaptability to the life on the
Carami's bottom.

A.
The Ritual is an exclusively masculine tradition. The friliras' soul is
not capable of transmigration and more, of soul inheritance. From the
coreulidic point of view the friliras are hermetic beings, evolved toward the
abyssal, completely different than frilirs. That is why the Father-Sky has left
the Law for His sons: "It is the suicide sacrilege the frilir's try to
transmigrate into frilira's soul."
The Ritual is meant to prepare the soul of the frilir who is going to
die, for entering into the frilir who is going to taste him. It is said that it has
an age that exceed the birth of our holy Royal Carami.
First of all, the recipes to be conceived minutely in concordance to
the type of frilir to who is referred. It has to rouse the appetite first to the
inheritor of the soul, then to the cooked one for pushing him to a spiritual
auto-eating that will help him for the transmigration. Secondly, the
preparation will be made in the awareness of it by the dying frilir till that
limit that can be borne by him, because we cannot allow to a soul to become
crazy before its entrance into the inheritor. But as long is the consciousness
preparation period, as efficient will be the transmigration. Finally, the tasting
must take place inside the Ritual's limits, the whole cooked body following
to be eat by the inheritor and the head offered as gift.
Feel it fully and have an easy transmigration. Peace in soul with your
brother!
(From "Teachings of the Recipearial Revolution", by Great Master Recipear
of the Green Kingdom - Morminiu)

V. The Attempt

The return from the subterranean lakes, vestiges of the big lake that
had covered one thousand years ago three quarters of the Carami, meant
 44

walking on a road which he had crossed hundreds of times before. The

marking signs of the route's tunnels and tubes resisted with difficulty and
had to be renewed monthly, due to the fact that the phosphorescent lichens
marks were slowly, but surely, eaten by the thick slime that was crawling
blindly on the subterraneans bone.
He entered the last and biggest tunnel, where he had succeeded to fix
even glow-worms on the walls. They were protected with bony screens
which surrounded them perfectly. He had stretched to them conductor
nerves - obtained against a recipe from Mahop - this way assuring a
permanently functioning of them. He had even asked the drunkard where
could the nerves be extracted from, but this one had laughed shortly as
reply. The unadapteds were certainly a force.
So that, in the tunnel, at a strong light, he could observe the Carami's
skeleton structure, being aware that this part hadn't represented the general,
but more a zone situation. This walls were formed of thousands of thin
bones, glued through rough cartilage. The comparison with a fence of
deformed and curved poles, stuck with mud, was the most adequate. Some
artery, thick like an arm or even thicker, furrowed unexpectedly the wall like
a nailed snake, pulsing arithmicly beneath the thick and dirty skin. In some
places, pieces of muscle - grown directly on the coldness of the walls -
contracted, their territory being avoided carefully by the flowing slime in a
continuously expansion. In other places, some bone from the wall spoiled its
geometry curving in an unexplained way at a certain distance over the
joining with the muddy-muscular soil. And some of these bones had been
broken there where they hadn't respected anymore the order by who knows
what creatures of the depths. Through the breaks their marrow had drained,
gathered bunch and pulsing under the pressure of an interior force.
He stumbled, succeeding hardly to not fall. He opened his lips of
cheerfulness in the most stupid way, trying to cancel the effect of the fright
from the first moment. He breathed deeply, then remained frozen, only ears.
It was just an impression or he really had heard something? His gills, folded
completely on his lungs, hung wrinkled on one and the other side of his
head.
He could hear something, but what kept him on a spot was that he
could see something: on his right side was a break in the wall's graphic. An
entrance, however, a large opening protected by a flesh curtain. It was not
an illusion, but he knew it hadn't been there before. He stared excited and
disgusted in the same time, only not that gastronomic disgust determined by
the gastrophisa, but the vomic disgust of horror. The curtain looked like a
vagit, or more precisely, like a wanton plateau without vulbs and the whole
delight's fauna that adorned it so sensual at friliras.
The fur on his back rose and laid as the waves of scare and curiosity
 45
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
passed him. The horny plates from his shoulders slid finally over his
stomach and digestive system, pressing them and driving away the nausea
that was rummaging his bowels. He spat bile. He made the decisive step
toward the entrance, cursing his education that always pushed him to search
and not to run.
He pushed the fleshy curtain with the sword for not touching his skin
of it and entered hesitatingly, but forgetting the cautions. He remained
riveted on the threshold under new waves of horror. In a bath of reddish
light - inducing the impression that on the raw flesh walls flowed streams of
blood -, on the front wall was stuck a frilira. Her vulbs were open to
maximum, almost it could be said - over-maximum -, giving the sensation
that they began from her neck to between her legs. Her vulbs were stretched
and glued on the wall, showing that her wanton plateau was probably in a
grotesque coupling with an over-dimensioned spiked plain, that was born
directly from the Carami.
The frilira had an harmonious body, with white skin stretched
perfectly on her back, finer than silk. Her lithe legs were buried up to her
ankles in slime. A swollen vein was writhing from the point where her legs
joined her body to one of her armpits, then coiled several times on her arm.
A pressing groan was emerging from the walls on a sonorous back-
ground of liquid festering from a huge wound. The frilira contorted slowly
with the obvious intention of turning her head. Morminiu was panting with
his fur wet of sweat. In the last moment he rushed out backway through the
fleshy curtain, which had started to stick on him like a warm and humid
tongue.
He began to run toward the tunnel's end, oscillating between horror
and the happiness of having set the glow-worms. He climbed up the ladder -
made of round and knotty bone and sprang into the Palace. He flung the trap
door back. Breathing jerkily he seated on it. The sombre abandoned wing
with its walls' scum frozen in obscene or sathalic bulges wasn't now more
than a place where children had smeared the walls. And the light, the weak
greenish light which penetrated through the muddy vents, was a heavenly
blessing.
He blinked dizzily between relief and vomit shivers and rose, only
then noticing he still had on him his sword and rucksack. He had got used
through education to never leave his sword, but he may stuck on the
rucksack in an welcome instinct.
He straightened with his legs shaking to the room where he had lived
and now he kept it as laboratory. He opened heavily the door and entered.
He drew out the false memoric storeroom, found hardly saliva to spit
the identifying membrane, and finally the processing unity made its
appearance. He caught feverishly the functioniric fulgus and coupled it to
 46

his terminal lobe, concentrating his whole attention to record all that he had
seen, heard, smelled and touched, while his state of shock kept his
impressions freshly. After a while the images would have been distorted and
his sensations would have been imbued by subjectivism. He would followed
to analyse later what had happened, when he could face the discovery with
a clear mind. Even that the reason's voice, which in time had got Plabos'
voice, warned him that every being had its secrets, and if that being is
complexly organised - on a higher plateau of evolution, then its secrets were
harder to be born. It was better that everyone remained with his secrets,
sometimes even those being unbearable. And then, who could resist to the
horror of the Carami's mysteries.
In the end he decoupled, hid the unity and laid in the hammock. In
short time he fell into a deep sleep.

***
He was planning to arrive as soon as possible in his flat, to wash
himself and go to bed. His head was heavy and a sensation of nausea and
distension made his state more unbearable. On the way, he took off his
clothes, which weighted tons, remaining only with the sword that was fixed
on his back in two plaits. He had never left the Faithful Donasa, how his
mentor called his sword that later he had offered to him. It was any noble's
tradition, and Plabos had imposed it to him even since childhood. This way,
he didn't feel anymore his weapon's weight. It was like a part of his body -
numbed by tiredness, even he had constrained himself to forget. At least
momentarily.
A blade split the air about his nose, did a curve after his miss and
recovered, trying to hit him in horizontal plane. Dizzy because of the flash
in front of his eyes, Morminiu fell on his back, but like a spring, his muscles
strained and his fall turned into a short somersault. When he rose, his
opponent - wearing a suit he couldn't recognise yet, due to his persisting bad
state - entered in guard and went immediately to attack. His hand slipped
automatically to his sword and he parried without difficulty the next blow.
The violent impact awoke him and he perceived the danger's reality in the
next fraction of a second, when he parried for the second and the third time
his attackers classic strikes. He was clearly a novice, who hadn't passed the
first lessons. Morminiu lowered his body, parried, then turned the sharp
edge and hit in a classic style for his hit to be parried up, far from the body.
His sword slipped like a snake and penetrate the body exactly under the
stomach, in the nervous belt without muscles or bones, in order to cut him
exactly on his belt through a continuously twist, splitting the opponent's
body into two parts.
He push with his leg the streaming corpse, and with all his senses
 47
Reciparium/Gurgu/2
alerted he went on towards the central body of his Palace. But nobody cut
his way anymore. The high and round doors - made of yellowed bone,
carved on every tiny piece - of the Great Hall were wide-open. He stepped
on their frame and stopped. Instantly he made the connection between the
killed soldier's suit and the colours from Harissh Tathar's clothes, who
waited for him leant against a twisted column - wrapped in wool of sphere-
fish.
"Great Harissh, I'm glad of your presence in my house. But, where is
that helpless servant who left you waiting without treating you with
anything?" asked impassively Morminiu.
"Don't worry, my dear Morminiu. I managed without the imbecile,
even I'm waiting for quite a long and I have to admit it - what I mostly hate
in my life are the waitings. But, do you keep in mind to talk like that, at
distance?"
In the same he heard steps in his back and from the shadow heaved
into sight six soldiers with their swords prepared.
"You honoured me, not a joke!" tried a delay Morminiu, but Tathar
was already straightening to him with his sword out and followed by
another five soldiers.
One of the first six attacked. Morminiu turned, slipped under him,
then he rose with his sword dropping red. The imprudent attacker fell stock-
still. In the next second, all the others five - remained on the corridor,
jumped on him all at once. Morminiu was forced to retreat a few steps, then
he counter-attacked as quick as lightning and another two enemies stroke
the floor.
Tathar with the five ones in the Great Hall were waiting, while the
last three from the corridor sprang again in offensive, this time in four times
of hitting, things that determined Morminiu to enter into the Hall,
approaching dangerously the second group. But he couldn't fight back,
because a heavy net fell over him and in the first shock he crumbled down
on the floor. The soldiers pounced upon him. In a few seconds he was
bound hand and foot and thrown near a column. A little bit further, behind a
bench, laid Totin, senseless.
"I think it's time to thank you for hospitality, usurper. But, it will be a
longer thanks, and if Leomi can hear me now, shouldn't think I'm revenging
him. He was a fool to let himself eaten by you, a stinking bumpkin!" uttered
Tathar accentuating the words, especially the 'eating' thing, knowing it was
the greatest offence to call this way the tasting of a Dish and more, a
transmigration. Eating was only a pure physiological gesture, which hadn't
anything in common with the gastronomic art.
"So, let Leomi hear as well: when I'm going to kill you I'll do it with
double satisfaction knowing I'll also kill him. And now, thank them, boys."
 48

Two soldiers drew him by his feet, lying him by the column. The
floor's bone was lukewarm, maintaining a constant temperature in the room.
Morminiu was watching calmly the ceiling, searching desperately in mind a
solution. He was tied without any chances of escaping. The servant was
lying as well, perhaps after a thanks' session. Were still the cook and the
gardener, which he hadn't seen, yet. But, who knew if they hadn't received
their portion too. And anyway, he didn't put his hope in their fidelity.
A frilir wrapped in a black mantle - made of an expensive vegetable
material and embroidered with black silk, that Morminiu hadn't noticed until
then, detached himself from an armchair and came closer. Tathar's soldiers
went away respectfully, while the Harissh grinned, expressing satisfaction.
The unknown guy bent and seemed to study Morminiu for long, then, with a
hand smelling strongly of dusk flower, he touched his face, caressed his
lungs, seemed to weight in palm his gills and after, he lowered his fingers
with delicate gestures towards Morminiu's neck and massaged lightly his
stomach. About his vulbs he thrilled and retreated his hand.
Morminiu tried to recognise him, but the frilir was well masked. The
only fingerprint was the strong smell of perfume which surely was hiding
something. Meanwhile, the frilir rose and drew out from under his mantle a
small container.
He stirred it vigorously, opened the top and bent it. Whistling in
contact with the air, two drops of liquid fell directly on Morminiu's swollen
lungs, leaving two red, sizzling traces. The recipear screamed shocked by
pain and tried to roll, but the soldiers brought him back in kicks. Other two
drops fell on his other lung, making Morminiu to writhe like a one
possessed.
"Morminiu boy", began Tathar ironically, "I thought better and I think
we could be a little bit impolite and renounce at thanks, only if you'd tell me
where you keep your recipes."
"You'd need ten lives to read them all and anyway, with your taste
you won't understand anything", threw panting Morminiu, regretting in the
same moment the foolish arrogance he just had displayed. He realised it's
only a small postpone. He wished a delay of the sentence hoping in a hair-
breadth's escape.
The soldiers took off his boots, while the mysterious frilir turning his
back, prepared the next instrument of torture.
Suddenly, an infernal noise filled the room for being followed by a
thunderous bang. The Palace's gates had been flung and was trying their
quickly bolting. Only now Morminiu realised that he permanently had heard
a rumble of voices, dimmed by the thick, phonic insulated, walls. An officer
came running into the Hall:
"Your Highness", he addressed to Tathar, "the crowd has surrounded
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Reciparium/Gurgu/2
the Palace. They've already occupied the front yard and ask for Morminiu".
The Harissh reddened and looked confused around:
"Are they many?"
"Several thousands."
"But, how did they found out?"
"Maybe, you don't come in visit to a Hitissh with so many soldiers,
Your Greatness."
"You're right", murmured Tathar frowning.
He wrinkled his lips of concentration and a respectful silence fell on
the Hall, allowing to the outside rumble to be heard clearly.
"Check the other exits from the Palace!"
The officer exited hurriedly, without a word.
"Let's just kill him and run away", concluded the Harissh.
The masked frilir approached Tathar and whispered something in his
ear. The two of them emerged from the room almost running. At least at the
moment Morminiu breathed with relief. He looked around seeking a
solution. The rope had resisted to his writhing and the place was filled with
soldiers.
One of the Harissh people opened a vent on the central corridor for
supervising the crowd, and the rumble invaded strongly the Palace. Furious
voices and hot screams, which repeated incomprehensible slogans. But
suddenly, a general roar stroke his ear-drums and the noise - amplified for a
moment ten times, turned into an absolutely silence. All the soldiers looked
terrified at each other.
Morminiu began to breath jerkily, filling strongly his lungs, almost
forgetting the pain, being shocked at the moment by the horrible roar.
He rounded his eyes and stretched his lips of hope, then he loosened
himself and lowered his eyelids. He had forgotten why was silence in the
Palaces' places and why the frilirs never gathered in these places. At a too
noisy activity, Carami himself retorted starting an acid rain meant to banish
the turbulent crowd and to remake the phonic balance. The balance had
been damaged irreversibly decades ago in the Silence Square and since
then, the sensitised place had overreacted. This was the official version,
which didn't make any reference to the strange fact that the phonic balances
counted only in the Palaces' places.
"Shall we have some good time, bumpkin?" Tathar asked him when
he returned into the Hall. He radiated satisfaction. His lungs were swollen
from behind his ears onto his neck, ready to burst under the protector skinny
cover.
The black mantle came by him, prepared to start the operations. He
felt him shaking of excitement and in that moment his stomach climbed up
suddenly into his mouth and he threw it up on the nicely polished shoes of
 50

the masked frilir.

"Cracking your vulbs!" this one broke out furiously and surprised
meantime, going away of him in a hurry.
Morminiu started and pricked up his ears. The voice had seemed
known to him, but he didn't know where from. The mask didn't talk
anymore, only grumbled something for himself. He thought hearing Tathar
saying a certain word, but he wasn't sure what he had heard.
"You're in big trouble, moron!" came back high-spirited the Harissh.
"I think he's mad now. You haven't been good boy."
"I tell you where could you find my recipes, but only if you kill me
immediately, after."
The noble turned, surprised. After a few seconds of silence, he asked:
"Where?"
"Untie my feet. I'll lead you there."
"We can manage alone."
"You'll never find them. How you wish!" did Morminiu indifferently,
then he fell back breathing heavily.
Tathar approached the masked frilir and began to speak whispering,
but still before they finished the same officer interrupted them:
"My Lords, Taharissh Comtap is coming here. He is accompanied by
numerous royal guard and is wearing the green ribbon."
"Impossible, he's coming as the King's Trust?" Tathar asked,
astonished.
But the agitation started without anybody answering him. The black
mantle talked to him a few seconds at his ears and went away hurriedly. The
Harissh left four soldiers with Morminiu, then exited the Hall and closed its
doors. He spread his people through the rooms and corridors, and entered
into the lobby, where he left the doors wide open. After a moment, the
Palace's gates resounded of bangs. The soldiers unlocked them and
Taharissh Comtap, the King's Trust, the Counsellor of the Throne, entered
the reception hall.
"Where is Hitissh Morminiu?" he asked with penetrating voice,
straightening exactly to the Great Hall.
From the lobby, Tathar emerged in a hurry.
"Aa, Your Lordship Comtap!" he did, surprised.
"Yes, Tathar. I have a royal message for the Hitissh and I want to
hand it over. Now!"
"Leave it to me and I'll hand it over when he'll be back", uttered
quickly Tathar. "I'm waiting for him quite a long time. It's a walker, this
boy!"
"The King wishes to speak to him now, Harissh Tathar", said Comtap
stressing the words and heading decisively to the Great Hall.
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Tathar came into his way and smiled peacefully:
"Your Lordship doesn't trust me I'll give the message?"
"Now, Tathar!" raised his voice the Taharissh and made a sign to the
royal guard, who pounced immediately on the Harissh.
"All right, all right!" this one raised his arms stopping them. Then he
added sourly: "But be short, because I was just treating a business matter
here."
Comtap shrugged and passed him, the others opening wide the Hall's
doors. Morminiu tried to rise and lean against the column:
"Your Highness", he started but the Taharissh made him a sign to
keep silence and the royal soldiers came closer. With quick gestures they cut
the ropes and raised him from the floor. They sustained him a few seconds,
until he remained on his feet.
"Your Grace ...", started again Morminiu.
"He's lying!" Tathar cut him shortly.
"I ...", he tried again.
"He's lying, Your Lordship", intervened in return the Harissh and said
dryly: "Hand him the message of His Majesty and excuse us, please, to
allow us to continue our negotiations."
The Taharissh looked darkly at Tathar, then he raised the royal
message and in the Hall fell the silence:
"Through the Will of our Great Sovereign, the Most Wise and All-
powerful 16th Green King, Khathron Khat, over-named the Recipear King,
Hitissh Morminiu, Master Recipear of Lormont House, is named today -
Recipear of the Royal Court, full member of the Table of the Six Royal
Recipears."
"No!" said Tathar shaking furiously.
"Your Lordship Harissh, talk to much in the presence of His
Majesty's Word", cut his lan Comtap and Tathar shivered, frightened,
raising his fur. He was considered almost the most important frilir at the
Court, but it was well-known that in exercise of his function, Comtap was a
prolongation of the royal authority and that the King spoke through the
Taharissh' mouth and the Taharissh through the King's mouth.
"I ask for forgiveness", murmured quietly Tathar.
"Tomorrow, Your Lordship, Hitissh Morminiu, are invited to come to
the Court and take your function. You will be subordinated to Harissh
Tathar, Master Recipear of the Court and you will listen ONLY to the King's
word. Harissh Tathar, the King ordered you to prepare until tomorrow the
ceremony of handing the powers and to name the Recipear who is guilty of
not exercising decorous his function, thus making room at the Table of the
Six. The guilty one will be exiled to a provincial court."
Tathar bent shortly and exited followed by his soldiers. Morminiu
 52

waited till they went out, then said simply:

"Thank you, Your Grace. You've come right in time."
"Don't thank me, but the King. He wants you alive. From tomorrow
you'll start together the reciperial lessons. I hope for your sake to rise to the
expectations."
"Don't worry, the King will be satisfied."
"Then, tomorrow we wait for you at the Court", finished coldly
Comtap and retreated.
The Palace remained silent with its gates wide open. From what he
had noticed before had being caught, the rooms had been turned upside
down by the Tathar's soldiers. Totin was still lying and groaning quietly
behind the coach. He didn't know how serious had been hurt. In rest was
quiet and loneliness.
He was Royal Recipear!
He sighed and straightened to Totin.
He was Royal Recipear.

5.
When I am restless I fly through Darkness. "Fly" it is a way of
saying. In fact, I fling myself into the nothing and start floating. Sometimes I
float for quite a while and when I'm fed up I stop myself. I'm never moving.
At least in the vital meaning of the word. My acting space is practically
unlimited. When I don't want anymore passivity, I go. I don't have a target, I
don't have location points, it doesn't exist a leaving point, nor an arrival one.
But is something else when I dive in the subconscious. There are
places where jumble known and unknown things, generations old, which are
hidden to the awake conscious for who knows what obscure reasons, or
new things arrived there in the last time. And all of them are connected to
exterior reality. Existences. Not one thought, sentiment, not any idea,
nothing connected to possible or imagination, or I don't know what. To art.
The recipes, for instance, arrive here stony realities. They just fall, stir a lot
of dust and remain stuck on the bottom. The most foul and heavy things -
the art works. In time, they have to leave their places for new comers. They
become lighter and begin to jumble as well.
There is also a barrier. On the other side like a brick-coloured smoke,
a thick mist, that hide what is there. The forbidden zone? When I try to step
beyond it I find myself here again, with my back to the barrier. Like I have
emerged from there. It tortures me the mortal's foolish curiosity that before
knowing all that is here, to know what's there. In fact, it's not curiosity,
there's not a brick-coloured dust or mist, there are no light or heavy things,
jumbling, barrier, everything is different. I mean, it looks like being
something, and still is something else. I too, I look otherwise, different. I
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look?"
First time I was scared (if scare was it!) when they, the others, came.
In Up, in Darkness, in the Acting-Space-Practically-Unlimited, sometimes
comes into being a 'meeting zone', where the darkness from inside me, and
from inside the one that dwells in me, and from the ones that dwell in him
who dwells in me, all of those existing somehow inside me, merge together
and everything is one in the 'meeting zone'. They appeared there, those
being in me for whole generations, leaded by the last entered - my Master. I
remember his mortuary recipe, I didn't like it at all, I ate it reluctantly. On
the other hand he was too old and had a hard flesh. But after that we
managed very well. His presence cheered me. He was a ginger soul that I
always assimilated with a frilira. Their visit was for aquitance, vaguely,
more known then felt. They came from another beyond. I don't know where
is that. Momentarily I'm afraid to follow them - I'm still connected to the
outside world.
And is still this boy - Morminiu, whom I have to help. Now we're
two souls in one body. It's a petty I can't cross the barrier. Maybe, beyond it
he gives birth to his thoughts and I could be beside him in tough times, as
their midwife. Even now I'm not sure what I want more - for him to
succeed, or to revenge me! I mean, I have invested twenty years of
education in him .... But, what else I was supposed to do? I think that's the
best thing when you can transfer your science, emotions, your knowledge to
someone, when you have a successor. I thought this, I think this. I wish to
help him getting rid of my revenge, but I don't know.

***

My name is Plabos and I'm not afraid of you! They beat me with rods
over my vulbs - "Maybe they will wake up!", the flocks giggle in the
Darkness. But I don't have vulbs, I don't have anymore, Plabos is my name
and I'm not afraid of you!
I saw her through Morminiu's eyes, alongside with the traitor, and I
drove mad. I was making a mistake ... . I made a mistake determining the
boy to go in that damned place. Since I saw her again, in the Darkness fly
hither and thither when I wasn't expecting ..., when I'm not expecting, flocks
of Donasas. I mean they aren't flocks of Donasas, but I can't name them
otherwise.
I hardly keep myself together for not did ... doing some stupid thing
and compromise Morminiu. I'm proud of him: an artful kid and wise like a
ten-times-animated-one. I don't remember anymore what does it mean, but I
remember its meaning, the comparison, the essence ... . Sometimes I feel
petty for him, because I torture him with shameful impulses and because
 54

I've burdened him with my problems.

Flocks of Donasas giggle and beat me with rods over my vulbs:
"Maybe they will wake up!". My name is Plabos and I'm not afraid of you.
Go to Sathaly!

***

I discovered something interesting. In that subconscious aerate

jumbles flew very high, almost fading away. I told myself that I have to start
the research from up to down, for not loosing any useful information.
Useful? The kid's system is still determining me.
I was discovering something interesting ... . I discovered. Morminiu
comes from royal descent. Thus, I can explain his more developed gills, his
taller stature and more reddish skin.
Almost a millennium ago, Chathron the Conqueror invaded the Royal
Carami, defeating its inhabitants form those times - the frilirs with red
heads, whom he banished from the city. They had been the Carami's first
inhabitants and had lived there when the monster had been still full of water.
Chathron was the founder of the Green Kingdom and the first Green King.
The frilirs with red head run out of the country, remaining only in the far-off
zones of the swamps and mixing there with the invaders.
From the jumbles existing at the top limit outcomes that Morminiu is
the descendant in straight line of Bartrabar, the King with red head,
beheaded as a punishment for resistance. For the history of Morminiu's kind
since that moment, I shall seek the jumbles in the height order where they
are.
What is life! Yesterday (yesterday!? The kid's system is still
determining me), Morminiu has been introduced to the Court. The two
direct descendants of the two enemy kings, face to face. One old, impotent
and sterile, the other young, powerful, in full ascension. And none of them
knew. Life of shit!

***

When I'm restless I fly through Darkness and I see her through his
eyes. But now, the Darkness is more dense, it enters into my mouth
(mouth!), it chokes me. I'm growing, I'm growing bigger, I'm trying to float,
but my body (body!?) is writhing. Not my body, but two enormous and thick
vulbs, immense, gigantic, huge, immeasurable, which scarcely hide a spiked
plain. No, the Monstrous Spiked Plain. Monstrous in its virility and its fury.
I'm a Spiked Plain big like a city, full with towers and palaces with
toothed roofs, with seething fauna, and which is waiting the flocks of
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Donasas. Now, Plabos can't be beaten over the vulbs anymore, because
there aren't rods so big. Now, Plabos will hole you, rip you, tatter you ... .
Look, the Donasas!
I prey upon it and hear its groan and another flock is coming and I
hear its groan and another flock is coming and I hear its groan and another
flock is coming ... .
The Darkness is taller than has ever been before. I don't have what
for to descend anymore, the subconscious is Morminiu's, not mine, and I pry
into other people's business.
I don't have any meaning here. My Brothers of Soul are calling me
from another beyond. I'm not interested anymore in revenge upon Leomi,
but I have no more power for being heard by Morminiu. My Brothers are
calling me ... calling ... .
I think I'll pass beyond, but I'll come back to see how is my kid
doing. I'm feeling good, in peace with myself (myself?!). The Darkness has
been ... is taller than ever and I have to climb up till ... . What does it mean -
till?
Plabos - self consciousness.

R. The Frilolir's Nectar (Sentimental Recipe)

This recipe opens a new chapter, something special, in my book. It

does not suppose anything else in the introductory part, than two
preparators. Not necessarily recipears, but obligatory an he and a she.
Therefore, we will pass rapidly to the Preparation Story.
It is dusk and the water boils in the cast-iron kettle, on the lake's
shore. The huge solar globe, already half-hidden, disperses fire sweat over
the world. Flowers with red petals soften in the broth. The lake seems a
gold plate on fire and you stretch your long and thin legs on the shore. On
fire. You bend, watch, you are motionless, quick as a flash you thrust your
hand and draw out a thick snake which coils crazed by red and fear on your
arm. I am solemn and with only one move I chop off its skull that falls in the
cast-iron kettle. You drain all its blood with prolonged movements along its
body and the last sun-rays stirs it in the broth. After you throw away its
carcass, if you have stained yourself with blood do not hesitate to dry
yourself on your thighs. But do not forget you have to sink your hands in the
lake's water and to wait for the fat and lazy golden fishes to appear. Their
 56

flesh knows everything about love. As the snake blood knows to bind the
souls. Catch the golden fishes, they cannot escape you and let them fall into
the cast-iron kettle. Furious bubbles will play with them. Do not wallow in
the grass before we finish the recipe. Your cloth has raised and the
bloodstained fingers' traces hurt the white skin's silk. Come back near the
cast-iron kettle, otherwise I cannot continue the preparation. Why are you
afraid? After the fire that has overcome the horizons follows the dark. It is
like of velvet. But till then we need to bind the broth with our tears. I
sprinkle white dust on fire and the smoke rises thick and smarting. We catch
each other's arms with our heads bent over the cast-iron kettle, and the
starving smoke brings tears in our eyes. You sweat and have a hard flesh.
My hand strains on your arm. I still have a few tears to offer. It is already
night. It is getting cold and it smells of grass and flowers, heated by the sun
and rummaged by bare-feet. Because we will be barefoot. And when the
dark comes through the last day reflections, I pour a little bit nectar of soft
light. How important is to see your soul! Your shapes outline dark on
obscurity decor. You have to be hear with your hot spirit when the wind will
come. Soon, will come the wind. Chose a star and show it to me. Hold out
your arm upward to the furthest star and arch your silhouette. Yes, there, I
see it. Show it to me once more to be sure I am not wrong. No, you have a
perfect body. I promise you the star and I mix the promise in the broth. Well
enough for you to never forget it. I gather the useless scum and throw it far
away. I pour the cast-iron kettle's content into the precious mug, oiled with
pollen, which I have brought especially. It can be use juts once. After that I
shall break it. I do not know why, but it is a beautiful custom. The Sky's
Daughters smile to me. They promise me something and I laugh, and you
are looking at me. Your look is pure, but not naive, your smile voluptuous,
but not perverse. I told you the wind will start to blow. I place the mug with
the nectar on small fire. It shall boil gentle and we get close to each other.
To protect you from the wind. And when it will be too cold I will give you
to sip from the hot nectar. I will do the same. I will turn you with your face
to me. I will warm you up. We will remain gathered one into the other for
long. Was not like that at the beginnings? A frilir and a frilira joined in one?
A frilolir? But, they have been separated. Faith?! for seeing what is the birth.
For ever. Since then the friliras give always birth, and the frilirs taste, for
coming back to the primordial unity, to the frilolir. But we will not repeat
their mistake, isn't it?
The nectar has begun to have effect.

(From "Recipearial Revolution", by Great Master Recipear of the Green

Kingdom - Morminiu)
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VI. Friliras' House

He detached from the crowd and entered the Fertility Square. He

stepped heavily, looking at the top of his shoes: a white wave of shinny
bone, a black wave of matt bone. A step was about a wave. He straightened
to the Fountain which gave the name of the square. On its edge a few frilirs
cooled their feet. One of them laughed happily: he had got a frilira. He
arrived in front of them. She had the nose too big and wasn't enthusiast at
all.
He looked upwards, into the diffuse light filtered through the
Carami's back. The statue was a scream of victory, beauty and grandeur.
The Mother-Frlira rising triumphantly over a heap of swarming bodies,
being surprised in the birth moment. Her body split in two, showing to the
world two new born, beaming faces. From the places where the splting
hadn't been accomplished yet, the water flowed filling the oval pool from
the base. Lies over lies. A birth was a terrible thing. but the Mother-Frilira's
legend was beautiful.
He breathed deeply, rearranged the cage under the mantle and headed
decidedly to the only gate which was open in the Square. He had approved
at the King's insistences to obey to the law and make a contract with the
Friliras House for a wife. A day before, the answer had arrived and the
invitation for coming to take his lady. The ceremony following to take place
in his Palace, under the Secret Oath of Intimacy.
He hadn't liked the expression: for coming to take his lady. What
lady, or why they wouldn't deliver her directly home? The impression of
something cert, preestablished, angered him. He intended to speak to
Mother's Council and in this purpose he had brought the cage with the
tonger caught in the Carami's depths. To relent them, even he liked better to
say: to force their hand.
It was the only bird in the city. Because, the tonger was no longer a
simple tonger. He had turned due to the change of air, food and light
conditions, into a tree-bird. At the beginnings, its tongs had covered with a
thick and short hair. After a while it hadn't move anymore and in the end he
had noticed that it had developed roots. Vigorous roots which had broken
the cage bone and after a time a fine web which hung full of small and red
balls. It was an air-root, not a ground one. Whit it, the creature caught mice
or insects, and sucked them till they dry. Its hair had fallen and had grown
feathers. And the shell had softened and wrinkled, starting to deform itself.
At the end it stabilised at the shape of a small tree in miniature, maimed by
hollows full of lots of little green-phosphorescent eyes, and crowned with
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six wings-branches. You shouldn't be covered by fondness. At the smallest

mistake, its red wings fluttering graceful would turn into a trap - it hadn't
given up its tongs. When it was bored, it sang. It contorted its trunk and
gave out some high-pitched and wailing sounds. As the only bird in the city
it was the most suited gift for the Mothers.
A low fence, made of fangs curving outside, surrounded the Friliras
House's gardens. The gate was open. Beyond the fence and the gate raised a
wall of shrubs. Of course you could pass easily the wall as well - who might
rise against the Perpetuation Guild? But it hid the Palace to the view.
He was eager. He covered the radiant white alley and passed the
wall. He had two variants: a path to the left protected further on by the
compact row of shrubs, or the same white alley to the right, which hit
visibly in open space, probably in front of the Palace. He wanted to see it in
a whole. He was curious and eager. But he stopped. Everything was too
easy. Why was that path to the left? He turned back and followed it.
He entered the shrubs labyrinth. They were too high for him to see
over them the Palace's roof. After a few ways round, he stepped on a new
alley, of bone mosaic, worked in colours of green, dark red, melancholic
orange, black and a lot of yellow. It was reproduced in it the birth of the
First Mother from the Fertile Sky. It had been the unique multiple birth, a
legend without correspondent in reality. Only one of His Daughters
descended to spread her fruits among the ignorant frilirs, that just then had
discovered the frilira and the erotic pleasure. She also had descended to
spread the faith. the others had remained to sustain their father who was
exhausted after the birth and they had been called the Daughters of the Sky.
That began the beautiful legend of the Mother-Frilira. The road was ending
abruptly, without finishing the story.
He did a few more steps and stumbled over a tread. He had arrived.
he looked surprised and had to bend his head on the back. The narrow and
high door seemed more like a crack into the Place's wall. A bone plate made
of one single plain and shinny piece. he climbed up the stairs without hurry.
It was visible only a small part of the Friliras House. The one that the shrubs
wall allowed. It seemed a very old building, in an unknown architectural
style. It was unique.
He passed the threshold and nobody welcomed him. The politeness
urged him to go to the first parlour and wait the hostess appearance. The
same politeness advised the hostess to leave in this parlour the all necessary
comfort at the first comer disposition, or at least, to leave some servants to
take care of him. So, he followed the way to the first parlour. It was only
one dark and long, ascent corridor. The slope was pretty big. From upstairs
were coming light rays. Vague, but full of courtesy. The walls were stifled
with erotic sculptures, telling the legend further on and teaching (that was
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part of the legend) all love positions in thousands of images. Soon, he left
behind the vent from which was flowing the hospitable drop of light and the
corridor that was making a tight curve remained in darkness.
The statues were visible only like darker shadows. He perceived
worriedly a heavy breath. He tried to do away with the unpleasant sensation
that he was on a monster's respiratory system. When finally the three tight
curves ended, the light came back insinuatingly, then alive from the lighted
torches on the walls, moving with their flames the sculptures. The walls
were wet, water streams flowing through shapes. Something was fluttering
anxiously close by. The image of a bird caught by a snake was superposing
over the bodies - which were contorted in the most bizarre positions.
He halted, surprised. The image had shocked his view, giving him
thrills. A frilira in an ecstatic position, with her head much out of the other
statues line, left over the partner's shoulder. Her face expressed a hardly
imaginable fulfilment. A pleasure that bordered on the madness. Morminiu
shook and tried to control the instinctive reaction of his vulbs. It was one
more detail which was making him shaking. The unreal beauty of the frilira
and the impossible pleasure expressed by the artist were garnished with a
red tongue, contrasting with the statue's bone. The tongue was shivering
among the beast's small and sharp teeth. The shock of the image pushed you
to orgasm.
He held out his hand to break the spell and touched the tongue.
Which licked him warm and moisten. He screamed. He jumped back and
lost his balance. He hardly kept under control his senses and looked back.
But the tongue had disappeared. Stifled sniggers concurred the more and
more anxious flutter. The breathing had become whistled, criss-crossed by
short gasped groans. He tried to look beyond through the mouth's hole and
realised the gesture. he retreated intimidated. The frilira's head was much
out of the line over the frilir's shoulder, without having any point of contact
with the wall. They couldn't play games to him from the other side of the
wall.
He retreated hurriedly. The fur rose on his back staying like a brush.
He didn't observe anymore the scenes on the walls. Something cross his
path twenty feet ahead. He swallowed the knot from his throat and run
there. The wall's hadn't any exit. But it had been over there. Maybe secret
doors? A frilira split from her nape to her feet along the spine, pulling in
force her pair.
He cooled down his breath and noticed - the sculptures had ended. In
their extremity dominated the Father Sky, the Fertile, with his organ open,
ready to receive, image of force and virility, mirrored into a second similar
one. The two representations of the Father concluded both the statues row
and the corridor's curve. Everything ended into a square entrance hall, a
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dark room. He entered. In the left opened another long hall. Strong
lightened and dressed in white cloth. The floor was still of bone.
He stepped inside and any noise remained outside, as he had washed
all of them passing the threshold. Excepting the flutter. He opened the
mantle and calmed down the tonger. He followed the hall and knocked on
the door in the end. But this one was ajar. The politeness reached his
terminus point. He would enter and wait.
The lobby was high and spacious, with a few and extremely old
furniture. Rare antiquities. Real treasures. On the walls were tapestry of
water-spider clothes. The texture showed them to be since the frilirs with
red heads epoch. Morminiu admitted that a cloth worth an unknown recipe.
On a couch was a frilira. She rose when she was noticed. Slender,
delicate, a child. Hesitant and curious, mixture of intelligence and intuition
in the eyes. She was not ugly. Even she had too big teeth and too white skin.
nothing from Donasa's grandeur. She would loose herself on the Mormont
Palace's corridors. she would have been only a small statuette among the
others.
He searched something to wake up his interest. He had been curious,
but just a little. To wake up his wish. He felt bad to stare at her as she was a
picture. It was true, in the middle was a contract. But, why she? In the
contract he hadn't specified the defining elements for them to choose her
like a shirt.
"She is your Chosen, noble Hitissh", could be heard a voice.
Morminiu looked around, but in the room were just they. He did a
few steps for accustom with the situation. Then said, avoiding to look at the
frilira sitting next to the couch:
"Could I speak to the Mothers Council?"
"It doesn't exist any justification for such a request."
"There is and is a very serious one. We've signed a contract. I do
respect it."
"So do us."
"I cannot be obliged to take what you want."
"Don't you like her?"
"Is not about that."
"Then? She is exactly what you need."
"How do you know?"
"On the way here all your reactions have been analysed and has been
drawn a psychic portrait. She is the suited choice for Your Lordship."
"The suited choice will be the one made by me and the Chosen. This
child has seen me for the first time. Does she know if she likes me?"
"We do and it is enough."
"As you knew in Donasa's case."
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The silence fell. The frilira smiled, amused. Morminiu walked
through the room a while, then he looked at her furiously. She had tears in
her eyes. But she was smiling, amused. The recipear stared bewildered, then
he avoided again her eyes.
"You know, I'm sorry ..."
"Yes, Lord Hitissh? How sorry?" he heard a voice closed by .
He turned like burnt. Another frilira entered unheardly. She make a
discrete sign and the Chosen left the lobby sobbing.
"I am Iubila", she presented herself, taking a seat in an armchair near
the window.
The green light gave her a cadaverous pallor, but also a maximum
sobriety. She was the High Priestess herself, the most beautiful frilira in the
Kingdom, the symbol of femininity and fecundity. She wasn't yet a Mother,
even she ran the Council, but she was supposed to become one after the
birth. The father had to be choose through the mystic lottery from a large
number of bachelors, and she wasn't allowed to ever know him. She wasn't
as beautiful, as attractive. This you're tempted to say when she looked
straight at you, smiling sweet-promising. In fact, she was a little bit too cold,
but unimaginable beautiful, you concluded after you had admired her from
the shadow.
"What is your problem, Lord Hitissh?"
Morminiu breathed deeply and tried to concentrate. The tonger was
fluttering irritated under the mantle. He discovered the cage and offered it to
her.
"For Your Ladyship, Iubila."
"I don't think you've brought it for me."
"But now I'm giving it to you. I'd like you to have it."
Without any words she took the cage, looked at the tonger for a few
seconds, then placed it behind her, near the window. Morminiu clenched his
teeth and retreated a few steps, taking a seat into another armchair. The
flesh layer of the armchair hardened feeling his tension.
"So, what was you didn't like?"
"I do not accept others to decide my faith."
"We all have to accept it sooner or later."
"For me it's too sooner."
"We have specialists. We studied your reactions to various stimuli.
We have done you a psychological profile and chosen the most adequate
frilira as education and inclinations."
"Nonsense. Psychology for small spirits. Do you think all that way
here has drawn big thing from me? You have no idea what is here", he
knocked his forehead and rose. "However, nobody decides my life. I'll make
this step, or nobody. Won't decide some specialists who have wronged as
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concern Donasa. What profile they've made me in half an hour, if they've

failed for years with one raised and educated by you. If you don't like this,
we'll cancel the contract."
"You would be obliged to pay compensations."
"False. Reread your contract and you'll notice small changes in your
draft. I have accepted the thing with the psychological profile, but only for
an advise. Accordingly to the deal I have full freedom of choosing."
Iubila reddened and shivered agitated, gathering together her lips, of
indignation:
"How could this happened?"
"The King asked your counsellor. Moreover, by her statute, she has
the right to negotiate."
"Only the price."
"It's another gap in your practice. I'm allowed to choose my wife or to
cancel the contract. After such a welcome I'll better think about and decide."
The Priestess rose tall and thin, outlining herself in the window light.
Image of power. Morminiu was impressed, observing that nothing had been
directed. Iubila emitted power. She looked at him penetratingly.
"I remind you where you are and who you're talking to." She arched
her lips of contempt: "In fact, you are new in the city." She stressed the last
words making a break. She restarted exactly when he was ready to open his
mouth: "You don't know yet our customs here, in the city and, moreover, the
Perpetuation Guild's rules. After you'll learn all these things, we'll come
back with a proposition", she finished with an absent air, sign that the
audience had ended.
She had offended him voluntarily and had accentuated on this thing.
She hadn't told him he was only a peasant, because she was well-mannered
and respected rigorously an etiquette. But she had showed him that
intelligence and culture could be a sharp weapon for those who keep the
etiquette. When they had the force to say some things and the morale don't
stop them. A peasant, a provincial, would collapse in front of such an attack,
not having the psychic power to overpass the common sense. But,
Morminiu smiled disarmingly. She had omitted an essential thing due to her
miss of experience. A peasant hadn't an etiquette to respect, fact that gave
him free hand to tell freely the dirty words she had avoided. And this if
could succeed to notice the offence.
He came close to her and choosing a position as rigid and bulging as
possible, said:
"High Priestess, I have the honour to invite you at dinner in two days,
for discussing the contract matter. At six in the evening a carriage will come
to take you. I have decided about this and I hope you don't have in mind to
enter into a conflict with the Royal word and power."
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He retreated rapidly for not offering the occasion of a late reply. At
the door he still turned and kept hardly a smile, when he noticed her
bewildered expression.
"About the city matter and its rules, we'll continue the subject at
dinner ... if your education allows this thing."
He closed the door immediately and straightened to the main exit. It
was the time to know the facade as well.
"She has really studied all these statues?" he asked himself laughing,
under the puzzled looks of a few friliras groups.

6.
I was anxious to know better the beautiful Priestess. The two days
have passed hard and easy in the same time. There have been days of
waiting and preparation.
In this period happened only one thing that kept my attention. This
morning, the Gardener interrupted me from my preparations, trying to tell
me something in a stammering flood (usually he stays silent for days). He
was very agitated for his age. The workers had finished to clean and
refurbish the south part of the Palace's central body and had moved with
their work in one of the four abandoned wings. it was about a locked room,
they couldn't find the key for and he tried to tell me that something would
happen, that I have to put things right, lord Leomi had been recklessly. He
felt is about the Hark.
"Hark?!" I asked him , bewildered.
"The Lormont House's Hark!" he exclaimed surprised by my
ignorance, then he passed over this: "we finally find it!"
I stopped talking realising I had just few elements for understanding
what about the old man mumbled. The locked room, for which they hadn't
found the key, was the one I had discovered seven months ago in my
wanderings through the Palace. The curiosity and thrill in front of the
mystery urged me this morning again, like then. I searched the key for long,
in the office and in the former apartments of Leomi and Donasa, but without
success. In the same time I took the opportunity to order Totin to pack all
things of the two and give them to the poor. There are a lot of miserable
people walking barefoot and sleeping undressed.
"Now, I'm sure", declared the Gardner with a terrible face. "It is the
Hark!"
He asked me to follow him - there was just one place where the key
could be. Otherwise, it would be a petty for the door. We went in the north
part of the central body of the Palace, which I had avoided especially with
the refurbishment. Mainly, there's a round ball-hall (left by me in dereliction)
 64

with large exits on two superposed terraces, toward the garden. The terraces
were flanked by a high and compact hedge, that reached the windows at the
first floor and stretched along the Palace's walls all along its north side. So,
the only exit in the garden remained the one of the round hall, excepting of
course the staff exit.
He halted on the corridor that surrounded the hall and asked me if I
intended to refurbish that side of the Palace too. I wasn't attracted by the
idea, because I don't like the plants-that-feed-with-shadows and implicitly
the garden. It seemed morbid to me. I answer him that I wasn't sure yet, but
probably I'll repair there as well. I thought at him, old frilir predestined to
the heathen death (nobody would ever taste him), with all his work's fruits
after an entire life of hard working ignored behind the dereliction I left that
side of the Palace. Though neither Leomi had taken too much care. Nobody
could still admire his artistic work - as I had been told.
"Yes, I'll surely refurbish here too", I concluded in the end.
"Then, you won't need this anymore", he said and drew out a big
scissors for gardening, going closer to the corridor wall. With a much rapid
gesture than my shout he tore the paper that masked the yellowed bone. I
hadn't realised until then it was paper, so I kept quiet, curious.
After he finished tearing a pretty big part, he showed me victoriously
two high hall-doors, which had been hidden under the paper. So, the round
hall was neighboured by another hall on its est. side and perhaps by another
one on its west side, hidden because of symmetry reasons. I exclaimed
reaching the ends of my deductions that in fact the hedge hid not the wall,
but the exits from this halls in the garden. A side completely open to the
garden. That gave me another perspective concerning the building. I had to
find out at all costs for what reasons the Palace's north part had fallen in
disgrace.
I discovered the hall dark and smelling of old and humid, in shape of
a snail, covered with a thick layer of dust. I opened wide the doors to get
out the smell and I entered. He drove me directly to a corner where was
sprawled a square pedestal of massive metal - a real eccentricity. Empty and
dusty. He exclaimed satisfied and showed me a key hung on the wall, above
the pedestal.
"Why exactly here?"
"The old Hitissh, lord Leomi's father, was killed in this hall by a paid
assassin. In the front of the Hark."
"Who hired him?"
"Nobody knows. They paid his silence, too."
The Gardner took the key looking contented with the explanations he
had given to me. But I was decided to clear up the things. He hadn't
interrupted me from preparations with a few hours before the important
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meeting, for leaving me down in the end.
"The young Hitissh", he started to explain annoyed, "took the Hark
after his father death and hid it secretly. He said he didn't need anymore a
Hark without powers."
"But, what's the Hark?" I asked him exasperated, cursing in my mind
the moment that Plabos had disappeared from my spirit, leaving me alone
when I mostly needed him.
"In your Lordship country, the people don't have the faith of
Harkers?"
"No."
"Then, everything is in vain."
I blinked bewildered and nervous and finally he felt the duty to tell
me:
"The Hark is a House luck. It is the spiritual core of the Family. It
weaves an invisible web for protecting the Family and the honour of the
House from a crude or shameful faith. But the destiny is the destiny. It could
be wrapped, but not combated. The death of the old Hitissh should be
understood and accepted. His end already existed and the Hark's web
doesn't stretch over the preestablished things, too. They didn't understand
this. They banished it from their soul and since then all misfortunes rushed
upon Lormont House. The decadence has been lent, but sure. From 326
servants have remained just I and the Cook. We served for three generations
of Lormonts. We have nowhere to go.
I looked at him symphatetically. He paused a little bit to recovered
himself. His eyes had moistened as they moisten easily at every old frilir. It
is the most ugly period in the life. In it, through illnesses, weaknesses and its
exhausting moods, they expiate who knows what existence full of sins. If
wouldn't intervene the senility we could tell it's a punishment.
"The Hark is also an opportunity of pride. It is the opera of
generations of a Family. It is conceived by the father, grown by the son, the
grandson continues to take care of it, the great-grandson chisels it. Everyone
brags with it, even it will never be finished. It is created and it is creating
itself, permanently. But of course, during a life time, a frilir reaches a certain
fulfilment. It's the biggest spiritual satisfaction of a House", the old frilir
declaimed with an air that didn't admit any reply. I didn't contradict him. I
would hurt him reminding him about the Reciparium, so I tapped his
shoulder and proposed him to find the Hark and set it free.
It proved to be a porous bone-stump, grey due to the time passing
and dust, from which had grown a fang - bent in such a way that it had
reached with its point the other end of the stump. The fang was perforated
like a sieve, and on its crest had stuck a small skeleton with its feet caught
in its matter.
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"It is somewhere, here."

"What?"
"Klila of the Hark."
"Do you mean this?" I asked hesitatingly pointing towards the
prisoner skeleton.
"Yes."
I looked at it more attentively and I couldn't identify it with any
animal known by me.
"But it died long ago, I presume."
"No. Its soul is immortal and it's hiding somewhere here. If you take
good care of the Hark, it may be possible to come back. Without Klila it
remains only a decoration. And you won't be never too proud of it."
I ordered for the pedestal to be moved into the office and the Hark to
be replaced on it, after they would wash it properly.

***

"The High Priestess of Perpetuation Guild, Lady Iubila", the usher

announces with a resonant voice.
I rise and look to the entrance. She is in. Her companions have
remained outside. She is wrapped in a white algae cloth, embroidered with
green and yellow silk. She is waiting. I invite her with a broad gesture to
come in and take a seat on the couch.
Instinctively I wish a reaction to the changes in the house, but my
common sense tells me that actually I'm the only one who can possible
notice them. The Great Hall is warmer and more welcoming after I dressed
it with yellow cloth of land tailor-spider and I redecorated it. The furniture
pieces are massive, of bone(incastratii??) adorned with carvings of dark
colour wood, very old, even not since the age of the frilirs with red heads.
And I covered the couches and armchairs flesh with clud skin, ordered from
home, from the Big Swamps of South. The giant worms of swamp have
their skin nicely coloured in white and yellow, thick and soft, good for a fine
processing. The twisted columns I left them covered with sphere-fish wool.
From the same wool is also the carpet in front of the hearth, on which I have
placed two huge armchairs.
"You're moving quick."
I watch her, surprised.
"The walls", she explains. "You've stolen the model immediately."
I smile sincerely , enthusiastic she has remarked the change. She
observes me and is surprised in her turn.
"How is the bird?" I change the subject and she hurries to tackle it.
"Surprisingly good. I have brought it in the garden for the whole
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Palace to enjoy it and it sings all day long."
"Aha, and they enjoy it?"
"Very much."
I know she's lying especially for teasing me. At how many frilira are
there, one would has caught her fingers in its tongs. Moreover, the tonger
sings only when it's alone, and not when is in the middle of attention."
"I'm glad I was to yours liking", I smile amused.
She keeps silence, pretending she's admiring the skin on the couch. I
come to her with a tray with two steaming cups. Ceroptes buds tea. To
friliras it stimulates the appetite and to frilirs, the gastrophisa. I hold out a
cup for her and I seated myself on the couch in front of her.
"Ceroptes tea, I hope you'll like it."
She bends her head and tastes.
"Excellent. It has a ... suave taste."
A disappointment thrill crosses me but I banish it immediately. The
friliras have other kind of behaviour than us and I have to be permanently
careful. A frilir wouldn't have said anything until the bottom of the cup.
Then, he would have done an onomatopoeic appreciation if the tea had been
well dosed and mixed. Even if in visit the politeness oblige to praise. I
realise she wants to drink it tasted, discussing in the same time and then I
ask her careful with the intonation:
"Have you drink it before?"
"No."
"Well, the ceroptes tea is a gourmand aperitif for dinner. It is served
generally for Dishes tasting and not for eating."
She watches me curiously and I continue encouraged:
"It is a kind of ... spiritual preparation. You shall relax, try to forget,
to hide all the worries from you while you drink it, then re-enter in the
reality another frilir. You are better prepared for tasting."
"But the friliras cannot taste!"
"I know. Still, tonight we will say we don't know this. Even it won't
be any gastrophilic excitation and you won't enjoy the gastric orgasm, we'll
still try to create a parallel atmosphere for you, in such a way to find at least
an illusion of these experiences."
"I'm quite used with illusions and I think I could try."
I don't know what is she saying, but I approve satisfied and I relax,
even I don't have in mind to unchain my excitation and reach the orgasm in
front of her. I want to co-ordinate her sensations along dinner. She imitates
me and relax in her turn. She leaves her head on the back, leaning it against
the couch and closes her eyes.
After a few minutes I invite her to the table. I clap my hands and in
the Hall enter the waiters. The light in the room softens. On the table are
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placed two plateaux with starters of gourmand prelude. They have the role
to drive the smell and the perception of seasoning in a certain direction. An
experienced taster succeed to stimulate his excitation to that unique
direction in which the starters drive his gastrophisa and thus to feel a more
intense pleasure. From a hidden niche, the musicians start to sing. At the
moment something neutral, very much copied from nature. It doesn't let you
see the possibilities and this is the most beautiful when the Story starts.
I explain her all these things and she tries to comply. She focuses
intensely with her eyes closed, chewing slowly the starters in her mouth.
She doesn't have a perfect face. For example the eyes are a little bit oblique
giving her a sad expression. And the cheek bones too sharp. But she is
really beautiful. I know I've been often asking myself why are more
beautiful the friliras who have elements which taken alone could look even
ugly, or seem to not match. And the perfect ones, in full harmony, don't
succeed to have more than a fade beauty, or in best cases a house-beauty.
She has thick, sensual lips, which don't match at all with the too thin nose.
But what interesting air give her their combination!
She opens her eyes and I smile troubled. She beams. I start the Story,
the starters should doing the introduction. She concentrates on the storys
epic. I tell her she should listen the Story passively, tasting or following the
preparation. She should join the two stories - the told one and the one which
is happening in front of her, and experiences them both at a superior level,
necessarily spiritual for her. Shes doing it, at least shes trying. I dont
know for sure but I think Im excited. Even that Ive served this Dish to
others frilirs too.
Unheard, the waiters appear next to us. She is surprised. They clean
the table and leave the Dish at a few steps from the table. Then disappear as
they came. Unheard. The light fades more. It is already a dusk Story. But
she cant know this thing. Perhaps she hasnt seen yet any sunset. Is sad
when you want to communicate with somebody you know for sure it is
possible to, and realise that the natural order of things has arranged the
incompatibility.
I bring the Dish to the table, continuing the introduction. She is more
and more curious and probably hungry. I began the preparation of the Dish
concomitantly with the Story proper. The wormih hasnt been tenderised
under the light of the three Daughters of the Sky, because I didnt have
where. But its the same quality. However, the smell is strong. She turns up
her nose, but because of politeness she doesnt make any commentaries, or
other gestures.
The light fades away. On a wall appear projected the Skys
Daughters. The music is like a wailing. Is music Tanghshu. From the
Swamps of South. Almost unknown here in the north of the Kingdom, but
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expressing so well the South peasants soul.
Iubila opens wide her eyes. Shes like a doll. I cant distinguish her
expression, but I feel her delighted. Yes, Im excited. What would Plabos
say about this?
It is making day. Its morning and the sun light traverses the thicket in
sprightly rays. Otherwise, the light is weak, but pure and clean. Like in the
real forests. Only the music is a Tanghshu mixed with royal marches.
Neither much force, nor much wailing. Just destiny.
The wormih climbs up on the moamoam leaf which wrinkles slightly
at its touch. The pinkish fluff seems to start at any movement of the beast.
But this one, being starved, eliminates the pleasure juice that is soaking
quickly the leaf. It starts to gnaw. Directly from the centre. Rude being, I
comment in the muddle of the Story and she laughs a little bit confused. The
music bewilders her. It splits her between hope and implacable.
The wormih slips greedily towards the second pinkish temptation. It
climbs down deftly on the first leafs skeleton. Iubila is watching amused.
The worm is already dumpy, even that its stomach sac - over-enlarged
during the tenderisation - hasnt been filled yet, and hangs funny giving the
impression of a fatty old frilir with his mantles hems tangling his legs.
It stretches, slips, suspense pause, violent music. Its falling. It
eliminates a new jet of pleasure and falls. Directly in the container that was
hidden behind the table and in which is boiling the Plabos sauce. Splash!
Iubila notices it in the last moment and starts surprised. She hasnt expected
the second leafs trap. Probably neither the wormih.
I raise quickly the container in the air and bring it over the plate. It
has transparent walls. The worm can be seen like a dark shadow sinking
through the dense sauce, down and down, to the bottom orifice. The music
has become sharply, but sad. The mistakes are not forgiven (by the
strangers, I add rapidly in the events tension).
Its again strong light when I open the small top and the wormih falls
down on the plate. The crushed fleshs white sauce stew fills its bottom in a
wave ready to pass its edges. But being to thick it cools down quickly and
in the centre remains throbbing bewildered, the coreul. It is big like a fist
and seems a wondered eye. Iubila doesnt have anymore time to express her
feelings. She is staying stock-still staring at the beasts soul.
Im in the top of the happiness. The Story is coming to its end and I
raise its tension as only my experience has taught me. My success is
granted. I pour the hot sequ-tulapa flavoured oil with hot spices and I
specify to her, preferable from wings of sallow butterfly, commenting the
things in a rush. Meanwhile, the oil melts sizzling the protective crystal of
the coreul, turning it into an eye which is shutting itself of death. Its already
blind and the Dish is perfected.
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The most perfect preparation. Not that other times Ive done it
weaker, but when you do something with heart for a certain person, there is
something more added to professional proud.
Iubila turns her back desperately to the table. The music has become
like a wailing again. Im asking myself why does she have to cry hiding
from me, but I keep silence. She rise and pulls out a bowl from the service
table.
She throws up!
I fall on the chair, stifled of indignation and surprise. Normally the
throatic spasm followed by the ascension of the stomach in the throat, all
provoked by a Dish, dont have this kind of reaction. Even if you force
yourself, you couldnt succeed. Once arrived at this moment, the
gastrophisa pushes all upper and the cascade of gastric pleasure overruns
you. The reaction is in chain and uncontrollable. It ends always with the
orgasm . I realise the mistake. I rise promptly to help her, but shes
already finished, and retreats embarrassed. I offer her a little bit water for
the bitter taste in her mouth. I try to apologise but it sounds idiotic. The
High Priestess throws up at the Hitissh dinner. Yes, it does sound idiotic.
Worst recipear couldnt be. I was the one who has developed in my book
the gastrophilic ideas and theories about the differences between frilirs and
friliras, and today Ive made such a mistake! Not having gastrophisa there
isnt anything to excite her beyond the vomit threshold and to raise her to
the gastronomic fulfilment. So .
I know , she says finally. She avoids to look at me. Im sorry.
I watch her undecided.
I was involved to much, even I could detach myself when I felt Im
slipping on the slope. But something was telling me that is good, its the
way it should be, Im doing the right thing. Im sorry. I mean, I understand.
I know that somewhere shes right and I dont know if I should feel
all right and justified by her apologises, or I should be more objective.
Because objectively, and I make an effort to impose this to myself,
objectively Im guilty. I knew how was everything going to happen, till the
last detail I could say.
No, please. You should forgive me. Ive been a fool.
Isnt necessary to apply the etiquette with me. I can bear the truth.
Then bear it: you dont have the gastrophisa and this is the main
problem. If you had it, it would help you to pass the vomit threshold and to
accomplish the most pleasant thing. And I knew this thing, but I didnt
realise you could get so far. I thought everything will be spiritual, as if
youre at a show and can involve yourself only emotional, not also
physically. It was my mistake.
She looks at me a little bit confused, then laughs. I laugh as well.
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Because of her laugh, because she has a beautiful laugh. Sincere and
amusing. Childish.
I think Im not hungry anymore, she laughs again.
I clap my hands and the waiters appear like some ghosts. In a minute
the hall is clean. I wish to be able to pass the inhibiting moment and to
succeed in convincing her that it could be different too. That there are
recipes without risks and I would like at all costs to try them together. That I
would like to show her a real dusk and morning. To show her the worlds
beauties and the nightmarish but splendid atmosphere of the depths. I can
communicate with her.
Be honest Morminiu!
I can also communicate with her. More honest!
It would be a pleasure to share with her some of my secrets.

R. THE FRILOLIRS NECTAR (SENTIMENTAL RECIPE)

This recipe opens a new chapter, something special, in my book. It

doesnt suppose anything else in the introductory part, than two people. Not
necessarily recipears, but obligatory an he and a she. Therefore, we shall
proceed to the Preparation Story.
It is dusk and the water boils in the cast-iron kettle, on the lakes
shore. The huge solar globe, already half hidden, disperses fire sweat over
the world. Flowers with red petals soften in the broth. The lake seems a
gold plate melting and you stretch your long and thin legs on the bank. On
fire. You bend, watch, you are staring motionless, quick like a flash you
thrust your hand and draw out a thick snake which coils, crazed by red and
fear, on your arm. I am solemn when, with only one move I chop off its
skull that falls in the cast-iron kettle. You drain all its blood with prolonged
movements along its body and the last sun rays stir it in the broth. After you
throw away its carcass, if you have stained yourself with blood do not
hesitate to wipe yourself on your thighs. But do not forget that you have to
sink your hands in the lakes water and to wait for the fat and lazy golden
fishes to appear. Their flesh knows everything about love. As the snake
blood knows to bind the souls. Catch the golden fishes, they cannot escape
you and let them fall into the cast-iron kettle. Furious bubbles will play with
them. Do not wallow in the grass before we finish the recipe. Your skirt has
been raised and the bloodstained fingers traces hurt the white skins silk.
Come back near the preparation place, otherwise I cannot continue. Why
are you afraid? After the fire that has overcome the horizon follows the
dark. It is like of velvet. But till then we need to bind the broth with our
tears. I sprinkle white dust over the flames and the smoke rises thick and
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smarting. We catch each others arms with our heads bent over the kettle,
and the starving smoke brings tears in our eyes. You are sweating and have
a hard flesh. My hand strains on your arm. I still have a few tears to offer. It
is already night. It is getting cold and it smells of grass and flowers, heated
by sun and rummaged by bare-feet. Because we will be barefoot. And when
the dark comes through the last day reflections, I pour a little bit nectar of
soft light. How important is for me to see your soul! Your shapes outline
dark on obscurity decor. You have to be here with your hot spirit when the
wind will come. Soon, the wind will come. Choose a star and show it to me.
Hold out your arm upward to the furthest star and arch your silhouette. Yes,
there, I see it. Show it to me once more to be sure I am not wrong. No, you
have a perfect body. I promise you the star and I mix the promise in the
broth. Well enough for you to never forget it. I gather the useless scum and
throw it far away. I pour the cast-iron kettles content into the precious mug,
oiled with pollen, which I have brought especially. It can be use just once.
Then I shall break it. I do not know why, but it is a beautiful custom. The
Skys Daughters smile to me. They promise me something and I laugh, and
you are looking at me. Your look is pure, but not nave, your smile
voluptuous, but not perverse. I told you the wind will start to blow. I place
the mug with the nectar on small fire. It shall boil gentle and we get close to
each other. To protect you from the wind. And when it will be too cold I will
give you to sip from the hot nectar. I will do the same. I will turn with your
face to me. I will warm you up. We will remain gathered one into the other
for long. Was not like that at the beginnings? A frilir and a frilira, joined in
one? A frilolir? But, they have been separated. Fate? For seeing what is the
birth. For ever. Since then the friliras give always birth, and the frilirs taste,
for coming back to the primordial unity, to the frilolir. But we will not repeat
their mistake, isnt it?
The nectar has begun to do its effect.
(From Recipear Revolution, by Great Master Recipear of the Green
Kingdom - Morminiu)

VII. DRAIGITON POURSATOR

(sau POURGITON DEVERSATOR)

The door opened widely and in conceptorhm entered unannounced

the King. The six royal recipears rose surprised, with their heads bent. The
sovereign responded to their salute. Then looked enchanted at the room.
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The conceptorhm was a huge hall, somewhere in a separate body of the
Royal Palace. One of its walls was furrowed by narrow windows good for a
frilir to pass and high almost to the ceiling. The other wall was completely
covered by a library, full with treatises. Their majority was in original. In the
middle of the room was a round table big enough for twelve, not only for six
recipears. Under the windows were aligned individual tables for study. In a
corner glistened dimly the boiler made of massive metal, in which had been
prepared Chathron the Conqueror, the founder of the Green Kingdom and
Dynasty.
The Kings look halted on that boiler. Nobody dared to make a
sound. The sovereign remembered the ancestor with who was probably in
touch.
Where is Tathar? he asked expressionless.
He hasnt come yet, Your Majesty, answered one of the recipears.
Hmm!
The King turned his face to them and went close to Morminiu. He
was not anymore the cheerful frilir who had entered the conceptorhm a few
minutes earlier. He had tired eyes, underlined by heavy dark rings.
Morminiu, I want to ask you a favour, he said with low voice so
that only them could hear.
Order Your Majesty.
I think it will be better two Gods Green tea a week. It has become
like a friend. I wait for the tea day impatiently. Ive created so far a whole
ritual for the moment when it arrives. Its like I would receive a friend, I
would entertain myself with, and after a while it disappears without
realising. I want two such meetings a week.
Im flattered. Youve made me a happy frilir. I will take care for you
to receive two tea weekly, at equal intervals.
The King smiled warmly, then regaining his protocol-like
cheerfulness straightened to the exit. He stopped in the door and looking
again lustily at the room announced:
I have decided to set a recipes contest. You will all compete
together with the other recipears from the Noble Houses in Carami. It will
start in a week, therefore prepare yourself carefully. The champion will win
the title of Master Recipear of the Kingdom. Tell Tathar that his job is in the
contest.
He turned back and exited followed by the personal guard, but after a
few steps he remembered and told them over his shoulder:
I forgot to tell you - the first six winners will occupy the chairs at the
Round Table.
The news fell like a flash over the royal recipears. They all remained
quiet, but the silence was brake before the door got shut.
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Your Majesty, could be heard a voice criss-crossed by pants, we

are attacked!
What does it mean, General?
We are attacked, repeated again the old General, the head of the
War Council. The SCeders!
The SCeders were nomad tribes coming from the north of the world.
They werent frilirs even they looked like. They were taller, bulkier, with a
blonde or white fur spread all over them, without gills and with their lungs
hidden inside the body. They had a bulging mouth, like a muzzle garnished
with sharp fangs. They were with a thousand years behind the frilirs, fact
that hadnt stopped them to overflow at a certain interval from the frozen
north over the lukewarm plains of them. But they never had come so far in
the south as it was the Green Kingdom. Thats why, since Chathron had
conquered the Royal Carami fighting against the frilirs with red heads, it
hadnt been any other war. There had passed centuries since had been
needed of a mobilisation of the armed forces. A part of the military functions
had been kept in inertia, but there wasnt anymore an army in the Kingdom,
besides the few thousands soldiers in the nobles guards.
How many are they?
Thousands and thousands.
The King returned frowning to the conceptorhm: Our competition is
postponed till new dispositions.

The Great Bazaar was close enough to the three South Mouths,
widened and arranged to receive the trade convoys. The hubbub was
undescribing. Morminiu arrived there running, but was halted by the curios
crowd. There was the zone where the enemies had grouped, being the main
and the widest entrance in the city.
From the Bazaar he covered the way helped by a soldiers company
from the Royal Palace. At a few hundreds steps in front of the gates had
been scraped together quickly a few barricades. In front of them everything
was on fire. There had been already a raid of the SCeders close to the
market. There were many dead and wounded people, and a whole area set
on fire.
The company which helped him to reach the barricades stopped
there. It was lead by a young general. Morminiu approached him:
Are you organising the defence?
The officer looked at him askance then, when he recognised him
smiled high-spirited:
No, we are preparing for attack.
For attack?!
Yes. We need to finish quickly with this matter. The population is
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already in panic.
But, is clean suicide!
Why? the officer asked offended.
There are a few thousands outside.
They are only barbarians. They dont know to fight with a sword.
Theyre still a few thousands. At least ten for every frilir of your.
The general shrugged bored and left. He placed himself in front of the
company and ordered shortly, trying to be as military as possible. A crowd
of curious people watched him. He went towards the gate heartening his
soldiers:
Dont be afraid, they have only cudgels. We have to teach them
better! And anyway, Im in front of you, I would die first, isnt it soldier?
He was laughing. In the name of the Green Kiiing! they pounced.
And that it was. He died immediately he stepped outside the Carami.
Stabbed by ten harpoons.

**

You have asked for an audience, Lord Hitissh. You have told is
something urgent. It better be.
Yes Majesty. It is and I thank you for receiving me.
If its something confidential, they can retreat a few minutes, he
said showing the thirteen generals of the Kingdom, that formed the War
Council. The fourteenth and the youngest had died in the same morning.
Its not confidential and I think its perfect that their Lordships are
here.
Then speak. Were listening.
Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, it could be observed that the
SCeders are many and in a hurry. I dont know how they could get till here,
but if they have succeeded to pass the Great Desert and the two countries
neighbours to us as well, without hearing about them meanwhile, there are
two hypothesis: or our neighbours and presumed our allies have betrayed
us, or the SCeders steamroller have crushed everything in their way so
rapidly that nothing could get to us. So, it is supposed they will proceed in
the same way here, too.
The conclusions, Lord Hitissh. We are staying here since morning
and studying the problem. Everything you said we already knew,
intervened with an important air one of the counsellors.
I ask for forgiveness, but I observe that one characteristic of the
officers is the impatience. The same way proceeded the young boy this
morning and look what happened to him.
Are you threatening us? asked furiously the one who had
 76

interrupted him before.

Actually, why in such important moment we stay and loose time
with an artist, Your Majesty? the head of the War Council intervened.
Lord Hitissh, if what you want to tell us is connected with the war,
then tell us, but speak more quickly, please, decided the King trying to cool
down the hot spirits of the officers. They were right to be like that. The only
remained chance was to arm the population and wait for the final attack
with the weapon in hand.
Your Majesty, what Im trying to say is that probably they are so
hurried and powerful that we wont have time to gather army from the
country. We need to solve the problem rapidly, here, on local plane. Thus, I
consider it is need of uncommon solutions for this exceptional situation.
And you have these solutions! laughed insultingly one of those
presents.
Yes Majesty, I have a solution. But if you already have found one, I
retreat and Ill come back after.
What do you mean by after? asked menacingly the Councils
head.
I mean that for this situations there arent good anymore the
classical solutions, which they are expecting for sure. We have to find
something to surprise them. Or if they have conquered in the other
kingdoms the other Caramis, and that is supposed, then its hard to find
something really surprisingly for them. Thats why you need a frilir who
knows well the Carami and who can offer you a solution fully aware of
everything. A solution that the others havent given probably from the same
reasons for which you are treating now the problem this way. I mean,
ignorance and conceitedness.
Three officers pounced upon him with their swords out.
Stop there, thundered the King surprisingly vigorously for his age.
Your Majesty, I propose to jail this traitor until youll decide what
youre going to do with him, Tathar rose from his armchair where he had
seated unnoticed. He offended the War Council and Yourself implicitly.
Chathu, present as well, remained smiling and quiet as usual.
Why, Lord Harissh, are you afraid hell take your place at the
Round Table? stared scowling the King and Tathar made himself small
behind the officers. Your Lordships, I appreciate the wisdom of this frilir,
he talk showing Morminiu. And you have got angry because he has
touched a raw: yes, youre bad prepared from a military point of view. But
is not only your fault. Its our fault, everybodys, and especially mine,
because Ive neglected this aspect. The centuries of peace have made us
lazy and buried the military science.
He rose from the armchair. His thin silhouette was straight, imposing
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himself. He made a sign to them and ordered:
Take your seats and calm down. After that he turned to Morminiu:
Tell us, Lord Hitissh, you an artist, have you ever stricken with the sword
that you wear it so proudly?
Ask Hitissh Tathar, Your Majesty, not if I have ever stricken, but how
well I strike. He knows, answered the recipear looking straight to Tathar.
The King turned his head to this one, but gave up disgusted and came
back to the subject:
All right, tell me your solution. I promise you well analyse it.
Thank you Majesty. The idea is to prepare an attack-surprise during
the night when they sleep, and we feel more comfortable outside the
Carami. The problem is how can we get outside, because for sure all the
Mouths are guarded by them. Thats why, I propose to exit through
Draigiton Poursator. Therefore, the solution is - Draigiton Poursator.
Through what?
Morminiu watched the King a little bit troubled, then explained:
This is the codified name, Your Majesty.
Explain us.
Well exit through Caramis anus. At least I know of one. There are
probably others as well, but I havent discovered them yet. I calculated how
long could be the rectum and with an approximation of a few hundreds
steps, the anus will be at the surface at about three megasteps from the
Caramis body. So, thats behind their camp. If we leave with a detachment
of soldiers tomorrow morning, tomorrow night we shall be on positions, at
three megasteps in their back. In the night we go close to them and launch
an attack-surprise, which can be sustained in its middle by the other
detachments in the city. Therefore, the basis condition for succeeding is to
resist to assaults one more day.
In the hall fell the silence. That was broken brutally by a derisive peal
of laughter. Tathar had risen encouraged by the Taharissh look.
Thats the biggest stupidity Ive ever heard. How can you walk
through a rectum? Imagine a soldiers detachment walking through any of
your rectum. Shortly, they will be drowned in faeces.
The King watched Morminiu questioningly, and this one riposted:
Have you ever been there?
No, but I can make an analogy. If through a poor frilirs body
happens surely like that, then ta fortiorim(doubly so) this thing will happen
in the Caramis body, which is populated by hundreds of thousands frilirs,
said Tathar using accentuated the argument of logic with great power of
conviction.
From a recipears education shouldnt miss the logic lessons, which
were packed by this kind of equation-mode of reasoning, expressed in the
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old written language. They had in the same time an abstruse role, of
infiltration of conviction about a sustained thing in the mind of the audience.
This proves once more an immature thinking, answered calmly
Morminiu. A frilir body is inhabited by no one, while the Carami is
inhabited by hundreds of thousands of frilirs. A real population. In this
purpose he is adapted to help it to survive, thing that doesnt happen to us.
Then, if we havent a body made to dwell somebody , we will say that tes
ta contrarion(on contrary) our body isnt similar at all with Caramis.
Therefore, your analogy hasnt any real basis, concluded Morminiu
stressing in his turn on other logical argument with conviction power.
He made an effect-pause then re-started to speak rapidly exploiting
the Harisshs mistake to not take profit of that pause:
Actually, I would like to ask you how much do you know about
Caramis anatomy, for being aware from what database you go when you
speak about the subject.
Enough to
Namely? Concrete.
Tathar kept silence and re-took his seat, while Morminiu turned
triumphantly to the King. But the silence continued.
Your Majesty, I think I forgot to specify a detail. I offer myself
volunteer to lead the detachment because I dont think is anybody else who
can manage. If the plane will fail, Ill pay with my life the error. Anyway,
than waiting to be butchered is preferably to try the last chance, even it
seems crazy. Or, because of that.
And Ill loose the best recipear.
Your Majesty, the problem has already fallen on the second place.
Youre right, Lord Hitissh, answered the King. Tomorrow
morning the detachment will wait for you in front of the Palace. The Holly
Heaven shall protect you.

**

The brawny tube of the rectum was protected with a thick and greasy,
white-greyish skin. On the bottom the dirt layer was up to the ankles
flowing slowly in the same direction as they walked. They had advanced for
two hours with their back bent because of the height, in rows of two. Only a
quarter of them used their glow-worms, the other following to consume
theirs when first would be exhausted.
Do you know how long we still have, Your Highness? the
detachment sheriff approached him.
Probably as much more.
But, youve told us there are only three mega of Poursator and were
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already going through it for two hours.
Do you have any idea how much weve covered in these two hours,
mister sheriff?
There should be about four mega.
Only a mega and some, answered dryly Morminiu and drew
another sign on the walls.
We left the city five hours ago, Sir. The lunch hour is close and the
soldier will want to eat.
The most important thing for a frilir was to assure for him and his
family the three meals a day. And at least the lunch represented an
obligation, that can be said was almost religious. So, was considered a great
outrage to be late at the meal, or to not serve your guests at meals hours.
Mister sheriff, nobody will eat until I say so, finished Morminiu
making understood for the officer that the discussion was over.
I understand Your Highness.
Look out! could be heard a panicked shout from the back.
Immediately, all the frilirs and firstly those from the back, started to
shout and curse. Even theyve got used with the smell, a strong fart hit them
fully, making them dizzy. Morminiu saw his soldiers gluing on the walls that
a minute ago they had been disgusted to touch. A faeces wave pounced
upon the detachment, reaching to their waist. It left them behind rapidly,
following its draining. After a while could be heard a strident splash.
Morminiu pricked up his ears, but nothing more happened. There was again
silence. He asked:
Has been any glow-worm extinguished?
Yes, here.
And here.
If they cant be saved, replace them. But quickly and lets go. Were
late.
He walked the next hundreds steps cautiously, testing continuously
the ground with the walking-stick. And indeed, as it was supposed, the
tunnel ended with a steep chute descending into a round cavity. There was
the joining point for more ducts. The way went further on through a tunnel,
double as size than theirs. Morminiu dropped on his knees and checked the
depth of the basin full with excreta, with his walking-stick. He didnt
succeed to touch the bottom. But seeing the vault he decided. Usually, there
werent deep pits in the Carami and the great majority were symmetrical.
Moreover, the cavity should have only a transition role, not a stocking one.
So, he let himself fallen down the chute. He plunged till his bodys nervous
belt, exactly under his stomach. Two more palms and he would have been
with the faeces to his mouth.
Come on, quicker, two at a time. Follow me.
 80

He turned his back, ignoring the soldiers disgusted clamour. Some of

them threw up copiously. Even the sheriff completed sourly:
I think I wont eat today.
Then we can go till the end, concluded sarcastically Morminiu.
The recipear entered the draining tunnel, which collected all the dirt
brought through the interior ducts. He dipped one more palm. For security in
an eventual return on the same way, Morminiu put a soldier to mark the tube
they had come through.
They advanced another three hours. The road was worsened by the
fact they walked with the excreta near their neck. They moved slowly,
because on a hand it was a dense medium, and then because of caution.
Sinking in such a thing meant sure death. At a certain moment, the level
started to fall rapidly. In front of them appeared a light. Morminiu halted
when the faeces river lowered to his knee and the light became tiresome for
their sensitive eyes. There wasnt anymore the green light from the Carami,
but white and strong one, as the sun could light in a summer after-noon.
Put the lenses youve received, ordered Morminiu.
They all drew out their smoky lenses, that were hidden carefully in
interior pockets. They fixed the bone-fork on the nose, then tied the string at
back. Like that they could face the day light. A breeze of fresh air cooled
their infected lungs.
The end was on the lip of a pit where was drained all the dirt. The
light upset them even through the lenses. Big sweat drops left trails on their
faces. Morminiu looked cautiously over the threshold. The exit wasnt at
grounds level, but underground, in the pits wall. He listened carefully and
couldnt hear anything else than the normal noises in the middle of the
nature. The SCeders camp was far away.
He drew out the bone-claw, spun it a few times and threw it
powerfully upwards, over the pits edge. He pulled it and the claw hung on
something. He tested it two more times, then he turned to the sheriff.
At my order throw up your claw and begin to climb up, mister
sheriff.
He started to ascend. He climbed prudently. He rose slowly his head
over the pits lip and looked around. Behind him was outlined the bulky
body of the Carami. There wasnt visible his head to the north, and to the
south there could be distinguish the high bank of the Suspended Plain of
Water. Something hit him hard in his cheek. He started scared, then climbed
up over the edge. It had been like a flash light. He rolled on the dry land and
looked once more around. From the Carami smoke raised heavily. The
SCeders camp.
A flutter on his cheek. He splashed nervously. A golden butterfly. The
body bulging to the middle and very thin to the ends was adorned with small
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wings of a metallic yellow. He took it between his fingers and studied it for
a few seconds. Then he threw it powerfully into the pit - the gesture of
nervous discharge of the one under tension. A roar shook the pit. Live
flames licked a few moments its walls. Instantly, a whole flock, thousands
of butterflies flew scared from the faeces surface. They moved chaotically,
with an incredible speed.
In the same time, Morminiu noticed terrified that the anus edges
contracted spasmodically, then they squeezed completely covering the exit
and again they opened, and again they squeezed. A last convulsion and a
more liquid flood was splashed with power on the opposite wall. With it
also a frilir surprised by the stream. Smashed against the wall, then drowned
in the pit. Silence again. The butterflies re-took their places on the excreta.
Through which something was moving. He couldnt distinguish because of
the colours.
Sheriff, are you still there? Asked with low voice Morminiu.
Were here. What the Sathalis spheres was that?
Ill explain later. Come on now, come outside.
The soldiers started to move. Morminiu twisted on his back. Then he
felt the teeming. He shouted scared. He rose on his knees and dusted
himself hurriedly. He has been flooded by a kind of rats, only bigger and
with huge paws - armed with powerful claws. They spread immediately in a
lot of holes around the pit. Morminiu whistled astonished, then he turned to
help the first soldier who exited. Bending, he distinguished one of the rats
emerging from a hole in the pits wall and falling in the faeces puddle. The
recipear narrowed his eyes and tapered his lips of concentration.
Somewhere should be an explanation. In fact, what had dug the rectum
tunnel and the draining pit?
The night had fallen. It was almost dark. On their clothes the dirt had
turned into a bad-smelling crust. They had been obliged to throw all their
things. While had been light Morminiu had ordered them to manufacture
arrows for their bows from the blue trees wood. They formed small forests,
the wood being plenty all over the place. In the arrows tips they had tied
gold-butterflies. They were easy to catch being without fear of frilirs and
lazy.
When the dark was full they went sneaking towards the SCeders
camp. Big fires were burning in the middle of the tents crowd. Close to
them, they could hear the voices too. Harsh songs, shouts or barked
screams. They waited in a last group of trees, at a small distance from the
camp. The SCeders had sentinels only in the extremes, the real guard
assuring to the Carami.
The midnight had passed. Two of the three Daughters of the Sky had
rose already, throwing a pale light into the plain darkness. There were still
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burning only a few fires. The silence had fallen. From time to time, the
sentinels shouted their password.
Morminiu spread the soldiers on two rows, parallel with the camp.
They moved crawling as close as possible. At the recipear sign, first row
rose in their knees, and the second in their feet. They strained their bows. A
sentinel saw them. The signal was catch immediately by the others. The
arrows whiz covered the panic hubbub. An arrow exploded exactly in the
neck of the sentinel who had given the alarm, leaving him without half of
the body.
A chain of thunders shook the air, frightening alike the frilirs and the
SCeders. The second row of archers set their arrows and strained their
bows. The first row, under Morminius command, went on attack
screaming. A new wave exploded among the tents. The whole invaders
camp was a pyre and a heap of rests and corpses. The SCeders riding
animals ran frightened or bit the ground lethal wounded. The survivors were
disoriented. The second frilirs row, lead by the sheriff, flooded over the
camp. They entered among the fires, roaring and butchering what was still
on feet, or stubbing the wounded that were crawling on the ground.
From the Carami, hundreds of townsfrilirs pounced upon the camp.
The flesh killing lasted till dawn, when the frilirs - unused with the sun,
retreated to rest.

7.
Clip, clip, the acid is dripping in the Silence Square. I fill my lungs
and breath deeply. It isnt a too restful place and still, Ive hankered after
loneliness. I inhale the quiet through all my pores and relax. I have a
meeting with Mahop.
Yesterday I was at the Kings dinner-party in honour of the victory.
All evening I smiled like a desperate to content everybody. My mouth is still
painful. I was asked at least ten times to tell the story of the adventure and I
refused every time. I dont have what to say. The only words that come in
my mind are: shit, blood, fire, shit and smoking flesh. Since then I eat only
fruits and raw vegetables. I cant stand any kind noise, heat or smells.
And to be all perfect at the party, even from the beginning, Comtap,
the Kings Trust, announced that the new Master Recipear of the Kingdom
will be - accordingly to the Kings decision, Hitissh Morminiu. Probably Im
still to shocked, because I cant feel any drop of enthusiasm. Master
Recipear of the Kingdom. Plabos would be proud of me. Maybe Ill be
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some day.
Tathar, freshly removed from function came to me, bent smiling
widely and congratulated me:
You wont get away so easy, hero!
After that he left the party.
At the dinner I was invited to seat next to Taharissh Chathu. In the
Kings right was Taharissh Comtap and in his left - me. Without intention I
had been placed in the central position: in my right was the King, in my left
the throne inheritor. A few times I was tempted to rise and run to throw up.
Chathu smelt much too strongly of floral perfume, and every time he raised
his arm a heavy reek of carrion hit me. He didnt look at me nor speak to me
during all the party. Only in the end he smiled courteously and told me after
a long thinking:
Perhaps now youll die quicker.
So that, as soon as I arrived home from the Court, I contacted
Mahop. I asked him another service: a few mercenaries he had bragged a
long time ago, in exchange to a recipe, known only in a small circle of
people. The exchange, here, as usual.
Clip, clip, the acid is dripping in the Silence Square. He shall come
any minute now. Near a kerb, a rat turned with its belly upwards is melted
to its bones. I turn my eyes disgusted. Through the derelict buildings make
their appearance a row of shadows. Mahop followed by twenty
something. They are in a single row, respecting rigorously the alignment. I
rise, feeling a little bit panic at their sight. They are exactly what I wished to
not see right now.
The drunkard presents them like in a parade taking place in a
conspiratorial silence. They are under the height average. Completely
camouflaged, if its really a camouflage, because I cant distinguish where is
the joining point of the mask with the suit. On the head they wear a sort of
helmet made of a yellow-greyish bone. From the middle of the face hangs a
skinny wrinkled hose, that disappear somewhere under the mantle. At the
eyes level they have a lens covered by a web of nerves. The so-called
mantle gives the impression to be their own skin and it continues perfectly
with the legs of some trousers from the knee downwards. It is in fact a
thick, white-greyish skin, traversed by dark traces, like some veins hidden
under the superficial layer.
Reinforced skin, mate. More resistant than any shit of armour.
I keep quiet, impressed and dominated by the mercenaries fierce
disgusting air.
What the mothers vulbs? Are you afraid? You made in your pants
when you saw them!
He laughs high-spirited. I give the ghost of a smile and ask:
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They are?
It sounds stupid, but he answers:
They are. The best mercenaries in the Kingdom. Professionals.
Im staring suspiciously. For centuries there arent anymore
professional mercenaries. Nowadays, the military schools train them only at
a minimum level. As faster as possible for deliver them as quickest. Because
it is natural in a world where exists the right to riposte and the right to
revenge, for at least half of them to pass away pretty fast. So, they need to
be permanently replaced. And, then I ask myself - where have they been
trained as professionals and what for? Questions at which Mahop only
shakes his head.
Hey mate - you pay, you have the stuff. Theyre good, thats why
theyre expensive. Disgustingly expensive. The contract is only for two
years.
Weve dealt at five years.
Thats the deal mate. You swallow it, or not. But, more sathalist than
these you wont find.
Im sure, I murmur. What do they know to do? Im asking more
to moon around.
Youll see for yourself, he smiles with an evil look. Its true, Im
sorry I forgot to bring the instruction of use, he laughs again, silently of
course.
I seat myself thoughtfully. I smuggle a bone splinter in my hand, then
suddenly throw it to one of them. It hit him quite tough in his shoulder, but
he doesnt avoid it.
Hey, hey, are you nuts?
He doesnt have reflexes at all!
I havent told you yet. Ive conditioned them for you. You just need
to give them the reaction formulas. Thats why they will never be against
you. You can even kill them, but this wouldnt be indicated from my point of
view.
Do they have instinct of conservation?
No.
If youve succeeded to conditioned them this way, that means
theyre not frilirs, Im throwing the lure indifferently.
Is the clients problem what he thinks about the goods. My problem
is to deliver them and if they are satisfactory to receive the payment.
Actually, you can have a shit in your house and think thats a drod. If youre
contented with this thing, I dont see why would disturb me. The point is to
not step on it. He laughs heartily again. This time he contaminates me too.
Hes such an idiot some time.
He makes a break and holds out his hand to me:
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So, deal?
All right. But, with a trial period.
Thats it mate, you wont regret. There are a few things: if one of
them die, you pay compensation a recipe, between five and ten years age.
Secondly - dont stress them. They are like some new-born babies, without
memories, having only their professional luggage. So, they wont be able to
give any relation about their past. And finally - they eat only soup of sequ
with bloodges. I mean a soup from the toughest spirit mixed with the most
stimulant drug. Sequ is the strongest spice, with an extraordinary palette of
gastrophilic nuances, impossible of perceiving on a whole by an uninitiated,
and pure alcohol if fermented. It is very much alike to a drug, being
frequently used in this way. The bloodges are insects-spices. They are added
alive to hot sauces, after they have served a good portion of animal blood.
The animal sucked by blood must be necessarily an herbivore, for the
vibrations transmitted through its blood to not disturb the gastrophilic
perception. Moreover, the bloodges must be carefully dosed for stimulate
only the gastrophisa. Because they are strong erotosiac. Or a soup of
bloodges leads surely to mental alienation.
Take care mate, he turns to leave after he hides well the recipe Ive
just given. Aa, I almost forgot: dyou know why the SCeders have red
eyes?
No, I answer miserably.
For hiding in the fire!
I try to smile and wave my hand swearing through my teeth. Then I
look at my personal guard. An uncertain sensation rummages my stomach.
Clip, clip, the acid is dripping in the Silence Square.

A.
The music is not more valuable than literature, for instance. In a way
it is more brutal. It leaves its fingerprint directly on our psychic, without
other intermediaries, as the letters, the colours or the shapes. And I do not
know how it is better! It is true that through intermediaries one can loose
from essence, can loose meanings.
Anyway, that is why the music is so similar to the Recipearium. And
despite the apparent incompatibility, it enriches the spiritual experience of
the recipe. Still, it shall be propitiously to the prepared Dish, because a bad
chosen music could generate allergic reactions, migraines, or even a
irritation of the gastrophisa. Thus, I advise you to ask always the opinion of
a specialist. Further more I have a few examples
(From Teachings of the Recipearial Revolution of Great Master Recipear
 86

of the Green Kingdom - Morminiu)

VIII. MASTER RECIPEAR OF THE GREEN KINGDOM

The ceiling in the Royal Palaces kitchen was upper than normally for
not allowing the accumulation of the smoke too low to leave its smell on the
food. The chimneys were permanently open and cleaned for the same
reason. The small windows, rather vents, filtered the light than let it enter.
So that, the light source was in fact the torches row which burdened the
atmosphere with their smell of rancid fat and with the black, smarting
smoke.
The King entered the kitchen followed by Morminiu. The guard
remained at the door in a waiting position. The cooks left the kitchen in a
hurry. The sovereign dragged heavily the body, bruised by hits, of a white
drod. Conform to the Recipeariat, for being able to prepare a Dish, he must
do with his own hand all the things from one end to the other. So, he had to
beat alive the drod, for soften its flesh. He had hit it with manliness,
clenching his jaws. The courtiers shouldnt notice any trace of weakness, or
recipearial incompetence.
Shaking of tiredness, he heaved up the drod on the long bone table,
cut and scratched by the sharp edges of the hatchets and the knives of the
royal cooks. He seated himself to take his breath. The door closed behind
them. They were the only people in the kitchen. The recipe secret was
assured now.
All right, Ive rested, the King said finally, rising.
Morminiu made a sign and immediately a flute sound tore the air,
rousing the fur on the Kings back. He watched him, surprised, but the
recipear tapered his lips of - its all right, everything is under control. After
which he felt the duty to explain:
Every Dish enter in resonance with certain sounds, with a certain
melodic line. If you succeed to find the suited music and to accord it on the
Preparation Story, the Dish ennobles. I even say, that the preparation of a
Dish becomes at a certain moment a musical story. The spirit its rather
willing to allow the music. Thats why is indicated to look firstly for the
melodic line of the Dish and just after for its Story.
The drod breathed babbled. Its red eyes surrounded by fangs had
almost emerged from their eye sockets, stressing the treatments horror it
had borne. Its skin had become a red with white and pink porridge. The
King avoided to look at it. The flute went on with its melody, adding a drop
of darkness in the room.
You can begin, Morminiu urged the King.
This one, showing he had learned well the lesson, chose a huge knife
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with its blade sharpened two fingers in width. Keeping it clumsily in his
hand, he tried to thrust it into the drods belly. But immediately he started
and dropped the knife. He had pushed the blade too slowly, not succeeding
in piercing its skin and the animals reflexes had reacted promptly. The drod
had hit chaotically the air with its two paws. It growled with the last
strength. A red foam drained from its small and fanged mouths.
You really cant put a happier music?
Not even a drod deserve such a faith, answered Morminiu
watching attentively the King. Then he added: Your Majesty, if we put an
unsuited music, we spoil everything. And we are not doing food here, but
we prepare a Dish. We are interpreting creation after all the Recipeariums
precepts.
All right, all right, grumbled intimidated the King.
Look how its the procedure. The music is good because it is in
resonance with the Dish. It is good as well because we have been cruel.
Uselessly cruel. Not any being should suffer in this way. But on the other
side, this Dish becomes impossible if we are not proceeding like this. What
are we going to do? For satisfying our vanity of making art, we prepare the
Dish by the book. And then, the music comes and punishes us and purifies
us. We have to pay in some way. It is very good that the music annoyed you.
That means you have started to feel something from the Recipeariums soul.
The King look at him, listening carefully, but kept silence and waited
like a diligent student. In the kitchen had been created a tension. Both of
them felt it and were taut. And the flute stressed it. Morminiu took the knife
and twisted it a few times on his fingers, skilfully.
This time Ill show you, he said and with a perfect gesture he split
the drod along its body, to its head.
Its paws jerked once more, then the animal breathed its last in a foam
bath. A soar smell rose from the split body. A wave of bowels bubbled
through the cut. The King screwed up his nose and retreated two steps.
Art is dirty, Your Highness. Only the finished artwork looks clean and
beautiful, pleasant to the eye, ears and especially to the tongue and
gastrophisa. But the road to it is dirty, tricky and sometimes degradationing.
It is like in politics. An important position is nice, inebriating, but the road to
it is dirty and full of traps. And especially degrading.
You are not satisfied with the position I gave you, Morminiu? the
King asked, showing a mask of indifference.
You have misunderstood me, Your Majesty. I made only an analogy,
because the politics is better known to you. I spoke about art. What
concerns the position, Im satisfied and I thank you. But the road to it hasnt
been pleasant at all.
Do you think you deserved more?
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It is not about that. I did not fight against the SCeders for this
position. I have done it for my country. Because, there are things you do
because you want, because you follow something, and things you do
because you need to. Very often they are not pleasant, but they must be
done.
For instance now, these lessons with me, are you doing them
because you must or you want?
Because I want.
Because I have asked you to, dont you?
Your ask is an order for anyone. That is why you are the sovereign.
Then, how do you explain the paradox?
It is not a paradox. Im doing them because I want to, because I
follow something through them. Any of your courtiers do a lot of things they
must do them, but in fact they want them and these things serve them as
well.
But, if Ill give you other order? For example to shelter me in your
palace, or to take another mission.
I will do them also because I want, Your Majesty. And of course,
depends on the missions nature.
The King kept silence thoughtfully. Morminiu put the knife on the
table and waited. After a while, the sovereign came closer to his lessons
object and with uncertain gestures he started to skin the drod. To the end he
became nervous, agitated. His movements were hastily and brutal. His arms
were dirtied by blood to his elbows. The drod didnt look good too,
maiming it in many places, or breaking its blood veins which had opened
craters in its flesh. After he cleaned it also inside, of all its entrails,
Morminiu helped him to wash it.
They put it on a wide tray. The recipear drew out from the cooling
room a pot with fruits and vegetables. The flute rhythm became livelier and
the trills of bone panpipes accompanied it with their unmistakable sound.
The King started to relax. He got near the pot. Driven by Morminiu he
chose the ingredients and stuffed the animals interior. He cut the vegetables
in thin slices and mixed them with pieces of fruits and greens. He poured
over the mixture syrup of fermented sequ and filled with it to the maximum
the drods belly. He adorned the exterior with colourful slices of fruits.
Your guard is not very friendly, began the King between two
advises.
I ask for forgiveness if they have disturbed Your Highness peace.
Aa, no, no. I havent even seen them so far. But, I was told that as
long as you are in the Palace theyre staying in completely silence and
stillness. They not even honour the lunch. Have they something against my
soldiers?
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Not at all Your Majesty. They have been instructed this way and as a
matter of fact I believe that we all can be all right like that.
I was told they look very strange. Frightful almost. Theyre masked
completely. It cant be seen any little piece of their body. And on their
mantles they dont have the coat of arms of the Mormont House.
Its true. Actually, theyre not my soldiers. They are mercenaries
paid by contract. Thus, through agreement they reserved the right to wear
their Castes uniform and to not apply on it my coat of arms.
But, where did you find them?
I knew of them since I was a child. From the far-off South, at the
Green Kingdoms borders. In fact, even now I dont know exactly if they
are from here, or from the other side. Regarding this, if you allow me?
Please.
The King had finished to adorned and poured the vegetable oil in the
tray and over the drod. He threw a few flowers of dusk, blossomed at
yellow, in the oil and smiled satisfied.
I understood that the two kingdoms from the north had fallen,
began Morminiu, helping the King to raise the tray and fix it in the oven.
Now, the SCeders returned more powerful than ever. Probably they will
come back in the Green Kingdom. I presume that their ambitions are great
as their military training, that they have proved - in just a few weeks they
conquered the Great Desert with its tribes of loopshi, so spread and mobile
that nobody had succeeded till now to defeat them. Add to this that they
conquered two kingdoms, true - relatively small and not to powerful.
Although, they had at least twenty Caramis, in which they could resist to an
assault, with their own sources, more than one year. And still, they fell in
only few weeks.
Thats right Morminiu, the King turned to the recipear looking at
him seriously and sincere. Thats right and probably we would share their
fate if wasnt you.
Thank you, but this was not the point. Im concerned to know what
preparations are taking place further on.
At a sign of Morminiu the music stopped. The dish was baking in the
oven. It remained to prepare only the pastry for the greens salad that would
follow to accompany the Dish.
Im disoriented Morminiu, the King seated himself on a chair. He
wasnt anymore the all powerful sovereign. He was the frilir on whos
shoulders a terrible burden was pressing. For generations, exactly me to be
confronted with the war. The others did everything they wanted in peace
and quiet, and the country flourished. And I had to be stricken by this curse,
at an old age, when I was approaching the retirement. I have in mind to
announce next week the Yearly Ball with the Royal Auction. Ill appoint
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Chathu inheritor.
Perhaps, you consider him the best choice to save the country.
Yes. Hes young and ambitious.
But, hes sick.
You do know!? the king asked him, surprised.
Morminiu shook his head affirmatively and kept silence.
Then, you know! Yes, he has pelhita since he was a child. It doesnt
exist a treatment.
The recipear opened widely his eyes, but he masked immediately the
surprise. The King looked at him, so he said quickly:
But, its bad.
Do you think so?
Otherwise I wouldnt realise that. And whats more, think about: if
he looses the control proving to be weak, then the country will be invaded
and he will die. You will be then in him and youll die together drawing in
the dark whole generations of Green Dynasty. Therefore, I think its only a
momentary solution. Without future, finished Morminiu with a whispered
voice and humbly.
What do you mean?
That you must remain on the throne and choose only those advises
that are good for the country.
Like yours.
Like mine. Or like Comtaps.
The King lowered his head and the wrinkled lungs deflated sadly.
Comtap is sick too, my friend. Advanced senility. Only the bone
roots keep him standing in public and maintain his conscious awake. My
good Comtap is old.
Why didnt he retreat at his time?
I didnt allow him. I needed him, the King answered with a
trembled voice. He racked his lips nervously.
The recipear kept quiet, impressed. The Kings regrets were a
sufficient punishment.
What shall I do, Morminiu?
Ordered that all the nobles to gather army from their lands and start
without delay instruction, in especially arranged and hidden places. Where
the SCeders spies cant reach. Then, ordered your people to bring me a sack
with alive explosive butterflies. Ill try to set a nursery where Ill multiply
them and assure thus as much munitions we can.
But, why couldnt we set the nursery there?
Because now the SCeders know the story and theyll attack first
there. We should also send spies in the neighbour country and along the
borders, for the moment theyll come back, to be announced in time. Then,
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well catch all the butterflies from the pit and well burn the place,
everything. We wont let them nothing. And you should suggest the Chief of
the War Council to retire. Hes much too old to react as he should in such
situations. Until now he should announce war state.
Im asking myself, Morminiu, what are you doing now? Do you
prepare your road, or is still love for your country? Are you doing what you
want or what you must?
Both, Your Majesty. Both.

8.
I pray relentlessly and ask to be shown the way. I try to get rid of his
presence in me, but I dont succeed. I wouldnt involve emotionally if I
havent feel him so warm and sincere. I wasnt prepare to fight against my
feelings. Id like to see the truth, but it didnt show to me. And then, I pray
again and recite paragraphs from the Holy Books. Im returning from the
Meditation Garden and I havent meditate at all.
Father Sky, you so good and forgiving, you who protect us against
the outside evil and warm us in your being, leave your light to guide my
steps, because Ive sunk in mist. I didnt know the feelings can form the fog
that looses my way. True was said that feelings darken the reason. The
thought about Morminiu slinks like a smoke through the steam of my
helplessness. Look at him Father. Take him and council him, and spread
the doubt. I stumble at every step.
I want to divert my attention. So, I go to the Mother-who-studies-the-
development-of-the-echo-in-our-consciousness. She notices me and smiles
kindly. She is the mother of my mother. She makes me a sign to come closer
and takes me around my shoulders: Look here, my beautiful. Ive almost
succeeded. Soon well start the true offensive in the faithless
consciousness.
She surrounds us with an insulating bell. She raises her eyes to the
Caramis cupola and I follow them. I feel a heat at my temples and I See. I
see the three Skys Daughters small like a childs scream. Those two
exterior, curved leaves, are almost stick on one side and the other on the
third Daughter, which is round like a foam balloon. The visions echo goes
away rapidly. I remain surprised, realising that the echo grows with the
distance. I cant perceive the transformation moment, but now the echo is a
frilir who keeps on his arms two huge shields. The speed increases and I
notice that the process of over-dimenssioning evolves proportional to the
increase of the speed. The echo passes beyond the Caramis cupola, a
massive bone table, with the plate made of two curved pieces, joined like
some wings on the centre. Isnt she afraid it will touch the Sky and upset
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our Father? No, she isnt. the distance is only in our consciousness. And it
grows there where it is, so big for a frilira from inside the Carami, that O
start to feel dizzy. The table open into a bird, which thickens into an anvil
shape, on which are attached two clothes blown by the wind. What is this
thing? She doesnt know. There appear many such unknown things through
which the Father-Master communicate her messages. But her mortal mind
cannot understand them yet. Why she doesnt discuss them in the Council,
with the other Mothers? If He would like the other Mothers to know the
messages, He would tell her. The echo is like a mountain which flies much
too farther that a friliras mind can think. And thats why I realise that even
the mountain still flies in the same direction, it comes directly towards us.
With an incredible speed. I look suspiciously the Mother-who-studies-the-
development-of-the-echo-in-our-consciousness. A sweat thread rolls over
her foreheads wrinkles. The mountain falls down freely. Roaring. This is
quite an echo! It would be better to leave, girl! I make rapidly two steps
on a side and pock! Im almost thrown through the invisible wall of the
insulating bell. I hardly keep my balance and turn back to look. The Mother
keeps her eyes closed and her hands on her head with the fingers twined
into a bhirta-ta-rai, position of energetic concentration into a closed circuit.
I go away dizzily. What I have seen has unpredictable implications.
But of course, the Trust in Secret will keep my lips glued. Im obliged to
keep the secret until the Mother will free me. Only this way can be chances
of surviving in harmony in a society of friliras: protecting the intimacy
through the secret over the commune meetings and experiences. Not any
frilira can speak in front of other people about things, words, feelings, from
her relationship with another one, or another two, three or four friliras,
without the others consent. Only in the interaction with at least five friliras
the secret is not anymore compulsory, just through preliminary agreement.
I passes the Mother-who-waits-the-leaving. She is like a statue,
incorporated in this place for years. In a future more or less far off, there
will be a colonisation of the new grown regions of the Carami. Then, she
will guide the settlers and will bring the holy mission of the Guild into the
new territories. Would these things happen? Is it true what my mother told
me about the Caramis extension to infinite? How would look the world
when the Royal Carami will include all the others and will cover the whole
existence? All the frilirs will be then oblige to live in the interior of the
universal city. And even we will extend together with him, finally it will be a
retreat behind the protective shell. A conquer to the inside. Well have only
the illusion of the extension. Then, the notion of freedom will be revised for
sure. Is it good to explore the exterior and enter into the resonance with the
environment, or it is better to retreat in myself and search my interior?
A little bit farther, in a clearing surrounded by rock-bushes like a
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fence, sit in contemplation the eldest of the Mothers. I go there as close as
possible. She is the only frilira who wakes in me a veneration feeling. She
has her closed and the face relaxed, expressing kindness and understanding.
On her shoulders has appeared a pair of wings. Even theyve already big,
theyre still growing. White. Since the last visit Ive made her, the down has
turned into shinny feathers. Still small and ruffled. I go around her and stop
behind her. I touch her wings with my fingers tips just like that, to feel their
warm and softness. They have a thrilling power.
When you will erase half of my names, a step will be open between
Up and Down, and the chosen ones will climb it up. When you will discover
half of , then you will know. Because the sign will be to be seen, and not
to not be seen. Then, the Things will get new meanings and the Light will
reveal another part of the way to the Truth. This is an excerpt from the
Discipline. A thought shakes me: if erasing from his names the YAVOH
one, weve actually reached the half? What will be the sign. And then, could
that mean that the Mother-who-contemplates could be the Chosen One? Or
otherwise said: if she is proven to be the Chosen One, that means a step has
opened and we have reached the half of the names. Then, we can have a
measure, a mark. Half of the way to the Truth.
YAVOH is the last revealed name. The others have been erased and
forgotten instantly. What will be the next revealed name? And if the Things
change, what will be the next reality? And I, as the High Priestess, what role
Ill have in the new order of the Things? I seat myself on a bench and watch
the friliras groups. None of them looks too cheerful, isnt it? Everything is
different. Not long ago, the Palaces park resound of happiness and games.
Now it unveils its sombre side.
What fool I am! I dont want to think at him anymore, but in a hidden
corner of my mind Im searching for solutions at what it seems to me a
priority. Ive realised that, when I discovered I could have a solution. What
if I substitute the missing gastrophisa with a simulation of it? I need only to
talk to Morminiu and to know what does a gastrophisa and a tasting mean
exactly. Then Ill try to create a substitute. I can do harder things.

A.
In the last time I have been surprised how fast can things evolve. At
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the beginning of my book I wrote under the influence of a certain reality and
a certain education and now, look at me - oriented on a new direction,
different not only from my school, but from everything was thought in
Reciparium since it has been born. I will not begin by denying the theory of
friliras incompatibility with the gastronomic art. Especially that at the
moment it is still true. It is a sure fact they miss the gastrophisa, and that it is
the key of the whole recipearial art. Still, this key have been replaced (and I
sustain this from practice, not only in theory) with a tool which, if handled
with a lot of will-power and ability, have brought close results to our artistic
experience, partially replacing our glands role. Look how the history is
written. Perhaps that in a certain future, the gastrophisa will be only the
friliric tool in the gastronomic art, while the friliric tool will be an incredible
imagination and the power of concentration.
Before passing to facts and demonstrations, I have to specify that I
do not have in mind to erase the chapters in which I sustain the contrary of
what I will demonstrate from now on, because they should not be
interpreted as inconsistency and scientific non accuracy, but as history, as
evolution. This is the Book which surprises the history.
(From Teachings of Recipearial Revolution, by Great Master Recipear of
the Green Kingdom - Morminiu)

IX. THE HUNTERS TRAP

The Silence Square waited for him acidly as usual. Silent, mysterious,
avoided by all. A desert in the middle of the city. Mahop stayed as every
time leant against a rock-bush. Seeing Morminiu coming closer, surrounded
by the mercenaries, he smiled ironically:
How is the big boss?
Hello Mahop.
For an honest citizen youre a little bit too pretentious of late. Tell
me, whats your recipes source? A heritage or something?
If you tell me a secret of your, Ill tell you mine.
Pour! What you want to know?
Hows possible to reply so promptly to the vorb, when youre most
of the time on the roads? The more so as up there I havent seen any
installation.
What use is for you knowing all these things?
I hatch them here, said Morminiu knocking his forehead, then the
ideas come and I return to you with deals.
Mahop watched him carefully, making grimaces of mistrust.
So, you answer me, Ill answer you.
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I have an implant on my terminal lobe, said the drunkard.
A what?
A small thing that replaces the vorb and its attached to my terminal
lobe. Its permanently on the vorb exchanges frequency.
The citys vorb exchange frequency?
Y yes.
Youre lying!
What the mothers skin you want from me? I answered. Its your
turn now.
Morminiu rose agitated and walked a few seconds. Then suddenly he
turned towards the drunkard:
Youre sure you want to know?
You bet I do!
All right. I am Morminiu.
This I know.
No. Not who you know. I am Morminiu and thats it.
You mean youre not Morminiu Bahrm M.? Youre Morminiu pure
and simple? The Recipear?
Yes.
Mahop reddened visibly even for the greenish light of the city. He
rose and looked insistently at the recipear. Then he touched his mantle,
distinct than the one he worn usually at their meetings and turned him. On
its back was embroidered with silk The Mormont Houses symbol.
Youre Hitissh Morminiu!
The nobles wore a single name, because they were a few and the
risks of name coincidence were almost non existent. When you said only:
Comtap or Bahara, was clear you had spoken about the nobles Comtap or
Bahara. But if you said: Comtap Cranth F. for instance, then you had talked
for sure about a frilir who needed for distinguish himself from the great
mass of the Comtaps, another name and a letter of affiliation to a village of
familys origin.
Mahop re-seated himself with his chin shaking. His lungs inflated and
deflated chaotically. He closed his eyes to calm down.
Now, you blow the lid of everything you know, came closer to him
Morminiu.
Ive nothing to say, Mahop smiled forced, Your Highness, he
added ironically.
We can still do some good business together. I dont see what could
you have against!
Im sorry Your Highness, but Im not available anymore.
Stop with these miseries. For you Im still Morminiu.
I think Ill have to leave you now, if Your Highness allows me.
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No, I dont allow you. Stay there and listen carefully, said harshly
Morminiu.
The drunkard remained in the same place and tried to compose
himself an indifferent face. But he couldnt keep his hand and chins
trembling. The weakness of drinks and drugs told its word.
Mahop, I know almost everything about you, he underlined the last
word. One single detail is missing and I hope that youll give it to me.
Then, I want to remain friends. Because you know, since Ive come here
youve been my only friend. Im sorry you dont want to collaborate and
thats why I want to know: why?
The drunkard remained silent, staring.
Youre waiting probably to see how much I know, Morminiu
resumed, to see how much to lie and how much to sell. Well, you have a
net of 60 processing units in Celesthe. More than the whole Bellyesthe with
all royal informational system.
Mahop started and looked at him, scared.
You have research labs and a research planning, as well as for
expeditions in the extended zones of Carami. Your studies knocked me
down.
Did you succeed to break our store-rooms?
Yes.
How? Its impossible. Its the most advanced technology. 20 years
in front of the royal one. You couldnt! Its a bluff. Somebody up there is
betraying us.
I dont know anybody else up there, than you. Do you feel somehow
a traitor? And, by the way, how much are you paid to keep your mouth shut
and steel your friend?
I dont understand!
Come on, stop playing this foolish game. Ive warned you! All the
three attacks at my store-room were co-ordinated by you. Youre the chief
of the Secret Service of the Informational Research and Investigation. At the
moment, your priority mission is to break my data-store. What you still
dont know, is that your hunters traced you out and now theyre staying
camouflaged in your net. There are three possibilities: you find them and
touch them, they blow up all your net, with all your storerooms and
information; you upset me, I order the execution and blow up everything; I
die, automatically they commit suicide and blow up everything. Aa, Ive
almost forgotten the last alternative: we understand each other and I dont
die, and everything its all right, and everybody is happy. Questions?
Mahop snarled:
Bluff.
I can make you a little demonstration.
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Morminiu stopped talking and closed his eyes. After a few seconds
he opened them and smiled. The drunkard smiled too. They both were
smiling on to each other, when suddenly Mahop frowned and drew out a
portable vorb from a pocket.
Yes!
Silence. He stared mistrustfully. He rose hurriedly and turned to
Morminiu, who was still smiling. He pounced upon him, but the recipears
guard immobilised him immediately.
Tartrrr!, whistled Mahop and tried to tear himself away from the
mercenaries arms. But youre mine, my children. What the fuck happened
to you?
I doubled their conditioning. I have to admit youd done a wonderful
job, but I succeeded to untied it. Now theyre mine. You dont believe I
would be an idiot to come with your arms here?
The drunkard abandoned himself in their hands. When they felt him
calmed, left him free.
How did you succeed all these? asked Mahop this time with a
gleam of curiosity in the whirlwinds of fury. You destroyed us a whole
storeroom in a split second. You know what data were there? Long years of
research and you bang and thats it!
Im sorry my friend, but you had to be convinced Im not joking. Its
essential for both.
Shut the fuck up with my friend. I was Morminiu Bahrms friend
in mothers vulbs, not your!
See, the situation is like that - you cant get rid of the hunters, then
you should consider the last alternative - my life. As long as I live, you live.
So, I want an aura.
A what?
An a u r a, spelled Morminiu. That something that protects the
Caramis walls. There are all the time attempts against me. In the last month
there have been at least six. With an aura I could avoid any danger and we
all can be safe.
You must be nuts to ask something like that!
I pay, of course.
I dont need a shit form you.
Morminiu closed his eyes and concentrate on something.
What are you doing? What are you doing, mother fucker?! tried
Mahop to jump on him, but the mercenaries immobilised him again. After a
few seconds, the drunkard fell on the sticky bone, drained. Lately, he spoke:
One more storeroom. You cant understand what treasures youre
destroying. Youre a murderer, a fucking murderer to play like that to us!
he started to cry.
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I want an aura.
Youll have it.
Call right now for a frilir to bring it. To be here in an hour.
Mahop laid on his back and drew out the vorb. He waited a few
seconds then, when probably he had the connection, talked:
Mahop. Give me lab. 31. Then he resumed immediately: yes, its
me. Bring in the Silence Square an aura. Now. Ya, its a great deal.
He switched off his vorb and put it back in the pocket. He wiped his
face of tears and breathed deeply.
Ill give you an unknown recipe on that aura. I want to keep an
equitable business relationship.
Fuck you!
I want to know something more, Morminiu ignored the insult.
Who is behind you and why does he want to steal from me?
I dont know.
Mahop, think logically. Youre not in the position you are. Youre
only a frilir whos listening and judging. I come in this city and Im
welcomed by a House, without disturbing someone else. I dont mix up with
anyone, Im just doing my job. And a somebody tries to brutally break into
my intimacy. He wants to steal my work. My life. I live for that. The recipes
are my meaning of being. And he wants to take my identity, personality, my
genius. Maybe he pays you well. Maybe youve been involved in a hunting
against a frilir you havent known and you didnt care for. But, now you
have found out its me, and you know Im telling the truth. What side are
you Mahop? Perhaps youre thinking in your ignorance - our storerooms are
worthy, his arent. Centuries of work, not years like in your case, centuries
of work of whole generations of famous recipears are there. And next to
them is my genius, my minds breath. A huge opera, like nothing else in the
history. This our nation proud. And you are calling me an ignorant
murderer? Id do anything to save it.
He caught him by the loose shirt and shook him:
Whos behind? Whos co-ordinating all?
The drunkard broke his hold and turned his back to him.
Such a petty. Even sincerely, it hurts me for all that science.
He closed his eyes, but Mahop flung himself at his feet and threw his
arms about them. The mercenaries caught him immediately, and drew him
back. He groaned through his teeth:
No, Morminiu, please, dont do it.
The recipear asked him gloomily:
Who is it?
Taharissh Chathu, but only on the informational spying. In rest
were on our own.
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Incredible. Now I understand a lot.
Mahop fell broke. He was a wreck failed beside the rock-bush.
Morminiu seated himself next to him and caught his shoulders:
And now my friend, lets see what has left from our relationship.

9.
I notice that Ive changed. The frilirs hardly change. Among the few
things that can influence them is the frilira. She made Leomi capable of
betraying his best friend and consider himself not guilty till the last moment.
She has made me change my greatness plans. Give up my political
ambitions. Political ambitions are good for lonely frilirs. I wont never
renounce at Recipearium. Without it Id be half dead. And even that half
dead means half alive, from the perspective of my alive half for me will be
only another occasion to repeat: Im half dead. And then will mean Ill
remain only a quarter alive. And so on.
She is not at all frightened that weve entered so deep in the Caramis
entrails. Though, shes fascinated by the world she has discovered. Shall it
be her trust in me, in herself, or some kind of recklessness?
We have reached the passing to the Altar Hall. If there is somewhere
an horrible splendour, then it should be here. I help her to slip there. She
enters with her head beyond and remains motionless for a few seconds, that
seem to me an eternity. Then she exclaims:
Its superb! Its like a dream!
Im crazy with delight. One of my treasures is shared with her. I cant
find my words. I formulated explanations, questions, I prepared myself to
catch and sip every reaction of her, and now Im doing nothing else than
staying and admiring the Hall together with her. It looks rather like a re-
discovery than presentation.
I see her undressing with quick gestures and remain stock-still. I,
who I believed myself an expert in friliras, I stare and stutter. If she turns
now to me, Ill be transformed into a statue. Almost all Mahops girls
undressed in front of me, but not like that. In fact, I dont know where is the
difference, only that now its something else. Iubila is undressing. She
remains with the soft underwear wrapped above her nervous belt to almost
two palms up the knees. She has long and slim legs. White, never touched
by the sun. Like the arms. She takes off her bonnet and paradoxically,
without it she looks twice naked. Her heads skin has a faint shine and
seems the most fine silk.
She runs towards the lake from the middle of the cave, that attracts
her like the torchs light, the butterfly. An exposed diamond to the strong
flood of the above chimney, a diamond spotted with huge and white flowers,
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fine and graceful, hairy. The Altar Hall has an irresistible splendour. And
firstly, morbid.
Iubila, stop! Wait! I shout imperatively.
She halts, surprised.
Before going there, I have to warn you about it. Its not what you
think it is. The Altar Hall is an
Please, Morminiu. Leave it like that. Dont steal my experience.
But, its not how you think!
I want to discover it as if Im the first. Like you. How is when you
discover new and wonderful things? Frightful and gorgeous secrets? Youve
told me a lot, youve attracted me, let me now pay the price for my
conversion.
I keep silence because she has already started to run again. She
wouldnt listen to me, anyway. With a child-like jump, with her legs behind,
she dives among the flowers into the water, divine butterfly burnt by the
strong flame of curiosity. How do they see such a things? These strangers
we live with - the friliras. I have asked myself many times how could two so
different beings as a frilir and a frilira are, form a single whole? A unity. And
its not at least about the fact that the contraries attract each other. Only if
everything its not just a myth. And, if is not a myth, where is the truth
hiding? What keeps us blind? So close and still intangible.
Iubila comes back to the surface like an air bubble that breaks noisily
under the atmospheres pressure. Boah! The noise reverberates into the
caves cupola.
Whoa! Morminiu!
The scream sounds desperate. I throw away my mantle and take off
my boots. Iubila is sinking. She bubbles the water and agitates her arms
more than is necessary. Is no more time. I dive into the lake after she. I
bring her back to the surface. Luckily us, she stopped writhing. She is
hanged stony of my neck. Im heading heavily towards the bank. I havent
borne nobody while swimming until now.
I support her several steps to take her away from the water, then I lay
her on the floor of the cave. Yellow and dried. I seat myself breathing
whistled, next to her. The bone is warm and at the moment I have the same
feeling as when I entered first time the city, that it is alive. As it could live
the skin on a snake, having its customs and functions, independent of its
bearer. Im feeling like its touching and cleaning me.
Iubila is trying to regulate her breath. I bend over her and raise her.
Shes breathing easier. Opens her eyes. Round, violet, deep, childish,
erudite, frightened. Shes crying. Crystalline beads. I would taste them
sweet and salt. I draw her nearer and try to speak to her, but I cant.
Anything I would say it seems to me foolish. I feel ridiculous. She sobs.
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Shes weeping bitterly. I embrace her, caressing her on the head, on the
shoulders, she has her skin cold and I calm her in the most common way:
Its all right. All right. Relax. Its passed.
And odd is that shes calming down and I keep quiet again. The
inspirations left me utterly. Im not trying to find similarities with other
events, because nothing would match. When you find yourself in a more
special situation, if you apply formulas, all the importance and the
preciousness are lost, used to say Plabos when I was imitating the attitude
of some tales heroes for reacting against the unforeseen, the surprises. I
was child.
She shivers and I think to wrap her with something. Shes encircled
my waist with her arms. Hes holding on me like a frilir in the middle of a
storm holding the only tree from surroundings. I intent to make a joke, but I
drop it in time. Shes breathing on my neck. My skin thrills and I feel how
my back fur rouse. There are moments when youre proud of such a thing
and moments in which even theyre normal, your natural bodys reactions
shame you. Im afraid to let her go for not loosing the sweet that
overwhelmed me. But its me who bent, breaking the spell, and kiss her on
the forehead, near the ear, on her cheek. We detach ourselves from each
other. Shes shivering stronger. She avoids to look at me. The spell is in fact
bigger than I thought. I kiss her moist and fleshy lips. She waits hesitatingly
at the beginning, then she answers. Warm and sensual. I kiss her and pass
my tongues tip on her neck, her shoulders, then again on her mouth and she
answers me with heavy gestures like at the end of the world. With fervour.
And its indeed like an worlds end when I unwrap her underwear
and let it fall - petal soften by water - with wet and randy splashed. Im in a
knot around which the whole world is spinning. Everything should begin
and end here and now. Look! Look! I would shout and I cant because my
hands, my tongue, all my body search her hunted by doubts. That exists
something so silky and voluptuous. That exists happiness. Because I realise
stupefied that is more than pleasure and that is pleasure of the most pure
essence. Then, I dont realise anything, anymore. Im only pure and simple
joining with Iubila and I feel that it couldnt possible be a more perfect
joining. I feel that it cant have an end. Thats why there is no beginning and
no end. My knot is a continuum, Its a never ending.
The last tears are airing on her cheeks. Shes cried continuously,
burning my face and neck. In the strong light of naked sun and unfiltered air,
shes much more beautiful than in the green semidarkness of the city. Im
holding her in my arms. Were staying motionless. Were just keeping quiet.
How clean is the silence! Like a cold, running water, after a scorching day.
Its not about inspiration, as it wasnt about it before. But only now I realise
this. Because there was and is Iubila and between us there is
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communication. Its not need of words. Only now I understand.

After a while she moves slowly, as she doesnt want to wake me up.
She rises on her knees, then standing. Shes naked, superb and easy-going.
She bents over our clothes and raises her mantle, throwing it on her
shoulders. But I can see and blink bewildered. Just for a moment, because
after, I forget it.
Im hungry, she says smiling weakly.
She radiates happiness and sadness. Its what makes me feel guilty
and this torture me. While she stretches the underwear for drying, I open the
rucksack and draw out the snack I prepared for the trip. She takes a seat
next to me and starts to eat silently. Accidentally, our eyes meet and we
smile. I - wide and happy. She - sad and kindly.
Ive been asking myself, who can be the ones that sue the Altar, I
break the tormenting silence, showing towards the lake.
I cant be sure, but I think I know the answer. Its an old story.
I raise my eyebrows and wait eagerly.
Is not anymore a secret that you, the frilirs, havent any religious
feelings. At least as we feel it. You are passives on this aspect. Friliras are
the chosen. Because we are born in faith, we live in it and we have the holy
role to spread it and maintain it. Among you, of course, the ones who
respect the faith as a tradition and public duty, but without
piously(piousless?). These are known things, even unaccountable. Two
generations ago, the mothers decided to make a bigger step - the formation
of some frilirs as priests. They believed that in this way they would have
more success in spreading the faith, the real faith, the one you cant feel it. It
was created a religious school in which were formed a number of chosen
ones. I dont know which were the selecting criteria. It represents a secret
as many other Mothers actions. The beginning was promising. The chosen
ones were children and during the years they had been formed to believe. It
wasnt really our feelings, but they didnt doubt anymore with their soul the
existence and the truth of the religion. There had been finally converted the
frilirs. In their turn, the priests opened cult places, where they hoped to
convert others. But from a point, it had been observed that the core was
putrid. It had happened something in the priests spirit, in their
consciousness. After long interrogations and research, The Mothers realised
the truth: you too, have a faith. The friliric tasting itself imposes a certain
believe and spiritual experience, deep and subtle lived by you. But, its a
believe opposed to the real one. A pagan believe, always rooted in your life
and soul, coexisting still since the beginnings, or maybe earlier, with the real
religion that you are wearing only as a decoration. I think the priests had
realised all these and from here had started everything. Their change. Their
restless. They had already invented a new cult, different even from your
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believe. A cult that have in its centre a primordial god, in fact a pluri-being
(multibeing?) from which had been born the frilirkind. They said they had
communicated with it, or with its spirit, which may exist deep inside you,
inside each of you, at the root of all the spirits that live in you. It has
considered them the Chosen and showed them the Truth. They had passed
to cannibalism and friliric sacrifices. Thats why I believe these are their
traces.
Do you mean this is not only a story two generations old?
No. The great majority of them have been killed by the population,
which was frightened by the atrocities. But some of them escaped. They hid
somewhere in the region, near Carami, starting to convert. There is a heavy
curse over the city since they left. Probably they have a powerful sect, if
theyre succeeding to maintain it.
What curse?
You cant uttered the curses without attracting them. The Guild is
still fighting against it, to keep it away from the city.
So, finally, that primordial being really exists, or your conversion
has waked unsuspected powers in frilirs.
Exactly.
Then, how is with the true and only one religion?
Its hard to explain. Because, also the friliric tasting believe exists
since the beginnings. The problem is that should be re-formulated the Truth
notion. You know, its certain that to exists is not synonymous with to be
truth.
What did you mean by cannibalism? They just eat frilirs?
No. They believe that through tasting in great number, a person
tasted by other 50 for instance, will live in all of them, exactly as that pluri-
being, and finally it would be possible to reconstitute it materially.
But, its impossible. It cant work this way!
Of course not. Still, they say its working.
I keep silence, impressed by what Ive heard. I didnt know about
this sect and I think that except the Guild, nobody remember it. How many
mysteries can hide under a shell like our world. And all of them come from
inside it, from a point packed with existences. From that primordial point
where everything has begun. That means that outside the world nothing
exists, or the mysteries would overrun our capacity of surviving.
I gather myself together and watch her inquisitively:
What has happened in fact?
To them?
No, to you.
She speaks. No, she keeps quiet. She decides again, open her mouth,
keeps quiet. She speaks:
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I was making peace with myself. Only after we do the big stupid
things, we think of them.
Thats what weve done - a big stupid thing?!
Yes.
Shall I understand that you regret?
Yes. No. I was only making peace with myself, with my believes,
with my meaning. I dont know what to say. In a way I regret and its
natural. But otherwise Im happy Ive done it. Perhaps I wished to do it and
Id do it again, if I was to choose, in spite of my Purpose.
Im afraid I dont get it, I answer cautiously but also disappointed
by the explanations ambiguity. In my frilirs proud I wished her to say she
doesnt regret, thats everything she had ever wished, that . But, she is not
every frilira. Shes the High Priestess and unfortunately Ive forgotten this
thing.
If you had been concerned by religion, at least historically, you
would have found out more about us and now you would have understood.
What?
Im the High Priestess. The Unique. The last one from a line of 67
High Priestesses. Which line shouldnt finish at me and now, when Im
saying this, I desperately realise the importance and the greatness and the
gravity of the duty that has pressed on my shoulders and Im trembling with
fear, anger and shame that Ive betrayed the Purpose. That Ive been so
weak. I havent proved Im worth My Birth. Were born High Priestesses
and we are prepared from the very first moment, till the last moment for the
Purpose. Only after that we can start the real life as Mothers. We are
initiated and formed to create the most extraordinary pleasure, the unique
sensation. Everything for the single moment we intercourse with the chosen
frilir, unknown by us and unknown shall remain forever. Everything to
produce for him and for us the supreme pleasure, so that our substances to
meet and to give birth to a being reaching to the perfection - the next High
Priestess. With every birth there is added one more step to the sublime.
After we accomplish our Purpose, we learn the Truth and we live in it. Thus,
we become Mothers.
Now I understand why Ive been so happy!
No, I didnt use the knowledge with you. Because, the supreme
pleasure kills. Between us is something else, much more profoundly than
Ive imagined.
What if is born a frilir?
Never has been born a frilir. It has been a long and uninterrupted
line of friliras. Im the one who has interrupted it.
Its a kind of religious wonder, something like a mystic secret, or are
you detaining a secret science?
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I cant tell you. There are secrets I can never disclose to anyone. Im
conditioned. Otherwise, the Perpetuation Guild would have disappeared
long time ago.
Youre right. But, I still dont see the problem. Or you should have
been virgin at the meeting moment?
Exactly. I should know the frilir once in a life and then to reach the
paroxysm of pleasure.
All right, lets admit this. Youve known me. Do you think the
Mothers would go mad?
I didnt use the knowledge. I didnt follow the Purpose. I left myself
driven by feelings. Secondly, I shouldnt know my partner, and you should
die. Thus, its kept the centuries old balance. But I know you and you didnt
die. And, I cant pretend either. The Mothers would feel me right away.
They know everything on a spot. I damaged the Guilds balance and I will
have to be punished. I will probably leave the Carami, banished in the Great
Desert, where Ill find my destiny and Ill be purified.
If this is your religion, then I understand why the frilirs have never
believed. Its an absurdity. I want you to be my wife.
The Guild cant allow it.
But the King will allow it.
Neither the King. For nothing in the world their wills will enter in a
conflict. Thats how theyve maintained the peace and the order in the
Kingdom.
This time their wills will enter in conflict. The King will do it for
me, Ive decided suddenly inspired, conscious by the way Ive chosen.
I risk everything, though I cant believe I would loose. There arent
supernatural forces to pull the strings. We, the frilirs, do and undo
everything. Then, everything is possible. Shell stay or well leave together.
What makes you so sure?
Its one of my secrets and you know, there are secrets that , I
reply and smile insinuatingly, still hopefully. Rewarded, because a smile
blossoms, but its erased immediately to my disappointment.
Its useless, religion is holy. The faith is rooted.
I wont allow anyone to split us. Not the Guild, nor the King or your
religion. If is necessary well leave together, Ill take you far away, in the
south, where you wont hear talking about the Guild.
The Guild is everywhere.
It does indeed supervise on a whole, but it doesnt penetrate the
lifes intimacy, like here. The friliras are free to live how they want, with
who they want. There, the peasants cant afford materially to sign contracts
with the Guild and prefer the free friliras. Thats why the Guild hasnt such a
power and influence in the far off zones.
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She keeps quiet bewildered. I ask:

Do you love me?
Yes, she replies simply.
She raises an incredible heavy and guilty look to me.
Then, you have to trust me. We shall let nothing from now on to
interfere between us. Youll come to me, to my Palace and in a few days
everything will be arranged.
Not in my soul, even youll succeed through a miracle.
Iubila, love is the most elevating and purifying. Its the cleanest
essence of existence. No religion in the world and not any Creator will
punish you for this feeling. It absolves you no matter what guilt youd have.
This is in fact the supreme accomplishment to which any rational, gifted
with sentiments, being aspires. Nobody should sacrifice himself for a
tradition, for a custom, for honour, for a groups vanity.
Shes made her eyes big and round, and kept silence. Shes still
keeping silence. Shes still watching me, motionless, then she breaths
deeply. The guiltiness had disappeared from her eyes, but has remained the
uncertainty. She leans her head on my shoulder and keeps quiet.
I, Morminiu, want you Iubila to be my wife under the sacred oath of
intimacy. I swear.
I swear, she utters and rise on her knees in front of me. She closes
her eyes and catches my hands in her small palms. I close my eyes too.
Without any reason at all, but I feel I have to do this.
The darkness behind my eyes lightens, and suddenly an explosion of
colours. Im floating. I try to open my eyes, but I have them open and look
around. Im floating in a white, endless abyss. Around me, colourful
balloons. Theyre moving chaotically, knocking me, frisking with me.
Theyre silky touching. One of them rubs on me in a prolonged movement
and I feel Iubilas hands caressing me, then it blows and spread into colours
strips. From somewhere has risen a rainbow. Long, arched. Perfect. I feel
myself full of enchantment. Im a child floating through beauty. Another
rainbow springs from behind me through between my legs, obliging me to
mount it. It flies with me to the horizon, where it seats me in my floating
position. I bend, fly, twist myself, Im playing with the balloons, I step on
waves of blue, indented with white, water. Freedom and beauty. I feel her
presence from everywhere. She surrounds me with kindness and love,
caresses me and spoils me, she wants me and she makes me feel the heat
from between her legs. Its a promise and a delight.
This is my freedom. The Exterior seen by me. My love. Enjoy
them.
I laugh. Without reason, under an inside impulse. Unaccountable. Its
pure cheerfulness that doesnt need a reason.
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I open my eyes and continue to laugh. A sweet dizziness overruns me
and I let myself on my back. I inhale deeply and smile. Im happy and more
relaxed than Ive ever been. She bents over me and kiss me, then she sits
down next to me. I dont know what powers does she have, what is their
essence, but I do know I like them. I remember shes the High Priestess.
A terrible noise destroys the laid peace. I start, surprised. The first
reaction is to look toward the chimney, but theres nothing happening. The
suns lowered pretty much, its rays penetrating now obliquely and falling
exactly on a crack in the wall. A crack that is making in wall. We are like in
a show with the light projected on the stage. The bony wall with calcium
deposits its pulled by a frightening force, splitting itself on its vertical and
crashing the deposits. Which fall in a whitish rain. The skin spread on the
bones is torn with a deafening and obscene noise. When its again silence
we look at each other questioningly. The tension grows breathtakingly. The
crisis diminish the tension and put the blood in movement. Action doesnt
give time to accumulate. But the pauses, the waiting, dam up the action and
allow the nerves to overload themselves.
Lets run, I whisper.
Its no use. He wouldnt allow us.
I swallow my question and look at her like at a crazy one. Im asking
myself again, on what does she base herself. The trust in me cant be. Then?
The trust in herself or the recklessness?
The crack in the wall waits for us like a huge vagit, broken and
tattered, pulverising in clouds of white dust, after a centuries waiting. Iubila
rises. The mantle slips from her shoulders. Naked like a goddess, shes
going straight there. After a few steps she stops. She stretches her hand to
me. Shes serious, concerned, but not at all frightened, or contrary, derisive.
I breath deeply and catch her hand. We enter.
Another cave! Ten times bigger. And not only in height or surface, but
in depth as well. Weve stepped on a kerb, broad of several steps, like a
balcony that enfolds the wall almost circular, at a height of about thirty
statures. The light is diffuse, like in the autumn mornings. Gloomy, with a lot
of grey and brown tones. Not a trace of the citys green. Iubilas staring in
front of her.
I turn my eyes towards there, but I cant distinguish something
specially. Then, I raise my sight and lower it a few times, to be sure. A
shudder shakes my spine. Im covered instantly with a cold perspiration.
Which wakes me up. We are the public of a gigantic sculpture. A frilira
modelled into the walls bone, keeping the contact with this one only
through a skinny membrane. A sculpture of the kind of those met in the
Friliras House. A frilira with her soles on the caves bottom and her head
sustaining the vault. Arched, with her bum stuck on the wall, with her body
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as swell out forward as possible. Her lungs filled at a double capacity. Like
two balloons glued on her necks skin, through them circulating not air, but
liquid. The impression of the liquid circulating is so real, that I shiver. Her
arms are open towards the exterior, with her palms on the wall, swollen
veins through which flows liquid visibly, and long, sharpened nails. Metallic
blades. Her legs are open to outside into a vulgar gesture. They end with
metallic, vulture claws, glistening sinister into the depth semidarkness. Her
body is perfect. A measure of all things. With the skin stretched and smooth.
Shinning. Soft white like just formed bones. With her vulbs obscenely open
and with the wanton plateau aroused. A gigantic replica of the frilira seen by
me in the attempt day, in the Palaces underground. But this time with her
face to me. With the vein writhing from the joining point of her body with
her left leg, over the body, to her right armpit, and then coiled several times
on her arm. Now, I can really say Ive seen an horrible splendour. She is
stretched into an horrible ecstasy, of a heavenly splendour. If there really are
Daughters of the Sky, then they should look like that.
Suddenly I remember. Its like a shock. In the moment Iubila rose and
put on her the mantle, something stroke me. A vein starting from her left hip
to her right armpit and coiled twice on her arm. Its really there! Not
swollen, horrible, only like a bluish trace on its white body. But its there! I
look again at the sculpture. I notice shes moving. Slowly. Terrifying slowly.
She lowers her head, that has been laid on the back, in ecstasy. Her eyes are
big and round. Her fleshy and sensual mouth contrasts with her thin nose.
Its Iubila with an animalic and ferocious expression. Her metallic teeth
gnash unbearably for the ear when she grins. A promising grin that its
addressed to us.
Iubilas breathing staccato. I dont know what keeps me to take her
up and run with her. She turns her back to the giant. She sticks her palms on
the shrivelled up wall. A walls vein is pulsing uncontrolled next to her hand.
The slim sizzles around her palms and evaporates stinking. The metal on
metal gnash of the statues teeth and the scratching of the walls with her
fingernails its increasing. I cover my ears. I fall on my knees. The frilira is
trying to evade from the peel that keeps her on the wall. Her vulbs are
closing and opening splashing sticky. Like a toothless and clotted mouth.
Iubila is turning back slowly with her face to the sculpture. This one calms
down. She relaxes her body, leaves her hands to slip next to her thighs, joins
her legs and stop her vulbs movement. She looks tired. Shes crying.
I rise. We leave the balcony. Iubila has her palms burnt. But she
doesnt feel the pain.
Whos He? I finally utter the question.
The Carami, she replies, tired.
I leave the other questions. I dress her, because she cant use
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anymore her hands and we go.

R. RIMSHI PICKLES (for Gourmand Dish)

When we start to prepare pickles or salads, we have to bear in mind

that first of all they have the role of stimulation and accentuation of the
gastric reactions. The completion role of the Dishs spasmic palette with a
new perspective.
Therefore, for the rimshi pickles we have:
INGREDIENTS: Rimshis - blind worms, from the banks of the
subterranean lakes.
Red algae - it grows only on the water pouches from
the Caramis lower zone.
Mucus of Carami - collected from the subterranean,
fleshy zones.
Water - from the subterranean lakes.
PREPARATION STORY: Take the rimshis together with the soil
which they have been picked up with and store them into a bone box with
walls stuffed with red algae. Fix the top of the box, that should be without
fail - pierced, for allowing the air to enter. Not for their sake, because they
are completely unfeeling beings. Everything for getting the result proposed
in the recipe. The box will be then buried into warm mucus of Carami. It
must be left there at least one week, but no more than two weeks.
At term, extract the box and open it. Of course, firstly it will hit us
the shamelessness, with a stinking but inviting reek. The rimshis are dead by
now, boiled in their own juice and stuck in a greenish gelatine. No matter
how much appetite you have, you must not serve them in this form. Empty
the box into a sieve, filtering this way the rimshis from the soil. On the
containers bottom you will notice the appearance of a thick layer of
whitish, little fat worms - fatselas. Do not be influenced by the name. The
reality overruns any imagination. Finally, no matter of the opinion, the
fatselas will be pressed through the sieve, taking all the juice and leaving the
shells. The translucent - whitish resulted liquid must be mixed with water
from the subterranean lakes. You can observe now an immediate reaction of
effervescence.
The rimshis, separated from the soil and washed properly, will be
thrown into the fatselas juice. Take the jar and close it hermetically. The
fermentation period is a month. It will be notice that the liquid is diffuse and
that from the rimshis bodies have grown thick fibres with a sweetish taste.
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You can add on preferences a piece of soar wood and tsetser bark. After
another week, the pickles can be served for hot gourmand Dishes.
(From Reciperial Revolution of Great Master Recipear of the Green
Kingdom - Morminiu)

X. THE COURT OF THE GREEN KING

Morminiu entered the Throne Hall. For a moment the voices noise
was attenuated, all the eyes turning to him. He bent politely and went on.
He wore a green waistcoat made of aquatic spiders fabric over a long black
shirt, embroidered with silk. His waist was enfolded with a silk belt - red
like blood. On the mantle were embroidered the Mormont Houses symbols
- a skull made of green silk with a red circle on its top. The skull symbolised
the depths and unknowns forces, the mystery from Beyond, the magic, the
black beauty of the life, the Meaning. The little circle that surrounded its top
represented the spiritual power. A sphere - as the skull could be interpreted,
as evidently rounded as it was - girdled with a circle meant in the old
written language, an M. And an old letter, stressed with a red sign,
represented more than a letter. It was a secret, mystic formula, with the
power and the meaning bound by the conceptor. There were few those who
still knew to work thus the letters, so that seeing a mystic formula imposed
respect and fear. From beneath his mantle emerged sombrely his sword,
with its hilt wrapped in red cloth. Defiance. The sword asked for blood. Or
otherwise said - revenge.
He advanced with rare and heavy steps. The courtiers retreated
respectfully from his way. One couldnt see the thoughts on their faces, but
could feel the vibration of the envious respect in front of the power. A few
young frilirs made way for themselves and greeted him. They invited him
without touching him - obedience in front of a superior position - towards
several empty armchairs.
The Throne Hall was more longer than wider. Very high, imposing
through its dimensions. The walls were covered with gold thin paper,
printed with historical scenes. From place to place hung from the ceiling for
several statures, huge candelabras bearing hundreds of candles, thick like an
arm. Emaciated candelabras from which hung white beards of wax. On one
of the walls was exposed a statue, high almost to the ceiling, imposing
opera of a re-known sculptor, representing the Father Sky. Morminiu had
found out that the statue guarded the Throne Hall more from an artistic
appreciation and courtesy for the Perpetuation Guild, than religious feelings.
In the opposite end to the entrance was the throne. A pretentious
joining of shells, blackened by the age and usage, adorned with gold thin
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papers, printed with sacred protective formulas. The chair itself was
surrounded by an imposing fan of arched and tapering fangs, looking rather
like a wide-opened beast mouth, on which bottom could be seen the tongue
- the fleshy cushion of the chair, of a dirty red colour. The whole throne had
a height of three frilir statures and was placed on a dais, that added one
more stature. Entering the Hall you were obliged to walk in length. First
impression, owed by the throne size, was that this one was pretty close. But
the way to it between the two rows of courtiers, became endless. Especially
as the etiquette obliged you to keep your eyes on the sovereign. To the end,
getting closer, you reached there with your head almost laid on the back.
Tell us Sir, what happened?
Its true what all the city speak?
Its true Morminiu?, took a seat next to him one of the few friends
of him, the Hitissh Tahmimh.
The young nobles group made a circle around him, but the questions
had attracted others too.
Yes, its true, answered calmly Morminiu.
A general murmur rose from the curious ones crowd. Then the
questions fell like a summer rain. The recipear smiled, reserved, and
interrupted them:
Do you want to know how was it?
Yes, answered immediately a child face, under whos ears the lungs
had swollen pinkish, due to emotion.
You should stay with your parents, not listening the gossip, young
frilir, Morminiu told him off. He had the common height of the frilirs, only
the face and the thin body betraying his age. The child rose sulkily and sat
down a little bit further. The others started to laugh and joke noisily.
Well, how was it? resumed Tahmimh the question for everybody.
Unpleasant, replied Morminiu in the same calm voice. In rest, I
believe youve heard the story since morning at least ten times. What I
presume you couldnt find out, is that hes been killed by his own assassin.
In the circle fell a surprised silence. After he looked satisfied at the others
faces spoke on: This morning I went for a walk. I was on the Royal Palace
Boulevard when a frilir that hadnt even bother to hide his face, attacked
me. I pass over the boring story of the fight, he said smiling ostentatiously,
and what do you think? I told him: Youve failed, Ill have to kill you.
Its right, Sir. You have all the right, he told me simply. His serenity
impressed me. He wasnt like a frilir in front of the pagan death. I dont
know what intimate impulses drive the assassins, but then I decided to
forgive him.
An admiring murmur passed the crowd.
So, I asked him: Who hired you? He stayed a moment thinking,
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then he answered calmly: Ill tell you Sir, because he didnt pay my silence
too. This time he displayed a sovereign despise: Its Hitissh Tathar.
Ooh! he heard from the audience. Then, my friend, I told him moved
by the fragility of the existence idea from his mind, youll get double of the
sum Tathar offered you, to kill him. And I even ask you to tell him who sent
you. Thats what I think you didnt know.
Poor Tathar, commented on a fat noble who was very agitated.
Still, he was a pleasant company.
For what? laughed one insolently.
The fat guy reddened, swelled his lungs and retreated grumbling in
the general guffaws. Suddenly, they could hear the royalty melody.
Everyone rose, turning toward the throne. From a side, a door opened. The
King entered. The music went on until he seated himself. A dummy on a
throne for giants. But the courtiers masks kept the respect in front of the
Kings institution, in front of the power.
Today, our soul is devastated, the sovereign said finally, after the
music sound faded.
In the Hall the silence fell and a lot of curious eyes turned to
Morminiu. This one remained impassive. Nobody had given them the
permission to sit down, so everybody was waiting upright. In the most
perfect stillness.
Today, our dearest friend, Taharissh Comtap, died.
A few seconds the silence thundered in the eardrums, then the
hubbub burst apparently deafeningly. Morminiu tapered his lips of
perplexity. The King rose from the throne and his lanky silhouette emanated
again in a surprisingly way, greatness. And truly regality. Chathu came close
to the dais, not daring to put his sole on the first step of it.
We will go in the garden to honour his spirit, ordered the monarch
in the impressed quietness that had fallen once more. The servants will
take care of your ladies, he added and went away. This meant that the
friliras werent allowed to assist at the ceremony. In principle there was
such a right, the only one who could cancel it being the master of the House.
And always it had happened this way.
They emerged into the Royal Palaces gardens, going towards a
clearing among the high trees, impressive tall for some plants-that-feed-
with-shadows. There was arranged an amphitheatre, in middle of which had
been raised a pyre. All around the place had been planted high pillars,
bearing torches. They represented the fence that should keep locked into the
circle the dead soul, for not loosing it, or for not being assimilated by the
plants. Also, in the arena, had been dug pits in the ground, in which had
been lighted fires for the fulfilment of the ritual. On every chair was a paper
mask. The freshly emerged spirit shouldnt distinguish the faces.
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The King appeared accompanied by the personal guard. In any
Palace, the only one who had the right to personal guard was the master of
the House. The guests were obliged by the etiquette to trust and enter alone,
only armed. But the king renounced at the guard and mixed himself among
the courtiers. They all put the masks on their faces.
The dancers began the ritually movements around the fires. The
dance between the silence and the call. From time to time they shouted:
woouu! the nobles followed the movements more and more tensed. At
one time they started like a single frilir - one of the dancers had lighted
himself instantly and thrown himself over the Taharissh body, that was laid
on the heap of dried and moistened with inflammable substances woods.
The flames included the pyre almost immediately. To help the dead spirit,
blinded by the pagan death, a sacrifice should come. A guide spirit, which
differently from the first one, in the violent deaths spasms, exactly as in a
frilir tasting, succeeded to find the way to the outside. Followed that the two
spirits, united through sacrifice, to find a new home into the body of one of
the present ones. It shouldnt exist choice for the dead, nor for the alive.
That was the Sacred Law of the Transmigration. The King wished to expiate
his crime of keeping Comtap from an honourable and salvaging death,
obliging the Court to honour the spirit of the dead.
The pyre was a huge torch. The dancers entered into a synchronised
rhythm, and the courtiers began to mark the dance with short and amply
shouts. Over them, still, was persisting the guides roar. It grew abruptly in
intensity, thrilling the whole Royal Palace. Then it faded dumbly for ever.
The spirits were free. The nobles increased the staccato rhythm of the
shouts, while the dancers were executing more and more simpler and
quicker movements. Morminiu drew partially the mask from his face, and
looked worriedly around. Seeing everybody concentrated to the ritual, he
continued to shout too, but with half of his face uncovered, for signalising
the spirit to not come.
Suddenly, a new roar shook the audience. A body fell over the chairs,
jolted by unseen hands. The others made room around him. All the noise
halted miraculously. The dancers broke down, exhausted. The nobles rose
taking off the masks. The receiver body was the Kings. Comtap had
revenged.
This is a traitor! burst an angry voice.
Chathu had climbed up on the chair, dominating all of them through
height. He had his face transfigured by effort, by the flames light and by
fury. He stretched his arm towards Morminiu. Around the recipear had been
formed immediately an empty space.
A criminal traitor, whistled hoarsely and sinister Chathu. Guards,
take him!
 114

Everyone made room for the soldiers. It was one of those moments in
which you couldnt talk to justify yourself, even the silence was generally.
Even if you would scream, you had the impression that nobody can hear or
understand you. That the accusing voice which kept quiet was covering
anyway you defence.
Morminiu made the gesture to drew out his sword, then he gave up.
He detached the sheath together with the blade. He went to one of the
young nobles:
Hitissh Tahmimh, Im handing to you this sword in keeping of faith.
It is like it is with my master, or in its own body, kept with holiness away of
defiling touches. Because the enemies should touch only its blade and not
its hilt. I swear to come back for it and you swear to break it and bury it if I
wont come back.
I swear, answered solemnly Tahmimh. Have faith Morminiu, and
he put the hand on his shoulder as friendship vow.
He stepped back respectfully, continuing to look into the recipears
eyes. The guards surrounded him taking him to the prison. He halted one
more time, face to face with Chathu, facing each other from their sight. A
strong smell of dusk flower emanated from the inheritor Taharissh clothes.
Morminiu filled his nostrils of understanding. He had noticed Chathus long,
black mantle, embroidered with black silk. It was identical with the one
worn by the mysterious frilir who had tortured him in the first attempt on
him, together with Tathar, as identical was the smell. He smiled scornfully
and said:
Tathar died in shame. Is sure that others will die the same.
Take him at once, cried nervously Chathu. Take him, because hes
stinking, he gesticulated agitatedly wishing to justify his nervousness.
Of pelhita, completed Morminiu, laughing.
The Taharissh drew out his sword as quick as lightning and prayed it
to the recipear. In the last moment it thrust deeply in the back of the chair
next to Morminiu. In the silence one could hear only the Kings groans and
the pants of Chathu. It was not honourable for a Taharissh, and especially
for the inheritor Taharissh, to kill a tied frilir. Besides, the victim would be a
noble caught in his power, so he couldnt make usage of the revenge right in
his defence. He would be compromised and exiled from the Green
Kingdom. Only a luck of a few fingers had saved the Taharissh fate and
Morminiu.

**

The King had sat down on the throne. He looked ill. Much lower,
Chathu, sat triumphantly in his armchair, at Kings left. The armchair from
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the right was empty. As the one from the left, but lower than the latest two.
And those were the King Trusts, dead, and the Master Recipears,
potentially dead. All the other nobles were seated in their places, after their
function and rank. Not any frilira was still in the Hall. The Justice was one
of the sovereigns prerogative in the whole Green Kingdom and on a second
level one of the nobles in their Houses, as well as on their lands. Was
forbidden for friliras to stay at trials. And in the case they were accused,
they would follow to be judged by the Mothers Council.
The Monarch made a sign to Chathu. This one rose. He started to
walk full of importance. In the end he halted in front of Morminiu. He hold
out his hand towards him, theatrically:
I accuse you of treason against the King and the Master of this holy
House. While everybody was participating at the ceremony, you dared to
disobey the royal order and will. The disobedience should be put down from
the first moment, Your Highness, ended the Taharissh turning to the King.
What do you have to say in your defence, Hitissh Morminiu? the
sovereign asked, tired.
Morminiu seemed to think well, then he begun:
Concerning the first aspect of the accusation, I have for His
Majesty, the general obedience in front of the royal institution. But, I have
not sworn total obedience, because I have not been asked yet, he added
rapidly.
The King made an offended face and avoided to look at him.
Immediately, Chathu took profit of the moment and advanced victoriously,
interrupting the recipear:
And this is an insult against the King. I accuse second time. The
oath for the sovereign should not be necessarily uttered. It is considered
given since you enter His Court. Especially when you steal functions of
certain importance, said the Taharissh with poison, looking immediately
significantly at the King. But this one was watching dreaming in other side,
seeming inattentive at the trial. Chathu had a moment of hesitation and then
Morminiu began rapidly:
All Your Lordships affirmations are false. They are not part of any
of the Green Kingdoms laws. The Swears Law specifies imperatively that
an swear unuttered through formula and ceremony does not worth and its
breaking does not attract the responsibility. And with this, the first problem
is closed, adding just my hope that in the end His Majesty will give me the
swear favour.
The Sovereign re-became attentively, following Morminiu closely.
Chathu had opened a few times his mouth to interrupt him, but he had
stopped in time for maintaining his ranks dignity.
Concerning the second aspect, Morminiu went on, the Sacred
 116

Law of Transmigration says that not the King, nor no matter what master of
any House, has the right to oblige a frilir to participate at a ceremony for
honouring a spirit. For the ceremony to be fulfilled it is necessary that all the
participants to offer themselves free-will and bona fide. That is why, I and I
believe that everyone from here, he added artfully, have interpreted
without thinking not for a moment the way Your Lordship has tried to
insinuate - that the King could break a law, then I have interpreted that His
Majesty invited us, he said and stressed the words, to this ceremony. An
invitation I could refuse by right, without the possibility of offending
someone. Or, if I could refuse on a whole, I could automatically refuse on a
part, as it is said di potesth minus, potesth plus (who can more, can less),
he underlined the juridical rule with conviction power. I accepted that part
of the invitation, of being and participating passively to the ceremony, as my
right and freedom allow me, he finished with the strengthen formula.
Chathu bit his lips without saying any word for several seconds. Then
he burst vehemently:
Not in front of the King. Not in front of the Supreme Power. Its an
offence!
Taharissh Chathu, thundered unexpectedly strong the Kings voice.
The Taharissh kept quiet, surprised. The trial is over. Dont you ever
invoke, the monarch went on watching menacingly Chathu, the Kings
power for your purposes sake. You can accuse only accordingly to the laws,
and not leant on the royal power. If the sovereign of a country does not
respect the laws, how could he impose them to his subjects?
He had risen and once more he dominated the whole Court. He
looked a while through the Hall, watching every noble in part. In the end he
fixed his eyes on Morminiu. He continued with a solemn voice:
Hitissh Morminiu, you are free. The judgement is over. You have
been found not guilty. You will be able to re-take your function. I want to
make one statement, he looked again at the Court. This week he has over-
passed the record of Recipeariat - 1300 Dishes, from which two hundred
absolutely new, of a high artistic level. I am proud that you are the Master
Recipear of my Kingdom. Since today, the title will be: Great Master
Recipear of the Green Kingdom.
In the Hall could be heard approving grumbling. The majority of the
nobles bent their head appreciatively.
One more thing, uttered again the King. Being left without my
friend help, I need to do by myself another two announcement: tomorrow
will take place the ceremony of handling to Morminiu the titles of Sun and
Siah lands, remained in the Royal House care after the painfully death of
their Masters while the SCeders invasion. And of course his upgrading to
the rank of Harissh.
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It was clear for everybody that the nomination represented only a
political manoeuvre, not having any practical finality. The two provinces
were situated on the north border of the Kingdom. They had been
abandoned by the population after the invasion and devastated by the
SCeders during the campaign. The territories had remained somehow like a
no frilirs land. A buffer zone.
Also in the first announce frame, tomorrow will have place the
appointment of Sir Morminiu, Harissh, in the function of Chief of the War
Council, the King added increasing the surprise and the general tension.
Morminiu himself, smiling in the first part of the announcement,
rounded his lips of wonder. The Chief of the War Council, the old general,
rose with his jaws shaking, trying to say something, looked helplessly
around, then he re-seated himself.
And finally, the second announcement, resumed the sovereign
pretending he hadnt noticed anything. In three months, with the occasion
of the Day of the Victory of the Great Chathron the Conqueror, my glorious
ancestor, will take place the Royal Auction. I will wait for Your Lordship
offers.
A murmur of true wonder covered the Hall. Chathu looked daggers at
the King, but couldnt succeed to read anything on his face. The Royal
Auction was that ceremony that was taking place only once in a Kings life.
In it was decided the inheritor of the throne, named the Kings taster. In
principle, the ceremony had only a symbolical role, the inheritor being
always the Kings child. The other nobles who bade, were doing it for
respecting the tradition. But the actual Green King had had an only child, a
frilira. Who had been automatically taken by the Guild for growing her up
and wasnt considered a potentially inheritor. The closest relative was
Chathu. So, at a first sight it seemed that the custom would be kept, the
ceremony remaining a simple formality. But, after Chathus defeat by
Morminiu and the shame in which the King had wallowed him,
remonstrating him in front of the Court, nobody could be sure anymore.
Moreover, that for the first time would participate even a recipear. And not
any recipear.
When the hubbub cooled down, the Taharissh made a step in front,
saying:
I would like to have the honour of collaborating with Your Lordship,
Morminiu, for preparing the Auction.
The acceptance would mean the reduction of Morminiu to the role of
a simple recipear and the impossibility of participating in his own name,
through his rank.
Your Grace, not that you will not have this honour, but here, in front
of Your Highness, he turned toward the King, then toward the Court, and
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of Your Lordships, I announce that I will make use of the right to revenge
against Taharissh Chathu. The law applies to everyone, excepting the King
and the friliras.
Chathu turned yellow. The King looked questioningly at Morminiu:
Sir Hitissh, nobody can take revenge on a judgement. It is forbidden
by law.
I revenge for the offence brought before the judgement, of attacking
me with the sword even I was bound and in His Lordships power. And also
I revenge for his gesture of attempting to my life without reason, together
with Tathar.
Very well, you are free to apply the law, concluded distantly the
King, as if he had pronounced a sentence.

10.
The alleys unfolds labyrinthine in the gloomy shadow of the park.
The dried leaves crack under soles like some shrivelled skins. At the end of
the road an artesian well rises under the shape of Carami. From its mouths
the water flows indifferently and lazily. Like the sap from a squeezed beetle
under foot. The wells bone is spotted with black. The city is somewhere,
far away. The noise is blurred by the parks thick vegetation that surrounds
the Royal Palace. Which dozes silently.
We havent said a word since weve entered the park. The sensation
of old-age overwhelms me. It moves away in time far too much my
memories from before Ive come into the city. A life left behind a year ago,
it is to me as far away as the childhood for an old frilir.
We pass the well and the King chooses an alley which dives into the
vegetation. He is not anymore the elder guy grasping of life, that Ive known
at the beginning. Curiously, how many things can happen in an year! A
peaceful life, then the fatal year. I remember Plabos words: Do not let the
time fly, a kingdom can vanish in a week. How right he was!
The King is the old frilir next to me, and the forest in the park has
been planted by his first ancestors. Sometimes Ive the feeling that they are
same age, that hes been planted as well with the first saplings. Im thinking
at Iubila and I cant see her growing old. She is from another dough and
pagans but beautiful , shameless but daring thoughts, thrill me. The change
is in the air. But I, like all the others, would like a change that shouldnt
break the silence and the false balance of the nostalgia. A change that
doesnt change.
We step in front of a crystal bell, high to the knees, that I could hold
in my arms. The old frilir goes close to it. He takes a sit on a rock at a few
step afar, with its shape polished by so many kings that have rested on it. An
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admiration wave passes over me - its really a rock. Cold, porous, with
brown moss in the cracks. A grey stone. I bend toward the bell and look
inside.
It is the Hark of my Family, explains the King looking at it dearly.
In an enormous small space is locked a world. In the middle is fixed a
green, pure like a crystal, precious stone, like a solidified lake. Around it
have grown huge forests in miniature, struggling with a desert of menacingly
fangs, not bigger than my teeth. In a side, exactly at the edge of the world,
hung over the non-existences emptiness, the city. Seething of life, growing,
but in an intrinsic way. I can perceive it growing inside it, and I feel my eyes
filling with tears in front of the genius and the thwartness.
Chathron the Conqueror has created it, uttered the monarch
expressionless. His cheek is white, furrowed by soft ditches. It is my
biggest satisfaction. He pauses, then: Rise the rays of the sun / To the
Daughters of the Sky / Mobs of frilirs changing their clothes / The worms
are staying, dragging along their flesh / From the beginning to the end. He
recites with faint voice and empty eyes. It is the spirit of my Family,
created the same time with the Hark. At the beginning was more optimistic.
Along the way he has been chiselled bit with bit. Almost a millennium. I
erased at the final, the plural of the word end.
I seat myself directly on the soil. Im staring at the Hark. I dont
know what could I say and in fact is nothing to say. He has succeeded to
communicate everything and now were staying two silent strangers, but in
the same time much intimate than we could be after hours of conversation.
In the forest is a silence of death. No animal survives in the shadow of the
plants-that-feed-with-shadows. We are alone. I remember the Hark from my
House, abandoned and dirty. I havent found yet the spiritual fuel to start it.
It is said that Bartrabar, the last king with red head, and Chathron,
stayed this way, thinking. After that, Chathron chopped off his head. On the
place where Bartrabar died, he has conceived the Hark. It is said that the
Hark has Bartrabars heart in its core, green like a pure crystal, and the will
of Chathron to grow and evolve. There are centuries of creation, he tells
me as crushed under them. Now, it belongs to me, and after me to the
emptiness. Before I leave this world, Ill set them free. The last piece of
creation.
Though I understand him and Id like now a period of philosophical
detachment, I cant forget hes the King. Even if in the air is persisting the
question - whos King?, I wonder what does he want? Why does he tell me
all these things?
Your Majesty, I finally utter my first words.
Yes Morminiu? he answers and watches me attentively and
surprised, as if he thought I wasnt there anymore. In the same time I see in
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his eyes the waiting - he guesses I have something to ask and this thing put
me in guard. If I havent done well my homework, anyway, now its too
late.
Its an important matter. You should know it.
The monarch keeps quiet and listens impassively. The land is
swampy, I have to be careful where I put my foot.
Recently, Ive discovered something pretty bad. I delayed to let you
know, for making some more research and re-evaluations.
This time he raises one of his eyebrows and turns up his lips of
curiosity. I cant tell for sure, but I think Ive hit some other place than he
has expected.
It is about the Gods Green.
What about it?
He has some effects.
I hesitate. I keep quiet. My glance falls on the hark. I remember
Iubila and Donasa, Plabos and not last - Leomi. Plabos left me at a certain
moment. Perhaps he found something that determined him to choose. The
problem is that just recently Ive realised he was tied by the power and
ambitions even after death. The damned truth is crooked. Only that Plabos,
inside me, unconditioned by a system of moral precepts, laws, common-
sense, money and social position, has discovered his real way much easier,
has decided and left on it. Pure and simple. Still, in life you have to assure
yourself with the travel luggage. And for this youre obliged to make
compromises.
Your Majesty, I resume before he looses his patience, the tea
could kill you. You have only two possibilities - give it up and I will
dezintoxicate you, or do not give it up and sooner or later you will die.
Happily, the King completes.
For a few seconds I remain surprised.
Did you know?
No. But Ive felt something odd in this tea. It was much too
beautiful to be true. Dont you know that the Death is a beautiful frilira with
whom you copulate in your last hour till you die?
I keep silence, hesitating. It wasnt the answer Ive expected.
Whats more, soon I will be tasted and none of your problems will
be actual.
Unfortunately Your Highness, there are actual problems. The taster
will be intoxicated because of you and will die. It doesnt make any sense to
transmigrate in someone else only for killing him. You will just sign a later
end.
The sovereign keeps quiet, frowning. Hes reached a dead end and he
doesnt like it. Only the old age and the finish wisdom keep him calm in
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such a situation. At this point, my reckoning have been correctly. In the end,
he asks me with an apparently peace, bad-forecasting:
Then, I have only two solutions?
Could be one more, but I prefer you to choose between the two.
Then Im choosing the tea.
I remark he doesnt say - the death -, and I shiver - no drinker of the
Gods Green has ever given it up. I think that death has found the most
suitable embodiment and I envy her, because nobody has part of such
fidelity.
The last solution, Your Majesty, I utter hardly, is to live but
differently. In case the dependence on the tea is definitively, thats not the
case here, it can be applied the last choice, as a compromise in which you
keep the life and also the Gods Green.
He is waiting, tensioned.
You have to be planted in the silted bottom of a lake, with your legs
thrust into a Gods Green poach. In short time the environment would open
and assimilate you, taking a good part from the poison and transforming it,
giving you back life. You will become a vegetal.
Its disgusting! he says and I know he thinks about the worthless
guys that have to be planted for obeying the orders.
I agree shaking my head and wait surprisingly fearless, the following.
In a way, Im feeling put up with myself. Disclosing everything I realised I
made wrong reckoning. The King staring at the Hark, with sad expression
on his face. In fact he should jailed me at once. But, hes thinking. I notice
refreshingly that the morbid atmosphere of the place and the abandoned-pet
like air of the monarch, doesnt impress me anymore. I feel again free, ready
to fight. And thats what Ill do if he put me to. I still cant rise, but Im
seething impatiently to leave. Iubila waits for me home, guarded carefully
by the ugly mercenaries.
What do you want in exchange?
Nothing, I reply with my mouth and only with half of my heart. I
have to help you. Its my fault.
Silence, then:
Dont you tell me anything about the High Priestess?
I need a few seconds to control myself and to be careful:
Ive considered is not the time. The matter can wait.
It wont wait at all, Morminiu. First of all, I appreciate that finally
youve been sincere with me. The breath freeze in my lungs. The King
goes on: Secondly, the matter is more grave than you guess. These sound
known to you - religious war, machinations, conspiracy, political
assassinations, revolts?
He studies my reactions, then presumes:
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We will solve the matter now. Do you want to remain with the High
Priestess?
I would do anything, Your Majesty! I reply passionately and he
smiles.
This would mean breaking a tradition that last since the beginning.
Only now I realise hes offered me the key of the discussion since the
beginning of the conversation, when he told me about his Familys Hark.
In which nobody believes anymore, I answer full of hope.
But, the friliras?
Only those who still lives in the Friliras House. And anyway, if the
High Priestess herself has passed in the other side
This would mean too, the falling of the Perpetuation Guild myth,
with everything that keeps standing a world.
Not the falling, only its transformation, Your majesty. The world it
keeps standing is a relic. The countryside people, less clenched in a rigid
and conservative system as the one existent in the Carami, and I dare to say,
with a more healthy life and morality, even simpler, dont believe anymore
in this world.
This world, the King interrupts me half preoccupied, half amused,
doesnt belong to me. I havent made it, but Chathron and his descendants.
Ive only received it without choosing it. My bright ancestor died almost a
millennium ago, and I think that really his motivations have become foul.
Morminiu, youre free to stay with the High Priestess. I just give you an
advice - she is much older than Chathron. If the past depth doesnt make
you dizzy, then keep her.
He rises. I feel him excited. The future has started already to be
written at past tense. I keep a too broad smile and follow him.

A.
The most difficult is to finish an art work. You could say pure and
simple - that is it!, but you know that there is always something to follow.
The history has taught us that is no beginning and no end. So, I only can tell
you: Be careful! The future is falling over you. You do not have time to see
its end, because it is already your present and another future is coming to
crush you under its roller. However, taste it easily and savour it. You have
only one future!
(From Teachings from the Reciperial Revolution, by Great Master
Recipear of the Green Kingdom - Morminiu)
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XI. THE FRILOLIRS HOUSE

What do you think about?

Iubila smiled and stuck on him.
Do you still hesitate?
No Morminiu. I believe with all my heart. We have the inner power
to do it.
Its not only this, he replied. He raised her in his arms and seated
her on the table. I cant stand the thought to grow old by you. To feel you
day by day, moment by moment, to perceive you through all my pores and
to clench my teeth, to retain myself, to be content with so little. To wish, of
doing to you all that can be done on the world, at once, through one single
gesture, to taste you all, to pour my love over you at once, and to not be
able to. To be so close, but hidden behind some stupid barrier. This is
cruelty!
Still, I was thinking we could do it inverse.
Not a chance. Youre not ready for something like this. Iubila, be
realistic. For whole generations, in fact for thousands of years, you havent
done it at all. You dont have the education since birth, nor the blood one.
But, we discipline ourselves a whole life. From the first light ray to the last.
Add to this each of my ancestors experience, sent to their descendants,
strengthening me. This is essential. The pain would destroy your much too
fast.
Well be against the world, she murmured.
Well set the world back on its natural way, he corrected her.
Morminiu, lets wait until after the Royal Auction. There are still
only a few days. I have a premonition.
What is it?, Morminiu asked her anxiously.
At this Auction will happen important things. You could be the main
piece.
Im not interested anymore, Iubila. Our dream is more important.
Besides, Ive prepared myself for today, he smiled convincingly. Only, if
you dont feel ready. Maybe this training months havent been enough.
Iubila, is very important
I know, I know Morminiu, she covered his mouth with her fingers.
Ive told you, the education or the training how you call it, Ive started it
before. With you its been just a refining. Dont be afraid, Im ready. I
wouldnt risk anything, only Ive been crazy. Anyway, if youve prepared
yourself, then lets do it, she finished with a grave tone.
She went away from the table and took her place. She watched him
several minutes making the preparations, then asked him:
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I havent seen the mercenaries today. Have you got rid of them?
Yes. Even I think its not the right thing.
Off! Finally. I couldnt stand them. They had something evil. I was
feeling it. They werent a good presence in the house.
However, I hope youve dressed the aura , he asked her
worriedly.
Of course, she lied offhand.
You realise we couldnt postpone anymore. I couldnt let you these
days, until the Auction, defenceless. Especially that youve heard, the city is
full of the Guilds assassins. They dangle about the Palace, like the rats
about a corpse. Until the Auction they would find out is not any mercenary
in the house anymore, and they would slink in.
He looked carefully to the preparations made in the Ritual Hall.
Noticing that everything is set, he added:
Everything is ready.
He smiled and came closer to her:
In a way, we need to say goodbye.
He bent to kiss her. With an only move, Iubila made that the long and
white mantle to slip to her feet. Naked, superb, desperate, she drew him
closer. They loved each other with fear and with hope, with passion and
with hate. She was the Death, he - the Traveller.
He rose from next to her. Tried to explain her something, but
renounced. He went to the fireplace. Lighted the fire under the huge cast-
iron kettle. He climbed up on a chair, stepped into the water. As if by magic,
the music started. Tanghshu. Seething swamps. Tanghshu. Enormous roots
of seqolosal sheltering a whole village, with its trunk rising overwhelming
from above the roofs. Tanghshu. Poisonous spider-birds grinning slavering
from the centre of their net. Tanghshu. Sequ harvest in the red of the
twilight, in the choir of the harvesters thick voices. Morminiu beamed.
Iubila was bringing a bucket with mud. She put it next to the kettle. She
looked worriedly at the spices table.
Not there, he corrected her softly.
I know, I know. Just leave me to gather myself together.
She straightened hesitatingly towards the table. On a corner were
several roots. With more and more sure movements she cleaned one of the
dried soil from its fibres and scrapped its skin. It remained white and juicy.
She repeated the operation twice. Then she sliced them and threw them into
the water, over Morminius body.
Dont forget about my books, he remind her. They will be the
heritage of our children. And do not ever reveal the secret of the
fulguses.
Iubila approved with a movement of her head and look around her
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again hesitatingly. The light faded. The red dusk flooded the room. Her eyes
were panicked.
Now, he whispered.
She came to the cast-iron kettle. Took the bucket with mud and
poured it into the water. Seething swamps. Tanghshu. Blood-stained dusk.
Prolonged pants. The strong and thick voice of Morminiu rose, trembled. He
was singing. Big drops of perspiration and steam trickled down his face. His
lungs filled and deflated in the songs rhythm. First roar started. Iubila
caught the edge of the table with her hands.
Turn back!
She clenched the tables edge furiously.
Dont turn your back on me. Please!
She twisted and look at him. Morminiu resumed the song with a
weaker voice. The second roar. Iubila fell on her knees.
Stand up and fight!
The third roar. The tears gushed on Iubilas face like a spring. Song.
Roar. Song. Roar. Murmur and pants. Iubilas body trembled like a jelly.
Roars criss-crossed by strong groans. Tanghshu. Iubila was crying shaking
from all her body. She brought her hands to her ears. She looked at him. The
dusk darkened more his face. Groans of stabbed animal. Roars. A vomit
wave stroke her. She wanted to throw up. She halted herself with her head
bent over the floor and looked at him. He was watching her begging, in
pains. She concentrated. Imagined the gastrophisa. The image of her
gastrophisa. Concentration. The vomit turned into a throatic spasm. Her
stomach wrinkled and crawled up her throat. Huge worm liking her wind-
pipe. Vomit. Throatic spasm. Vomit. Her stomach was on her tongue.
Throatic spasm. Vomit. Throatic spasm. Throatic spasm. Her gastrophisa
was working madly. Throatic spasm. Her face grew lighter. The peril had
passed. For the moment.
Roars. Morminiu had his arms upwards, trembling like some rods.
He was roaring that you would say - he will be pulverised into small and red
pieces. He fainted. It was silence again. Iubila had her face wet. Tanghshu.
Dementia. Vomit. The image of the gastrophisa. This time she worked it out
faster. She crept to the table and leaned her head against the cold bone. She
was crying quietly.
Its important to resist as longer as possible. Then, my spirit would
find you faster. If still, I give you signs that Im loosing my minds, kill me.
With one stroke. Like that. Morminiu s voice came back like an echo
from the rooms corners. Like that, Like that. The swords black
glistened lugubriously. Excited.
Did he died or the mad? she trembled and bit her lips with
desperation. Forgive me Morminiu, I didnt have the strength. I didnt
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have . She caught the sword and twisted it unskilfully. Whatever. Well
be together.
A groan. She started violently and dropped the sword from her hand.
Morminiu looked at her, dying. Then he shouted:
Iubila!
His eyes were out of their orbits. Desperate.
She wanted again to take the sword. In the same moment the Halls
door was flung on the wall. In the room fell the inanimate body of Totin.
After him, three frilirs in black mantles invaded. For a second they remained
surprised of what they saw, then one of them shouted:
Blasphemy! Treason!
He was Chathu. Next to him, Bahara and Mahop.
Make sure hes seeing what Im doing to the bitch! Chathu ordered
Mahop.
Iubila run towards the drunkard, but the Taharissh caught her and
flung her to the floor. Mahop went with his sword out close to the cast-iron
kettle. He wore noble mantle. He looked at Morminiu and his shoulders
trembled. Morminius face, purple, watched him with eyes starting from
their sockets and madness glimpses. The roars didnt stop.
Let him torturing more! Chathu shouted, maddened.
Mahop clenched his teeth. His sword flashed and penetrated the
nervous belt to the other side. With one single movement he cut him in two.
His head bent heavily to the back, then slipped into the mud.
There was silence. Tanghshu. Red dusk. Seething swamp. Tanghshu..
Chathu raised Iubila looking at her with hate. She had fainted. The
Taharissh opened his mantle, leaving a carrion smell to flood the room.
Mahop threw up near the wall. He left running. The Taharissh joined with
the friliras soft body. Bahara helped him to keep her in position. A sword
penetrated him from one side to the other, nailing him on the wall. Chathu
stroke her hand and Iubila dropped the sword. Then he slapped her twice.
But immediately he grunted, panicked, and screamed hoarsely and stifled.
The High Priestess had petrified herself, catching the Taharissh into the
coldness of the stone. This one struggled helpless, weaker and weaker. He
remained hung inertly by the friliras statue. Which began to defrost.

****

The doors were opened hurriedly. In the royal quarters entered the
sheriff in guard. He advanced close to the Kings office and fell on his
knees:
I ask for forgiveness, Majesty. The SCeders are at the city gates.
The sovereign looked, bewildered, at the soldier. He took a sit in an
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armchair. He breathed whistling.
Send for Morminiu, he ordered.
Harissh Morminiu is dead, Your Majesty.
What do you mean?
Just now has arrived Hitissh Mahop at the Palace. He wanted to
announce you personally.
Hes been there with Chathu, the King gnashed his teeth furiously.
Kill him. Kill them both.

The SCeders were in the front of the three commercial gates of the
city, barricaded with the stalls from the market. On the barricades waited a
few hundreds soldiers. The barbarians were preparing to attack.

***

Iubila headed running to the eats side of the city. In that area,
Morminiu had indicated her a mouth, an exit out of use since the frilirs with
red heads age. He had cleaned it and assured its access to the exterior.
Waking up from the petrifying, she had noticed wondering, her
toughness and bravery in the way of seeing the situation. She had drawn out
the corpses from the Hall and had gone on with the Ritual. After she had
swallowed the last bit of Morminiu, she had equipped herself, had saved in
the recipears rucksack the processing unity, the store-room loaded with all
the material saved by Morminiu and the fulguses, and had left.
The whole city was in panic. Alerted groups of frilirs ran in all
directions. But especially to the known gates from south and north. Not any
of the east gates, the oldest, opened exactly in the mountain that watched
the Carami, were still known. Going away from the centre, the fight noise
and the smoke smell fade away. That was her first going out. She was
supposed to climb up the mountain and traverse the crest. Where, Morminiu
had told her that he had built a small temple for her. He had called it the
Frilolirs House. Thats hed called it and shed liked it.
She went on. The strong air stroke her. She was in the shadow area
and the light was still all right. She touched anyway her lens, manufactured
by Morminiu. More relaxed, she began the way up. Once, she spoke loudly:
The next name of has revealed to me as being YAVOH. I forgot
the last name of .
A thrill shook her and her eyes filled with tears. It started a new era.
The name has been revealed to her. The Frilolirs House, she uttered with
her voice weakened by the effort. Thank You YAVOH, and she started to
cry quietly.
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11.
I woke up, dizzy, suddenly. I was slipping through a tube which was
dilating at my passing. I knew the friction with the walls, but I couldnt feel
it. Finally, Ive been expelled like a cork through a small orifice, that I
forced in my fall to open its lips. Then, I remembered everything and told to
me: Morminiu boy, youve been born second time! Where?!
The darkness is all powerful. An uncertainty sensation overcomes
me. I need some marks to keep my eyes hung on, otherwise Ill throw up.
The problem is that I cant throw up, because I dont have anymore a body
(I just know it!) and this matter disheartens me completely. I am in the Total
Darkness, floating in some kind of emptiness. As a matter of fact, Im
moving (and this I know immediately, as Ive thought of it. The answers to
my problems come to me instantly). I dont make any effort to move and I
dont know where Im going to. The movement hasnt any meaning - in all
directions darkness and emptiness.
I perceive a multiple presence. The emotion thrills my fur. Or
anyway, my sensation of fur. Plabos?
Plabos, is that you?
I see him, he comes to me. Hes dark on darkness, but I see him.
Behind him, a whole procession. It looks like a swarm of golden butterflies
and the thought Ive been re-born in a cesspit amuses me for the
dissatisfaction of the others.
Where are we, Morminiu? the words touch me softly, like some
sponges. But you are so young, he exclaims without letting me the respite
to answer. What has happened? Why have you left yourself tasted so
early?
Master, Ive missed you!
Forgive me boy! I intended to come back, to see what youre doing.
Now, I understand. Without advice, inexperienced, in a royal city full of
temptations, you have given up sooner. Im the one to blame.
No Master, is not this.
Then? You havent died pagan, have you?
What makes you think this?
Weve been thrown suddenly, from Beyond, back into the
Darkness. Beyond doesnt exist anymore. And the Darkness as well, its not
the usual one. Its another one. What has happened boy? Is this your
death?
No Master, relax. Im just a little bit confused. You know, Im new
around here, add the meeting shock
I know how it is. It took me a long time to get used with. And I
couldnt see my ancestors spirits for a long period of adjustment.
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Leave me a while to gather myself together. Ive been tasted and
Ive transmigrated. Ive succeeded!
The others avoid my enthusiastic words, a little bit too big.
Now, Im in her conscious, I go on in connecting the facts. So, the
process is working. Everything was a lie, all this history. We were blind
here. Here was the Truth!
What are you talking about? What Truth?
Do you know the Frilolir myth? Of course you know it. It is not a
tale. Everything is true. But some way or another, our ancestors have
chosen a wrong way and turned the reality into a myth, living millenniums
of lie. Who could such a thing to us?
Morminiu boy, were loosing our patience. We have other things to
do, as well. We need to get out from this unknown darkness and you have to
help us. Where are you now and which is the way to subconscious?
Im in Iubila, the High Priestess of the Perpetuation Guild. And the
way to the subconscious is completely unknown to me, at this moment.
Youre crazy? Youre in a frilira? Plabos grows angry and his
words strike me with power.
Yes. Together well reconstitute the Frilolir.
The Frilolir is only a story. Youve broken the Sacred Law! You
ruined us all. Centuries of tradition lost because of an extravagance!?
Plabos words are hitting me more and more violently.
The others repeat: Youre crazy! What have you done to us? Take us
out of here. Youre crazy! The words are hard boulders which hit me and
crush me. They pull me away through the emptiness, but I have no space to
hide in. Suddenly, I fall, I slip through a hole, I would say a trapdoor opens
under me. Into the chaos. Much light, aggressive colours. Shock. I stop
looking and remain floating. Im waiting to come to my senses.
I look and Im astonished. Im laid on the grass. Which is green.
Crude green, healthy, caressed by a real sun. Im in the near-hood of a
swamp and the landscape its immediately familiar to me. The South
Swamps. Home! I start to cry.
Welcome in Iubilas conscious. She has prepared for you this space,
for not feeling lonely.
But, she has never been outside! And especially in south!
No, she has never been outside till now. But, you have and it is
enough.
She, can she see all these now? I ask full of hope.
No, not yet. You will have to find the way to her. I am here to help
you.
I lay down on the sun, in the soft grass. I wipe the tears. The heat
invades me. Its good now, after Ive relieved myself through cry. After so
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many months in semidarkness, finally warmed by the sun.

We want to become the Frilolir, Im thinking and the thought is
heard loudly.
Yes, you thats what you want. But, you dont know how. For this
you need to search in her subconscious. The way should be precisely there.
Everything bursts like a foamy balloon. Im on a road of stone slabs,
near to some gnawed-by-age walls. A grey dust persists in the air. Like a
suspension.
It seems you have to find the way through the labyrinth. At its end it
is the Frilolir. Here, my power ends. But, anytime you feel tired, call me,
finishes the conscious voice.
Im entering the labyrinth - a long corridor, without end, without
ramifications. If what Im seeing coincides with the reality from here, then I
only have to walk all this corridor, Im thinking and make a few steps
ahead. I notice Im walking without advancing. I havent imagined in this
way a subconscious. Somewhere should be a key to help me open it. Im
looking carefully around. I observe immediately the boxes row in the wall,
that is unfolding beyond the view. First impression is that it could be a
decorative element. Going closer I notice that in fact, theyre images.
Images from the history. Known scenes or less known. Even from the
legends, myths, from tales. The first box is with the SCeders defeat. There
is ending the History for me. I touch one of the images. It slide silently,
waiting for me to drive it to other place. From behind it makes its
appearance another image, with another historical scene.
Without any apparent connection, I remember the Kings advice:
Iubila is much older than Chathron. If the past depth doesnt make you
dizzy, then keep her. I smile. I understand right away the games rules. I
can advance through the labyrinth only discovering the History. I have to re-
make the natural order of things to the end. To what for me will be the
beginning, the frilirs and friliras origins. To the Frilolir. Perhaps this way, if I
find the mistake, I will know to how to rectify it and to avoid the repetition
of the lie. The Frilolir must remain what it is. Because we are the Frilolir. In
the end. Or, in a beginning.
I sigh, happy, with my lungs sensation and begin the reconstitution.

THE END