A Summer Barbaric of Shenanigans
As the bands packed up to move out from this concert onto the next town, Filly noticed the Regent, Prince Nikhols, sitting stiffly on his own while the others worked.
“How are you feeling?” she inquired, noting his stilted breathing.
“Muscle spasms in my lower back,” he grimaced with an accepting nod.
“May I?” she asked, laying her hands upon his shoulders.
Nikhols leaned forward gratefully, saying,
Filly clapped her hands together and rubbed them vigorously to heat up the healing within. Then she ran her hands down the man’s back, gently at first, seeking where the muscles held tight knots. She closed her eyes and let her fingers see the pain. Working from the spine outward, she released built-up pressure, pulling toxic energy from where it was curled around muscle fibers and flicked it from his back. She burned off the residue in empathic images of pure-white fires.
It was obvious the man spent many hours sitting in a transport driver’s seat.
There was little she could do in this short moment, with him dressed and sitting, but she did her best, adding secret heart prayers and soul blessings of light and grace. In her mind, the air glittered about them with green and gold breaths of healing. The Oracle channeled positive energy into the man’s muscles. This would then hold for longer than she could lay hands upon him and bring about further healing as time passed.
“That should feel better,” Filly smiled giving him a gentle hug from behind.
He breathed heavily, still feeling the pain of spasms as they pulsed in this new release and squeeze of energy.
“Drink plenty of water to help wash away the toxins and get as much rest, lying flat on your back, as you are able.” Her instructions encouraged him.
“Thanks, mayte.” He smiled a little easier. He hugged her tight for a few moments longer.
“I look to see you all, again, soon.” Filly passed on her farewell.
“Will do.” He nodded and turned to limp off slightly.
Filly watched after him with her soul eyes, as she turned to go her own way. She pressed her healing powers after him and shrouded the Regent in a royal cloak of golden, green energy. Prince Nikhols stood a little taller and joined his crew in setting on their way toward the next town.
Filly returned her own transport. They were set to leave the next day; the last to leave these carnival grounds.
Marin relaxed in the back, reading again, sipping a steaming, hot, buttered rum. He nodded to her, over his nearly finished book.
Filly paused, reaching out to him again,
“Has Rebecca nearly jumped from the battlements, yet?”
Marin grinned, glancing at his book, and explained,
“The challengers joust even now.”
Filly quickly lifted her hand to hear heart, with an inward rush of breath,
“Read it to me. His final flush…” she asked in a hushed whisper.
Marin looked to the closing pages before him and read that one paragraph she longed to hear,
His eyes were closed,—the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment, the eyes opened—but they were fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending passions.” *7
Filly sighed as her eyes glistened with tears and whispered,
Fiat voluntas tua! *7
“Thy will be done.” Marin echoed in translation.
He paused before asking,
“Do you think we have any hope, if an Almighty does exist and we are found wanting; as Bios Gilbert?”
Filly breathed out with an incredulous, yet compassionate grin,
“How can you read Ivanhoe and not see the hope?”
“All I see is shadowed before me.” Marin answered in cryptic contemplation.
Filly stepped toward him, smiling as mother goddess, the Oracle Priestess that she was, and coaxed his soul,
“Then step out into the Light.”
She kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair. Placing that hand upon his shoulder where sat the clawed darkness still, leering at her in distrust, Filly spoke to both man and shadow,
“There is always a hope and a future.”
The claws of the shadow slipped and the small evil scrambled to regain his hold. But, Marin shook his head and looked up at the woman.
“You give me hope enough, to believe.”
Filly took him a step further,
“Whatever hope I give you is freely given. But you must work to make it your own. My hope cannot save you. Only your own will may choose to walk that path.”
“Thy will be done,” he prayed aloud with eyes closed.
“Amen.” Filly answered.
The dark being shaded its eyes from the spiritual brilliance of the woman glowing before it, hissing,
“I can’t go back to the torture of darkness,” panic dried up its dripping teeth.
Filly directly addressed the whimpering evil with strong grace,
“Then be you redeemed.”
The dark creature suddenly looked shocked. Its eyes bulged in the midst of black shadow as a look of wonder slowly waved over forgotten consciousness. It glanced up with questioning, pleading eyes, seeking mercy from something above the stars in the night.
A burst of light, like a column of shimmering power suddenly exploded upon Marin’s shoulder, though he was unaware of any spiritual occurrences. The dark evil transformed, like a sunrise, into a magical creature of light, more beautiful than Filly had ever seen in all the physical realm. She smiled and watched as the beam of light took up the newly restored messenger, and a quiet peace descended in its place.
“I think I may seek a new path for my life, after all,” he smiled. “But, not tonight,” he yawed. “I’m suddenly exhausted.”
Filly nodded and repeated her exhortation,
“Be it as you will.”
The two parted in the night, to their own quarters. Filly spent several hours in divine meditations full of thanksgiving and praise. Marin slept better than he’d slept in years.
[*7 from the book Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott. The ending of chapter 43.]
If you would like to see more of Gregga’s books and other creative projects, check out her website: Gregga J. Johnn and Story-in-the-Wings.