ABADDON
Part One
And for a
long time yet, led by some wondrous power,
I am fated to journey hand in hand with my strange heroes
and to survey the surging immensity of life,
to survey it through the laughter that all can see
and through the tears unseen and unknown by anyone.
—Nicolai
Gogol
Dead Souls
From there to
here, from here to there,
Funny things are everywhere.
—Dr. Seuss
One Fish, Two Fish
Red Fish, Blue Fish
I
Jabberwock the Bandersnatch
bided his time by pondering time. It was something he did quite often as it
remained to him a mystery, a quandary, a perplexity—a concept that he
continually tried to grasp and, which, just as his long, sharp, curved nails
scratched its surface, would slip inexplicably, irrevocably and inexorably
from his clasp.
And, on this spring day in May, the perfume of wild flowers and
the gentle sun warm on his head had sent Jabberwock into one of his flights
of fancy—and once again, he meditated on time. Time flies when you’re having
fun. Time is a great healer. What time is it? We have plenty of time. The
hour is late. Time is short. If time is a continuous river then why does
nearly everything age? After all, the moon continues to revolve around the
earth as it revolves around the sun. It never changes its pattern. So why
does anything age?
On the other hand, maybe time was and always had been. The moon
had phases, and so, therefore, did the earth. Seasons changed, tides
changed—everything broke down into smaller and smaller increments. Even
time. The nanosecond! When on earth (or in the universe) would there be an
all-consuming need to measure something by one-billionth of a second? The
thought of that alone was enough to age you, Jabberwock, who looked rather
like an over-sized fox, considered with a grin. Nothing, it seemed, could
exist in perpetuity. Everything, even the very earth, aged. Except the
Bandersnatch. He alone (or, at least at that moment, to the best of his
knowledge) existed in defiance of time, of age, of realism. He was the very
essence of surrealism. Even his eyes belied his reality. Never have eyes so
pale nor so dark existed. Chameleon eyes changing with his thoughts, often
reflecting his soul (aren’t eyes the mirror of the soul, or the lamp, as the
Messiah Christ said?) or his surroundings—the crystal clear water of a
spring, the royal purple of violets, the heavenly green of grass . . .
So, Jabberwock bided his time—awaiting the arrival of the
Princess Eluned, just as he had nearly every day for the past eleven years.
Time had changed things. Golden balls had been tossed (though not
indefinitely) aside for better, if not bigger, things; for far and perhaps
lost horizons. The wise but mad John Ruskin said, “You may chisel a boy into
shape, but you cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flower
does.”
Jabberwock’s rose was beginning to bud. An exotic bloom existing
on the edge of a most unusual forest, for it was the only forest that could
claim a Bandersnatch as an inhabitant.
Eleven years. Eleven years since the Bandersnatch had first
become acquainted with the princess. The Princess Eluned resided in a castle
built of marble and quartz with a king and queen who had watched
affectionately as their only child tossed a golden ball, not maliciously,
into the forest. One day it had rolled silently across a carpet of moss
softer and more richly green than the velvet cloak that swung from the
Queen’s ivory shoulders . . . across the moss and into a clearing filled
with flowers (none more lovely than the princess!) where it had bounced with
a gentle dinggg! against a wonderful tabernacle of granite and
quivered to a halt precisely in the center of a fairy ring of toadstools.
And, what could be more perfect for a child than to have her
golden ball enchanted by fairies?
And this was how the young princess met the Bandersnatch. For,
while standing in the center of the fairy ring, golden ball clasped in
silky, plumpish, childish hands, eyes closed and imagining herself a fairy,
Eluned had suddenly had the feeling she was being watched. Slowly, the
thick-lashed eyes had trembled open and soon she was staring into a pair of
sea green eyes every bit as deep and unfathomable as her own. For, of
course, they were her own eyes reflected in the eyes of the Bandersnatch.
Her pouty lips, the color of which would make a rose blush, had
parted in surprise, but not fear. The Princess was too self-contained, too
independent to feel fear. Impatience she felt deeply and often, but as
protected as her father’s kingdom was, she had as yet no reason to
experience fear. When she was older, she would yearn to discover all
emotions but at the tender age of seven she did not realize there were a
multitude, a legion, of emotions eager to clasp and caress, touch and tear,
her heart.
“What are you?” she had finally spoken, and her voice had fallen
like the song of a nightingale upon Jabberwock’s pointed and rather large
ears. Jabberwock had smiled, revealing a formidable number of pointed and
very crooked teeth.
 The
Princess had laughed and the Bandersnatch heard the songs of angels, “My,
what big teeth you have, Grandma.”
“A curse are these teeth,” a voice unexpectedly deep and rich as
fresh-tilled earth had replied.
“No more a curse than my being a princess.” Eluned was wise
beyond her years—not unusual for an only and unspoiled child. For her
parents, King Seraphim and Queen Ceridwen, agreed that their little princess
should never be rejected by her peers on account of stinginess, greed,
gluttony, jealousy or any other of the various personality flaws so often
associated with young princesses. Even so, it hurt them deeply that their
tiny treasure champed constantly at the bit of royalty. She was already, at
such a tender age, so ready to take on the world; and the walls that
surrounded her father’s kingdom were to her the walls of a prison.
“She is much too impatient,” the Queen would say, placing her
long and fragile hand over her heart.
“Must be from your side of the family.” The King would frown,
but there was always a sparkle of mischief in his eyes for he knew full well
it was his own grandmother reflected in his daughter’s beautiful face.
The Bandersnatch had smiled again. He had heard of this little
princess and her genuine love of everything natural. “Where are your
friends?” he had asked, although he knew she had none.
“I have none.” She had replied seriously, lower lip caught
between pearly white teeth, for this fact distressed her greatly.
“And why is that?”
“They’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid?”
“Because I’m a princess.” She had flushed in indignation, and
roses bloomed on her ivory cheeks. “They’re afraid I’m spoiled; or that I’ll
use my power against them. I don’t know. I see only the fear in their eyes.”
“What about the Prince, Uriel?”
“Him especially! He won’t even deign to meet me.”
“That reminds me of a fairy tale,” Jabberwock had mused.
“Will you tell it to me?”
“Have a seat,” Jabberwock had invited her, indicating the fairy
ring. The Princess had crossed her legs and rested her chin upon the golden
ball in her lap. The sun had reflected a delightful gold into her
complexion; Jabberwock had given a quick lap to his bristly grey fur before
settling down, forepaws crossed.
“Do you suppose there really were dragons once?” Eluned had
asked, hopefully, as Jabberwock finished his tale. She had leaned toward him
in anticipation, carelessly imprisoning a tendril of hair behind her ear.
“There are too many stories about the creatures for dragons not
to have existed at some point. Don’t you agree?”
“And unicorns?”
“And mermaids.”
“What a wonderful time that must have been.”
“It’s easy to mourn the past,” Jabberwock had sighed.
“But it does no good,” Eluned had sulked, slapping the golden
ball for emphasis. “I know. I know, but I see a long, boring life stretched
ahead of me. I want . . .|
“Knights in shining armor, dragons, unicorns and mermaids?”
“Yes,” she had nodded emphatically, raven curls bouncing around
her shoulders.
“These creatures can disguise themselves,” he had warned.
“Beware or you may miss them.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
She had mused on this, simultaneously wondering where the
fairies went during the day. She was sure they were nocturnal. She liked
that word. Nocturnal. She had tried it, aloud.
“Oh, definitely nocturnal,” Jabberwock agreed.
“So, how will my knight in shining armor disguise himself?”
Jabberwock had revealed his ragged teeth in a grin so broad it
split his face. His eyes, reflecting the deeper green of the forest before
him, caught the sunlight and refracted into a thousand spikes of shimmering
light. It was like the sun breaking from behind a cloud and setting a cool
green pool ablaze with fire.
“You know.” She had stated.
“Let’s just say that I have a vague idea.”
“More than vague.”
Jabberwock had continued to grin; then he stretched, skinny
little rear end and bushy bottle brush tail raised high in the air. “I
believe it is time for your lessons with Brother Columcille?”
Eluned had sighed, but she stood and stretched as well, an
innocent and intriguing stretch, almost cat-like in its suppleness. “Will I
see you again?”
“I should hope so,” he had replied.
II
“Now,
you’re sure this is going to work?” King Uriel and Jabberwock the
Bandersnatch were standing next to each other, surveying a map spread out
upon the table in front of them. Well, actually, the king was standing upon
the tiled floor; Jabberwock was actually on the table itself.
“Of course,” the Bandersnatch replied.
“Well, if it doesn’t,” Uriel groused, “then there is absolutely
no way in the universe she’ll marry me, despite the fact we’re betrothed.”
“Uriel, I have known Eluned for eleven years; seen and conversed
with her nearly every day for the past eleven years, I might add. We agreed
when you were a mere child that refusing to meet her would alone instill you
with some mystery. Not actually showing up for the betrothal ceremony just
sealed that. I know the Princess. She thrives on adventure, mystery. If she
meets you when you’re not ‘you,’ she’s guaranteed to fall in love with you,
just as we have always planned.
“Guaranteed, hmm? I don’t actually see how you can guarantee
something like that, but at this point I am willing to take your word for
it.”
Jabberwock rolled his eyes and bared his crooked teeth.
“Eluned’s eighteenth birthday is just a few days away . . .”
“Fine, fine,” Uriel grimaced, “let’s get on with it.”
“Now this is what I expect you to do . . .”
The sun was breaking over the horizon when
the tip-tap of Jabberwock’s claws could be heard leaving Uriel’s palace
behind. After years in the making, it seemed as if all their planning might
finally come to fruition. The real question was, of course, would the
Princess actually fall in love with Uriel or was she, perhaps, hiding facets
of her self from the Bandersnatch. It was never beyond reason that a monkey
wrench might be thrown into their plans; but should that happen could they
overcome it? In his heart, Jabberwock knew that love would win but what or
who might intercede? If the Bandersnatch had learned anything in his
eternity of a lifetime, he had learned that you cannot completely predict
the future. Free will, importunate circumstance . . . hang it all . . .
chaos theory. It reigned freely, much to his disgust. Wasn’t he a living
memorial to chaos theory? Sure, at this point, all had gone according to
plan but the princess was still confined to her father’s kingdom.
Uriel, a trifle older than the princess, had already escaped the
bounds of his kingdom (his father had died when he was thirteen and he had
reigned with the help of his Protectors until he was eighteen. Fortunately,
during those five years, Uriel was of such strong mind that he was not taken
advantage of, although there had been rumblings from other kingdoms,
particularly from the Kingdom of Adam, which bordered his kingdom to the
southeast. Those threats had died mysteriously quickly as far as Uriel and
Jabberwock were concerned. They felt in their bones that a larger threat was
looming on the horizon.
So, Uriel had spent the past three years visiting the Thirteen
Kingdoms and continuing to educate him self, both politically and in the art
of war (Though, personally, he despised the thought of war. Why couldn’t
people just discuss things rationally; work things out that way?) The
traveling had done him a world of good, and he felt he had a pretty clear
view of where loyalties lay with the various rulers. Certainly, the Kingdom
of Zion, ruled by Eluned’s father and mother, were his greatest allies. The
fact that he had been betrothed to their daughter at such a young age and
the recent “official” betrothal ceremony (which he had missed on purpose)
were both testament to the fact that the alliance was still strong. But, who
else could they count on if it came to war? He was certain about the
Kingdoms of Draconia, Favonia and Dyfed. But, the Kingdoms of Naphtali and
Tarshish were apparently remaining neutral until pushed one way or the
other. Unfortunately, King Arawn of Annewven and King Hamartia and Queen
Foehn of Simoon were as strongly united as his Kingdom of Aden with Zion and
not only did they wish to greatly increase the size of their kingdoms, but
they had managed to pull the rulers of Dziron, Adam and Bramble into their
evil schemes. How long would it be before they started attacking the
non-allied kingdoms at their borders?
Regardless of the politics, Uriel had come to realize, at
twenty-one, that Eluned was the one for him despite the fact that his
father’s wishes to make a powerful alliance with King Seraphim had at first
made him resent the princess. Those feelings had made it easy for Jabberwock
to talk the prince into missing their betrothal ceremony not to mention his
spurning actually meeting her. So Eluned thought the prince a milksop, so
much the better.
Jabberwock recalled the final moments of his visit with Uriel.
The Princess had no idea! And a good thing, too. He wasn’t sure how the
Kingdom of Aden had ended up with the Mantle of Arthur. No doubt a bride
from Annewven had brought it over the mountains in a past too dim for
mortals to remember. He knew with absolute conviction that there was
absolutely no way it had knowingly left that ever-evil kingdom. It was too
great a treasure. One of the thirteen hallowed treasures, for that
matter. The treasures, once confined to Annewven, were now scattered to the
four winds. Jabberwock suspected that the majority remained in Annewven and
Simoon, which had been linked for as long as he could remember—centuries and
centuries.
On his 21st birthday, Uriel had finally been able to
open the iron-bound and incredibly plain chest that had belonged to his
father. He had imagined that it would contain family papers and maybe a last
letter from his father reminding him of his duties as king (and of his love
for his only son). But, what he had found when the chest creaked open was a
slightly moth-eaten woolen cloak of an indeterminate color. Perhaps it had
once been grey? As he had pulled it from the chest, the odor of cedar and
sandalwood followed. He had held it up, questioningly, to Jabberwock.
“Put it on,” the Bandersnatch had commanded. Uriel had swung
the soft wool around his shoulders.
“Fasten it.” An ornate breastpin of gold fashioned in the shape
of a dragon was attached to the cloak. Uriel had done as he was told.
“Now look in the mirror.” Uriel had turned to face the long
mirror that was suspended from the marble wall in his father’s former
bedchamber. The new king had yet to feel comfortable enough to take over
the royal compartments—still too many memories of his mother, who had
preceded his father in death by a year; Uriel was sure that his father’s
death a year later was in part due to the loss of his beloved wife. Uriel
had stared into the mirror for what seemed an eternity to Jabberwock.
“What do you see?” the Bandersnatch had finally barked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Is it . . .?” Uriel hadn’t been able to go on. He swallowed,
hard, and tried again. “Is it the Mantle of Arthur?”
“Indeed.”
Uriel had chuckled. “Oh how I could have used this in the past
three years! Talk about being a fly on the wall!”
“Well, it’s not too late,” Jabberwock had replied. “I have a
strong feeling you will be needing it in the not-too-distant future.”
Uriel had raised an eyebrow, “This is going to be more of a
quest than a journey, I suspect.”
Jabberwock only smiled, mysteriously, in reply, and had
suggested that the King return the cloak to its chest until he set out for
the predetermined rendezvous point.
This very morning before he had left, Jabberwock had reminded
him, “Please do not forget the cloak! I imagine it will come in handy in
more ways than one. I have no doubt the King will be presenting Eluned with
her treasure before we leave tomorrow. Unfortunately, she will have to
discover what it does on her own.”
Uriel had raised an eyebrow, yet again, but this time more
sardonically, as if he had little faith in that ever coming to pass.
“You’re still underestimating her!” Jabberwock had laughed.
“What was it the Apostle Thomas said? ‘Unless I see the mark of
the nails in his hands’ . . . sorry, guess I am a Thomas.”
The princess. Jabberwock had felt his spirits beginning to lift
while thinking of Uriel. But Eluned. His spirits suddenly plummeted. She was
perfect for Uriel. They complemented each other beautifully, and they hadn’t
even met yet and they were both fighting it. And notwithstanding his eleven
years of work with her, he had been unable to do anything with that will of
hers. That strong will. Sometimes she did things just to irritate him. He
knew it but could do nothing about it. And though he hated to admit it,
well, he wasn’t perfect. There, he thought it.
“I’m not perfect!” He shouted to the barren hayfields on either
side of him. He felt a slight weight lift from his heart. “I’m not PERFECT!”
There. Well, he could just do the best he could do, by Omni. He was just His
pawn after all. Well, he looked heavenward, maybe that was a bit harsh. But,
the truth was, he could only do the best he could do.
“And that’s all I expect.” The words weren’t as much heard as
felt.
“Yes, and we both know what happens to those like me.”
Silence. A chill breeze laden with the scent of impending rain
ruffled his wiry gray fur.
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