Dogfish quota, or The Weird Fairy Tale Merge Part 1
As he turned to leave the cave, walk away from its burning obsidian walls edged like dirty glass, he paused to recollect- he knew the steep incline of his future path would lead him through musty tunnels then through smaller and smaller veins of earth until he reached some place which would be different. He touched his new skin born of fire and necessity. Something coiled inside his bone and sinew (and which was new vitality?) whispered to him of such things: that at the end of this place waited an above ground place, a different place. He knew this just as he knew the ground under his feet was baked sand, and this place was a cave: too warm like dragon’s breath creeping up his skin like -
A pulse of orange tongue. He started and turned to stare more closely at the walls, ignoring for the moment the heat until single drop of perspiration fell into his eye. Forgetting for the moment his impending task.
Flicker.
Again fire strikes the stone, cutting it to brightness. In the stone there are his arched eyebrows staring into sheltered quietness. It should be lights out yet red light flickers refracted on the obsidian. But where is the source...?
Long since have the maids have cleared away tables and the drunken revelers, but there came laughter and muted voices drifting from the leftmost adjacent chamber. He moves sure footed in that direction, curious (strange feeling!) despite himself. There are whole system of caves down here, extending how far he does know. And more besides.
Follow the voices. This is the place in which voices never sleep and hiss like water. It’s also a place of shadows, so he treads more carefully though his eyes have become accustomed to owl-light lest he trip. That in mind, he stepped over a half-earthed goblet - doubtless and attempt to hide from other prying minds and curious hands. He did not notice its jeweled surface that glitters like eyes. Privacy is more precious than any metal.
No boxes or locks exist here underground, just buried treasure; folk entrust their gold to dirt rather than risk the capricious mercies of their neighbors. Beware if you are easily beguiled by gold, if you dare touch treasure like this, in a place like this, for their guardians are indeed capricious. He treads carefully.
The voices grew louder. He entered a long chamber lined with boxes of clothing stacked to the high ceilings. A few people passed by - a long haired woman with bat-like ears (she hears him) and a shorter man guarding her, or the packages they both carry? (Who knows) They strided intently past without a thought. There are always new arrivals in the place that never sleeps, and even sometimes guests wander into these tunnels by chance, to visit. He stepped over a hilted golden sword and the ceiling slopes down, and he walked, down, down into a softly lit cavern.
Torches light the countenances of a dozen folk seated round a circle, arguing. Through the patterns of their waving hands he sees a fireplace that’s overflowing its grate, a bonfire. Red shifts into orange and realizes that the gray soot in the flames is not smoke nor smoke but grey hair. So is the red color like overflowing red hair of a hunched figure sitting close.
“What,” said tall, dark and bird shaped, who passed around a flagon of something that smelled spicy to the rest of the company, “What is all this blabbing about a whale?”
He settled near the hunched elder’s back to listen; never did to pass up a chance to learn about the outside world. Hidden in the shadows, he listened. Fish indeed. They have an audience: him, the old woman and a few bored strangers reclining on bundles of hay. It’s a wide cavern so the company’s voices carry.
“Dogfish,” came the swift rejoinder from a woman with flax hair. “Who says they’re fish anyway. I ent seen a dog, never mind a dogfish. Taste more like mouse, maybe.”
“In the great north sea lies a dead dogfish
that shall be your roast meat
“A beast of any size, living in salt water,” shakes another’s head, repulsed. “Thing’s bones must be weighted more than trees. Big things, you know, trees.” The tiny speaker was knowledgeable on the subject of vegetation, having traveled outside their home to forage for supplies, when the time came for such expeditions, one midsummer.
“But be it possible to catch this whale thing-“
“- horsemeat-“
“Dogfish! -“ a sly eyed, pale and meaty figure protests.
“Whatever it IS. That lives in water you say? You’re pulling our legs again; we’ll wake up tomorrow drunk with headaches from this story no doubt because everything that goes in and out of your mouth be food, drink and lies. Not in that order.”
“Say not!” Sly eyed, pale and meaty defends himself. “Overheard it proper direct in the throne chamber I did, at feast-time. Saw Himself holding court with three or so humans, all them at the feasting (I did NOT sleep there the whole night, for your information, but there was damn good ale there) So there was lucky me sitting not half a pace behind our Lord. So close I could hear the ghostly voices that accompany him and see the shimmering displaced air along His shoulders wherein His petitioners well, petition. So close I could have poked him with my soup spoon - “
“God you and your lies again. Did that exact same thing to us a season ago! Told us a story, and what in heaven it was about, later no one can remember because we woke together, wrapped in each other’s limbs with hay in our teeth. Shit faced. Drunk.
“And everyone wonders why we can’t hold a job for longer than a season, all thanks to you.” someone added dryly.
“That wasn’t my fault; stop making me a scapethingy-“
“Whales are fishes that have swallowed too many other fishes,” the bird shaped figure was saying perhaps more scathingly than necessary to the pervious display of ignorance. “Therefore. Dogfishes are such fishes that eat dogs.”
"Ridiculous."
“Could have sworn He said whales.” was the sulky response.
“Will you two shut up? Anyway, they were clearly new blooded, still mortals because well for one thing,” he paused. “He indoctrinated them; After tea, mind, made them sign the black book all gentlemen-like. Got them with some bait or another, probably gold. All the mortals love gold. Anyway, they are clearly mortals, as I said, because over the pages of that huge book why, I could see them staring at His hair the whole time. Which is just is not done.”
He paused while the others nodded grudgingly. Humans always have and always will be obsessed with gold, this they all know well. Be it gold cups, gold swords, gold hair.
“So while Himself blanks out for a bit - you know he does that sometimes when listening to ghosts- the merry-faced one whispers to his fellows - and they’re all still blindly sitting at the feasting table though they do not see the tea nor us folk - he whispers ‘Why in the name of all gnawing hunger demons, are we still here?’
Even tall, dark and bird-like ducked his head to chuckle, though to his credit it should be said that his was not a nice chuckle. Laughter blanketed the cavern and choked the man who had chosen to sit near the fire. He knew how this story went.
Pale and meaty grins and continues. “Seems that our guests had gotten themselves lost in a cornfield and were found starving, if you can imagine.” More laughter. “Well, Himself condescends to offer them tea, and because they refuse, seals their contract with a rather clever riddle clause. And voila~ we can expect new coworkers come seven years later.”
The man who had chosen to sit by the fire finally managed to stand; he wanted to leave, walk away now, quickly; it felt like they were talking about him. His skin prickled to hear the subject spoken of so lightly.
“So what’s this got to do with a dogfish then?” the flaxen haired woman said, impatiently, and the man by the fire was going leave now, really because he does not need to hear this. He would have left except a breath of air has captured his shoulder - no it’s the old woman’s hand, bone and leather stretched to thin. She won’t let go and he can’t fight her and now she’s gripping harder. Such strength. She may leave bruises. This thought made him oddly happy. ‘Listen’ she said. So he did.
“What it comes down to,” the sly eyed man said. “Is simple. In fact, what the riddle all comes down to is feasting. Now, none of us may know of dogfish, but we don’t much know what all we’re feasting on, most of the time! We like our food and drink, and we like our little illusions of splendor every so often.”
“Only when we’re bored, which is just only every single night!” a smaller figure laughed. There was a frigid pause.
“I warrant that if none of us folk know what dogfish is, none of those humans know either, no matter how starving they be. Therefore.” he drawls out this last word, pronounced exactly like tall, dark and bird-shaped, who stiffens in embarrassment, “I warrant that this is what his Lordship thought: give the three humans their gold then seven years later, us folk will see them give them at feast-time. They’ll sample our delicacies, maybe get a bit drunk. They will see nothing true: of us, nothing. Never realizing, will they sit on stones and dine on dogfish, sip wine from a horsefoot, or spoon soup with whale bone. They will see nothing save linen, rich kingly dishes of kind each wishes to see. Then Himself will mention the riddle. Himself will say ‘What are you eating?’Our guests respond accordingly. ‘Chicken’ may say the round man. ‘Peacock’ may say the merry-faced man. ‘Bread’ may say the dour man. ‘Dogfish!’ we will say, correctly, only they will not hear us. And then they lose their souls as forfeit.”
the rib of a whale shall be your silver spoon
and a hollow old horse's hoof shall be your wineglass.”
There remained such respectful silence that follows the telling of a good tale, then -
“Whales are real?” one outraged voice said incredulously. “You mean to tell me I’ve been eating water-beasts for God knows when?” Careless hands grabbed the wine flagon from sly eyed and pale, who had been quite selfishly hogging it the entire story, to drink away the unwanted, imagined taste of water.
- Then the normal order of squabbling returned. None notice, but
The man and woman who chose to sit near the fire have since departed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“In the great north sea lies a dead dogfish that shall be your roast meat.
The rib of a whale shall be your silver spoon, and a hollow old horse's hoof shall be your wineglass.”
The journey is long and fraught with pointy rocks, anathema to his unshod feet. Eventually, rusted swords, among other folk flotsam, stop coming into direct contact with his footpath, and his feet begin to heal. As blacked mirror cave stone lightens to coarser quartz, so do his feet begin to protect themselves with calluses. When sloping ceilings curve into hallways, into tunnels, into veins of granite, a smell of chill air permeates the deformed, crooked, threatening to crack any time soon, tunnel. By that time he is crawling on his knees and elbows then-
Harsh light. Blinking, head to the ground, resting. The first thing he sees in this new, above ground world is a algus mushroom growing convinently under his exhausted fingers. White, with no spots. It’s safe. He eats it quickly. Wide expanse of ground with rocks sown like dragon’s teeth. Past this clearing, are a few trees. Great woody stems that grow from sandy rocky soil to claw the endless blue sky.
It was then he remembered old man Tantulus’ tree fruit by name and for some time while he searched the wood for edibles, dreamed about the taste of apples.
A pulse of orange tongue. He started and turned to stare more closely at the walls, ignoring for the moment the heat until single drop of perspiration fell into his eye. Forgetting for the moment his impending task.
Flicker.
Again fire strikes the stone, cutting it to brightness. In the stone there are his arched eyebrows staring into sheltered quietness. It should be lights out yet red light flickers refracted on the obsidian. But where is the source...?
Long since have the maids have cleared away tables and the drunken revelers, but there came laughter and muted voices drifting from the leftmost adjacent chamber. He moves sure footed in that direction, curious (strange feeling!) despite himself. There are whole system of caves down here, extending how far he does know. And more besides.
Follow the voices. This is the place in which voices never sleep and hiss like water. It’s also a place of shadows, so he treads more carefully though his eyes have become accustomed to owl-light lest he trip. That in mind, he stepped over a half-earthed goblet - doubtless and attempt to hide from other prying minds and curious hands. He did not notice its jeweled surface that glitters like eyes. Privacy is more precious than any metal.
No boxes or locks exist here underground, just buried treasure; folk entrust their gold to dirt rather than risk the capricious mercies of their neighbors. Beware if you are easily beguiled by gold, if you dare touch treasure like this, in a place like this, for their guardians are indeed capricious. He treads carefully.
The voices grew louder. He entered a long chamber lined with boxes of clothing stacked to the high ceilings. A few people passed by - a long haired woman with bat-like ears (she hears him) and a shorter man guarding her, or the packages they both carry? (Who knows) They strided intently past without a thought. There are always new arrivals in the place that never sleeps, and even sometimes guests wander into these tunnels by chance, to visit. He stepped over a hilted golden sword and the ceiling slopes down, and he walked, down, down into a softly lit cavern.
Torches light the countenances of a dozen folk seated round a circle, arguing. Through the patterns of their waving hands he sees a fireplace that’s overflowing its grate, a bonfire. Red shifts into orange and realizes that the gray soot in the flames is not smoke nor smoke but grey hair. So is the red color like overflowing red hair of a hunched figure sitting close.
“What,” said tall, dark and bird shaped, who passed around a flagon of something that smelled spicy to the rest of the company, “What is all this blabbing about a whale?”
He settled near the hunched elder’s back to listen; never did to pass up a chance to learn about the outside world. Hidden in the shadows, he listened. Fish indeed. They have an audience: him, the old woman and a few bored strangers reclining on bundles of hay. It’s a wide cavern so the company’s voices carry.
“Dogfish,” came the swift rejoinder from a woman with flax hair. “Who says they’re fish anyway. I ent seen a dog, never mind a dogfish. Taste more like mouse, maybe.”
“In the great north sea lies a dead dogfish
that shall be your roast meat
“A beast of any size, living in salt water,” shakes another’s head, repulsed. “Thing’s bones must be weighted more than trees. Big things, you know, trees.” The tiny speaker was knowledgeable on the subject of vegetation, having traveled outside their home to forage for supplies, when the time came for such expeditions, one midsummer.
“But be it possible to catch this whale thing-“
“- horsemeat-“
“Dogfish! -“ a sly eyed, pale and meaty figure protests.
“Whatever it IS. That lives in water you say? You’re pulling our legs again; we’ll wake up tomorrow drunk with headaches from this story no doubt because everything that goes in and out of your mouth be food, drink and lies. Not in that order.”
“Say not!” Sly eyed, pale and meaty defends himself. “Overheard it proper direct in the throne chamber I did, at feast-time. Saw Himself holding court with three or so humans, all them at the feasting (I did NOT sleep there the whole night, for your information, but there was damn good ale there) So there was lucky me sitting not half a pace behind our Lord. So close I could hear the ghostly voices that accompany him and see the shimmering displaced air along His shoulders wherein His petitioners well, petition. So close I could have poked him with my soup spoon - “
“God you and your lies again. Did that exact same thing to us a season ago! Told us a story, and what in heaven it was about, later no one can remember because we woke together, wrapped in each other’s limbs with hay in our teeth. Shit faced. Drunk.
“And everyone wonders why we can’t hold a job for longer than a season, all thanks to you.” someone added dryly.
“That wasn’t my fault; stop making me a scapethingy-“
“Whales are fishes that have swallowed too many other fishes,” the bird shaped figure was saying perhaps more scathingly than necessary to the pervious display of ignorance. “Therefore. Dogfishes are such fishes that eat dogs.”
"Ridiculous."
“Could have sworn He said whales.” was the sulky response.
“Will you two shut up? Anyway, they were clearly new blooded, still mortals because well for one thing,” he paused. “He indoctrinated them; After tea, mind, made them sign the black book all gentlemen-like. Got them with some bait or another, probably gold. All the mortals love gold. Anyway, they are clearly mortals, as I said, because over the pages of that huge book why, I could see them staring at His hair the whole time. Which is just is not done.”
He paused while the others nodded grudgingly. Humans always have and always will be obsessed with gold, this they all know well. Be it gold cups, gold swords, gold hair.
“So while Himself blanks out for a bit - you know he does that sometimes when listening to ghosts- the merry-faced one whispers to his fellows - and they’re all still blindly sitting at the feasting table though they do not see the tea nor us folk - he whispers ‘Why in the name of all gnawing hunger demons, are we still here?’
Even tall, dark and bird-like ducked his head to chuckle, though to his credit it should be said that his was not a nice chuckle. Laughter blanketed the cavern and choked the man who had chosen to sit near the fire. He knew how this story went.
Pale and meaty grins and continues. “Seems that our guests had gotten themselves lost in a cornfield and were found starving, if you can imagine.” More laughter. “Well, Himself condescends to offer them tea, and because they refuse, seals their contract with a rather clever riddle clause. And voila~ we can expect new coworkers come seven years later.”
The man who had chosen to sit by the fire finally managed to stand; he wanted to leave, walk away now, quickly; it felt like they were talking about him. His skin prickled to hear the subject spoken of so lightly.
“So what’s this got to do with a dogfish then?” the flaxen haired woman said, impatiently, and the man by the fire was going leave now, really because he does not need to hear this. He would have left except a breath of air has captured his shoulder - no it’s the old woman’s hand, bone and leather stretched to thin. She won’t let go and he can’t fight her and now she’s gripping harder. Such strength. She may leave bruises. This thought made him oddly happy. ‘Listen’ she said. So he did.
“What it comes down to,” the sly eyed man said. “Is simple. In fact, what the riddle all comes down to is feasting. Now, none of us may know of dogfish, but we don’t much know what all we’re feasting on, most of the time! We like our food and drink, and we like our little illusions of splendor every so often.”
“Only when we’re bored, which is just only every single night!” a smaller figure laughed. There was a frigid pause.
“I warrant that if none of us folk know what dogfish is, none of those humans know either, no matter how starving they be. Therefore.” he drawls out this last word, pronounced exactly like tall, dark and bird-shaped, who stiffens in embarrassment, “I warrant that this is what his Lordship thought: give the three humans their gold then seven years later, us folk will see them give them at feast-time. They’ll sample our delicacies, maybe get a bit drunk. They will see nothing true: of us, nothing. Never realizing, will they sit on stones and dine on dogfish, sip wine from a horsefoot, or spoon soup with whale bone. They will see nothing save linen, rich kingly dishes of kind each wishes to see. Then Himself will mention the riddle. Himself will say ‘What are you eating?’Our guests respond accordingly. ‘Chicken’ may say the round man. ‘Peacock’ may say the merry-faced man. ‘Bread’ may say the dour man. ‘Dogfish!’ we will say, correctly, only they will not hear us. And then they lose their souls as forfeit.”
the rib of a whale shall be your silver spoon
and a hollow old horse's hoof shall be your wineglass.”
There remained such respectful silence that follows the telling of a good tale, then -
“Whales are real?” one outraged voice said incredulously. “You mean to tell me I’ve been eating water-beasts for God knows when?” Careless hands grabbed the wine flagon from sly eyed and pale, who had been quite selfishly hogging it the entire story, to drink away the unwanted, imagined taste of water.
- Then the normal order of squabbling returned. None notice, but
The man and woman who chose to sit near the fire have since departed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“In the great north sea lies a dead dogfish that shall be your roast meat.
The rib of a whale shall be your silver spoon, and a hollow old horse's hoof shall be your wineglass.”
The journey is long and fraught with pointy rocks, anathema to his unshod feet. Eventually, rusted swords, among other folk flotsam, stop coming into direct contact with his footpath, and his feet begin to heal. As blacked mirror cave stone lightens to coarser quartz, so do his feet begin to protect themselves with calluses. When sloping ceilings curve into hallways, into tunnels, into veins of granite, a smell of chill air permeates the deformed, crooked, threatening to crack any time soon, tunnel. By that time he is crawling on his knees and elbows then-
Harsh light. Blinking, head to the ground, resting. The first thing he sees in this new, above ground world is a algus mushroom growing convinently under his exhausted fingers. White, with no spots. It’s safe. He eats it quickly. Wide expanse of ground with rocks sown like dragon’s teeth. Past this clearing, are a few trees. Great woody stems that grow from sandy rocky soil to claw the endless blue sky.
It was then he remembered old man Tantulus’ tree fruit by name and for some time while he searched the wood for edibles, dreamed about the taste of apples.