'Hansa' Series - All Liturgies

PSALMS

BOOK I

———————–

I. ROYALTY

-YS ATUN VRAMA PRESH-

-THE SEVEN SYLLABLES OF ROYALTY-

1. YISUN said: let there not be a genesis, for beginnings are false and I am a consummate liar.

2. The full of it is this – the circular suicide of God is the perfection of matter.

3. YISUN lied once and said they had nine hundred and ninety nine thousand names. This is true, but it is also a barefaced lie. The true name of God is I.

4. Living is an exercise of violence. Exercise of violence is the fate of living

5. Violence is circular. Perception is not circular and lacks flawlessness- therefore, rejoice in imperfect things, for their rareness is not lacking!

6. Love of self is the true exercise of the God called I.

7. Only an idiot cannot place his absolute certainty in paradoxes. The divine suicide is a perfect paradox. A man cannot exist without paradox – that is the full of it.

II.

THE KING IN THE TOWER

1. YISUN is the supreme king. It is impossible for YISUN to have any rivals – you will see this. YISUN does not aspire to royalty: YISUN is the two-syllable name of the seven syllable name of royalty revealed. Only those who can invert a path can know the secret name of YISUN.

2. It was once said that YISUN had many names. This is true, but all of them are false save the name YISUN, which in itself is a paradox.

3. YISUN is the weakest thing there is and the smallest crawling thing, and the worm upon the earth and in the earth.

4. YISUN is capable of contemplating nothing.

5. To speak general truths about YISUN is to lie intimately; in truth one must learn the tongues but the matter remains that YISUN is the unparalleled master of the fundamental art of lying. The best practice of lying is self deception.

6. YISUN once said: ‘Selfish tongues revolt and refuse to invert the contents of their brains – even if it were a lie, this insurrection of our flesh would do us great offense.’

7. YISUN is the untouchable and prime master of all seven syllables of royalty and once told four lies.

i. The lie of the giant and the ant

ii. The lie of the iron plum

iii. The lie of the water house

iv. The lie of the small light

III.

THE GRAND ENEMY CALLED I

———————–

i. The lie of the giant and the ant.

YISUN sat once with his disciple Hansa in YISUN’s second clockwise glass palace. Hansa was one of his most ardent students and a grand questioner of YISUN. Unlike Yisun’s other disciple, Pree Ashma, he had no hunger in his heart for dominion of the universe, but a miserly scrutiny and a heart of iron nails. He was not an aspirant for royalty, and thereby attained it through little effort.

Hansa’s questions were thus:

‘Lord, how must I question space?’

‘With an age, an ant may encircle a giant five million times,’ spoke YISUN.

‘Lord, how then may I question time?’

‘A giant’s stride takes an ant a week to surpass.’ YISUN spoke and smiled in the 4th way.

Hansa was discontent with this answer and rubbed the stem of his long and worn pipe which he always kept with him and would eventually lead to his annihilation. Since he was royalty, he knew this, and kept it close to him as a reminder of his circular death.

‘Lord, then which should I be, the giant or the ant?’

‘Both,’ spoke YISUN,’ or either, when it suits you. Destroy the grand enemy called ‘I’.’

Hansa contemplated this in silence. Later he would recount this proverb to his daughter.

———————–

ii. The lie of the iron plum

There was once a king named UN-Payam who sat at the right hand of YISUN’s throne and ruled a palace of burnished gold and fire and dispensed justice in all things. It was let known once that Payam had grown an extraordinary plum – enormous in size, with adamant skin that was burnished as a breastplate and fifty times as hardy. Payam was desirous of a pillow friend of fiery heart and excellent skill with their mouth and let know that whosoever could break the skin of that plum with their teeth he would swear to share his bed with for three nights in whatever disposition they may desire.

Many gods were in attendance at Payam’s hall on the first day, and even more on the second day, but by the third day of this strange contest few remained who had not tested their mettle, for the plum remained implacable and immaculate and turned many away with sore teeth and roiling frustration in their brains. A great cry rose up and YISUN was called forth from the twenty third clockwise palace of carbon where YISUN had been meditating on the point of a thirty acre long spear of crystallized time. In companionship with YISUN was Hansa, who followed along.

“See this Payam!” cried the gods, “He deceives us! He cruelly abuses our lustful hearts!”

YISUN was very fond of plums and immediately grasped the iron plum and took a long, succulent bite, praising its merits to the amazement of all.

“How!” wailed the attended.

“Why, it is a plum of flesh, and quite ripe as well,” said YISUN plainly, and indeed, it was apparent to those gathered that it was the case. The plum was passed around and touched and indeed it was sensual and soft and pliant. Hansa was not so convinced. “It is still a plum of iron,” said he, “there is some trickery here, oh master of masters.”

“Indeed, it is so,” said YISUN, and it was again apparent to those gathered that the flesh of that plum was as hard and impermeable as a fortress. “How can it be so?” said Hansa, “How comes this fickle nature? Plums and the fifty winds are not so alike I think.”

YISUN said, “I told you of this and, believing it, it was so. In truth, it is whichever you prefer. In truth, there is no plum at all, just as there is no YISUN. A plum has no shape, form, or color at all, in truth, but these are all things I find pleasing about it. A plum has no taste at all for it has no flesh or substance, but I find its sweetness intoxicating. A plum is a thing that does not exist. But it is my favorite fruit.”

“A pipe is a thing that does exist, and it is my favorite past time,” said Hansa, lacking understanding, and growing in cynicism.

“What a paradox!” said YISUN, smiling, “I shall share my love tenderly with Payam.”

———————–

iii. The lie of the water house

YISUN and Hansa walked the king’s road once, drinking plum wine. They were enfleshed as maidens at the time, for boastful, drunken Ogam swore on his high seat at the speaking house that any feat accomplished by his brothers he could redouble seven times again. Hansa, of crafty mind, and bearing little love for a brother whose raucous singing frequently interrupted his philosophical fugues, immediately saw an opportunity to deprive Ogam of his prized and well-boasted-about manhood for a fortnight, and challenged him to a contest of womanly love-making, sewing, and hearth sweeping, and for a time there was great mirth in the Red City.

“Dearest Un-Hansa,” spoke YISUN, after a moment, as they strolled along an expanse of fractal glass and cold fire, “Art thou not flesh of my self love? Springst thou not from my recursive womb?”

“Sprung I from your brow, for it is my lot in life to beat my hands against it in return for ejecting me,” said Hansa, in jest, but in truth he listened.

“Knowst thou the meaning of my name Y-S-U-N is the true name of sovereignty?” spoke YISUN plainly.

” I do,” spoke Hansa, for it was true.

YISUN then assumed a speaking form that was bright and very cold, from her breath she inhaled the void, and when she exhaled, beautiful water came forth from her pliant lips in great rushing gasps, and there was a sound like a clear bell that meant emptiness. Hansa was very moved by this display and watched as the shining water curved and bent upon itself and crystallized, and suddenly before the pair was a great, beautiful house, translucent and all filled with light of many colors.

“Observe my work,” said YISUN, pleased.

“It is an astounding work,” said Hansa, clearly impressed. They strode inside the house at YISUN’s bidding. The walls were clear and smooth as crystal, and warm to the touch. It had a wide hall, and a full hearth, and was full of light and air, and the openness of the place with the starkness of the void was incredibly pleasing. Hansa would have given half his lordship for such a house, in truth, for his own was a dark and cramped tomb of iron and dust.

“Observe again,” said YISUN, with a keen eye. Hansa did, and as he looked closer, he saw the walls, the floor, the vaulted roof, the wall coverings, and even the altar with the flowers in the visiting hall were all made of water – water as clear and still and solid as smooth and perfect glass.

“Water, lord?” spoke Hansa, sensing some purpose.

“What,” spoke YISUN playfully, “is the meaning of this allegory?”

They reposed for a while as Hansa thought, in the resting hall of that great water house, and gazed through the shining rim of that house across the great void, where the empty sky was perfect in its nothingness. The house rung gently like a bell and it was pleasing to Hansa as he sat in his woman’s flesh and thought.

After a while, he said this:

“The house is a man’s life.”

“Why this?” answered YISUN, as was the fashion.

“Because although it is very beautiful and filled with many fine things, it is only water, after all. It would be poor to rely on its existence – it is only water pretending to be a house. In truth, there is no real house here at all, just as there is no Hansa, or no plums.”

“This is a good answer,” said YISUN, and made a small motion with her long white fingers, and smiled.

“It is an infuriating answer,” said Hansa, his mood darkening, and his borrowed brow furrowing, “As is common with you. How can one grant themselves the pleasure to enjoy such a fine thing? It sparkles and shines like a gorgeous jewel, but its sparkle is an intimate falsehood.”

“Death is my gift to you,” spoke YISUN in reply.

“What’s the point,” spoke Hansa, bitterly,”Of such a fine house, if it is only a lie? What is the point of Hansa, if Hansa is only a lie?”

“I am a fine liar,” spoke YISUN in reply.

Hansa was silent a moment.

“It is a beautiful house,” he admitted, after some time, “It is a beautiful lie.”

“Our self-realization is the most beautiful lie there is. I am the most conceited and prime liar. Lies are the enemy of stagnation and my self-salvation. How could we appreciate the shining beauty of my house of lies,” spoke YISUN, arching her supple back, “if there was always such a house? How could we appreciate Hansa if there was always such a Hansa?”

They sat in stillness a while longer.

“In truth, we would get very bored,” said Hansa, after a while.

“In truth, we would,” said YISUN.

———————–

iv. The lie of the small light

Hansa was of sound mind and proud soul and only once asked YISUN a conceited question, when he was very old and his bones were set about with dust and bent with age. It was about his own death.

“Lord,” said Hansa, allowing a doubt to blossom, “What is ending?”

It was said later he regretted this question but none could confirm the suspicion.

“Ending is a small light in a vast cavern growing dim,” said YISUN, plainly, as was the manner.

“When the light goes out, what will happen to the cavern?”

“It and the universe will cease to exist, for how can we see anything without any light, no matter how small?” said YISUN. Hansa was somewhat dismayed, but sensed a lesson, as was the manner.

“Darkness is the natural state of caverns,” said he, vexingly, “if I were a cavern, I would be glad to be rid of the pest of light and exist obstinately anyway!”

“Hansa is observant,” said YISUN.

Hansa was one of the oldest of YISUN’s servants. His bones were old and weary and ground down from the dust of five hundred thousand worlds, and he lived in a black house made from iron nails with his daughter Prim. A cold had settled in his flesh from his conception and his temperament was sometimes quite brittle, yet he was a smooth talker, an excellent patkun player, a worldly smoker, owned several fine wooden tables and a carved bone tea pot; he was fond of his smoking pipe, his sword with a hilt of white ash, and his multiversal flame manipulator was well oiled, he was not fond of talk shows, politicians or smokeless fires. He had a peculiar belief that causal reality was a particularly harsh joke, and luck could shatter with a slight finger push. For this he was widely considered the wisest of YIS’ black sons.

Lord Hansa is never pictured without his smoking pipe, his legs must always be crossed or he must be reclining in his old age, he has 3 arms and only one head. His skin must always be blue. His third arm often holds his black lacquer sword sheath. He rules the elderly, the reticent and doubting. His number is 33.

Prim and the Mendicant Knight

Prim was Hansa’s daughter. She lived with her father in seclusion in their black house made of iron nails, where she packed his pipe and attended to his meals, tended the hearth, and swept the floor, which was constantly filled with the dust of twenty thousand universes. Her father had many visitors that stumbled often drunkenly and usually brazenly across the black threshold of his high hall, wisdom seekers and old friends, pilgrims and warriors clad in brass, those that had come to seek her father’s counsel or those that had come seeking revenge. She was an average cook, and she was besides pale and spare. The skin on her knuckles was constantly raw from the harsh work of caring for her father, but there was no finer daughter, and she was a comely maid of radiant and humble visage.

One day, a tall pilgrim swathed in the red of a Mendicant Knight appeared at the threshold of the black house of iron nails and inquired within. Prim, who was a well-versed daughter, attended to the stranger and brought him into her father’s hall and served him with liquor and dark bread, as was the custom.

“Stranger,” said she, with a practiced modesty, “I’m afraid you shall wait here for longer than is tolerable. My father is abroad advising the great lords of infinity and will not return until nightfall. If you return again on the morrow, I’m certain my father will receive you well.”

To this, the tall pilgrim gave a peculiar smile, and threw back his crimson greatcloak. Prim gave a small gasp, for there stood a shockingly handsome man, tall, golden haired, and with a strong leg, a broad shoulder, gentle eyes that radiated a fair warmth and a beautiful white smile.

“Fair lady,” spoke the Mendicant Knight, “I have not come for your father. I have come for you! In my travels, I was regaled by many pilgrims of the story of the house of your esteemed father, and the rare and radiant beauty that dwelt within. At first I did not believe it, but the tales became more and more vivid, as much so that I made it my life’s quest to seek you out and confirm your beauty for myself. I have taken great pains to travel here, and now I see it is more than I could have imagined!” He gave a deep and sonorous laugh, and kneeling, took Prim’s roughened hand in a gentle grip and kissed it softly. “Fairest of fairs,” said he imploringly, “will you not leave your father’s house and come with me?”

Prim was deeply moved, for she had long fantasized at leaving her father’s house and making her way in the world. The beautiful stranger moved with an incredible purpose that she found thrilling and invigorating. However, her father had warned her against the company of strange men. There was no finer daughter, and her duty quickly rose up in her mind to eclipse all her golden dreams of escape. She cast her eyes downward and let out a thin sigh.

“Alas beautiful stranger,” said she, “your words move me, but I must still sweep my father’s floor, make stock of my father’s house, and cook my father’s dinner.”

The Mendicant Knight seemed perplexed, but his smile grew wider. “The tales of your dedication to your father are widely known,” said he, “and I had made preparations for just this!” Prim was intrigued, and her heart fluttered and she sat and leaned as the stranger pulled a long, blindingly white feather from his greatcloak.

“Behold!” the pilgrim said, “A feather plucked from the Screaming Roc, the interstellar scourge of thirty worlds! After hearing of your beauty, I made great pains to assemble a company to seek about the beast and engage it in mortal combat. Ah, if only you could have seen it! The battle raged for a week and a day, and its fires scoured the stars end to end.”

The Mendicant Knight flashed his white smile, and with a single motion he whipped the feather across the house made of iron, and there was a great sound like the tearing of space and the hollowness of wind through an old stone, and suddenly there was a great hurricane throughout the house, which lifted every last mote of dust and grime, and decay that had been trekked through over the years, even those that Prim had missed, and carried them out the door of that great house and into the void in one rushing instant. Prim was delighted, and her heart swelled with wonder.

“Now will you come with me, and ride the Roc, as I did, and join me in my tender love for you?” said the Mendicant Knight, stowing his feather with a flourish, and bowing deeply and mysteriously.

“Of course I would,” said Prim plaintively, with her voice full of wonder and longing, “but I must still take account of my father’s house, for his time and temper are most valuable!”

There was a slight flash of annoyance across the Mendicant Knight’s youthful and shining face, but he snorted in defiance and laughed it away. “I knew, of course, that your father was an esteemed man of accurate and some would say, miserly account.” He winked.

“Therefore, I took great pains to travel to the Interlocking worlds and consulted with the grand artificer there, who bade me complete seven times seven tasks for him in seven times seven days, which I did, all in hope of your love. And after I completed those tasks with peerless achievement, he awarded me with this!”

From his greatcloak the Mendicant Knight produced a shining silver case, and when he snapped it open Prim gave an even louder gasp, for she saw it was a Quantum Perfection Engine, the likes of which were seldom seen across all the Wheel. With a hum of its silver limbs, the engine froze causal reality and counted all up states and down states and side states and thus calculated the exact quantity of everything inside the black house of iron nails before Prim could even draw a breath, blink an eyelid, or think one tenth of a thought.  In excitement, Prim leaned over the humming engine, and saw that it had counted every eyelash on her face, even the possible ones that had never existed.

“Come with me, dear Prim, and we will see these wonders and more. I will build you a better house, a golden one of glass and music, and even the grand artificers will be aflame with jealousy!” said the Mendicant Knight, imploringly. His beautiful face was filled with genuine longing and Prim felt the radiance of love and warmth that was there. But still, the shackles of her duty to her father bound her.

“Oh beautiful pilgrim,” said she with terrible longing to escape with this beautiful man, ” I would, but my father’s dinner still needs cooking, and without food in his stomach after his travel, I fear he will be taken dreadfully ill!”

“Are you your father’s daughter or his maidservant?” said the pilgrim quite rudely, but Prim forgave him for she could see the desperation of his love, and her father had taught her to hold her judgement in all things. There was no finer daughter. “Forget your father’s dinner! I have worlds to show you! Come and be my wife and let me languish in your radiant beauty forever!”

Prim was quite desperate. “Oh stranger, if only I could, but the needs of my father are like a black chain around my heart!” said she, grasping him by the arms. His flesh was firm and steady and warm.

“Come with me,” said he after a moment, his voice quavering, almost wheedling, and somewhat impatient, “but for an hour. There is plenty time yet to cook your father’s dinner. Step outside and let me show you the stars! You are not your father’s slave, forget him but for a moment and relish this time with me!” His face burned with intention and he quivered with anticipation of her answer, watching her thin white lips.

Prim was fearful for she seldom set foot outside her father’s house, for there was no finer daughter, but the allure of the beautiful knight and the world of color and sound outside her father’s dank iron house proved too much.

“Oh, let me come!” said she with an exasperated and thrilled air, and the stranger let out a mighty sigh. Donning her vela and pouch, she met the pilgrim in her hall. Before she crossed the threshold, she stopped, for she had forgotten something dear to her. “Let me retrieve my greatknife,” said she, surprised at her carelessness, “how thoughtless of me!” For her father had warned her about leaving the house, and though those iron chains around her heart still stung, there was no finer daughter.

“No need!” the Mendicant Knight said tersely, and then relaxed and gave a broad smile. “I’ll protect you.” He stepped out of the threshold of Prim’s iron house with a flourish, his soft and supple boots making small and beautiful sounds. Prim’s heart was bursting with love and she rushed to join him, letting out a laugh like clear bells from her small, pale, and wiry body.

No sooner had Prim, daughter of Hansa, stepped out of her father’s house than the Mendicant Knight’s beautiful face turned ugly and he leapt upon Prim’s small and frail form, laughing in his deep, sonorous voice. Prim laughed as though she would share in some kind of merriment, and then he ripped off her fine vela and tore it and let it fall on the hard earth and she instantly knew she had been fooled and his intent had been to dominate, enslave, and ravish her all along. Her father’s words rang in her head and iron chains in her heart were like a lifeline she had carelessly cast aside. Hot tears sprang to her eyes as she cried out.

“What an empty girl! What a pretty, perfectly beautiful, empty headed girl!,” gasped the knight, roaring with laughter with his ugly face and tearing at her clothing, breast, and sex like an animal. “As soon as I heard of you, I knew I would have to take great pains to claim that beauty for myself and no one else, and pluck you from your miserly father. Now you’re mine, mine mine!” howled he in triumph, his fingers ripping at her pale flesh.

The knight had forgotten, however, that Prim had sat in attendance at the tales of fifty thousand travelers, had served black bread and alcohol to more men of staggering power than the knight would see in his entire life, had learned secrets whispered around a dying hearth fire and diligently listened to her father’s instructions on the secret ways of annihilation, for there was no finer daughter.

Prim had been taught many ways of dismantling a man by the masters passing through her father’s house and did so with a single strike in the way of Pattram Sword Hand. All the vital fluids passed from the Knight’s body in a violent flash from the terrible violence Prim inflicted upon him and his body was torn apart by Universal Division and was scattered to thirty places.

Prim wiped the tears from her eyes and washed her bloodstained clothes and took up her torn Vela and mended it, and she felt a little better. She buried the greatcloak of that knight and gathered the torn pieces of his body and cremated him properly, and then felt a little better. After that, she indulged in a fragant bath, and she felt a little better, and by the time she had cooked dinner, she was at peace and awaited her father and did not recount the story to him for some time.

She did eventually leave that house, but only after her father died. There was no finer daughter.

Prim Leaves her Father’s House
From the Song of Maybe

There came a time when Lord Hansa entered the hollow and singing hall of the multicolored Akaroth, for lunisnight celebrations. There was a great feast there for a fortnight or more, and there, caught in a heated philosophical fugue with Akaroth, Lord Hansa in anger committed the  violation of letting his pipe smoke rise and befoul the all-wind that permeated that house and nourished the ways of the void. Fueled by wine, Akaroth was driven into such a drunken rage by this insult that he harnessed fifty winds to his will and at once slew Hansa with a single stroke of his war fan and felt little regret at the time. Later, in grief, he did heavy penance for this act, for he slew a widely respected man, but all agreed that Lord Hansa had committed a grievous offense.

When Akaroth’s archons learned of this offense, they snatched up the cooling body of Lord Hansa and rode the void to his estate, and there they slew his servants in the multitude and cleft the skulls of his retainers and set fire and lightning upon the land. They tore apart the house of iron nails that stood on that land and within found Hansa’s virginal and radiant daughter Prim, who was preparing her father’s supper, as she did every night. “Look,” said Thunder Cleaves Stone, who was chief in majesty among the retainers of Akaroth, “here is that maid or daughter which he makes a slave. How piteous and crawling a thing!” They fell upon Prim and shaved her beautiful locks and in insult demanded black bread and liquor for hospitality, which she could not fulfill. “Dog!” said they, “and daughter of a dog, live a dog’s life!”, and threw they before her her father’s mangled corpse and left her raw with their laughter in the scoured and smoking ruin of her father’s estate. Later Akaroth learned of their conduct and was greatly enraged for Hansa had been a great wise man, and he had the Archons tied to a flensing tree which stretched the seven corners of the multiverse and there flayed them with lashes of lightning as they had flayed the house of Hansa, and all agreed this was just.

Prim was despondent but did not cry for there was no finer daughter. She took up her cloak and vela and great knife, and felt a little better, and she smeared the ashes of her father’s house on her face and body as was the custom, and she felt a little better, and she wrapped her father’s poor body in a linen shroud and she felt a little better still. She prepared to set upon the road, but she had never left her father’s house, and the thought terrified her, so she plucked a single iron nail from its smoking ruins and pocketed it. So comforted, she slung her father’s corpse over her small back and set off on the road of the Ruling King, which wound seven times through the void and the Wheel, and looked for a place to bury her father.

Soon she came upon a grand field on which the ground quickly became slick with the ruins of men and heaved with the wetness of lives smashed by incredible violence. The earth shook terribly, and carrion birds circled, and a mighty stench filled the air so that she was afraid and gripped her great knife. She came upon a devil there who was perched upon a corpse and gorged upon its eyes. “Look thee craven,” said the devil, “for great lords are doing battle here.”

Indeed, Prim shortly came upon a conflict so brutal that its noise split the earth and heavens both from end to end. The Gods Sivran and Ogam-am were settled in their destroyer aspects and were doing battle with their armies. Great tides of men and horses were dashed aside by their dueling, the ground shuddered and cracked, and the air was thick with the slurry of violence. Prim felt the coldness of fear in her heart, but gripped the iron nail in her pocket, and spoke in her small voice. “Great lords, where may I bury my father?” spoke she, and then again a score of times for her voice was weak and lost easily in the cacophony.

“Who is this ant,” howled Ogam, frothing with rage as he finally noticed her, spouting flame from his navel,”so ugly and ash covered?”

“It is Hansa Primpiyat, that small Prim who you may know, who was the daughter of a great man,” spoke Prim in her small voice, and both Gods ceased their brawling and craned to hear, for she was a piteous thing and they recognized her broken burden as the master Hansa. Prim shrank back, but it was a good question, and both Gods reposed a while to contemplated it, while the blood dripped and smoked from their wounds and their armies continued the slaughter.

“Bury him on the battlefield,” commanded Sivran after a while, “for then he will die a conqueror’s death, which is a righteous death of glory and struggle.”

“Bury him on the battlefield,” roared Ogam, as molten steel dripped from his mouth, “for it is not a weak and womanly death, and his mighty corpse deserves veneration!”

So agreed, both Gods returned to their mortal drama. Prim considered for a moment, and then followed their command, though she was struck more than once by a passing bolt or a hurtling stone, for though the lords’ advice was sound, they were mad with battle lust and thought little of the lives of small things.

Prim returned to the road, and bound her bleeding wounds, and slept, for she was weary, but barely a day had passed when she heard the voice of her father’s corpse rasping. “What a din!” he said, “I can barely sleep for this racket! What terrible excuse for a daughter has interred me in this madhouse!” Prim returned once again to the battlefield with fear and obedience in her heart and though she was struck by hails of bolts and the the gore of the ruins of men, she retrieved her father’s body.

Tired and encrusted with filth, Prim once again set on the road. She trod for many days more, and her fine vela became torn, her dress became ragged, her back ached, and her shoes ripped. Interdimensional winds lashed at her, the ground betrayed her, and she came to hate the very air. Eventually, she came to a place where the road met emptiness and there encountered the angel 7 Sound of Clear Water Through a Grove, which bade her halt. “Traveler,” said the angel in its middle voice, “you look sick and weary. The lady Pravi reposes not far from here. Please pay her a visit.” Prim reluctantly obeyed, for the filth and pain of the road was wearing on her, and strode towards a grove of white glass with swollen feet.

There in a rippling expanse of frozen space the lady Pravi was ensconced on her dais with all her court around her. Her scalp was burnished and oiled, her fingers were very well trained and elegant, her left half was singing a song of love, her right a song of longing, and her cleft form was lovely and sensual. Her court burned fragrant incense and sang accompaniment and bared their breasts to the cool infinity, and indeed it was an awesome sight to behold. Prim was pricked with fear, but she clutched the nail on her pocket and set on.

“What mud spattered vagrant and dirty thing defiles my presence,” spoke the right half of Pravi and the left half made a small gesture of cessation and the music stopped most painfully. “It is I,” spoke Prim in her small voice, “the orphan of Hansa.” Pravi was a poor and abused soul herself, though vain and self-indulgent, and she took pity upon Prim and her grisly burden. Her attendants bound Prim’s feet and layered oils upon them, and sang gently to blunt her pain and found fresh linens for Lord Hansa, though they gave her neither bread nor liquor, for fear of impurity, and did not attend to her wounds. “Great Lady of Pleasure and Enjoyment,” said Prim in her small voice, “where may I bury my father?”

“Bury him in a beautiful field,” said the left half of Pravi, “so he may repose in light and silence and warmth and rest in beauty and peace, for in all things these are good qualities. This is known by me.” And her right half proclaimed that this was good, and she called upon her attendants to oil her silky flesh and bring her fruit and that was that.

Prim considered this for a moment, and then followed her command. When she had done so, she set back upon the road, and lay down to sleep, as she was very tired and in great pain. Not a day had passed however, when she heard the voice of her father’s corpse. “What deafening silence!” it rasped, “What putrid soporific sweetness is this? How insipid and smothering a place to bury such a great man as me! What wasteful  and negligent daughter would do thus to a father?” So, Prim set back to that place, and wore out her boots to shreds, and went back on the road barefoot with her rotting burden.

Exhausted and smeared with grime and ash, Prim traveled for many days, where the road tore at her every minute and blackened her bare feet with blood and calluses. Eventually she was halted by a pair of peregrine knights in the middle of a ten year watch when they came upon her filthy and hobbling figure.

“Halt Yea,” spoke the first knight, “traveler, the road will devour you before long. Over there is YISUN’s speaking hall.”

“A great gathering is there,” spoke the second knight, “pray ye ask for relief or rest, stranger, from those gathered, for ye shall proceed no longer on our watch.”

Prim gripped her knife but she was too weak to fight. She was afraid to enter that hall because she knew her dreadful appearance would surely offend her father’s peers and invite their wrath down upon her. But, she clutched her iron nail, and the assurance therein sent new strength into her cracked and bleeding feet, and she went on.

YISUN’s speaking house was full of light and sound, its feathered arches were gold and russet from the warmth within. As Prim entered, she saw a great assemblage of lords in attendance, some in their speaking forms, some clothed as great animals or birds, some as a heat or pillar of stone, some great dark roiling clouds, some stretched their limbs through quantum states and others reclined, lotus-like, through probability as they made merriment. A great cry set up when Prim came to the threshold for her feet made black marks upon the gilded tiles and the ash and filth caked upon her form befouled the scented air within, and she was so bent with the weight of her father’s corpse that there were almost none who recognized this torn and broken thing. The gods, forgoing custom, made to cast her out, so foul was her appearance, but Het, who was the doorkeeper, was the keenest among them and did not speak roughly to her. “This is the orphan of Hansa, the poor and broken wanderer who was Prim,” she chastised to the gathered, “shame upon your heart of hearts!” She struck the ground with her stave, and the gods were shamed. Still, they were so repulsed by how ugly Prim had grown that they called only their servants to approach her, who bound her feet again, and served her black bread and spirits, and wrapped her face and ragged shorn head in a binding cloth so the gods may hold her in their sight and set her gently upon the proscenium. Thin wine was brought to clear her throat and fresh and golden cloth was brought for the decaying corpse of Hansa.

“Great masters,” croaked she in her small voice, “where may I bury my father? I have searched and searched, and still he will not be at rest. How may I please him?”

“Annihilate his body with fire and free yourself of his burden,” spat weeping Ashma, but Prim could not, for there was no finer daughter.
“Pass him to me, ” spoke bloated Kaon, “so I may bring him to YISUN’s gardens.” But Prim saw his smile of greed and gripped her great knife.
“Set him walking on the road,” said Pedam, tapping his staff in thought, “so he may never tire of his surroundings.” But Prim had grown to hate the road.

There were more.
“Set him in the deep mountains,” bellowed Yam, the high.
“Give him a crown so he may rule the dead,” said noble Payam.
“Make him a coffin of air, so the emptiness may pass through his bones,” said Ovis, fluctuating between five different time states.
“Give him a silver death mask,” said Kami, who tapped upon her ribcage and fingered her string of heads.
“Feed him to my sons so he may live a new life,” said the God of Pigs.
“Make his body into birds,” said Voya, “small birds, so they may pass easily through holes in the universe.”

There were more, and more besides. Prim could not decide on any of these things, and all they did was rip at her heart relentlessly, and the gods grew restless and discontent. The hour grew late, and with relief, the assembly ushered Prim out of the light and warmth of that hall and onto the cruel and jagged road and freezing morning, and Prim went on.

By degrees, Prim grew more and more bent as the corpse of her father grew bloated and swollen. The cloths on her face and feet became soiled, her great knife bent and chipped, and her beautiful vela grew ragged and torn. All the while, the corpse of her father berated her. “What a horrid excuse for a daughter,” it rasped, “I still lie uninterred! How infantile and unaccomplished! My daughter’s life amounts to less than a flea’s! Better she kill herself than allow this shame to rattle my sorry corpse! She should have died in that iron house with me where she belonged!”

After a while, Prim’s feet were fed to the road and became too swollen with blood to walk, and so she crawled like a guttural beast, and all she passed on the road gave her a wide berth and were horror stricken by the stench of death which surrounded her.

Eventually, it was too much for Prim, and she could go no further. Following her father’s last instruction, for there was no finer daughter, she set her feverish mind to one thing – dying in that iron house as her father commanded. With claw like hands, she wrenched that iron nail from her cloak and with all her strength, pounded it into the rough earth of the road. In a flash and with a terrible groan, all around her grew the terrible jagged eaves and beams, the arches and hollows of the iron house of nails. It was just as she had remembered it, even the dinner she had been preparing before the destruction of her father’s estate. Crawling, she unburdened her cargo and dragged her father’s corpse onto his throne, and prepared to expire.

But suddenly, in that moment, a most undaughterly sentiment came over Hansa Primpiyat. She saw eternity stretching before her, a servile eternity, a comfortable, familiar, and putrid eternity, her rotting corpse serving the ruin of her father in that awful, devouring iron house in perfect, decaying, daughterly obedience, forever and ever. And she felt true fear.

She crawled out of that house as soon as her bloody limbs would take her, with terrifying clarity, and hauled herself over its cold black threshold and away from the grip of eternity. But as soon as she did, there was a sound like the closing of a great tomb, or the dropping of a great stone, or the ringing of a deep bell, and a rush and a clap and there was no sign of that iron house any more in all the cosmos. Suddenly, Prim felt the awful stab of ten times the fear she had before, for all she had ever known and cared about was gone forever with that house, and all that remained was that pitiless and hungry stranger called the road, her new master, crueler and more relentless even than her father, and she curled in a sodden ball and cried an awful keening wail that split the heavens and reached even the archons on their flensing tree. Great filthy tears poured from her eyes and nose and her belly was wrenched with terrible spasms of pain and grief.

A pale face came before her and she was abruptly struck from her despair as though by a great hammer. A beautiful stranger had appeared, mild and tall, of milky flesh, spare in figure, but radiant in voice and visage. “I know you,” said the stranger in a small voice, “you are Prim.”

“I was Hansa’s orphan, the slave, Prim,” croaked Prim in response, “and now I am nobody, just a small dirty thing in great emptiness and here I will die.”

“No,” said the stranger, and the clarity and firmness of her voice and smile send a shock through Prim, “you are Prim, and Prim only, and Prim you shall be.” And Prim there realized her tears had made a great pool and she was greeting her own reflection. And she fell into that murky pool and straight away it turned clear as crystal and Prim vomited forth a great black knot from very deep within her, and her body was scoured and lashed by the icy waters of that pool, and great draughts of poisonous filth and despondency were drawn in rushing gasps from her wounds, and her skin was sealed and her soiled trappings were purged and the caked illness and death was ripped away and she rose from that pool fresh and humming. Her back straightened and she scarcely thought on her father’s corpse or the faintest echo of that iron house. The air was quite pleasant and the road which had seemed cruel now seemed to whimper and bend before her, and she stood up and laughed a perfect laugh of dominance, and its sound rang like a bell as the warmth of life steamed within her, and the road stretched on and it was good.

That is how Prim left her father’s house.

YISUN sat once with his disciple Hansa in YISUN’s second clockwise glass palace. Hansa was one of his most ardent students and a grand questioner of YISUN. Unlike Yisun’s other disciple, Pree Ashma, he had no hunger in his heart for dominion of the universe, but a miserly scrutiny and a heart of iron nails. He was not an aspirant for royalty, and thereby attained it through little effort.

Hansa’s questions were thus:

‘Lord, how must I question space?’

‘With an age, an ant may encircle a giant five million times,’ spoke YISUN.

‘Lord, how then may I question time?’

‘A giant’s stride of a moment takes an ant a week to surpass.’ YISUN spoke and smiled in the 4th way.

Hansa was discontent with this answer and rubbed the stem of his long and worn pipe which he always kept with him and would eventually lead to his annihilation. Since he was royalty, he knew this, and kept it close to him as a reminder of his circular death.

‘Lord, then which should I be, the giant or the ant?’

‘Both,’ spoke YISUN,’ or either, when it suits you. Destroy the grand enemy called ‘I’.’

Hansa contemplated this in silence. Later he would recount this proverb to his daughter.

ii. The lie of the iron plum

There was once a king named UN-Payam who sat at the right hand of YISUN’s throne and ruled a palace of burnished gold and fire and dispensed justice in all things. It was let known once that Payam had grown an extraordinary plum – enormous in size, with adamant skin that was burnished as a breastplate and fifty times as hardy. Payam was desirous of a pillow friend of fiery heart and excellent skill with their mouth and let know that whosoever could break the skin of that plum with their teeth he would swear to share his bed with for three nights in whatever disposition they may desire.

Many gods were in attendance at Payam’s hall on the first day, and even more on the second day, but by the third day of this strange contest few remained who had not tested their mettle, for the plum remained implacable and immaculate and turned many away with sore teeth and roiling frustration in their brains. A great cry rose up and YISUN was called forth from the twenty third clockwise palace of carbon where YISUN had been meditating on the point of a thirty acre long spear of crystallized time. In companionship with YISUN was Hansa, who followed along.

“See this Payam!” cried the gods, “He deceives us! He cruelly abuses our lustful hearts!”

YISUN was very fond of plums and immediately grasped the iron plum and took a long, succulent bite, praising its merits to the amazement of all.

“How!” wailed the attended.

“Why, it is a plum of flesh, and quite ripe as well,” said YISUN plainly, and indeed, it was apparent to those gathered that it was the case. The plum was passed around and touched and indeed it was sensual and soft and pliant. Hansa was not so convinced. “It is still a plum of iron,” said he, “there is some trickery here, oh master of masters.”

“Indeed, it is so,” said YISUN, and it was again apparent to those gathered that the flesh of that plum was as hard and impermeable as a fortress. “How can it be so?” said Hansa, “How comes this fickle nature? Plums and the fifty winds are not so alike I think.”

YISUN said, “I told you of this and, believing it, it was so. We are all secret kings of our own tower. In truth, it is whichever you prefer. In truth, there is no plum at all, just as there is no YISUN.  A plum has no shape, form, or color at all, in truth, but these are all things I find pleasing about it. A plum has no taste at all for it has no flesh or substance, but I find its sweetness intoxicating. A plum is a thing that does not exist. But it is my favorite fruit.”

“A pipe is a thing that does exist, and it is my favorite past time,” said Hansa, lacking understanding, and growing in cynicism.

“What a paradox!” said YISUN, smiling, “I shall share my love tenderly with Payam.”

iv. The lie of the small light

Hansa was of sound mind and proud soul and only once asked YISUN a conceited question, when he was very old and his bones were set about with the dust and bent with age. It was about his own death.

“Lord,” said Hansa, allowing a doubt to blossom, “What is ending?”

It was said later he regretted this question but none could confirm the suspicion.

“Ending is a small light in a vast cavern growing dim,” said YISUN, plainly, as was the manner.

“When the light goes out, what will happen to the cavern?”

“It and the universe will cease to exist, for how can we see anything without any light, no matter how small?” said YISUN. Hansa was somewhat dismayed, but sensed a lesson, as was the manner.

“Darkness is the natural state of caverns,” said he, vexingly, “if I were a cavern, I would be glad to be rid of the pest of light and exist obstinately anyway!”

“Hansa is observant,” said YISUN.

-PSALMS

Pree Aesma was YISUN’s thirty second student, after Hansa died. She was rather small, and unlike the burnished cynicism of Hansa harbored only a brutal ambition and a tendency to fly into rages which reddened and contorted her delicate face. Nevertheless, YISUN found her brash manner somewhat refreshing.

One day, as YISUN and Aesma were skipping stones, Aesma tore at her clothes and ran about quite wildly, then asked YISUN quite brazenly, ‘What is the principle exercise of life, oh father and mother?’

YISUN skipped a stone through fifteen quantum states. It became a small, bright bird, and then a flame. YISUN then said, quite plainly,  ‘Violence. Your selfish ego proclaims sovereign and self-severs from the omnipotent umblical. Your homeostasis offends entropy.’

‘What does that mean, then?’ said Aesma, discontent, not understanding the least what YISUN was saying, stamping her feet.

“Plainly, the only true peace is in unbeing,” said YISUN.

“Well that’s pointless!” said Aesma, fuming.

“Yes,” said YISUN, “It is fantastically boring.”

– Aesma and the Three Masters –
(And The Lessons She Never Learned from Them)

There came a time when YISUN and their disciple, Aesma, came to be in YISUN’s speaking house, which was often host to the drunken brawls of the many gods as they engaged in heated, and often bloody debate. The previous night had been no different, and the bronze walls still smoked and glowed with the fury and violence of their words. YISUN, as master of the house, reclined as the servants of that place set about undoing the devastation of the night with tired and practiced ease.
Aesma was small in stature, of raw black skin, many teeth, a large mouth, and a bright red tongue. She nurtured an evil and burning passion for dominion over all things, and thus an ugly hunger constantly ruled her otherwise pretty face. YISUN was extremely fond of her, as it was with all ugly children.
“Master of Masters, King of Kings, Empress of Empresses,” said Aesma greedily, “Who is the most powerful of your servants?”
For this had been the topic of the night before, and none in attendance had been fit to answer it, for each of them loudly proclaimed themselves king over the other. YISUN had declined to make a judgment, as was the manner, so Aesma was surprised when YISUN shook from their reverie.
“Plainly, it is a difficult question,” said YISUN, pondering, “but I would have to say my three Masters of space-time, aesthetic, and ethics.”
“Why they!” said Aesma, fuming.
“They have been my disciples for at least 30 kalpas, they have studied well my teachings, and each is the holder of an absolute and insurmountable truth, “spoke YISUN, gravely, “If you are so discontent you may find them on the road and challenge them if you wish.”
Without a word Aesma rudely snatched up Pedam’s walking stick, which could hop thirty leagues at a time, and Akaroth’s feather cloak, which could ride winds both interstellar and terrestrial, and bashing aside servants in her mad scramble, she leapt to the edge of that house and rode the void to the road of the Ruling King.

– Aesma and the Master of Space-time –

Almost immediately Aesma found the estate of the Master of space-time, a lunar domain of immense proportions. It was incredibly hard to miss the Master, as he was a man thirty stories tall, with skin speckled as a night sky, and in his tangled hair, among his shaggy brow, and scattered in his great knotted beard were a multitude of burning stars. He had served for uncounted centuries as chief architect of the gods after attaining his mastery, and even now was building a mighty dark tower greater than any mountain, and the clangs of his immense silver chisel shivered Aesma’s bones as she approached. But she had little regard for his mighty stature as a furious mischief was in her.
“Ho there! A Godling! Young Aesma is it?” boomed the Master of space-time, and as he turned his sweat drops scattered the earth like mighty boulders.
“I have heard you are the strongest of YISUN’s disciples,” said Aesma viciously, “How can that be true?”
“From whom?” spoke the Master, furrowing his brow.
“From YISUN!” danced Aesma, frustrated.
“Ho!” rumbled the master, and stroked his mustaches. “I suppose it is true then. I have long studied the scope and stretch of YISUN’s work, and through immense effort I have attained knowledge of the shape of all things. Down to the exact nano-angstrom!”
Aesma was disbelieving, but the Master showed her each Planck length of each mountain on his estate. And still she was disbelieving, and he showed her the exact number of grains of dust in the universe, and the number of carbon atoms in her body, and the potential shape and shadow of every animal that breathed, swam, flew, or flashed through quantum states.
But still she was not content, so the Master set down his mighty chisel with a crack and gestured to the wide plain and bade Aesma look, and showed her the way to look. He bade her bring forth her illuminated consciousness, and she did, and the master was humorously surprised, for it was a small, evil thing, a nasty red coal, and he wondered why she was so favored as YISUN’s disciple. But then he brought forth his own mind and it was as a great celestial blaze, and as he cast it on the landscape before him, Aesma saw it warp and shift, the hills like water that flowed from form to form. The sky cracked and ignited and was replaced by fire and light, and darkness swallowed and disgorged the land like a great bulbous blossom. Aesma realized then that the Master had perfect knowledge not only of the precise shape of things, but also all the shapes they would ever have and be.

“I have attained mastery of the ultimate and insurmountable truth of Form. Thus, through my mighty studies I know the exact measure of YISUN’s work, the way it is, and the way it always will be. So my knowledge is all encompassing, and perfection is my breath,” said the Master. “Even small things such as yourself, young Aesma,” he said with a jovial wink.
“What are you building?” said Aesma, with dark intent, as a furious scheme was bubbling to the top of her evil mind.
“My Panopticon,” said the Master of Space-time proudly, and clapped the stone of his construction with a sound that shook the dust from the seven corners of the multiverse, “the ultimate observatory. Though my knowledge is limitless, my sight is regretfully less so. With this I will contemplate all things at once, and I will truly be the highest in the land. I will have no need for mundane struggles once I can contemplate all of infinity!”
“That’s stupid!” said Aesma, and kicked the dark construction, stubbing her delicate toes. Her yelp of pain set the master to chuckling mightily as this poor vicious girl, but then Aesma shot him a ferocious glance and asked a stupid question.
“If you know the shape of everything, what is the shape of the universe!” said she.
The Master scoffed humorously at this precocious question. “Well clearly, I know it from the inside!” he said.
“How can you know the shape of anything if you only look at it from the inside!” snapped Aesma, evilly, and the Master gave a great booming laugh that shook stars from his beard, and as they crashed to the dust in great fiery trails, Aesma had to scamper to dodge them.
“Can a man bend his eyes to look at his own face? What an odd question!” said the Master, “It has no outside shape, little one, and thus it is and will always be so.”
“I’ll take a look and tell you, worm!” spat Aesma, and she tore off her clothes wildly.
“What are you doing?” rumbled the Master, bemusedly, but before he could finish, Aesma had planted her feet and took a great hot breath. Her skin puckered and her chest swelled and her small wicked form grew outwards suddenly to fifteen stories tall. The sudden change disoriented her, and she fell over, denting a mountain. The master chuckled at her idiocy as she huffed and puffed and stumbled about, and went to turn back to his work, but then there was another great breath and Aesma swelled monstrously, to twice the Master’s height.
“Ho! Stop this foolishness!” said the Master, amazed at this idiot girl, but before he could say another word, she took another mighty breath and swelled to ten times the Master’s height. The mountains shuddered and the Master’s great unfinished tower shivered as though struck. Now true worry gripped the Master, and he shouted for Aesma to stop, but her monstrous, straining face grew further away as she grew to a hundred times the Master’s height, and then a thousand, and on the fifth breath the land itself was rent up, and the mountains buckled and warped, and the great stones of the Panopticon were ripped from their foundations in the terrible gale of Aesma’s inhalations. The Master was dumbstruck, for though his illuminated mind was much larger and fiercer than Aesma, he had not glimpsed this destruction. And still Aesma grew a million times, a hundred billion times larger than the Master, and the stars bent and space-time itself warped with her great weight. Finally, it gave way, and Aesma tumbled through and outside creation. The great clap as she ripped through woke the archons on their flensing tree, and the worms that shivered in Hansa’s corpse outside reality, and the plum garden of YISUN’s speaking house was so shaken it bore very little fruit that year.
Had Aesma looked then, she would have glimpsed the entirety of existence and non-existence in its totality, and in viewing it she would have discovered the secret name of God, and avoided her maiming by asking YISUN this question some time later. But at that moment, her hubris and pride at her besting of the Master were the only things on her cramped and evil mind, so she gave it but a glance, and discovered that it was somewhat wheel-shaped.
It was extremely cold outside of existence, and Aesma was quite naked, moreover holding so much air in a form so large was quite painful, so she abruptly and quite mindlessly let it go, and plummeted back through the crack in existence and back to the feet of the Master of Space-time, who was thrown around like a leaf in the great storm of her exhalation.

“Plainly you are not the strongest of YISUN’s disciples!” cackled Aesma, and danced naked and stuck her great red tongue out at the broken and defeated master. “Tell me, as you promised!” implored the Master of space-time, hot tears thundering to the earth like mighty comets, “What is the shape of the universe?”
“It is somewhat wheel-shaped,” said Aesma, which was a completely wrong answer.

“Once, there was an angel with a flaming spear that guarded the western gate of YISUN’s speaking house. He was rigorous, martial, and followed the exact letter of the Old Law that had been inlaid into his very being with Koss’ silver chisel. At the time, most angels were like him, and they were exceptionally inflexible beings. They could not rebel, so well they had been hewn, against the slightest violation of their code. This made them all extremely cruel.

One day, Prim passed by on the road, and happened upon this angel flogging a group of men of the oldest nation with a lash made of lightning. The men had refused to take their shoes off inside of YISUN’s speaking house – they had journeyed far and did not know the law of the gods. For this minor offense they were being punished rather severely, and their cries were loud and fierce.

Cleverly, Prim took her jeweled comb from her pocket, which she no longer used, since she had long ago hewn off most of her beautiful hair, and bade the angel guard it with his life. Being a lesser being with no practical free will to speak of, the angel could do naught but comply.

Turning back to his prisoners, the angel made to flog them again, but found that the comb was so delicate that every violent motion he made sent it tumbling and ringing and threatened to shatter it. He could no longer continue his violent, oppressive work without fear of harming his duty to the daughter of Hansa, to protect this small and delicate thing.

He gave up flogging the men, and for the first time ever, began to think.”

-Spasms

YISUN said,  “Listen, here are three types of looking. Three men make a pilgrimage but despite their best efforts, lose the path. The desert is hot, and the men will soon be dead. They have run out of water.

The first man doesn’t know he has run out of water, nor does he bother to check. He blithely continues onwards until he is shocked to find his own death coming up from the sand to meet him.

The second man checks his canteen and sees immediately he is out of water. He gives up and curls up in a ball, and dies quite piteously, obsessing over his failures. A miserable man.”

Hansa said, “An ominous riddle.”

“The third man,” YISUN said, “checks his canteen, and finds he will soon be a dead man. Yet he is resolute, and presses onwards anyway, looking for his destination.”

“Does he find it?” asked Hansa.

“No,” said YISUN, “Quite plainly. His death finds him at the appointed time. Yet he presses on anyway, until the moment his corpse hits the dust.”

“What an idiot,” said Hansa.

“Absolutely,” said YISUN.

“What a magnificent idiot,” added Hansa.

“Hansa is observant,” said YISUN.

– Spasms

Prim came to a part of the road that was well worn. The path split and furrowed into pleasant little runoff trails, that twisted and snaked their way through groves of gently rustling trees. The undergrowth was thick and green and warm with insects and flowers. Prim felt some of the tension drain from her body and she rested a while under a tree, feeling quite relaxed.

After a while, she took a short and refreshing nap, and awoke to the distant voices of travelers a short ways down the trail. When she went out to greet them, she saw them clothed in white, and their faces and features were quite nondescript, as though washed in the ocean a while.

“Hello sister,” said they, “Who are you?”

“I am called Prim, who was the slave of Hansa, and now slave of the road,” said Prim.

“You are in luck, sister,” said the white-clothed people. “This is the end of the road. You are free!”

Prim gazed past the travelers through the treetops to see a broad and verdant valley, spotted with the trim rooftops of innumerable houses, each sporting a neat little plume of smoke. It looked like a very nice place to be, and Prim’s heart burned with a certain kind of longing she had not felt in a long while.

“What is this place?” asked Prim.

The travelers looked at each other, as if it was an odd question. “This the valley of Eternal Life,” they said. Prim was taken aback, as Immortality was one of the Three Forbidden Punishments. Seeing her expression, the travelers laughed stupidly, as though they had stumbled across a small and confused child.

“Don’t be so shocked,” said one of the travelers,”it’s true! Nobody knows want, hunger, or sickness. Our days are spent tending our gardens, talking to our neighbors and families, and praising God, who has granted us this boon. Death does not touch us here. People are neither born, nor die in this land. Our needs are cared for and the land is pleasant and green. What else could we want?”

“You should join us, sister,” added one of the travelers, “as God is good, you will know nothing but happiness in this valley.”

“Can you leave?” said Prim, who had an expression like she had tasted something sour. The travelers looked at each other in confusion. “Of course not,” said they, “why would we want to? It is impossible to leave the valley.”

“What else do you get up to?” said Prim tentatively, “Other than praising god, tending to your gardens, and talking to your neighbors?”

The travelers were very confused indeed, and seemed to think this was a very odd question. “Are you happy?” added Prim, as if this would help.

“Yes, of course,” said the travelers, smiling blithely. The expression on their faces was hard to read, but to Prim their words came out like a warm paste. “You will know nothing but happiness in this valley.”

“This land is terribly cursed,” said Prim, and moved on.

“After running for three years and three days, Prim finally came to a tumbling halt. No matter how far she ran, no matter how fast her legs carried her, she could not find the end of the road. No matter how she scanned the horizon, or reached out with trembling fingers, she could not grasp her resting place. The road continued forever.

There was a way-angel there, standing on a pillar of basalt, who understood many things, and he said to Prim: ‘O piteous thing.” Struck by her dreadful appearance, he recognized her as the orphan of Hansa, for he was very wise in the world. ‘What seek you on the road, small one?’ said the angel, “Perhaps I can offer succor.”

“The end of the road,” croaked Prim.

“There is no end,” said the angel, and it was so indeed. For the road was the rim of the Wheel, which encircled infinity. There was, truly no resting place. For some, this would have been dread news, enough to strike the life out of them. Many had given up when they learned of this, and laid down to die, as was sometimes the way of men in those days.

But for Prim, it washed over her, and soothed her, and for her weary and torn heart was the sweetest balm in the world.”

-Prim Masters the Road