"Then we shall strike an accord," he said, "and we shall hold to it through anything, and every trial, our rigid ethical code will never fail! We are..."
Then they raised their chalices in unison, and chanted, "The Accordians!"
As the saying goes, it takes a discordian to play an Accordian.
No one knows when the Special Ones first appeared, though of course there are those who believe they have always been here. It hasn't been that long, and no one can say they've shown any sign of aging.
There was Warrior Poet, the most famous of them all, in his own way, though almost nothing was known about him. He was the Jesse James of the Special Ones, making headlines as he quietly stalked the cities of America, his exploits strewn across front page headlines.
He was one of the first to be sighted, to be labeled, though no one knows how many others there were, waiting in the shadows, biding their time while their existence was unknown.
If anyone had bothered to ask, they would have learned they was at least one more: Warrior Poet was looking for him.
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And this is how the first two Accordians met, when Warrior Poet had torn apart the Erie County Courthouse trying to destroy his enemy. He was found in the rubble of the destroyed building, uninjured, of course, merely brooding, for the one he sought had gotten away, again.
ReplyDeleteA man in nearby Buffalo, studying at the astralist monastery there, was drawn to the place when he heard there was a battle between two Special Ones downtown. There he met Warrior Poet, and revealed himself to the world as a Special One, 'The Seeker' as he came to be known.
In a rare newspaper interview, given by The Seeker in the ruins after Warrior Poet disappeared, quoted him as saying that Warrior Poet only told him the man he was looking for was "Dark, like shadows, if you saw him, you were probably already dead."
Those who came to follow him, to wreak their own destruction in his name, called him Square Shadow.
At first, Warrior Poet refused to believe that anyone was in contact with the man he was looking for. But when he learned they called him 'square', he realized that he was wrong, someone was in touch with him, otherwise there was no way they could know, no way they would know to give him that title.
He knew, because he had seen the square himself, had been there, inside it, and he saw his enemy enter it, right before him.
Some say that Warrior Poet would never have left his nomadic quest to destroy Square Shadow if it had not been for the powers of the The Seeker's best friend, Nymph. But the powers of the Special Ones are unclear to humans, and to describe the connection that these three had together would automatically shift the mind in some small direction that is exponentially far from the truth.
ReplyDeleteFor as their powers increased, so did the energetic connections all around them. Everything began moving faster, and as the in turn responded to keep speed, an entirely new dimension of connections was created. They experienced each day what it would take others a week or a month.
And so these three sat in the early days, considering every option that would be available not just to them, but to all the Special Ones that were hidden in the masses with them.
It was decided that finding the others and recruiting them to the cause of peace was the most important thing in the world.
But the underlying energies of the universe are always conspiring to dismantle and reform the schemes and plans of "intelligent life". Secret societies seem to be particularly susceptible to this property.
ReplyDeleteThe Accordians greatest artifacts had been lost for millennium. Square Shadow had sworn that he would search throughout the nearest galaxies to find and posses all of the major artifacts. The Warrior Poet, in true antagonist form, promised to return all the artifacts to their seat in the power circle of Accordia.
Nyph, promised to stay uninvolved and unattached to any paradigm regardless of the outcome of their searches.
But, the best laid plans...
get laid.
ReplyDeleteAnd these are the days, my friend, and these are the days my friend.
If hours passed as days and days made up months and years for the Special Ones, then Warrior Poet experienced lifetimes of joy for each moment he was in the arms of Nymph. The energy, well, he could see it, it was one of his gifts, the cosmic Ether floated like a mist before his eyes, and each person exploded small or large as a lightning storm of energetic connections, either connecting...or turning inward.
The energy he saw coming off Nymph was so immense that it was like becoming energy, for there was nothing he could see that stayed outside of the path it traveled. What normally looked like a lightning bolt was instantly wider than his field of view, filling the room, filling the house, spilling out of all the windows, seeping through the walls and stretching across tiny desert forest at the edge of a powerful river.
Powerful rivers rarely flow in a desert, but if a river is to remain in a desert long enough to be talked about, then it will be powerful.
Warrior Poet experienced the first moment of touching her hand like a year of pure bliss, but it was only a moment to all of us.
He came away from that day, that seemed like lifetimes to him, a different man.
Warrior Poet had been a man who saw a perfect world, even if he's never stood there, he had always known he wanted the Artifacts with him, that he could protect them in the power circle of Accordia.
Now, he realized, energy was changing them, just as energy was changing him. The conversation he was having, that he wrote his poems about, was with this energy, which he saw but ever more than that he felt, such feelings that forced him to write, that could only be freed by a clenched sword and an open mind.
The artifacts were alive, in every way it meant something to him, he could not force stasis upon them. And he wouldn't force it upon himself either.
But neither did his quest end, for his sense of great purpose was only sharpened, made more direct.
He wished to speak to them.
Seeker walked into the room with his hands on the side of his face, as if slicking down hair, yet his was cut fairly short, and quite haphazardly.
ReplyDelete"Well?" said Nymph, her voice rings bells mixed with the scatter of diamonds on glass.
Her tone was teasing, as if impatient, she offers this playfulness unthinkingly, like air for her lungs, yet she often stared at this man like a seamstress at a keen knot in her thread.
He would answer in his own time, but it was good that he registered her presence, her desire to share his thoughts with him, for they were all used to thinking alone, since none before had ever seen things as they did.
"The strangest thing is," he started at last, "is that I now feel like I should take the roll of observer."
Nymph had a gift for finding the middle ground within a startlingly diverse range of gaps and pitfalls for those that seek philosophical surety in all matters. For the Seeker, she gave him someting he could not deny he had found, and place of endings.
It was her vision for inspired action that convinced Warrior Poet to forgoe his vow of non-intervention in the War.
She knew the Seeker was proud of his, counted himself as largely to thank, though he often made the point to her that her contribution in this matter was greater.
And so she could not help but think about the grave concequences of energy rerouted, even if she did not fear it.
It had also been her observation about what a strange pair the two men made, so similar in so many ways, yet opposite but still similar in others. They were likely to see the same situation, agree on who is right and who is wrong, yet completely disagree on what to do about it, even as they seek the same conclusion through disimilar methods. Even their differences were similar.
She caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, taunting him again, as if to ask in a coddling voice, "Are you really so weak that any little thought of mine changes your fate entirely?"
This is indeed what she was thinking, and the Seeker may have seen it as clearly as his own mind, so unique was their connection.
She deftly undid the knot at her shoulder and her flowing white clothing fell around her ankles. She stepped out of them like a fairy skipping on the water, then she stretched across a chair like a whistful queen. All this as if to say, "I'm only a vision for you to play with, no tricks here."
Then she straightened up just a bit, but her face was immediately clear of all subtext and she looked at him almost as an adoring wife. "You only just found something, and here you are lost again so quickly. Indeed your powers are beyond mine."
He could not help but smile, her ability to put him off guard was inexplicable. When he was feeling at his most powerless she would speak to him of his greatest power.