Join the new world

The man strode up the stone steps and walked into the place of congregation. As he did so he readjusted his mask, an affectation all members of this society experienced with varying levels of elaboration, making sure it was firmly in place.

In this case the mask depicted a youthful face whose glamour was only slightly marred by the obvious marks of time. A loose thread here, a missing decorative ornament there, fraying made smooth by touch.

His steps took him deep into the throne room like space, past the pillars, decorative hangings and distracting window coverings. Past the Babel exchanges and whispers, punctuated with the occasional shout. On he went until before him sat a woman. Impassive, statuesque and serene. Behind the mask of porcelain simplicity that she wore, bright eyes shone with piercing fire, alive and hungry with attention.

"Mother." The man said inclining his head respectfully.

"It has been long since you have visited me." The seated figure replied matter of fact.

"It has," admitted the visitor. "I have not felt this questing in me in a long time. Although I have not visited, you are always with me."

"It kind of you to say so my son." Said the Mother who was not his mother to a Son who was not his son.

This, was Inspiration. She had been mother to many and to some blessed souls even more, mistress. She was intemporal, a presence whose door was always open even if the paths to it sometimes proved elusive.

"I would seek your guidance Mother." He said and when she indicated her willingness to listen he continued. "I have woken to a Questing and it troubles me."

"Is the path unclear?"

"It is clear and the land to which it leads hold many opportunities and experiences worth pursuing."

"What troubles you then?" Asked the Mother.

"My feet must rest on roads where I have been before I can make it to where I am going. This is what troubles me as along this road are trees I did not plant and stone structures of which I was not the mason. Some of those trees and some of those stone constructs are dark."

"What help may I provide to you?" Asked the Mother.

"I wish for insight to understand this journey." Answered the man.

"Then you must travel by the Underbridge and through."

"And how do I make my way through the Underbridge?" Asked the man.

"You must go rolling, rolling... rolling down." She answered in a wry tone.

Even with masks the confusion was clear for any witnessing the exchange. The man knew of the Underbridge, had lived amongst its patrons for a time. He was familiar with its structures and especially with those who resided beneath it and the terrible toll they took.

"As you travel down the hill," the Mother started again. "You will acquire many things. Some intentionally as when you slow your momentum to pick up a polished piece of glass or a mysterious totem left behind. Some will cling to you without your notice, so much flotsam down the stream of experience. You can rid yourself of some of the unwanted pieces but never all and usually not for long before you acquire more."

"And then I must deal with those below the span of the Underbridge." Said the man starting to understand.

"Yes, you must."

"But they are false." Claimed the man.

"Some are." Agreed the Mother.

"But they are without scruples." Protested the man.

"Again, there are some as such. But even from the most decomposing soil can come some flowering treasures. Never forget that."

And he would not.

There were so many, like a spider's web whose center was easily discernible but whose anchors were lost in the branches or amongst the blades of grass. Then he had an upsight. In his shadow lay the shades of friends and allies, indistinct but for the knowledge that they were present and echoed his steps. Whereas the horde of the masters of the toll were sometimes allies but usually clients. When their coins ran out or the lustre obscured their value, they would leave or be reduce to cry impotently from the ramparts of their false pride.

Their power did not lie in their voices but in the phantasm they projected. Dispel the image and you may walk through unimpeded.

The man arrived at the Underbridge and some of its denizens crawled from beneath demanding he pay the toll. The man thanked the Mother and reaching up he clutched at the mask covering his face and removed the covering.

Beneath was a youthful face but for the loose hair, the deeper lines and the weight of experience run smooth in his eyes.

And he crossed the bridge to the other side.