[stylist] stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 4
Kristen Diaz
daughteroftheday at gmail.com
Mon Apr 5 13:59:04 UTC 2010
Thank you, Donna, for your suggestion and encouragement, and happy
holidays to everyone!
--Kristen
On 4/4/10, stylist-request at nfbnet.org <stylist-request at nfbnet.org> wrote:
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> Today's Topics:
>
> 1. Re: Happy Passover or Happy Easter
> (James H. "Jim" Canaday M.A. N6YR)
> 2. Re: Happy Passover or Happy Easter (Angela Fowler)
> 3. Re: The Elves of the Magic Mirrors (Donna Hill)
> 4. Happy Easter, Passover... and congratulations to Lori and her
> family... (KajunCutie926 at aol.com)
>
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Message: 1
> Date: Sun, 04 Apr 2010 09:46:57 -0500
> From: "James H. \"Jim\" Canaday M.A. N6YR" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
> Message-ID: <201004041446.o34EkwoJ024002 at smtp.sunflower.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
>
> congratulations Lori!
> jc
>
> At 08:08 AM 4/4/2010, you wrote:
>>P.S. Melodie is my daughter--sorry to have left that out!
>>Lori
>>
>>On Apr 4, 2010, at 9:07:39 AM, loristay <loristay at aol.com> wrote:
>>
>>From: loristay <loristay at aol.com>
>>Subject: Re: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
>>Date: April 4, 2010 9:07:39 AM EDT
>>To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
>>The same!
>>Melodie (Miriam, as she likes to be called) had her baby, 8 a.m.
>>today: A little boy.
>>Thought you might like to know.
>>Lori
>>
>>On Apr 3, 2010, at 7:40:35 AM, "cheryl echevarria"
>><cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com> wrote:
>>
>>From: "cheryl echevarria" <cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com>
>>Subject: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
>>Date: April 3, 2010 7:40:35 AM EDT
>>To: nagdu <nagdu at nfbnet.org>
>> >From the Echevarria Family.
>>
>>Cheryl, Nelson, Dina and Maxx (The Guide Dog)
>>
>>We wish you and happy holiday.
>>
>>Cheryl Echevarria
>>Independent Travel Consultant
>>http://Echevarriatravel.com
>>1-866-580-5574
>>
>>http://blog.echevarriatravel.com
>>Reservations at echevarriatravel.com
>>Affiliated as an Independent Contractor with Montrose Travel CST-1018299-10
>>
>>_______________________________________________
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>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 2
> Date: Sun, 4 Apr 2010 09:10:47 -0700
> From: "Angela Fowler" <fowlers at syix.com>
> To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
> Message-ID: <E537898910D84054A7588F259FBDA41B at AngelaPC>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> Well, congratulations! I hope that mother and baby are both in the best of
> health.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
> Behalf Of loristay
> Sent: Sunday, April 04, 2010 6:09 AM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
>
> P.S. Melodie is my daughter--sorry to have left that out!
> Lori
>
> On Apr 4, 2010, at 9:07:39 AM, loristay <loristay at aol.com> wrote:
>
> From: loristay <loristay at aol.com>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
> Date: April 4, 2010 9:07:39 AM EDT
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org> The same!
> Melodie (Miriam, as she likes to be called) had her baby, 8 a.m. today: ?A
> little boy.
> Thought you might like to know.
> Lori
>
> On Apr 3, 2010, at 7:40:35 AM, "cheryl echevarria"
> <cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com> wrote:
>
> From: "cheryl echevarria" <cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com>
> Subject: [stylist] Happy Passover or Happy Easter
> Date: April 3, 2010 7:40:35 AM EDT
> To: nagdu <nagdu at nfbnet.org>
> >From the Echevarria Family.
>
> Cheryl, Nelson, Dina and Maxx (The Guide Dog)
>
> We wish you and happy holiday.
>
> Cheryl Echevarria
> Independent Travel Consultant
> http://Echevarriatravel.com
> 1-866-580-5574
>
> http://blog.echevarriatravel.com
> Reservations at echevarriatravel.com
> Affiliated as an Independent Contractor with Montrose Travel CST-1018299-10
>
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> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 3
> Date: Sun, 04 Apr 2010 12:28:54 -0400
> From: Donna Hill <penatwork at epix.net>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] The Elves of the Magic Mirrors
> Message-ID: <4BB8BE46.6000004 at epix.net>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=windows-1252; format=flowed
>
>
> Hi Kristen,
> I enjoyed this very much. Your descriptions are so vivid. I think you have a
> reason for making them sister and brother, and I've thought of a compromise
> whereby they could still be lovers. How about having them raised as sister
> and brother. His family takes in a little girl who is no relative of theirs,
> maybe not even nobility, just out of the goodness of their hearts. It could
> help explain the magic healing powers they have. Obviously, they would fall
> in love. Part of their relationship would always be that innocent connection
> of siblings.
>
> Donna Hill
> Donna's articles on Suite 101:
> http://www.suite101.com/profile.cfm/donna_hill
>
> Free Download: "Love of My Life"
> http://www.passionsandpossibilities.com/guest-blogger-donna-hill-advocate-for-the-blind/
>
> Read my articles on American Chronicle:
> http://www.americanchronicle.com/authors/view/3885
>
> Follow me on Twitter:
> www.twitter.com/dewhill
>
> Join Me on LinkedIn:
> http://www.linkedin.com/in/dwh99
>
> Or, FaceBook:
> http://www.facebook.com/donna.w.hill.
>
> Hear clips from "The Last Straw" at:
> http://cdbaby.com/cd/donnahill
>
> Apple I-Tunes
>
> phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?playListId=259244374
>
> Performing Arts Division of the National Federation of the Blind
> www.padnfb.org
>
>
>
> Kristen Diaz wrote:
>> Hello everyone,
>>
>> Below is a story I am working on and would love to hear your comments.
>> I have also attached it to this email. This story is based on ( and
>> written as the prequal to) the Feature Films for Families movie
>> Rigoletto, an excellent film that I would highly recommend, and the
>> score is stunning!
>>
>> Questions to consider:
>> --Do you think it would improve the story for Rigoletto and Glorfindel
>> to be brother and sister, as I have them now, or the prince and his
>> bride-to-be, whom he has taught to sing, as the movie has them?
>> --One of my biggest questions is a seeming inconsistency: the openning
>> line says that Rigoletto and Glorfindel have living reflections
>> because they are so alive, but throughout most of the story, the
>> reflections seem to be effected by the magic in their mirrors. Would
>> it be clearer to have only one source of magic, either the prince and
>> princess or the mirrors? If I should pick one of those sources, which
>> do you suggest?
>>
>> If you have comments on anything else in the story, please let me
>> know. Thank you!
>>
>> Sincerely,
>> Kristen Diaz
>>
>> The Elves of the Magic Mirrors
>>
>> Not so very long ago, in the fairy kingdom of the elves, there lived a
>> prince and princess so alive that their reflections were alive too. I
>> don?t mean that their reflections looked very lifelike. I mean they
>> were actually alive. They thought what the prince and princess
>> thought and spoke an echo of their masters? words. When the prince or
>> princess was angry or sad, the reflections felt the same emotions.
>> They even felt the texture beneath their fingers whenever the prince
>> or princess handled something, and they watched their royal masters
>> interact in the world outside their mirrors. None of the reflections
>> thought or spoke on their own, but they all had unique personalities
>> and individual names. Every evening, as Prince Rigoletto and Princess
>> Glorfindel strode into their concert hall of magic mirrors, they would
>> greet each reflection by name: ?Good evening, Sir Garindel. Good
>> evening, Lady Emerel. Good evening, Giles.? And the reflections
>> would all echo, ?Good evening.?
>> The elf prince was called Rigoletto; his sister was called Glorfindel.
>> They were twins and the best singers and musicians the elf kingdom
>> had ever known. Every evening they strode into their concert hall
>> just after dinner, as the blush of the setting sun fell on them from
>> the west windows. Rigoletto, dressed in a black suit and white
>> collared shirt that matched his dark hair and light skin sat at the
>> piano bench. Glorfindel, with sunset and candle light glowing on her
>> red hair and elegant white dress played a golden harp. Although they
>> looked nothing like each other, they completed and complemented each
>> other. Glorfindel?s laugh was like the sure small chuckle of a
>> stream. Rigoletto?s was the overflowing mirth of a waterfall. When
>> he walked into a room he charged the air with energy, though he spoke
>> little and kept very still, but you could never quite remember when
>> Glorfindel came in. Once you noticed she was there, though, you
>> always wondered how you could have missed it, because her presence
>> filled the room with living grace. When they sang together, the
>> prince laid a strong foundation melody. His sister softened the sharp
>> corners with harmony.
>> Their music was so alive and strong and beautiful that it could cure
>> any disease or pain. That was why the concert hall filled with
>> guests every night. The elven people carried in their sick to listen
>> and be healed. Elders and warriors traveled for days to have their
>> wounds and their memories soothed. And it was said that any child who
>> listened to even one song from that royal pair would grow wise and
>> strong beyond his years.
>> But that was not the only reason. The audience wanted to see the
>> magnificent concert hall. This hall was one of the glories of the elf
>> king?s palace, second only to the Great Hall, where all the feasts
>> took place. At the back of the concert hall, great wooden doors led
>> through a corridor to the rest of the palace. Slightly to the right
>> of the front, smaller wooden doors led to the prince and princess?s
>> private chambers, for the concert hall was their personal domain. The
>> hall itself had so many short sides that it looked nearly round. A
>> dome lined with mirrors topped the hall and met the sides at a small
>> wooden ledge carved with the names of legendary elf musicians. Red
>> velvet carpet a quarter inch thick covered the floor, and on this
>> carpet dozens of rows of carved and gilded chairs sat in half-moons
>> facing a sliver of stage at the front. Rich with red velvet, gilding,
>> and polished wood, the concert hall would have been a dark place if it
>> weren?t for the alternating panels of window glass and mirror glass
>> that ran all the way to the dome above. Each mirror reflected at
>> least two windows, so that if you had seen it with the sunshine
>> pouring in, you might have thought there were no walls at all. If you
>> had seen it at night, with the chandelier that hung from the dome all
>> ablaze and its myriad reflections twinkling in the windows and
>> mirrors, you might have thought the stars had turned to gold and come
>> to listen. (Indeed, I?m not quite sure they did not.)
>> But the glory of the concert hall was the live reflections. When the
>> prince and princess swept by, their reflections appeared. When the
>> pair began to play, so did their reflections, on the dozens of pianos
>> and harps reflected in the mirrors. And when they sang, an entire
>> choir of living echoes joined them, each reflection ringing back the
>> notes in a different tone and pitch. Together they formed the most
>> unified, harmonious orchestra and choir heard anywhere but Heaven.
>> And no one in the audience asked why Rigoletto and Glorfindel were the
>> only elves with such reflections; no one else was like them.
>> Giles was one of these reflections. His mirror arched along the
>> inside of the dome that topped the concert hall. Because the mirror
>> was curved, Giles was shorter and wider than the tall reflections
>> along the walls below, but he didn?t mind. From that height he could
>> look down through the lights of the chandelier and see the sunset turn
>> the prince?s black suit and wavy hair the fiery red of his sister?s
>> curls. Giles could not play the piano like most of the ground-floor
>> reflections could because the real lights and reflected lights of the
>> chandelier confused the picture, but he could sing. The strong notes
>> of the prince?s melody and the light notes of his sister?s harmony
>> bounded and skipped from living echo to living echo around the
>> many-sided concert hall, but the reflections in the echoing dome had
>> the best time of it. They kept singing long after the others had
>> fallen silent. And from his dome mirror Giles could see the people in
>> the front few rows. They always came in coughing or limping or with
>> hunched shoulders, as if someone had bruised them in the heart and
>> they were nursing the sore place. But when they turned around to
>> leave and he could see their faces, he knew they had been made whole
>> in body and soul. Then Rigoletto and Glorfindel swept off the stage
>> into the crowd and, with them, out the doors. Once they had gone the
>> reflections became invisible and fell asleep. (Being invisible makes
>> one very tired.)
>> Giles and the other reflections slept a large portion of the time, for
>> Rigoletto and Glorfindel left the palace to tour the kingdom at least
>> once a year. Nearly every day they received letters begging them to
>> visit a particular town and heal all the sick there who could not
>> journey to the palace. To visit all those towns took very long
>> indeed. And sometimes the prince and princess even traveled, singing
>> and healing in the world of men, for months at a time. It was during
>> one of these absences that Astorel began putting on airs.
>> Astorel was Prince Rigoletto?s personal valet. He blacked the
>> prince?s boots and laid out the prince?s clothes and generally kept
>> things clean and tidy. Now, you may be used to thinking of valets in
>> our world as lower class, but the elves always took personal
>> attendants for their royalty from the nobility. Astorel was young,
>> handsome, and talented and could never quite shake off the feeling
>> that someone should recognize his gifts instead of paying the prince
>> all the attention. So he was very put out when Rigoletto told him he
>> could not join him and his sister on their journey to the world of
>> men. ?But why not, your glory?? Astorel cried, ?I can play almost as
>> well as you?thanks to your lessons of course.?
>> ?You play very well, Astorel,? Rigoletto corrected him. The prince?s
>> dark eyes danced almost as if it were a joke. ?but these people need
>> healing as well as music. It is long, painful work, for which you are
>> not yet ready.?
>> ?Can I at least watch you at it?? Astorel asked.
>> ?No, on so long a journey we must travel with as few people and
>> possessions as we may,? his master replied. ?Moreover, you are needed
>> more here. Travelers will come to see the palace. You must keep the
>> hall and chambers clean for them and the harp and piano tuned.?
>> ?But won?t you need me to sing and play the harp and help you relax
>> before you go to sleep??
>> ?My sister will do that,? came the reply. ?You can do much more good
>> here than on the road with us.?
>> Astorel did not reply. His master?s words always felt as if they were
>> doing something to him, waking him up from a happy dream in which he
>> was the hero, and he did not like it. So, he tried his luck with the
>> princess: ?But you are taking your serving maid with you,? he pleaded.
>> ?I?m so sorry you can?t come this time, Astorel,? she said, but Nalia
>> will give all the help we need. And you are needed more here.?
>> Astorel didn?t even whine like he wanted to, ?But I want to see places
>> and people and new things and have them see me!? Looking into her
>> eyes, he knew she knew all about what he wanted and that she had
>> answered him. Her eyes were so expressive that when anyone looked
>> into them, really looked, he could remember for the rest of his life
>> what they had told him. After looking into her face, Astorel knew the
>> interview had ended. So he got as far away from them as he could, to
>> the stables to tend to the prince?s horse, and sulked.
>> He sulked all the first week they were gone as he cleaned and polished
>> and fed the prince?s many animals. The elf king and queen and most of
>> their court moved to the summer palace in the mountains where it was
>> cool. And still he cleaned and swept and dusted, muttering to himself
>> all the time. Soon, as he tuned the prince?s piano and the princess?s
>> golden harp in that great and lonely hall his eyes took on an
>> expression that the reflections would have disliked and feared if they
>> had been awake to see it. But they were asleep.
>> Soon Astorel began sitting at Rigoletto?s piano bench. He ran his
>> hands over the keys, some dark as his master?s eyes, some light as his
>> smile. ?I can?t do it,? he thought. Then he looked out into the
>> imaginary audience. He bowed and grinned and swaggered. It gave him
>> courage to play. ?Serves them right for leaving me behind,? he
>> thought. ?I?ll practice every night, and when they come back, I?ll
>> play just as well as either of them. Then they?ll be sorry they left
>> me behind.?
>> But as soon as he struck the first few chords he noticed the
>> difference. Alone there in that great, empty room the music sounded
>> hollow and dead. Astorel realized, then, that the reflections had
>> echoed not only the voices of the prince and princess but also the
>> notes of their instruments. Now that Rigoletto and Glorfindel were
>> gone, the reflections had disappeared as well. With his trim figure,
>> fine features, black suit, and even the melody that poured from the
>> piano, Astorel could have passed himself off as Rigoletto to anyone
>> who had never seen the elf prince?except for this lack of reflections.
>> He swung himself off the bench and stared intently into the nearest
>> mirror. The piano, the golden harp, the rows of chairs, even the
>> grass and blue sky out the opposite window showed perfectly clear, but
>> there was not so much as a shadow to show Astorel?s presence. ?It?s
>> as if I don?t even exist,? he said in bitter surprise.
>> Astorel had never stopped to ask why the mirrors only showed the
>> prince and princess?s reflections. No one had. That was part of the
>> marvel and the magic. But now he began to imagine that it wasn?t
>> quite fair. ?Hello, wake up,? he shouted at the mirror. ?Wake up!
>> Can?t you hear I?m playing?? He beat on the glass with his fist then
>> drew it back and put it to his mouth. He had struck the glass hard.
>> Now he began shouting up at the dome, loud enough it seemed to shake
>> the mirrors from their places. ?Wake up! Come out! It?s not fair.
>> Come out! I command it!? When that failed, he ran to the prince?s
>> chambers and returned bearing a great sword. He was strong and swung
>> it with such force that on impact he thought the weapon might shiver
>> to pieces. ?I don?t care if it does,? he thought. The next moment he
>> had to close his eyes, and the sword dropped from his hand. There had
>> been a bright light, and burning heat had shot up the sword into his
>> arm. (That is what happens when one magical object meets another in
>> battle.) He opened his eyes again just in time to see a very flat,
>> very life-like man falling from the mirror, scattering shards of glass
>> and grabbing at the piano bench to break his fall. (It did not work.
>> He landed flat on the glass and the hard wood floor.)
>> ?Lord Elendor!? cried Astorel, for he knew all the reflections? names..
>> He had only meant to smash the mirror out of spite, but now that he
>> found he had released Lord Elendor from his mirror all sorts of new
>> possibilities came into his head (he was a quick thinker).
>> ?I?ve seen you before. Who are you, you villain? Why have you done
>> this?? demanded Lord Elendor, picking himself up and shaking off the
>> last shards. At first this made Astorel afraid. He had not expected
>> to find the reflections unhappy to be freed. But when Lord Elendor
>> gingerly put one hand to his head and held the other ready to defend
>> himself, Astorel understood. Lord Elendor was not angry at being
>> freed from his mirror; he was angry at being slashed in the back of
>> the head, getting cut with glass shards, and landing on the floor,
>> which hurt his dignity more than it hurt anything else.
>> ?Oh, I?m not a villain,?said Astorel hastily. ?I meant you no harm..
>> I only wanted to free you from your prison.?
>> ?Prison??
>> ?Yes, your mirror. I am Prince Rigoletto?s valet, you see, and I?ve
>> been thinking how unfair he?s been.?
>> ?Unfair??
>> ?Yes, to you. He never lets you do anything except what he wants to
>> do, or say anything either. He always picks what song to play, and
>> you have to sing it, like it or not. He even decides when you wake up
>> and go to sleep and leaves you locked up in your mirror when you?d
>> rather be out playing the piano yourself, for real.
>> ?I believe you are correct,? gasped Lord Elendor, an expression
>> beginning to form in his face that had never been in the prince?s.
>> ?But what of this wound you have given me??
>> ?Oh that, I never meant to give you that. I was just trying to smash
>> the mirror. You were invisible. How could I know your head was
>> there? You didn?t think freedom would come without a price, did you?
>> And, anyway, I think it hurt me more than you. This sword nearly
>> burnt my hand through when I cut the glass.?
>> ?It is true,? murmured Lord Elendor, looking at Astorel?s extended
>> hand. The hand was still red and hot as the reflection took it in his
>> own and pressed it to his lips. ?My liberator, I thank you. And you
>> chose to free me first? We must release the others. But why do you
>> delay? Do you fear the prince??
>> ?Me? No, of course not. He?s away on a journey anyway. Of course I
>> don?t fear him; I hate him. And I don?t fear pain either.? With that
>> Astorel fell to with the sword. Elven men and women of all shapes and
>> sizes fell out of the mirrors, and Lord Elendor explained to each the
>> situation. Though they were all reflections of either Prince
>> Rigoletto or Princess Glorfindel, the mirrors hung at different angles
>> and distances from the stage at the front of the hall, and the
>> reflections were thin or wide, large or small depending on where their
>> mirror stood in relation to the stage.
>> All this time Giles had been dreaming. He dreamt of the places his
>> master and mistress were visiting far across the ocean in the world of
>> men. Suddenly, his dream turned to a living nightmare. He had always
>> been waked before by the warm, strong voice of the prince saying,
>> ?Good evening, Giles.? But this time he was waked by a slashing,
>> burning pain in his shoulder and a momentary light that made him shut
>> his eyes. He could feel he was falling and quickly opened his eyes
>> again. For one moment he caught a glimpse of a wild-eyed face
>> distorted with anger and the fiery gleam of a sword. The next moment
>> someone had caught him and he was laid aside to nurse his wounded
>> shoulder amid a general confusion of running, groaning, shouting, and
>> showers of glass, all in the red glow of sunset. There was no prince,
>> no princess, but the reflections were awake, and out of their mirrors!
>> Flat men and women, all images of Rigoletto and Glorfindel, rushed
>> about the room wearing expressions he had never seen on his lord and
>> lady?s faces. Some were shouting one thing, some another.
>> ?The prince is a tyrant!?
>> ?No! It?s not true!?
>> ?Oh, my head, my poor head!?
>> ?Hurray for our liberator!?
>> In a flash Giles was on his feet too, shouting with every ounce of
>> lung power in him (which was considerable). ?Stop! Are you mad?
>> What is he doing?? All the commotion seemed to center around a young
>> man standing on the topmost rung of a ladder that reached to the dome.
>> He was slashing?with the prince?s own magic sword--at the mirrors.
>> At each tremendous stroke, a bright light blinded Giles?s eyes; a flat
>> figure and a shower of glass fell from the wall; and roars of
>> affirmation and dismay went up from the crowd of reflections below.
>> Giles?s world was falling to pieces around him like the raining glass.
>> Finally, the confusion died down and the young man with the sword
>> stood up. Giles remembered seeing him before but his face was so
>> changed that Giles couldn?t place him until he started to speak.
>> ?I am Astorel,? the young man said. ?Yes, I realize you knew me as
>> the prince?s valet, but I am done with that now.?
>> ?Astorel!? Giles thought to himself. ?This confident chap, leaning on
>> his master?s sword no less, is singing a very different tune than the
>> peacock of a boy I remember. Come to think of it, whenever he could
>> get himself on stage, to bring the prince his water goblet or turn his
>> music pages, he never took notice of the hurting people, except to bow
>> and swagger and grin at them. Hmm, what will he think of us? But,
>> bless me, I?m getting off on my own thoughts and missing the speech!?
>> ?You all know that Prince Rigoletto and Princess Glorfindel are now
>> traveling in the world of men,? Astorel was saying. ?They declined to
>> take me with them, though I play the harp just as well as the princess
>> herself. When Prince Rigoletto was tired in the evening from a long
>> day?s work I often soothed him with my playing. But they refused to
>> let me go with them, though all I wanted was to help. Don?t you see
>> they are jealous of us? They don?t want anyone to know what good
>> musicians we are because they want all the applause and the
>> invitations to sing. It?s not fair. Why should they be the only ones
>> with singing reflections??
>> ?Yes, it?s unjust!? cried Lord Elendor. His mirror had stood directly
>> behind the prince?s bench so that Lord Elendor looked most like the
>> prince in size and shape. The others were small or wide or
>> disproportional, depending on whether their mirrors were far from the
>> stage, up in the dome, or placed at angles to the stage. ?Astorel
>> liberated me first and explained it all,? Lord Elendor continued.
>> ?Why should the prince and princess lock us in mirrors while they are
>> absent, so that we must always sleep and never play the songs we wish
>> to play? Why should they decide which songs to sing and force us to
>> sing them? Why should we always and ever do and say what Prince
>> Rigoletto and Princess Glorfindel decide to do or say first?? The
>> crowd began to murmur, but he continued. ?I, too, was shocked at
>> first. Any word against the prince sounds like it must be untrue, but
>> I ask you, was anything in our former imprisonment true? No, it was
>> all a shadow of existence. This new life, this freedom, this is
>> reality.?
>> ?But what of our wounds?? shouted someone in the group, and Giles
>> growled his agreement.
>> Astorel laughed bitterly. ?Are you afraid of the price of freedom??
>> he mocked. ?Look what freeing you did to me!? and he stretched out
>> his hands for all to see. Giles shut his eyes. The hands were red as
>> blood, and the skin was beginning to bubble. He remembered the flash
>> of light each time the prince?s sword had struck a mirror, the fire of
>> magic meeting magic, and shuddered.
>> Astorel continued. ?You have me to thank for your freedom. If you
>> want to stand against your wall and go to sleep you may. You may do
>> with it what you want.? Then he turned and strode towards the
>> prince?s sleeping chamber.
>> Giles always remembered that night as the worst and longest of his
>> life. The shapes of prince and princess milled about in the half-dark
>> like living shadows against columns of moonlight, for no one had
>> bothered about lighting the chandelier. Some argued in little groups
>> that gathered by the windows. Some ran about introducing themselves
>> to any other reflection they happened to bump into, saying, ?Hello,
>> I?m Lady Arabel. Who are you? This is all so new?and exciting.
>> Shall we walk about together?? or ?Lord Eledon. Yes, pleased to make
>> your acquaintance. What do you think of this affair?? Some
>> reflections jogged around the room or disappeared down the long
>> corridor to the rest of the palace, content to enjoy exploring new
>> places they had never had to use in the concert hall. (Prince
>> Rigoletto was the most energetic of elves, but he did not waste it on
>> needless running.) Finally, other reflections backed into chairs or
>> corners and said nothing.
>> Giles was one of these last ones. ?Steady, old boy,? he said to
>> himself, ?best see how the song plays out before you sing it.? He
>> tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw, instead of
>> blackness, a flash of light, a glowing blade, and behind it, not
>> Astorel?s face but the prince?s. ?It can?t be true! It can?t be
>> true!? he thought. It was the first time he had ever been cold,
>> confused, or afraid, and the first time he?d ever felt pain. Giles
>> had seen the signs of these sensations in the faces of the people in
>> the front rows of the concert hall, but this time he understood why
>> their faces looked so tight and pinched. Somewhere to his left one of
>> the princess?s reflections was sobbing.
>> Eventually, the columns of light that were the windows grew brighter
>> and more distinct. Now Giles could see the faces of the reflections
>> around him. They wore expressions he had never seen in the prince or
>> princess?fear, jealousy, self-pity, blankness. ?We all need something
>> to put us to rights, some music. That should do it.? He stood up and
>> headed for the piano, but several others must have had the same idea,
>> for before he reached it five of his fellows were crowding onto the
>> bench.
>> ?Off the bench, fool,? ordered Lord Elendor. ?It?s madness to think
>> you can play with hands of different sizes. You are no longer in your
>> mirror, man.?
>> ?I would like to try anyway,? said the reflection just addressed. He
>> was tall and thin, almost too tall and thin, and one side of his body
>> was indeed larger than the other. His mirror must have stood in an
>> angle where the perspective made everything look slanted, and now he
>> was living that illusion in reality.
>> ?No, I shall play,? Lord Elendor declared, elbowing him aside. ?I
>> have been real the longest; I understand these real things.?
>> ?But look here, we must all try it some time. It is what we were made
>> for,? said a third reflection. His hands were also different sizes
>> but his left hand was the larger, the opposite of the previous
>> speaker. Giles guessed from these features that they were the
>> reflections Aldernas and Aldernon whose mirrors had stood to either
>> side of the stage.
>> ?It?s the only thing we?ve done before,? corrected Aldernas, ?but I
>> would like to try it on a real piano. Shall we try a duet?? They
>> began to play, with Aldernas to the left and Aldernon to his right,
>> but their fingers kept bumbling; they were each playing their part of
>> the duet with the wrong hand for it and kept getting in each other?s
>> way. The argument hadn?t attracted any attention; so many had broken
>> out all night, and several more were still underway, but the heavy
>> notes all tripping and falling over each other made everyone look
>> round, and some people began to jeer. Aldernon suggested another
>> attempt, this time switching sides, but it faired no better. Aldernon
>> played by memory, while Aldernas added his own decorative notes that
>> then confused his partner. The rest of the reflections did not let
>> this go on for long. Within minutes several were at the bench telling
>> them no one wanted to hear their music, if it could be called music,
>> or that they themselves could play what everyone needed to calm down.
>> And all the while Lord Elendor was thrusting himself among them
>> shouting that he could do a better job and he was the reflection most
>> like the prince so they should all listen to him. A similar scene was
>> beginning to play out as Princess Glorfindel?s reflections grouped
>> around the harp, all shouting and shoving and whining and lecturing
>> and grabbing at harp strings.
>>
>> Giles rushed in crying, ?Come now, this won?t do. The prince wouldn?t
>> have us fighting like this,? but no one seemed to listen. Soon he,
>> too, was beating on backs and shoulders and bellowing, ?Stop it! Stop
>> it! This won?t do! Stop it!!? Then he knocked heads with someone
>> else and got a glimpse of wild eyes and a wide open mouth yelling,
>> ?Stop it! This won?t do!? For a moment both reflections fell silent
>> and still. They stood staring at each other, twin images of their own
>> angry selves. Then they both mumbled, ?My apologies,? and trudged,
>> with bowed heads, to the far corners of the concert hall. Back on the
>> stage, they heard the pop of a harp string.
>> Eventually, life settled down into a new rhythm. During the day the
>> reflections did what they liked in the hall and the prince and
>> princess?s royal suites, though Astorel kept the prince?s bed chamber
>> for himself. At night Astorel or Lord Elendor gave a speech, and then
>> someone would try to give a piano performance. As long as the
>> pianist had not been injured too badly by Astorel?s sword and didn?t
>> have one hand larger than the other, these usually came off fairly
>> smoothly, though nothing like the full, vibrating choir of the old
>> days and without the healing effects. You might be wondering why no
>> one ventured outside or into the rest of the palace. A few of them
>> did explore the long corridor behind the great wooden doors, but most
>> of them never thought of leaving that wing of the palace. That was
>> where they had lived all their lives. Music was the only thing they
>> really loved and the only thing they really knew how to do. That was
>> why it was such torture to no longer be able to make music well or to
>> make it at all.
>> So things continued for days and days, until Giles began to wonder if
>> the happy times before the sword and the shattered glass had in any
>> sense been real. They might have been a dream or a story he made up
>> to comfort himself in that world of constant fights, constant aching,
>> and constant thumping, plunking, screeching of the piano. But three
>> things kept him sure it had all really happened. For one thing, the
>> ache in his shoulder; it had to have come from something. Second,
>> there were the prince and princess themselves. No reflection could
>> have dreamed them up; they were too alive for that. Third, the valet
>> Astorel had been acting as if Rigoletto and Glorfindel were coming
>> back.
>> Since the night he became ?Lord Liberator,? as he liked to be called,
>> Astorel had spent his time doing all the things he had wanted to
>> experience as a valet but had never gotten the chance to do.
>> Unfortunately, this meant flirting with Princess Glorfindel?s
>> reflections, giving harp performances for those reflections who cared
>> to listen, snubbing those who did not care to listen, and bossing
>> about the weak-willed of the lot. They blacked his boots for him and
>> brushed his suit for him and lit the chandelier. It was clear to
>> Giles that Astorel wanted to impress?not only the well-dressed images
>> of his handsome master and mistress but also anyone outside the
>> concert hall. Whenever Astorel saw through its windows someone
>> walking in the fields outside the hall, he would lick his lips and
>> straighten the velvet curtains, as if he was about the prince?s
>> business, and once, when Astorel was hurrying to dinner with the few
>> other servants left in the palace, Giles heard him mutter something
>> about ?keeping up appearances.? In some of his regular speeches
>> Astorel proclaimed eternal holiday and the triumph of free will, and
>> if you had heard him you would have been sure of it too. Other
>> nights, he hinted that freedom must always be guarded and kept up at a
>> price. ?Look at the wounds we all carry,? he was fond of saying (and
>> here he would stretch out to them his hands, on which the burn marks
>> were spreading). ?These were the wounds we bore for our independence.
>> Do you think it will be kept without pain and struggle?? Giles began
>> to suspect that these talks were largely for Astorel to hear his own
>> voice talking and see other beings listening, but Astorel really meant
>> some of what he said, for he began to train a band of the most
>> indignant reflections how to fight with swords. Giles had no idea
>> what Astorel planned to do if the prince and princess should really
>> come back. He felt sure no one could kill the prince, and, therefore,
>> the princess was safe.
>> Giles was, however, sure that Astorel?s band of rebels could inflict
>> pain. They behaved very much as if they were part of a gang.
>> Everyone inside was trying to get closer to the top man, who was, of
>> course, Astorel, and then Lord Elendor. Those on the fringes wanted
>> to get inside but were afraid of the mean acts they might have to do.
>> Everyone outside was fair game for them to pick on. Several other
>> groups had formed themselves among the reflections. Some played
>> chess, others read together, others debated Astorel?s governing
>> policy, but most groups sang. Giles had attached himself to one
>> called the Disbelievers. They disbelieved in the tyranny of the
>> prince and princess and sang the songs they could remember from those
>> days of harmony and pitch. Then they had been able to sing perfectly;
>> it came naturally to them as they unconsciously imitated their master
>> or mistress. Now they had to try to teach each other.
>> One day the Disbelievers had gathered under the dome of the concert
>> hall where the echoes off of broken glass would disturb them the
>> least, when a knot of armed reflections shouldered into them in the
>> wide aisle.
>> ?Sorry, songbirds, you?ll have to take your Christmas picnic somewhere
>> else,? one of them said. ?We need this space to practice.?
>> ?What do you mean ?Christmas picnic??? snapped one of the soprano
>> singers. ?No one has picnics in the winter. That?s nonsense.? She
>> waved her music sheet in disgust.
>> ?Well, so is your singing and your ?Disbelieving.??
>> ?You barbarian!? cried the soprano.
>> ?Hold! Don?t you dare touch her,? cried one of the basses, for the
>> swordsman had raised his sword arm.
>> >From that moment on, Giles lost the details of the fight. He ran
>> forward with the others. There were kicks and punches given on both
>> sides, and women screamed, but the group with music sheets proved no
>> match for the group with swords. Out of the corner of his eye Giles
>> saw a horizontal silver line streaking towards his neck. ?What a sad
>> way to go,? thought Giles, ?brawling with your brothers?and I haven?t
>> even seen the prince yet. Will he ever come? What would he do if he
>> came and saw us now??
>> But Giles didn?t have to wait long. Before the blade had reached his
>> neck, it had been stopped in mid-air by the crash of the smaller doors
>> being flung wide, and the prince and princess stood in the doorway.
>> At that moment several things happened all at once. The entire room
>> fell silent so that everyone heard Rigoletto?s footfalls as he half
>> strode, half bounded across the velvet carpet. The lead swordsman
>> found his right arm in a grip so firm and energetic that he felt as
>> though he were being shaken. Giles backed onto a bench, and The rest
>> of the combatants scattered like cockroaches in the light. Indeed,
>> everyone began to wonder whether the prince were not actually glowing.
>> Next to him, all the reds and golds and browns and blacks looked a
>> dingy gray, as if a bright light was washing out the colors. But then
>> the reflections looked faded even compared to the grass and sky
>> outside the windows. Giles?and several others too?realized with a
>> shock that the reflections were not faded; no, you could see the
>> outdoor landscape through them. At their feet lay little pools of
>> shadow too light and shapeless for the sunny day it was turning out to
>> be. They had all become less solid, less real, and no one had noticed
>> until now.
>> If you or I had suddenly found that we were turning into ghosts we
>> might sit down and cry or demand an explanation, and many reflections
>> did just that, but Giles and many others sat still as solid statues.
>> They felt ashamed of appearing in this state before their prince so
>> solid and alive. They wanted to run to him and dance around him
>> because he was so radiant and strong, and they waited to see what
>> their radiant, powerful prince would do. He released the arm of the
>> swordsman, who stumbled back to his fellows, leaving Rigoletto
>> standing alone in the center of the hall. He turned once around,
>> surveying the jagged mirrors still hanging on the walls, the crumpled
>> music sheets littering the floor, the scuffed and broken benches, the
>> wounded shoulders and pinched faces of the reflections. Anger, pain,
>> pity, and love chased each other across his strong face. And then he
>> did the last thing they expected him to do. He sat down and began to
>> weep.
>> The reflections remembered Rigoletto?s compassion when he talked with
>> the hurting people who came to hear his singing, but seeing their pain
>> had always made him more determined to sing for them the best he
>> could. This time all his energy went into sounds that no one who was
>> there that day will ever forget. Giles once said it was like music in
>> its own way, like hearing the ocean or a mountain break its heart.
>> Long low moans; he pressed his hands to his face and rocked back and
>> forth. Then bursts of lamentation that shook the chandelier and every
>> being in that hall. Soft sobbing for a love now lost?but not lost
>> forever. Giles thought his nerves would break with the strain if
>> anything more happened, but it did. Rigoletto?s song began to swell
>> again. If they hadn?t been too captivated to speak, his followers
>> might have said to each other, ?It?s alright; it will all work out in
>> the end.? The faces of his rebels began to look afraid. Even
>> Glorfindel, who had been silently crying on a bench by the small doors
>> stopped her tears. Her frown turned itself upside down and then
>> flattened to a grim rod.
>> Then, for a moment, Giles?s heart stopped beating. Prince Rigoletto
>> rose to his feet, stretched out his hands, and cried, ?Why? Why have
>> you shattered the harmony and beauty of this company? Why have you
>> spurned your duty to this hall, your fellow servants, and your lord
>> and lady? Why have you so disfigured my people?? Here he lowered his
>> voice and strode to confront the Lord Astorel at the back of the hall.
>> The valet stood hunched like a cornered animal unsure whether to
>> cower or spring. ?I know why you did this,? Rigoletto said in a low,
>> clear voice that everyone in the room could hear, ?Because you
>> hungered for followers. Because you hungered for servants. Because
>> you hungered for admirers.? And here again the prince?s tone changed
>> in a direction no one expected, least of all Astorel. ?Lay down your
>> hunger and pride,? he offered. ?Be satisfied with fellowship and
>> song. For I will heal these people. You may join me as my helper?I
>> have taught you well?or be consumed by your own hunger.?
>> For one moment Astorel?s eyes went blank. There was still much of the
>> boy in him, and that boy wanted very much to accept the offer, to be
>> forgiven, to have again the beauty and the peace. But lately he had
>> become a leader, the leader he had always wanted to be, the most
>> important leader in the land as far as he was concerned, and he wasn?t
>> about to back down in front of his men. He looked the prince in the
>> eyes and laughed. ?I refuse your offer, tyrant.? And Giles thought
>> he could see the beginning of the consuming the prince had talked
>> about. Astorel?s face grew a little paler, a little harder, a little
>> more haggard, almost a little more like death.
>> ?Then go,? thundered the prince. ?Go with your followers, your
>> servants, your admirers, but know my business with you is not yet
>> ended.? And with that Rigoletto strode back the length of the hall,
>> lent his sister his arm, and they retired to their rooms together.
>> Only then, in the stunned silence of the hall, did Giles remember the
>> princess. Everyone had been so busy watching the prince that only the
>> few reflections closest to her had really paid attention to her gasp
>> as she first walked through the doors. But now all the remaining
>> reflections remembered it. They remembered, too, how they had seen
>> her out of the corners of their eyes sink onto the nearest bench and
>> cry silent diamond tears. The women reflections had cried with her as
>> she touched the dying babies and bloodied bandages in the crowds of
>> concert-goers. They had all seen her cry for others. Now they had
>> seen her cry for them and the mistrust they had shown in her and her
>> brother. When the prince had wept none of the reflections had been
>> bold enough to move a finger. They had not even thought of doing
>> anything but watching. Now the memory of both that royal pair, the
>> deep, wrenching groans of the one, the silent sorrow in the face of
>> the other, the reflections couldn?t help feeling that such beautiful
>> faces should not be stained with tears, such great and giving hearts
>> should never bleed for them.
>> Giles knew Lord Elendor had been wrong. He had always said so, but
>> now he knew it. Slowly, humbly, with tears running in his very veins,
>> Giles pushed the ladder used to light the chandelier into place and
>> climbed its first few rungs.
>> ?What are you doing?? asked a wide-eyed reflection at its base.
>> ?I?m going back,? he answered and climbed on.
>> ?That?s right,? said several others. ?What have we been doing all these
>> weeks??
>> Soon Giles felt the shake of the ladder as another reflection began to
>> climb, and below him he could see one by one leave their seats to find
>> their mirrors.
>> When Giles reached the ledge of the dome he let out a low whistle.
>> ?You chaps had better fetch a broom,? he said, turning to the
>> reflections behind him on the ladder. ?This place is pretty prickly.
>> It?s going to take a deal of sweeping up before it?s fit to walk on.?
>> On the ground level of the hall the reflections were having the same
>> problem. Ouuuu!? yowled one younger-looking reflection after stepping
>> backward into the open space where his mirror had been. He lurched
>> forward, hopping on one foot, and sat down on the floor to pull a
>> shard of glass out of his shoe. All over the hall Giles began to hear
>> the tinkling of glass, small cries of pain, and the sucking of sore
>> fingers. The mirrors were now nothing but frames of lead with jagged
>> shards of glass all around the edges. If there had been no glass, the
>> flat reflections would have had no trouble in standing on the leaden
>> frames--one reflection whose mirror had almost no shards on the bottom
>> edge proved this point?but many of them had to stand on crystal spikes
>> or hold themselves in uncomfortable positions to avoid getting
>> pierced. ?How ever will we play the harp like this?? moaned one of
>> the princess?s reflections. ?I can hardly move my hands at all.?
>> The next moment her grumbling turned to a shriek. ?Oh no, oh no!? she
>> cried. ?I?m not moving! I?m not moving! The prince and princess are
>> here. Why am I not moving??
>> The other reflections all turned their heads as the prince walked over
>> to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. ?Dear lady, you no longer
>> follow us because the mirror has been shattered. Inside your mirrors
>> you followed our words and deeds by nature of the magic. You could do
>> no other.?
>> ?And we never wanted to,? thought Giles.
>> ?Now,? the prince continued, ?you must follow us by choice.? And when
>> he saw the question on the lady?s lips he added, ?take heart. We will
>> help you. Shall we help you now??
>> Lady Emerel nodded. With that, Princess Glorfindel disappeared
>> through the little doors by the stage and returned a few minutes later
>> accompanied by her serving woman Nalia. Giles almost laughed to see
>> the fine figure of the princess pulling behind her a cart of cleaning
>> rags. ?But bless me,? he thought. ?Why won?t she give any to the
>> ladies down there? She doesn?t mean to do it all herself and Nalia??
>> But she did. The two real elf women righted chairs, straightened
>> curtains, and wiped bits of glass off of everything. Prince Rigoletto
>> swept the glass from the ledge of the dome and all the carpeted floor.
>> The reflections, meanwhile, were bidden to stand in their places and
>> copy, as best they could, the motions of their master and mistress.
>> ?Madness,? grumbled Giles. ?Here I am a strapping young fellow, and
>> the royalty have to climb ladders and break their backs with sweeping
>> while I stand in a wall of glass! Do they mean to kill me?? After
>> all he had seen that day Giles knew this view of things wasn?t quite
>> true, but he did have one of the worst places in the hall. Along with
>> hitting broken glass every time he tried to imitate one of the
>> prince?s movements he had to keep his back arched and pressed against
>> the sloping wall. It took him half an hour, balancing his flat self
>> on the thin ledge where the walls met the dome, to simply stand fully
>> within his mirror. He moved his foot slightly to get it away from a
>> nasty little spur. The next moment his pain was gone and he saw the
>> rungs of the ladder rushing past him. He screamed as he remembered
>> the last time he had fallen and watched the wooden bench beneath him
>> get closer and closer. But before he could feel its hardness the
>> prince had caught him in strong arms. ?Do not be afraid, Giles,?
>> Rigoletto told him. ?You will fall many times, but I will always
>> catch you. And soon they will be fewer.?
>> Because of catching all the falling reflections and restoring them to
>> their mirrors, the sun had long set before the cleaning was done. And
>> then came some relief. Rigoletto and Glorfindel sat down at their
>> instruments and played.
>> ?Ah,? said Giles to himself, ?now that?s music, that is. You?d hardly
>> know those pieces were out of tune if you hadn?t heard them last
>> night.?
>> That night, and for the next few weeks, Rigoletto instructed the
>> reflections to rest and watch and listen. They did not have to
>> practice playing themselves?at least not yet. The next night he
>> called them all close and said, ?Tonight we teach you to tune a piano
>> and a harp,? and for the next hour he was saying things like, ?this
>> string must sound an octave higher than Middle C,? or ?place the left
>> thumb here and take the tuning fork in your right hand.?
>> After two weeks Giles could imitate the motion of passing a tuning
>> fork from hand to hand without having to steady himself by stepping
>> out of his mirror onto the dome ledge. ?I still don?t see the point
>> in all of this,? he said to no one in particular. ?I?m sure Prince
>> Rigoletto could have put the mirrors to rights and us in them if he
>> had the mind to.? But concentrating on the motions helped take his
>> mind off the pain of the glass, and he truly did want back that old
>> harmony and joy. Nearly a month later he exclaimed to his neighbor,
>> ?Well bless me, I think I did that whole tune up without a fall!?
>> ?You think it?s getting? easier?? puffed the reflection to his right.
>> The speaker?s face was red with effort, and his eyes were moist with
>> undropped tears.
>> ?Well bless me, I think so,? replied Giles. ?The glass hasn?t
>> bothered my shoulder much lately. It used to hurt like you wouldn?t
>> believe.?
>> ?Oh, yes I would,? said his neighbor, whose name was Gumble.
>> ?Well, you catch my meaning.? Giles turned to look at his shoulder,
>> but the quick movement was too much for him, and he tipped out
>> dangerously over the red and wooden hall below him. But something
>> stopped him from falling all the way. ?It held!? he cried. ?My
>> shoulder held fast in the glass.?
>> ?It?s true!? another reflection exclaimed, looking at her own feet.
>> ?The glass must be growing together.?
>> ?That must be why there are so fewer comfortable positions,? murmured
>> Gumble, and hopeful endurance came into his tired eyes.
>> There was much rejoicing in the hall that night and no wonder that the
>> prince and princess picked that night to begin their reflections?
>> training in choral parts. They had sung in parts naturally before
>> because of the way the sound hit their mirrors, and they still
>> remembered something of it, but now the prince and princess made sure
>> they knew how and why choral music works as it does. Like their
>> bodies, the reflections? knowledge and skills were marred and
>> incomplete. It was hard for Giles to sing with all his lungs and
>> still keep his balance, but as the weeks went by the time between his
>> slips grew longer and longer, and eventually the glass began to
>> support instead of to stab his other side.
>> No one (except, perhaps, Rigoletto and Astorel themselves) knew where
>> the valet and his gang had gone or what they did in those long weeks.
>> I can, however, tell you that the palace servants still tell stories
>> about that autumn. Many a maid and a stable hand were waked in the
>> night by the prince?s voice only to find no one else in the room. One
>> cook even reported that several women wearing royal gowns blew past
>> her window on a breeze. But that was the morning after she had stayed
>> up late reading a fairy tale novel, and sources warn me she might not
>> have been fully awake.
>> Whatever they were doing in the rest of the palace and grounds,
>> Astorel?s followers came back much changed. One night a scouting
>> party crept in through the crack between the heavy wooden doors to see
>> what Prince Rigoletto and Princess Glorfindel were doing to their
>> captives. They found all the reflections asleep, some on the wooden
>> benches, those whom the glass had begun to restore in their mirrors.
>> No one noticed the rebels until Lady Emerel, who had been dreaming of
>> falling golden stars, began to hear strange whisperings in her ear.
>> ?What are you doing here, standing around on bits of glass. Do you
>> think you are learning to play the harp? No, you play nothing but the
>> fool. It?s empty air you pass your hands across. Come, come away
>> from this place of pain. Don?t you see? The princess and her brother
>> are only killing you slowly. Come away, away with us.?
>> Lady Emerel opened her eyes. ?Oh, oh!,? she shrieked. ?It?s Lord
>> Astorel. Lord Astorel is here! Save m--? She broke off her scream
>> in the middle of a word because suddenly she was not sure she was
>> seeing Lord Astorel. The face was his, but the body was too flat.
>> By that time, though, she had waked most of the room, and the
>> reflections closest to the door could feel the floor shake under their
>> master?s running feet. By the time the prince had flung open the
>> small wooden doors, a dozen voices had all cried out, ?No, he?s here.
>> Lord Astorel is here.? A score of figures whisked out of the shadows
>> and into the bars of light let in by the windows. In the dark they
>> seemed a score of Astorels. In the light you could hardly see them at
>> all, they had become so faded. Then with a scuffling like that of
>> mice they slipped out the slightly open windows and were gone.
>> ?They will be back,? warned Rigoletto. ?And they will try to take you
>> with them, with your leave or without it.?
>> >From then on, the prince?s reflections took turns watching for rebels.
>> They became harder and harder to see except for the gleam of the
>> swords they brought with them in later attacks. Many reflections
>> received wounds in mind and body, and many found the glass cut around
>> them where it had been growing together, but no reflection was ever
>> dragged from the hall. Even the reflections in the dome did not
>> escape unharmed, for the ladder to the dome ledge was left standing so
>> that Rigoletto could carry up any fallen reflections. But the rebels
>> sustained their losses too. Giles got in many sound kicks and punches
>> that sent rebel shadows hurtling through the void. ?I can see one
>> good thing about them sword belts,? he remarked to Gumble after a
>> particularly hard fight. ?If they weren?t wearing them, those rebels
>> might be too light to fall at all!?
>> But Giles was most excited when he got the chance to learn sword
>> fighting. Rigoletto fought the intruders with his sword, and all his
>> reflections, if not engaged with their own enemies, eagerly followed
>> his every move.
>> Their fighting proved invaluable one frosty winter night. All the
>> reflections now slept in their mirrors. They were all nearly healed.
>> The glass was nearly smooth around them, and they could sometimes feel
>> again the harp strings and piano keys under their fingers. They all
>> slept soundly, for they needed their rest. Tomorrow was to be Prince
>> Rigoletto?s wedding day and the first night the concert hall would be
>> open again to the people. They all rehearsed their parts for the
>> wedding hymn in their dreams, all except the prince.
>> Prince Rigoletto spent that night in a prayer vigil, kneeling at the
>> front of the hall. When the great doors silently opened at the back
>> of the hall and the light of the full moon glinted off the point of an
>> advancing blade, the prince calmly confronted the intruder. ?I have
>> been expecting you,? he said. ?Name your business, faithless one.?
>> This time Astorel did not blink at his master?s words. ?I have come
>> that you might never marry, that you might never beget heirs, that you
>> might never rule another, and that I might take your place.? And with
>> that he struck a mighty blow at the prince?s neck. But to fight the
>> prince was to fight a Bengal Tiger. He leapt aside and knocked the
>> sword from Astorel?s hand. Instead of grabbing it himself, Rigoletto
>> sheathed his own sword. He sprang to the nearest mirror and tore at
>> the glass with his bare hands.
>> ?Aha,? cried Astorel. ?Are you no better than I? Are you destroying
>> your own work or admitting you were wrong to lock them up??
>> The prince did not answer. The figure that fell out of the glass was
>> answer enough. This time he did not fall flat on the carpeted floor.
>> By now Aldernon was used to falling; he simply steadied himself by
>> stepping to the ground and looked to his master. ?This is no good,?
>> he thought in embarrassed shock. ?The prince must have no falling
>> during the wedding hymn!? But as soon as Aldernon placed his foot on
>> the ground he felt a difference. It felt at home on the ground,
>> strong and secure, not wobbly and thin the way his flat feet used to
>> be. His arm too, when he stretched it out to catch his balance, felt
>> stronger and more easy to move than ever before.
>> At first Astorel thought he was seeing a second Rigoletto, but this
>> elf was taller and thinner than the prince. This elf was taller than
>> them both. And the prince?s eyes never bore the surprised and guilty
>> expression in the eyes of this former reflection. ?The brute?s
>> alive!? Astorel hissed as he ducked and snatched up his sword still
>> lying on the ground.
>> That was the worst moment of Astorel?s life?and the happiest of
>> Aldernon?s. Before him crouched the white-faced figure of Astorel.
>> To his right, the prince had already begun tearing at the next mirror.
>> ?To arms! To arms, my brothers!?? called Rigoletto. His voice filled
>> the hall as loud and clear as a trumpet, as though he did not feel the
>> pain of broken glass with every movement of his healing hands.
>> In one fluid motion Aldernon drew his sword and lunged for Astorel.
>> As he fully left the mirror, silver and white flecks scattered from
>> his shoulders like glory from a lion?s mane. ?purgerer!? he cried.
>> ?False and faithless servant! You boasted you had made us real. This
>> is what it is to be real.? The shock of impact ran down both swords.
>> ?It is to know the prince for who he is, to be like him and more
>> yourself than ever.? He laughed. ?You and your wraiths are mere
>> fading shadows.?
>> Earlier that summer Astorel might have fled or surrendered at either
>> force or truth, but now it was too late. He lowered his head like a
>> bull and began to slash with fury and abandon. Cataracts of glass
>> sprayed the two combatants as they splashed through light and shadow,
>> whirling around the hall.
>> Someone knocked over the prince?s vigil candle. Soon a dozen duels
>> broke out as reinforcements joined each side, the elves against the
>> wraiths. And all was clamor and shade and flying glass and fire. At
>> first the elves were outnumbered, but they had on their side strength,
>> size, and surprise. The wraiths had not expected to find the prince?s
>> purpose so different than they had dreamed. They held to their
>> delusions as tightly as to their swords. The flames kindled by the
>> vigil candle licked along the stage. Its red light made the solid
>> elven warriors more visible and the wraiths harder to see. Several of
>> Princess Glorfindel?s former reflections risked their own deaths to
>> beat back the flames with the curtains, but they could do little
>> without water.
>> And then the singing began. It was Giles who started it. As he came
>> roaring down the ladder he understood why the prince had required them
>> to follow him in their mirrors instead of doing actual work. It was
>> because Rigoletto did not intend for them to go back to being
>> automatic moving images. Instead, he wanted living brothers who knew
>> how to work and play and sing and fight rightly of their own wills.
>> With this knowledge he began to sing, and all his brothers did the
>> same. None of them had heard the song before, but, somehow, they all
>> knew what words and notes to sing and did so in unison.
>> For the wraiths, frightened as they already were and weary of their
>> heavy swords, this was too much. Their strokes became blind and
>> clumsy. Several turned on each other in confusion. Not one of them
>> survived until morning.
>> Yet dawn looked down upon an elvish joy already stained with sorrow.
>> During the battle Rigoletto had drawn Astorel away from the melee and
>> the two had dueled on the stage among the dancing flames. Astorel had
>> been consumed but not before giving the prince a scathing wound across
>> the face. The weapon had been Rigoletto?s own magic sword. It left
>> on the prince the same burning mark it had made on the hands of the
>> one who held it and the bodies of those he had marred. Now that the
>> reflections had become real elves, they no longer bore the sword?s
>> scars, but it would be a long time before Prince Rigoletto?s wound was
>> healed. The bitter poison in Astorel?s soul had overflowed through
>> his hands into the sword, and it was now laying siege to Rigoletto?s
>> mind and heart as well as to his body.
>> Weeping filled the air that day instead of wedding hymns. The elves
>> mourned long and deep for their injured prince but also for the hall
>> that was no more. The king?s court and servants had saved the rest of
>> the palace from the fire, but a few charred beams and stained and
>> trampled carpet were all that now told of the magnificent concert
>> hall.
>> You may have heard elsewhere the story of how Rigoletto found healing
>> in the world of men. I have heard more than one version. Perhaps
>> because some of the tellers confuse Rigoletto with the elves that
>> followed him there. Ever since their master took the white ship
>> across the worlds the elves of the magic mirrors have kept their
>> master?s cause and healed the sick and cheered the downcast. At least
>> that?s the story Giles told me while I was sick in bed, and afterwards
>> I have never been ill and never forgotten his story.
>>
>>
>>
>>
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>>
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> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 4
> Date: Sun, 4 Apr 2010 12:54:17 EDT
> From: KajunCutie926 at aol.com
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: [stylist] Happy Easter, Passover... and congratulations to
> Lori and her family...
> Message-ID: <2cca.3fe616cb.38ea1e39 at aol.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII"
>
> And would also like to wish everyone a happy spring.. and the joy of
> breathing in each day..)
>
> Myrna
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
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> End of stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 4
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