From: Sergio Mascarenhas (sermasalmeida@mail.telepac.pt)
Date: Tue 23 Dec 1997 - 00:36:48 EET
ARKAT'S GIFT
You my friend, my master, you with whom I learned my weapon skills. You I
had by my side when I fought the foes of Humakt. You which I take to
confident of my fate, can you tell me why the charms of Uleria are
forbidden to the carriers of the sword ? Why cannot the Lord of Death be
also the Slave of Love ? So listen to my tale before we depart forever.
When I was resting from the hardships of battle and allowed my hand to lay
empty from my sword, two girls approached me and the older asked from a
distance: "Aye, grim warrior, are you as joyful and expansive in love as
you are determined and sober in war ?", and they laughed and started to
dance around me.
"Tell us, warrior ( she started again ) who is your Hero ? Which iron
blade inspires your's ?". And to that I could only utter the name of
Arkat, Master of Masters, Lord of Lords, Hero of Heroes.
"Ah ( she said ), and did your Arkat bleed in his earth, not from the spell
of Death, but from the gentle touch of love ?". Once again they started to
dance around me. " Bring me the gift your Hero gave the one he loved. Give
it to me and I'll be yours forever." And they danced away, smiling and
chanting while I was there speechless and motionless, because all I knew
about Arkat my Hero was his thousand strokes, and how he traded death with
his enemies.
So I started my quest to discover the secret of Arkat's love. I quested far
and near, in body and in spirit. Eventualy I found a path that ended in a
small grove. There the trees told me how Arkat met his love, the most
beautiful and fair lady of his time. The fields where they rested
whispered how Arkat promised he would never try to see her naked body. The
rocks echoed the thoughts of Arkat in search of the perfect gift to his
love.
Finally the waters of the stream they crossed sang how Arkat lowered his
eyes not to look at her when she raised her dress to keep it dry; how he
saw reflected in the waters in front of him her perfect, beautiful, white
goat's feet; how he discovered at last the perfect gift he searched for;
and how love drove his hand when he took his sword and with a single blow
kissed her with death.
( Inspired by a Portuguese folk tale called 'The Princess with goat's feet'
)
Sergio
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