Friday, December 16, 2011

The Tyrant of the Pocket Watch


Princess Alixhlìnye has told me that, in addition to stories of the Otherworld, her Sorcerer used to tell her many other fables.  One of her favorites was about a couple of lowly Traîkhiim slaves, the lowest of the social order, who travelled unto the heart of a Clockwork Necromancer’s kingdom to destroy his weapon.

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Japwerthna-yùngpu qungqò-yatser khrèpwu ser epyer fhije-yaloi-yatoâ-xing tsena-fhampa-yàxhmikh qir Jètreikh pein-ing Kuifhyo-yùlkha koaqing xhienelínge Fhólus-àxhwa’ anthuyortoxha-yeîlwai sakhwujhetlhuséjes-oapa-yàjhwen khárng-àxhmikh  jhpuniin-eîlwai qthau-yeîlwai taqhakh-ajókh-eîlwai tút-ojhwàn-ejet khlùpyi khupra-yèthya qeyeitsayoî-xang.

The light happened to spring up again in fountains, and, there, upon the brink of the chasm, at the very Fissure of Tragedy, hovered Fhólus, being black against the dazzle of a lava stream, being tense, being upright, being very still, because his or her three wingfins kept going slow, like a petrified sky island.

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– Xá Pàxhmo-xing Fhùlrikh! – pèxhlulu khyéja Khyamatúfhus lwòyern khí-yepakh.

“Older Sibling!” cried Khyamatúfhus, saying with his or her three mouths.

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Qìr té Fhólus-ànwa xekhya-qhoqhùlele kus paje-pfhìnkhamat xhwaqhunoî-xing lreîrt-epakh teiwa xhlir oxíju-yòjhwo jhaûrptuma xhlíri-yenxhur-òntet ptòkhtitha khli Khnáng-ètwekh pyapyaxhà-yafham tnìnge tnìnge qìr xhrè xhrè kú-xhrejor-ing kus qhèwa kúl-ùlkha Khyamatúfhus kae yaiqhor lreqhíkhqeunt pefha-yoâtlha tlhir qhùmlus Tlhoâkhnasa xhroe Kuîfhyo xhroa xhyákh-an keis qwuxhos-oâqe qronápò-yaloi sqaû se.

Thenabouts Fhólus stirred him or herself as she spake with a clear voice, with a voice, indeed, too clear and rather lustral, and more lordly than anything that Khyamatúfhus had at any time heard him or her, who was using such, and the spoken words rose above the heartbeart and bombination of the Great Volcano of Tragedy, as they were beating, as if they were beating percussive instruments within the roof and in the walls.

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  Ólyakh per xhèlimet – pajè-xhutse kú-xing.  – Xhnoet khnólyakh per inoxeqhe-yoîpil jhyéyamat-èxhyeu khmàku kei-xhmoas xhinthúnga-yàmpeit oer-èxhyeu pú pú-yan xhmoe.  Ungtelónge suju tlhefhuxhrujáxei-yupwàr-engut pú-yan.  Qlórkh-èkhmit-ing pú-xhrejor-sa! –  Eiqhor pejor qrilutlhèrke qlórkh-ùlkha-xing khmistítlheu ser kú-xing jhpekher-ùnwung teîqha-jae khmo Khyamatúfhus kú-xhli-xing.  Wthormalroâma xhlir Khyamatúfhus-èpyer xèkhqa khmorqho-yùpwar keku-xhli-xing qoe òrpyel keku pejor ólu xaonta-yaloi-yàlyur-ing púkh-ixorng.

“I have verily come,” she chanted.  “However, in sooth, I do not choose now in order that I accomplish the thing for which I intended to come for doing.  I shall not do this fated thing.  The Pocket Watch is mine, in fact!”  And, as she wound the clockwork of the watch with his or her finger-toes, he or she suddenly vanished from Khyamatúfhus’ sight.  Khyamatúfhus gasped loud in surprise, but he or she lacked a possibility to cry out, for, at that moment, many things were coming to pass.

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Prér qlaêkhh Khyamatúfhus khlojúfha sae koaqing khlàxei xhraîrupu xhroe qlús-an xhtheteu-yapònya jhpama-yùtya qeyeitsayoi-yèkhmo xhnoike xhnípe xoxákan-ejikh-òntet qyìkhei pwiî kae kú-xing kus qyèkhen khátoi tyá-yòtya fhorti-yoapa-yànwen-ing tlhusqe-yàxhmikh pyòtsotso kú-yujhar-ing qhixhlìs-atser ker qtèrtha.  Koaqing kèfhwewe qyaû kú-xing-aiqhor qir oâqe syárl xhroe xing uîri khórt.

Something struck Khyamátufhus with evil intent, violently upon the dome of his or her body, and it knocked strength from his or her wingfins, and he or she was jerked into the air, flung aside, striking her three heads against the solid floor of stones, as a darksome shape jumped o'er him or her.  He or she lay still, and, for a heartbeat, all things became black.

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Eiqhor-efherà-yaloi pejor lwèsyeqe Qlórkh-ùlkha-xing Fhólus qoe tqàqyumat koe tlhixhila-yantong-ùpwar kú-yan-ing Fhyanekh-aloi-yòjhwo pein-ukhh khunguk-ùtya Fhlám-iyùtya steung-òjhwo pein-ing khnewa-khnatimi-yùlkha-xing xhnípe khlaojhyantù-yejikh Qtheraxha-yèpakh-ing qir Teîma Tràka trèxha jhanwa-xhàmana si xhmir jhanwa-khràqhipim joarlqomet-òntet fhiêtis Khniêqhiim sae.

And, in regions far away, as Fhólus was winding the Pocket Watch and claiming that ‘twas true that the treasure was her own, even in the Ventricles of fiery Phlogistons, the very heart of his nation, the Tyrant in the Darksome Minaret was jostled by chance, and the Tower happened to tremble from its foundations unto its domineering and salty crown.

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Fheyutya-yùnwung kú-xhrejor-ing Tìxhrikh Qalorim-èpyer khleukh-òjhwan engoaxíjo-yiêqya tsena-yóqoa-yàswaor tsuprà-yafham qìr xhré xhré kekoxha kae xing Tneufhta-yan-ing-òjhwo sqanana-yapònya selupekhatlha-yaxhmikh-ùxhwi xhnoike xhnípe jeuqwinini-yùlkha xhlir tsejàtho-xing iqùsqi kekoxha-xhmi-xing thyìla ser ing jhanwa-yìtupel xhroe yepyer fhluníqho kekoxh-ing xhnípè-yejet wthui-yùlkha jòqhekh pfhu qìr ké xhèmet jhanwa-yalyà-yejikh.

The Cruel Clockwork Necromancer was suddenly aware of him or her, and his Eye, peircing all shadows, set out to look across the plains unto the triangular and circular door which he had forged, and the magnitude of his folly after folly, by accident, were revealed unto him in an incandescent peal of light, and he blushed, for the schemes of his enemies were exposed, scantilly clad at last.

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Ptél-oîtal lrárpa korsumù-yatser fhojuxhrújo quja qlaêkh koxha-xhrejor-ing tlhér khufhek-èthya jhkhimeukh-utya-yusqrun-oîlyat xhmojuxújo quja koxha-xhrejor-ing papan-èxhyeu koxha-xhrejor-ing kei.  Xhnoet pyákhepemat-ènwe jhanwa-tlhùxhni tèmlo pfhu yontet pyákhepemat-ènwe fhatya-yùpwar kei-qoas xhnípe-yoîpil fhumlulu-yùlkha jhanwà-paxhuir koxha-xhli-xing.

Then, on the one hand, his sinful wrath scintilllated in consuming flame after flame, but, on the other hand, his shame rose like an ærial example of a great, black smoke in order to hug him.  And he knew both his parlous peril and the thread whereupon his destruction was suspended.

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Khorna-jhanwa xhrir pár-òntet jhanwa-samaraun-ùxhwi xhmefhojuxújo xhroe xhnoike sìkhtu qlaêkh jhanwa-fhlenge-yepwo-xuxhwi-yòntet khorna-jhanwa-thyótha khnewa-khísqèqra-xing arawa-yèxhyeu xekhya-khlemufha-yaîqhor qir xhloâ lranenóqhu xhroe xing keku-xhrejor-ing qhefhiróro tlhir xhùlru xhnoe jhpèxhu tyaqája-yòjhwa keku-yejikh-ing xhnoe pfhayasya-yòjhwa keku-yejikh-ing xekhya-thùngpa xhnoe xunta-yunwung-àxhwa tél keku-xhrejor-ing aqhus kòtsatlha keku-xhrejor-ing tqeufhlo-yuîqa khmaltut-uîqa kú-xhrejor tlheirkha-yeîlwai xhmefhuja-yàxhmikh pfhesi-yeîlwai’ exhnokh-eîlwai qlaêkh.

From all of his rhetrai and all cobwebs of fear and treachery, from all of his strategies and all of his wars, his mind shook itself free, and throughout his regent kingdom a dreamquake hastened, and his slaves quavered, and his armies stopped themselves, and his war chiefs and æronauts were suddenly unfettered, after their commandments were stolen, and they lacked desire, and they wavered, and they despaired.

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Eiqhor-tlhrekhe-yìxhna kú-xul.  Khìlri qìr pé pejor khmafhàpli jáxe fhyeu-yùlkha qir xhmeîxoa tsenà-Khnasa xhroe fhaxhyas-an-uxhwi-yòntet khorna-tlhùste-yan Tixhrikh-èjikh-ing kus syoîpeqhe kúl-ùlkha.

And they, the many, were altogether forgotten.  The whole mind and the entirety of the Clockwork Necromancer who weilded such were now bent in overwhelving force for the sake of the volcano.

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Anor-atlhui-yàjhwen koxha-xhrejor-ing pejor swiê swiê qtharnya-yatser-aôngi ker thewàrqha khmeîralet khàlweim qyoqyoyòt-epakh ólu xhyente-yànwa’ ifhitsan-ènxhur úlaxheiporpi-yètwekh Lrayayànwa Qlórkh xhroe xing-epyer ei xhnàfhtim sae qeyeitsayoi-yòlkha Khyèqhiir kus khmapàxhra kú lwùnxha pae Tlhoakhnasa-yaswaôr-ing Kuifhyo-yùlkha.

Because of his summoning, spinning, ululating from afar, thundrous, with a last, hopeless race there were fliers, who were quicker than the tree breaking winds, the Dwimmerlaiks of the Pocket Watch, and, ‘twas with a Rainbow Serpent’s wingfins that they hurtled unto the southon regions unto the Large Volcano of Tragedy.

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Khliqi-yàjhwen ixhail-èpwo-xing qte’ Ojhethake-yàjhwen Saikaixhren-èjikh-ing uqte keis fhaîrotu sir tlhètor tsena xhrir eselétsa’ ejaqe Khlusòrlal-ing Qlórkh-ùlkha-xing ejaqe.

From the story, ‘The Returning of the Crown Princess,’ being the third book of the story, ‘The Tyrant of the Pocket Watch’

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