遊食

  Prologue

"It was long after the passing of the second shadow when dragons ruled the twilight sky and the stars were bright and numerous, that humankind began to thirst again for dominion over nature. Their weapon was industry and they wielded it with confidence. One by one the mysteries of light and darkness fell before the engines of progress whole nations came to believe that nothing lay beyond the power of their own arrogance. Competition was fierce in those productive days and skilled labour became a valuable commodity and so the trades people of the land banded themselves together to promote their common interests and to protect their secrets. These professional societies swelled in power as their membership grew a few such as the blacksmiths and the clerics acquired vast territories with private armies to defend them. Thus began the age of the great guilds vast city states devoted to the absolute control of knowledge held together by stern traditions of pride and of fear. Within the span of a few life times the commerce of the world was in their hands, but not all of the guilds were equally ambitious. The spinners of thread and weavers of fabric wished only to pursue their labour without interference they did not involve themselves in the politics of the day and left the administration of taxes and wars to others. So the guild of weavers never attained the prominence of the shepherds or the glassmakers their number was small for their strict rules forbade membership to any but the child of a member. Marriage outside the guild was discouraged and eventually outlawed. Outsiders regarded the weavers in grown society with distaste, yet their customs were not without benefit. The natural talents of their membership was nurtured and purified generation after generation until the greatest among them wove fabrics of such extraordinary beauty, that the whole world wondered at their achievements. Goods bearing the seal of the guild commanded a premium price and the weavers amassed considerable wealth in this period, which they quietly hoarded. Like the other guilds the weavers had evolved a philosophy of living based on the tools and technology of their handiwork. They beheld in their great frames of wood and metal a symbol of universal truth and found ways to work subtle patterns of influence into the fabrics they wove. The cloth of the guild soon became known for virtues other than mere beauty. Certain weaves seemed to posses remarkable powers of healing, others held a charm against ill fortune. In the fullness of time the art of the weavers transcended the limits the of physical cloth. They abandoned the flax and dyes of their ancestors to wield the very stuff of light and music and spun new patterns directly in the fabric of reality. The ignorant looked upon these works with fear and called them witchcraft. Many of the guild were persecuted a few were hanged. To protect their heritage the weavers extended a small fraction of their wealth to purchase a rocky island off the mainland coast. They packed up their spindles and scanes and shuttles and retreated from the company of men to refine their arts in solitude. Many wars and plagues followed. Mighty guilds fell into ruin, others rose to superiority. The exhausted world all but forgot the humble guild of weavers and few found reason to visit their home. An island of mystery, shrouded in perpetual mist, shunned by sailors, which ancient maps called: Loom."

HETCHEL
*hums to herself while sweeping the floor of the ante chamber of the elders. The door opens and Lady Cygna enters*

CYGNA
Hetchel

HETCHEL
Lady Cygna, bless you child. Out of bed so soon. What brings you?

CYGNA
I wish an audience with the elders

HETCHEL
Look at you pale as lace and your hands trembling. Sit down. What an idea of coming this way alone. You would not be up and about if I was still midwifeing you could be sure of that. Now what is this you say? An audience?

CYGNA
I must speak to them, the elders, at once

HETCHEL
The elders? um oh I see concerning?

CYGNA
A matter of importance. Please Hetchel.

HETCHEL
An audience um um oh my um wait here old Hetchel will get you in.

HETCHEL
*mumbles to herself* oh dear oh dear um the elders

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
I do not remember summoning you Hetchel

HETCHEL
Oh um forgive me elder atropos. Lady Cygna is in the ante chamber. She desires an audience.

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
Now? so late in the afternoon?

HETCHEL
Um the girl is not yet recovered your reverency. Yet, she comes alone.

CYGNA
I will speak

HETCHEL
Cygna!

CYGNA
Elders hear me! I cannot remain silent

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
That much is obvious

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Lady Cygna we are grieved to hear of your loss

CYGNA
Do not grieve on my account elder. Save your sympathy for the rest of the guild.

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
I am not aware that our guild is in need of sympathy

CYGNA
How many more babies must die before the guild will earn your condolences?

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
That is no way to address an elder young woman

CYGNA
Is it not! Then give me the words elder Lachesis. Tell me how express my anger.

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
Anger does not become you. Calm yourself child. Tell us what it is that troubles you so.

CYGNA
Our seed is barren elder Cletho. We have lived under the rules of membership too long. Most of our children are born dead, many that survive are monsters beyond hope. Our numbers are failing. Less than a score of us remain and all in the name of rules written in ignorance obsolete a thousands years

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
The same rules that distilled our not inconsiderable talent

CYGNA
What purpose will our talent serve when there is no one left to practice it?

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
The same purpose it serves now Cygna. The fulfillment of the pattern. That is our only purpose

CYGNA
You speak of the pattern as if it were our master, but the long tapestry speak of a time when we were the masters, please elders there is power in the loom.

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
So it is power you seek. What would you have us do with this power?

CYGNA
Use it! I beg you elder Cletho. Use the loom to end our suffering and bring life and health to our children. The changes in the pattern would be trivial. Anyone of us could work the thread. All we lack is courage.

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
Do you make this request on behalf of the guild or on your own behalf?

CYGNA
I... Both

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Cygna. It is true the great loom holds the power you seek. It is also true that our ancestors wielded its power freely. It may be that they understood the pattern better than we or perhaps the threads were easier to grasp in those simpler times. It does not matter. We dare not tamper with the pattern now. It subtleties have passed beyond our understanding. It is all we can do to observe our destiny in its fulfillment

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
You ask for a miracle Cygna, but we are not Gods. We are interpreters

CYGNA
Interpreters! You are nothing but caretakers. How can you squander the heritage your ancestors gave their lives to preserve. Your pious handringing mocks their devotion. Who are the weavers now and who are the woven!

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Enough! I have tolerated your hysteria out of sympathy for your bereavement, but I cannot allow you to utter blasphemy in the presence of the Loom itself. You will return to your tent and forget that this conversation ever occurred! If I hear of it again outside this chamber you will suffer the penalty prescribed to all who defy the will of the elders. Must I specify that penalty?

CYGNA
No elder atropos...

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Then go and do not judge us, Cygna. Only the pattern may judge.

*Rain and thunder is heard. The door to the room where the Loom is kept opens and Lady Cygna enters the now empty room*

CYGNA
Deserted. No one will hear me. No one will know. Oh the Loom. Power. The elders are afraid to use it. I am not afraid. Oh the colours of the pattern. Dancing. The shadow of rainbows! Oh... one grey thread... grey goes with every colour. Invisible. No one will notice one grey thread. To work. Here is the trick. Tied to the end of the shuttle. Let the harness do the work. Throw, beat, tread, rest. Throw, beat, tread, rest. Back, forth, cross the web. You taught me well poor Hetchel. Rest, throw, beat. Rest, in and under. Throw, back, throw, beat, tread, rest, throw, beat, tread, rest, throw, beat.

*Elder Atropos Cletho and Lachesis suddenly enters the room together with Hetchel*

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Lady Cygna!

*Barely has Elder Atropos Cletho uttered his words before the crying of a baby child is heard*

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
Too late! Poor child.

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
You understand the gravity of what your have done!

CYGNA
Only the pattern may judge elder atropos

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
We cannot allow this outrage to go unpunished!

CYGNA
Do what you must. This baby is alive. I am content

ELDER ATROPOS LACHESIS (female)
Surrender the child to dame Hetchel

CYGNA
Care for me the way you cared for me old friend

HETCHEL
*answers through tears* It is the only way I know. *receives the child* There there...

CYGNA
I am ready

ELDER ATROPOS CLETHO (male)
Lady Cygna you are guilty of treason against the guild. You have breached the sanctity of the loom and compromised the fulfillment of the pattern to indulge your own selfish desires in direct defiance of the elders! You are henceforth and forever outcast from the guild of weavers. You shall neither behold this child nor set foot upon this island again. From now and till the end of your days you shall wander the skies in perpetual solitude. Your mournful cry shall be a lesson to all who would defy their destiny.

*The spell is cast and Lady Cygna transformed into a swan*

HETCHEL
A swan... Still beautiful *cries*

*The swan crashes through a window and flies away*

"Few in the weavers' village saw the great swan disappear across the sea that night. But it did not take long for them to hear of Lady Cygna's defiance in the sanctuary and the elders' terrible vengeance. All were curious to behold the new infant, a child born not of woman, but out of the loom itself and whose creation was unforeseen. It was decreed that the child be raised outside the ways of the guild until his coming of age seventeen years hence when his future would be decided by a high council. The old serving woman agreed to raise the loom child as her own. She named the little boy: Bobbin."

HETCHEL
Bobbin, Bobbin. Wake up child

BOBBIN
Hetchel?

HETCHEL
That is right dear. Out of bed

BOBBIN
Still dark

HETCHEL
I know little one. Now quickly get dressed

BOBBIN
Why... Sleepy...

HETCHEL
There is something outside I want you to see. Quickly now before the sun raises

BOBBIN
It is cold up here

HETCHEL
I told you to bring your quilt didn't I? Here, my shawl is warm

BOBBIN
I don't see anything

HETCHEL
Be patient. She will come. She has come every year ever since you were born

BOBBIN
What does she look like?

HETCHEL
She looks like... wait there. Between the trees. No, no only an owl

BOBBIN
The village look small from up here. Which star is that?

HETCHEL
The bright one? That is the morning star. You can even see it in the daytime if then sun is right. Oh look! Down there flying low across the water. Do you see

BOBBIN
It is just a seagull

HETCHEL
Look again

BOBBIN
ooooh

HETCHEL
A swan Bobbin. A white swan. Happy birthday poor boy

BOBBIN
Here she comes. Look! She is flying over. She is beautiful

HETCHEL
Yes. Still beautiful

BOBBIN
Why does she sound so sad?

HETCHEL
Because she is alone. Proud and alone

BOBBIN
She is flying away. Where is she going Hetchel?

HETCHEL
Out beyond the pattern I expect

BOBBIN
Can't we go visit?

HETCHEL
Stand away from the edge! No little Bobbin. Those who are born of the pattern are hemmed into its web forever. Where that swan goes we cannot follow

BOBBIN
The sun is in my eyes

HETCHEL
Your are yawning. Back to home and bed for you

Interlogue II

"The years were kind to Bobbin Threadbare. The boy grew tall and slender with wide blue eyes, that sparkled with mystery and intelligence, yet Bobbin never went to school. The elders of the guild would not permit it. The other children was told he was a half-wit and they taunted him with terrible cruelty throwing stones if he came too near and so the friendless boy spent his days in solitude combing the beaches for sticks of firewood and exploring the hills and forests of the weavers little island until no one knew them better than he. Old Hetchel cared for Bobbin like her own son she saw his growing bitterness and begged the elders to end this cruel exile, but the elders were afraid of Bobbin and not without reason. His unexpected birth had thrown the pattern into chaos. Year after year they watched with growing apprehension. A shadow of apocalypse spread across the web in the loom. Bobbin's thread was weaving it's way towards a destiny of overwhelming consequence. The pattern was disintegrating. No one knew how to stop it. The elders never told Bobbin who he was or how he came to be. They prayed that Bobbin would be unable to fulfill his destiny so long as he never left the island and never learnt the ways of spell weaving. They did not suspect, that Bobbin's education had already begun."

BOBBIN
Not tonight mother Hetchel!

HETCHEL
Especially tonight. Draw the curtains boy, sit here by the fire. Now tell me how many threads are there in a draft?

BOBBIN
Four...

HETCHEL
Their names?

BOBBIN
The throw

HETCHEL
That is one

BOBBIN
The beat

HETCHEL
Two

BOBBIN
The treadle and the rest

HETCHEL
Good. See if you remember the draft I taught you. Spin it for me

BOBBIN
*sings the four notes*

HETCHEL
Listen to me *Hetchel hums the four notes* Now you know what the other boys do in school all day

BOBBIN
I guess I will never learn to weave

HETCHEL
Rubbish! Do you suppose that every weaver starts out with a golden throat? It takes years of practice, years. How long do you suppose the elders have been weaving? Nearly as long as I have and that is a very long time indeed

BOBBIN
But where do I begin?

HETCHEL
You will begin with this *Hetchel takes out a distaff, which gives off a faint sort of metallic humming sound* do you know what it is?

BOBBIN
No

HETCHEL
This is called a distaff. Our ancestors used it to start to spin flax into thread. We use it to spin music and light into threads of influence

BOBBIN
Show me!

HETCHEL
Hold the distaff in your hands like this. Don't be afraid. Now spin that draft I taught again. Just the first thread

BOBBIN
*Bobbin tries to hum the first note*

HETCHEL
Flat. Spin it again dear. This time slide the thread high in your throat like this *Hetchel hums the first note of the draft starting low and ending high* Can you do that?

BOBBIN
I think so. *Bobbin repeats the note the way Hetchel did showed him and suddenly the distaff responds by humming the same note while glowing* Oh! it is glowing!

HETCHEL
It is telling you when your pitch is correct Try the beat and treadle threads

BOBBIN
*Bobbin obeys*

HETCHEL
You learn quickly

BOBBIN
What happens if I spin all four?

HETCHEL
Let us find out shall we? Let me shut this first. *shuts her knitting basket* Alright listen carefully. I want you to spin those four threads again. Wait for the distaff to glow before you go on to the next. As you spin the last thread point the distaff at the ball of yarn inside my knitting basket

BOBBIN
But you just closed it

HETCHEL
Indeed. Those four threads form a pattern of opening. You are going to lift up the top of that basket without even touching it. Whenever you are ready

BOBBIN
Does it hurt?

HETCHEL
Tingles a bit. Remember concentrate on the ball of yarn inside the basket. Spin

BOBBIN
*Bobbin begins to sing the notes*

HETCHEL
Concentrate

BOBBIN
*Continues*

HETCHEL
Now

BOBBIN
*Bobbin continues*

HETCHEL
Point! Not at the window!

*The window is shattered*

BOBBIN
WOW!

HETCHEL
Schsssss! Blow out that light! *A dog begins to bark somewhere in the night* Sit still for minute! Good... I don't think anybody heard us

BOBBIN
What other drafts do you know?

HETCHEL
Give me that! *takes the distaff from Bobbins' hands* You have done enough weaving for one night! Off to bed with you. You have a big day ahead and we both have to get up very early

BOBBIN
Let me go alone this year mother Hetchel

HETCHEL
Alone? Well I suppose you are old enough. Go alone Bobbin. I don't mind staying in bed late this time

Epilogue

"It was still dark when Bobbin awoke quietly so as not to disturb old Hetchel he slipped into his warm gray rope and stepped outside into the chill before dawn. The climb up the cliff path was steep and dangerous in the darkness. Only the waves crashing against the rocks below broke the stillness. Bright stars twinkled overhead. It was still half an hour before sunrise, when Bobbin reached the top of the cliff. He sat down beneath a crooked old tree and leaned back to wait for the seventeenth visit of the great swan. In less than a minute he was fast asleep."