The Veil Lifted

[Bêthberry]

Snap! Spark! Air popped into flame.

The old oil drum flared up into a small fire and shadowy figures emerged from the walls, hands held aloft to warm themselves. Some one or two kicked around a ball, making it dance between their feet and the wall and each other until, tiring, they allowed the ball to roll away into hiddenness in a shadowed corner. Then another pulled a plastic bag out of a pocket, called the others to the fire, and, ripping it open, extracted a small object from it. The bag was then passed around so each figure could withdraw something. They toyed with the object, turning it over and over until it turned into two pieces. One piece was popped into each mouth while the other one was crumpled almost secretively into a small ball and then, one by one, thrown into the fire. All but one, who stayed out of the way, eyes watching the alleyway and the sky.

“See! I told you!” whispered a voice behind the blackened window which gave out onto the alleyway. “They remember the bonfires and the scrolls.”

“Don’t be daft. Men ages ago forgot the old ways. It’s why we never show ourselves to them any more.”

“But they haven’t, not really. All the old habits—they’re still there.”

“Nah, you’re dreaming it. You’ve been reading the old lore books again and they give you ideas. Men live in metal houses now, to keep us away.”

“But watch them, look. They even scan the sky, marking the crows’ trail. And they leave food out for those who’ve gone ahead.”

“Some offering. Plunked in smelly cans.”

“How do you know they smell?”

“I can guess.”

“Guessings no good. It isn’t real. But seeing, now, or touching, or sharing the living and breathing—that’s something to think about. C'mon, let’s come out. They won’t know it’s us. We’ll be just like those others I told you about.”

“What others?”

“You know, the ones I saw last Winter Welcoming. They come in strange clothes, knocking on doors, the little ones. They call it Guising. We can pretend to be just like them.”

“But hobbits haven’t shown themselves among men for almost four ages now.”

“But they won’t know it’s us.”

The hobbits grew silent, the settled gloom of the tenement cellar seeming to give eerie possibility to the idea. One of them passed around a sack of toasted pumpkin seeds, and they chewed on them as they thought.

~ ~ ~

“I tell you, it was something weird. Like the air moved apart.” The speaker munched another tiny chocolate bar and threw the wrapper into the flames. “Last night, over on ta commons, I’m sure. I saw something at the edge of my eye, something peering at me. I turned my head and the air kinda waffled, you know, and then it didn’t. But something was there.”

“You’re starkers, man, just some kids playing All Barrows Eve early.”

~ ~ ~

tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte

Meanwhile, an old aluminum can on the street rocked in the cackling wind. Hydro poles screeched like old crows as their wires twitched, spooked by the wind. Spiky bits of dark sky massed over the dusk horizon. Scuffling sounds assailed ears, but never materialised. You could smell time creeping away, like air hesitant before a storm. That is, you could, if you were there. Come. Dare.

The Veil Lifted awaits gamers who want to savour the treats (and a few tricks) in the challenge of imagining Tolkien’s Middle-earth in the 7th Age. It is middish in the 7th Age and our story takes place in New Ford. Like The Yule Log , this is an informal game for all who care to join—a Hallowe’en Handout for us Downers. Your moderators are piosenniel and Child of the 7th Age. Watch for an appearance by littlemanpoet as well.

Happy Hallowe'en, Downers. Bêthberry