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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943
Page 29
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The Presence was silent for a moment. Then the cloud shimmered. "And when this is done....?" "Of course! There is a little matter of payment. I must bargain my immortal soul"...there was an ironic accent on the words..."for your service. That's according to tradition, isn't it? Well, whatever it is that you want from me you can have as soon as I've fully savored this triumph." "That is agreeable. I will fill my part of the bargain." The presence stirred, about to leave. "Wait! Isn't it customary that the ones served sign a Book?" The old man got an impression of soundless mirth from the Presence. "Mere symbolism, Adam Orne. An exaggeration of writers. Your verbal agreement is sufficient." And before Orne had a chance to say more, the Presence disappeared. ---oo0oo--- Adam Orne looked out at the tree. His wrinkled features were malignant in the fading rays of the sun, malignant and...triumphant. The oak was drooping in the weariness of extreme age. Last night this tree had been the proud and arrogant youth of a century that mocked him with its greenery and sturdy boughs. Now, bare skeletal branches stretched beseechingly to the sky. The tree was old. It had been worth it. Whatever the presence took from him now was worth the intense, deep-lying satisfaction as he gazed out at that tree, drooping in near-death. Now it was like him. No longer could it mock him, make him feel the horror of loneliness as he withered and became old. For Adam Orne hated age. ---oo0oo--- That night the old man dreamed. He dreamed of the tree, the young giant that had become old overnight. It seemed almost like his life. He'd wanted to stay young, but he'd aged, grown old so quickly, it seemed. Old like the tree. Old and desicated, with skeletal boughs that reached beseechingly towards the light, whose sap ran thin and--- This damned nightmare was too vivid! Suddenly he was struggling, a curious horror growing upon him. He couldn't wake up; he...... "Yes, Adam Orne," the Presence said, "you are correct. I made the tree old as you desired. Now you must fulfill your part of the bargain. "You are the tree." RUNIC by Arthur Kennedy ----ooo0ooo---- This is no land to bear a human tread-- In leprous floods, the twitching fungi crawl From feast to feast. the haggard trees let fall Their virgin blooms into a fluid bed Of sentient corruption. Attended By her phantoms, a fallen Lilith sings To Satan of her Eden journeyings-- This lightless place is peopled by the dead. Yet I, the living, went this way (the night Had scored a twisted furrow through my brain; My feet had left a subtle, spider stain Upon the rocks) till in my ceaseless flight The sombre river Lethe came in sight. I smiled to feel the liquid's numbing bite. . . -- 29 --
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The Presence was silent for a moment. Then the cloud shimmered. "And when this is done....?" "Of course! There is a little matter of payment. I must bargain my immortal soul"...there was an ironic accent on the words..."for your service. That's according to tradition, isn't it? Well, whatever it is that you want from me you can have as soon as I've fully savored this triumph." "That is agreeable. I will fill my part of the bargain." The presence stirred, about to leave. "Wait! Isn't it customary that the ones served sign a Book?" The old man got an impression of soundless mirth from the Presence. "Mere symbolism, Adam Orne. An exaggeration of writers. Your verbal agreement is sufficient." And before Orne had a chance to say more, the Presence disappeared. ---oo0oo--- Adam Orne looked out at the tree. His wrinkled features were malignant in the fading rays of the sun, malignant and...triumphant. The oak was drooping in the weariness of extreme age. Last night this tree had been the proud and arrogant youth of a century that mocked him with its greenery and sturdy boughs. Now, bare skeletal branches stretched beseechingly to the sky. The tree was old. It had been worth it. Whatever the presence took from him now was worth the intense, deep-lying satisfaction as he gazed out at that tree, drooping in near-death. Now it was like him. No longer could it mock him, make him feel the horror of loneliness as he withered and became old. For Adam Orne hated age. ---oo0oo--- That night the old man dreamed. He dreamed of the tree, the young giant that had become old overnight. It seemed almost like his life. He'd wanted to stay young, but he'd aged, grown old so quickly, it seemed. Old like the tree. Old and desicated, with skeletal boughs that reached beseechingly towards the light, whose sap ran thin and--- This damned nightmare was too vivid! Suddenly he was struggling, a curious horror growing upon him. He couldn't wake up; he...... "Yes, Adam Orne," the Presence said, "you are correct. I made the tree old as you desired. Now you must fulfill your part of the bargain. "You are the tree." RUNIC by Arthur Kennedy ----ooo0ooo---- This is no land to bear a human tread-- In leprous floods, the twitching fungi crawl From feast to feast. the haggard trees let fall Their virgin blooms into a fluid bed Of sentient corruption. Attended By her phantoms, a fallen Lilith sings To Satan of her Eden journeyings-- This lightless place is peopled by the dead. Yet I, the living, went this way (the night Had scored a twisted furrow through my brain; My feet had left a subtle, spider stain Upon the rocks) till in my ceaseless flight The sombre river Lethe came in sight. I smiled to feel the liquid's numbing bite. . . -- 29 --
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