DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 2, issue 3, whole no. 7, Summer 1944

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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 3, whole no. 7, Summer 1944

Page 12

despite that the King and his helpers were well versed in modes of stimulating loquacity, and it was generally agreed that the King had proved what he set out to prove. So the man died, and the King reflected that never again could the harpist's skill serve to unman him; never again could his own youthful innocence return from the graveyard of the years to undermine his resolution. And at the thought the King's satisfaction was tempered by strange regret, and by that he knew that he had not killed the music's echoes lingering in his heart.
Furiously and with something of panic the King sought forgetfulness, and by their very nature his attempts but intensified his pain. His stallion's hooves dripped scarlet as he rode over dead and dying alike on field after field, but the sadistic joy such actions formerly evoked was gone, and he could only remember a sweeter dew he had seen on primrose and poppy long ago. In war after war, conquest after conquest, the King drove his fame abroad and bitter regret deep into his soul. Through far fields of savagery the King rode madly, filling his nostrils with the sickening scent of the ghastly asphodels that bloomed there; but ever there would come drifting over the bloody ground a note of music, a sweet, trembling note from a silver harp; and the King would pause in his mad gallop and remember the years that were dead and the flowers that had faded, and ever those subtle notes served to dethrone the mighty King and to place in his stead a youth with untidy hair, who had thought with eagerness and dreamed a little.
Until finally there came the day when those vagrant chords conquered, and he could no longer contravene his thoughts by his actions. So he rested, and his armies came home from their glory, and his sword hung useless in its sheath, and in the little room beneath the palace the brazen door was shut and sealed.
And his rule became easier and more tolerant, and slow deaths gradually decreased in number...and vaguely men whispered, and the whispers passed with ever-growing volume and slowly swelled and crystallized into actions, as weeds grow unchecked. And one morning the King awoke to find a sharp blade at his throat and a cord awaiting his hands, and he realized that he was King no longer. For by strength and blood had he gained his throne, and by strength and blood must he keep it.
But the New King was merciful in his greatness and graciously consented to spare his life--though first the brazen door had to be opened, for the New King had lost several relatives in that dark, cold room. So, when he had been fully satisfied, and after allowing the Old King appropriate time to recover, the New King chained the dumb, handless piece of burnt and flayed flesh that now was the Old King, and stationed him to serve in the stables, that his guests might glance over the balcony and be amused by the shuffling monstrosity that once had been a tyrant and a king.
But at noon did the Old King know the limits of degradation and realize that his former torments were as nothing. For at noon every day the Court Musician came out onto the balcony to play, and the Old King saw with unbelieving horror that his instrument was a monstrously familiar silver harp, and remembered too late that though that disturbing harpist of old had indeed died, his harp had been thrown negligently into a bone-filled pit in the dark, cold room and forgotten. But now when the fiery golden chords leaped out in another tune, the air resounded with glory and the clash of arms and the steady tread of men
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Saving...

despite that the King and his helpers were well versed in modes of stimulating loquacity, and it was generally agreed that the King had proved what he set out to prove. So the man died, and the King reflected that never again could the harpist's skill serve to unman him; never again could his own youthful innocence return from the graveyard of the years to undermine his resolution. And at the thought the King's satisfaction was tempered by strange regret, and by that he knew that he had not killed the music's echoes lingering in his heart. Furiously and with something of panic the King sought forgetfulness, and by their very nature his attempts but intensified his pain. His stallion's hooves dripped scarlet as he rode over dead and dying alike on field after field, but the sadistic joy such actions formerly evoked was gone, and he could only remember a sweeter dew he had seen on primrose and poppy long ago. In war after war, conquest after conquest, the King drove his fame abroad and bitter regret deep into his soul. Through far fields of savagery the King rode madly, filling his nostrils with the sickening scent of the ghastly asphodels that bloomed there; but ever there would come drifting over the bloody ground a note of music, a sweet, trembling note from a silver harp; and the King would pause in his mad gallop and remember the years that were dead and the flowers that had faded, and ever those subtle notes served to dethrone the mighty King and to place in his stead a youth with untidy hair, who had thought with eagerness and dreamed a little. Until finally there came the day when those vagrant chords conquered, and he could no longer contravene his thoughts by his actions. So he rested, and his armies came home from their glory, and his sword hung useless in its sheath, and in the little room beneath the palace the brazen door was shut and sealed. And his rule became easier and more tolerant, and slow deaths gradually decreased in number...and vaguely men whispered, and the whispers passed with ever-growing volume and slowly swelled and crystallized into actions, as weeds grow unchecked. And one morning the King awoke to find a sharp blade at his throat and a cord awaiting his hands, and he realized that he was King no longer. For by strength and blood had he gained his throne, and by strength and blood must he keep it. But the New King was merciful in his greatness and graciously consented to spare his life--though first the brazen door had to be opened, for the New King had lost several relatives in that dark, cold room. So, when he had been fully satisfied, and after allowing the Old King appropriate time to recover, the New King chained the dumb, handless piece of burnt and flayed flesh that now was the Old King, and stationed him to serve in the stables, that his guests might glance over the balcony and be amused by the shuffling monstrosity that once had been a tyrant and a king. But at noon did the Old King know the limits of degradation and realize that his former torments were as nothing. For at noon every day the Court Musician came out onto the balcony to play, and the Old King saw with unbelieving horror that his instrument was a monstrously familiar silver harp, and remembered too late that though that disturbing harpist of old had indeed died, his harp had been thrown negligently into a bone-filled pit in the dark, cold room and forgotten. But now when the fiery golden chords leaped out in another tune, the air resounded with glory and the clash of arms and the steady tread of men -- 12 --