It’s All About Joseph Soggyrag — Chapter 3
GRABIDEN NARCISSIST AND WHEN BELLA MET A TROLL
Grabiden Narcissist belched, crumpled his empty beer can and answered his mobile. Before he even grunted a recognition, he’d decided there was something very strange about Sara Sparrow Breath, he couldn’t put his finger on it. As a rule, he cultivated a general dislike of humans, elves and other sentient beings and a profound distrust of reporters, yet there was something so fundamentally likable about Sara that he couldn’t help himself and that made him very suspicious. As he started to take notes about her latest story about that ridiculous elf Martolas, he deliberately, purposefully, determinedly and creatively decided to eliminate all the adverbs from his writing before going to press.
Even Grabiden Narcissist had begun to acknowledge how biased and sensationalist the Wiccan press was becoming, so much so that as he was glaring over the shoulder of his witless copywriter and editor Ernest Gravelstone, momentarily he regretted that morning’s headline:
RADICAL ELVEN LEADER SPAWNS THE DEVIL
Yet the Wiccan press was the Wiccan press, it was owned by half a dozen wealthy conservative witches who were intimately linked to Government Ministers and their respective elite covens. Grabiden Narcissist’s only real concern was that his news rag, The Polytheist Herald, outsold its main competitors, The Samhain Telegraph and Bridie’s Independent. In the recent past Grabiden would have kept his eye on The Elemental Times, but since the collapse of The Elven Party, he hardly felt it necessary.
Grabiden Narcissist was coming to the end of his fifth marriage, he knew it, and part of him was relieved. Five marriages in fifteen years must be some record or something! As usual, of course, it was all Beth’s (his wife’s) fault, he knew the real reason, (he, Grabiden Narcissist, was a successful news editor and man) it was because he was filled with Ceridwen’s Divine Spirit. Beth was Wiccan in name only and therefore the true ‘Spirit of Ceridwen’ disturbed her, that (and not Grabiden’s behavior) was why it was inevitable that his marriage to her must end! He was also estranged from his eldest son, Grabiden suspected that his son had many reasons for his self-enforced silence but in the end, if his son would only embrace the true religion of Ceridwen, he could unite in the heart of his father and all would be well.
He still had a relationship with his second son which he cherished, although they were close though, the connection was superficial and every time he, Grabiden, spoke about being a man of the ‘Spirit of Ceridwen’, a powerful hedge witch who was a spiritual leader of the true way, his son’s eyes would glaze over and again he’d failed to reach him.
Although Grabiden was angry with his eldest son, at least his eldest had some spiritual beliefs, even if they were the wrong ones, beliefs that were far too influenced by that idiot elf Martolas, although recently Grabiden began to feel that the boy was beginning to become enchanted by the Lady Raven, a concept altogether far more disturbing.
Sara cleared her throat as Grabiden looked up startled, he was totally unprepared for the enchantress whose presence brought him disturbing thoughts that no self-respecting, self-appointed disciple of Ceridwen should have. Granted, he felt the same about every single young woman one or the other of his sons would bring home and had often desperately tried not to appear lustful and foolish, but this Sara Sparrow Breath was different, and to make matters worse, she had brought her daughter Bella with her.
“Mr. Narcissist,” said Bella loudly, “My spirit animals and guides tell me you don’t tell the truth to my Mom sometimes, I think that’s bad and you should sit down and change that!”
“Bella be quiet,” said Sara “it’s rude to say that to an adult!”
Grabiden noticed, however, that Sara never told her to apologize and was ever so slightly perturbed as he secretly knew that Bella had been right. Bella just smiled sweetly, made herself comfortable in Grabiden’s office chair, and started using his computer. Somehow Bella seemed to bypass all of his carefully crafted passwords and find esoteric websites that no-one under the age of sixty-five years old should have access to.
“So who’s going to win the Elven Party Leadership race next week?” Grabiden asked Sara.
“Oh Martolas, he’ll receive two hundred and fifty thousand or so votes and wipe out the other three,” said Sara.
“How can you be so sure?” asked Grabiden.
“Well, I consulted the spirits of the land, my guides and Bella’s power animals, I also spoke at length to our ancestors, and after some inane chatter about which bed they had left their slippers under and such like, they revealed some very interesting information, information I often find to be much more accurate than the polling the Wiccan press elicits.”
Grabiden hated it and simultaneously loved it when Sara spoke to him in that way, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off the angelic tattoo she had on her shoulder. Yet somehow she was always first to find a story and always ahead of the curve. He wanted to ask her how she’d found the Martolas rally last night deep in the forest but thought better of it! What he knew for sure, was although she was an independent journalist, she was worth her weight in gold to The Polytheist Herald and he was always happy to pay her.
“So who’s going to win the European Referendum, the Wiccan remainers, and other assorted stragglers or the traditional ‘outer’ witches and bampots?” Grabiden asked, regretting the question almost immediately.
“Oh, the Bampots will win” replied Sara “52% to 48%.”
‘Oh, thought Grabiden, ‘life’s about to become very interesting!’
The Elven leadership election resolved exactly as Sara had predicted a week earlier. Martolas started off as a rank outsider, almost a joke candidate whom both the New Elves and the Wiccan press had dismissed preferring the status quo of power and inequality, and never really understanding the mood in the Elven Party now the New Elves had lost two elections in a row.
The result caused panic, sulkiness and tantrums in the party, some MPs (Members of Parliament) had refused to participate and others served in the shadow cabinet whilst simultaneously trying to undermine the new leadership. A year earlier The New Elven Party executive had tried to reduce the influence of both the real elves and the faerie unions in order to cement their (the former leadership’s) power, a tactic that had spectacularly backfired, such was the state of the modern Elven Party.
The Notting Hill Witches had dominated the Conservative Party for ten years. Lady Anna Elizabeth Cartwright was too liberal by far for the traditional witches, yet she’d delivered two governments, one coalition, one majority (albeit just) and for now her position was unassailable. Yet dark clouds were on the horizon and the omens weren’t good. Although the elite witches in the higher echelons of Government had used their magic to wipe out the reality surrounding each terrorist attack, all of them knew the magic was ultimately harmful and could feel how thin the skin of existence was being stretched each time Edward Crude attacked.
Everyone understood that Lady Cartwright had had no choice but to call a referendum on European participation, there were of course the trade and economic arguments and indeed the immigration issue was a useful cover, but all were sure that this was a spiritu-political dogfight between the traditional witches, the followers of the Feral Lord of the Forest, and the hegemony of the Goddess in Europe with her undemocratic bureaucratic ruling structures.
Lady Cartwright had thrashed around desperately seeking reform in Europe and compromise at home, until now she had been considered a lucky politician, so far everything she’d touched, like Midas, had turned to gold, yet there was a growing sense that Midas may desert her this time. The astrology of Albion herself suggested rebellion and Grabiden Narcissist was profoundly disturbed by the accuracy of Sara Sparrow Breath’s predictions.
Lady Raven had spent the day organizing her art room, cleaning it to a magical standard and preparing to use her art to evoke her three ancient Ravenoid Lawyers. Three giant easels supporting massive canvases stood at the center of her sacred circle delineated by chalk and salt. First she’d paint her beloved Ravenoids, for to see was a layer of magic, and then she’d sculpt them from clay, for one must feel the magic to really know it.
Lady Raven meditated inside the sacred circle and empowered it with the help of her father’s magic. She knew she bore a grave karmic responsibility for the monster that was Edward Crude, and of all the Raven aristocracy, she, Lady Raven, bore the greatest burden, cleansing her bloodlines was ultimately her responsibility!
A long time before, possibly even about 3000 years before today.
Ceridwen lay on the ground exhausted after her elephantine battle with the all knowing Gordon the Elven Wainwright. She could feel that spark of life already vibrating in her womb, even then she could have extinguished it, yet couldn’t bring herself to end that life.
When the boy child was born Ceridwen couldn’t bear to look at him, so she placed the babe in a wicker basket and left him to drift down the river into the lands of the Raven people. Lady Raven Shelda Moonpuddle was bathing in the river that day and saw the basket floating down stream towards her, she swam out to it and was amazed to see a new born boy wrapped in swaddling clothes.
She determined to raise the child as her own, knowing that her father, Lord Raven of the shamanic bird tribe, would help her . The child was obviously omniscient, from an early age he was able to help the Raven aristocracy develop the most potent coffee appreciation, iced tea expertise and the magic of transfiguration, teleportation, gluten free cheese sandwiches and a profound dislike of eating fish and other water based creatures.
The most powerful magic he taught them though, was how to create a lawyer, a Ravenoid Genius Lawyer from clay alone and infuse such life and brilliance in it that it could argue any case of competing realities in the Cosmic Court of the Grandmothers, a court so powerful, that all existence could be recreated. In addition, this would mean that in every time, created or recreated, there would always be one sentient being, one translator of the words of judgement of the Cosmic Grandmothers, one being whose linguistic interpretation was so masterful that literally all time and every time would hang upon her words as she translated the cosmic rulings…
…and back to present day
…and at this time, Lady Raven knew, that the masterful translator was known as the 9 year old Bella Sparrow Walker.
Artifus Singlethought of Trolls Investigations Ltd submitted his report to the The Samhain Telegraph promptly and easily within the allotted time. He’d found this particular assignment fascinating and somewhat challenging.
In the past he’d relied on the fact that he was eight feet tall, bald, built like a brick shithouse and carrying a huge club next to his bare, hairless, muscular chest, to extort the answers that he’d wanted from his terrified victims, yet Sara seemed somewhat immune to his obvious charms.
“How did you know that Ceridwen was going to destroy and then recreate reality?” Artifus Singlethought had demanded.
To which Sara simply said:
“The spirits told me.”
“Why would they do such a thing?” he prompted rather surprised.
“Well I asked them,” said Sara “Most folk don’t even believe the Spirit World exists so they don’t ever get around to asking for revelations.”
Artifus Singlethought was about to demand further information, to which he would have received the answer ‘long grass and juniper trees’, when a nine year old girl child entered the room, looked him up and down as if he were a playful troublesome elemental and said:
“Mr Big Person, half dressed with your great big club, you’re far too big to be standing in my house, go and sit in that large chair over there, but do it carefully so you don’t break it, and stop talking to my Mom in that rude way or you’ll make me very cross.”
Artifus then experienced something he’d never experienced before, a sensation so uncomfortable and discombobulating that he obeyed the girl child immediately without question.
Artifus Singlethought finally concluded that he was terrified.
There was something about the child’s manner that would command obedience even from the Mistresses and Muses of Time, something so profound that Singlethought knew that he would have no chance of understanding, even if he wasn’t emotionally challenged.
“Now, Mr Singlethought” Sara said, as the child skipped off to play noisily somewhere else in the house.
Shakily Singlethought said:
“Please, please call me Artifus” surprising himself with how desperately he needed to be liked at that moment
“Artifus it is then,” replied Sara cheerfully “You’ll have some snacks and soda with Bella and I? John, my husband, can’t stay as he has a prior business engagement but he’ll pop in and say hello before he goes and I’m afraid my son’s out with friends this evening.”
“Snacks?” stammered Artifus feeling his self identity and professional reputation for getting to the truth crumbling before his eyes.
Sara’s husband, entered the room, shook Artifus’s hand saying that it was great that he (Artifus) was in the house as John had only seen him on TV before, doing what was obviously a very important job.
Sara told John that Artifus seemed worried about having snacks and soda and John assured Artifus that the story that Sara’s friends told about Sara serving up snakes, like rattlesnakes and vipers. for supper were only jokes based on her mobile phone auto text errors and had no basis in truth whatsoever.
So ten minutes later Artifus found himself sitting at the table eating tasty snacks and chocolate cookies (that came out of a packet pre-prepared and just needed to be cooked in an oven at 350 degrees for 15 minutes before cooling) and drinking soda.
He discovered that Sara and her husband John owned a nightclub and another bar over the street and that Sara was an accomplished 1980s retro DJ who owned a demon hunting business. The demon hunting business was going rather well, although sometimes, clients expected far too much, and it was maybe necessary now to make them (the clients) sign contracts about how much responsibility the demon hunter actually had when the client had paid for just one assignment.
After about twenty minutes of pleasant, informative chit chat, Bella, rather alarmingly for Artifus, announced that there was a lovely troll grandmother spirit in the room that wanted to speak to Artifus and her name was Old Lady Bumfluff Singlethought.
Thirty minutes later, after many troll tears and spirit pronouncements of ‘how proud Bumfluff Singlethought was of her Artifus,’ the Troll Investigator left Sara’s house with a hand full of soggy tissues and Bella proclaiming that she was about to do something evil on the computer.
