Through the Kisandra Prism (11 page)

‘Well damn my old boots – flaming hell!’ exclaims Myfanwy in a loud voice. ‘All species have a right and privilege to be ugly and smelly – but you are taking liberties with that privilege…phew what a pong – you smell worse than an old Mrs. Pettingel on a hot day in the library – and she hasn’t had a bath since the last king died.’

Immune to the insults of the Fairy Queen, the alien shaded its small black shiny, shortsighted eyes from the penetrating glare of the hot sun that was smiling down; insults were an occupational hazard and part of the nature of things.

‘Forgive me your Majesty, the strong musk we produce is for practical reasons… to give others of our species good warning to keep their distance…it is not to everyone’s taste.’

‘Phew…or not to everyone’s smell either.’ answers Myfanwy, ‘close your musk glands or turn them off whatever you do… before I puke all over you. And don’t breath on me. Your breath stinks like a rotten stoat with terminal halitosis.’

Ignoring the insults, the alien Sillian nimbly pulls itself clear of the trap-door. The creature quickly raised its long abdomen immediately above its small head in a perfect hand stand position, using its front four appendages. Two large spinnerets on its spider-like abdomen began producing wide bands of silk; moving from side to side it spun a canopy of gossamer overhead, shading its misshapen head and body from the bright, hot sun.

‘Errr…gross – disgusting!’ exclaims Myfanwy pulling a face, ‘the Silly-Anne has the bum of a spider and stinks like a duck’s fart. What a weird mother.’

Blodwyn found it difficult to believe this surreal scene was actually taking place in broad daylight, on the upper slopes of the Pandy Mountain, that warm June afternoon.

The misshapen Alien being studies Grunwalde Angharad, the Star worshiping Queen of the Fairies, with the screwed up eyes of the short sighted and moves a little closer for better focus.

‘Stop imbecile!’ Exclaims Grunwalde… ‘before you cast your shadow on my freckles.’

‘So…it is true!’ exclaims the Sillian, ‘as I was once told by a Dandy Indra… you are indeed exceptionally beautiful.’ The revolting creature then made a deep, respectful bow.

‘Ouccch!’ exclaims the Sillian still in a deep bow, but regaining his upright position sharply and rubbing his rear with a hooked appendage.

‘One of your Lings has just bitten or stung me your Majesty…it is difficult to ascertain which, by the severe pain…I hope it has not injected venom… if so I am done for,’ pleads the grotesque creature franticly rubbing its rear with a hooked appendage.

‘You would be dying by now – besides they need my permission to use venom,’ says the Queen of the Fairies. ‘That was just an exploratory little sting. They are curious little blighters but not stupid enough to bite you… I bet you taste horrid… like a dead, rotten pole cat.’

‘So… you mean me no harm?’ The Alien enquires with relief.

‘Not at the moment… unless… I change my mind of course.’

All the while Blodwyn could see the Sillian was trying to focus its small short-sighted eyes on her: she hoped it was not for future reference.

‘Then, I thank your Highness and I am honored at your presence,’ says the Sillian. ‘I would never have dreamt in all my dreams and fantasies that the beautiful new Queen of the Changelings would appear at my trap-door – commanding my presence.’

‘Well just don’t get carried away with your dreams and fantasies or get any fresh ideas, like trying to kiss my lovely feet in gratitude or asking me to marry you!’ warns Grunwalde, ‘besides what does a Silly-Anne know of Changelings? And keep it short – I don’t have all day.’

‘In far and distant times, you’re Highness,’ answers the deformed Alien, ‘our planet Syties-seven, was beautiful, covered in green forests, the shallow streams were sweet, spring fed…’

‘Already, you are boring me,’ complains Grunwalde Angharad.

‘Shush! Let the Sillian speak Myfanwy.’ Pipes up Blodwyn, interested in what the Alien Sillian had to say.

‘We Sillians could fly then and loved the sunshine,’ continues the Alien. ‘We soared high in a clear purple sky as the rays of our three small suns gilded the distant mountain crests.’

‘I am falling asleep,’ warns the Fairy Queen.

‘Shut up Myfanwy!’ snaps Blodwyn, ‘listen to the Sillian.’

‘We Sillians,’ continues the Alien, ‘shared our planet with one other life-form – a beautiful blacked-haired Solara Changeling, the last of her kind. Her power saved us from the Yarbies. We worshiped the rare Changeling. She was our Goddess!’

‘Get to the point dick-head,’ says Grunwalde.

‘Stella pollution killed our Changeling and our planet. Pollution deformed our bodies. We lost our wings and became web-spinners. We hid our misshapen bodies underground and developed venom glands.’

‘You are boring me now,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘it’s all me, me, me, poor-me. You will be telling me next you had bulimia – never got any Christmas presents and needed counseling – only there were no counselors on your planet. On Earth however, if you spot a nasty looking spider while you are sitting on the toilet – or come across a frightening shaped tree – or see an aggressive looking cushion – you get counseling. If you tried to murder your parents with a chainsaw and they smack you – you receive counseling - your parents get twenty years.’

‘Myfanwy!’ snaps Blodwyn, fed up with her rambling instead of getting to the point, ‘I am warning you … stop going on. Look…’

Blodwyn continues, turning to the Sillian, ‘Terasils are not ready for aliens – you must leave.’

‘Is this Tarrea-two? In the second Quadrent?’ repeats the Sillian with surprise, ‘the planet called Earth by Terasils – the planet the Malis Afar evolved on and now wish to return to. This planet is not to my liking, the air is too rich in oxygen – I am already getting wrinkles from the strong gravitational pull. The grass-chewers here have wooly fur and are so dirty they have to be skinned…and I like a little skin with my meat.’

‘Sheep always have filthy bottoms,’ adds the Fairy Queen, ‘what do you expect, rose petals?’

‘I would gladly leave Your Majesty…I have wasted two hundred years in transit,’ agrees the Sillian, ‘Now, Calara minor… or the moons of Jupiter, would be ideal. I hear the climate and conditions are perfect there.’

‘Look moron,’ replies Grunwalde, ‘I am not operating a travel agency for freaks. And how come if you never leave your burrow you have such good knowledge of the Antares Cluster for such a deformed, cretin-brained, couch potato?’ asks Grunwalde.

The Sarris Shadow-chasers do not feel pain or pleasure.

They will swiftly chase your shadow and jump within,

wishing to seek out your senses with ardent measure.

Seeking both your goodly deeds and acts of mortal sin

‘We Sillians are a learned species, Your Majesty,’ answers the deformed alien, ‘always hungry for information, facts and interesting gossip.

In exchange, we often spare the lives of our victims. A Semmi Tal, Shape-shifter, once gave me precise knowledge of the four quadrants that make up the Antares Cluster… including their histories and the species that dwell within. We Sillians value knowledge as other species value monetary currency.’

‘Ho – great! So in other words you are skint.’ says Grunwalde, sounding disappointed.

‘I once captured a Cold-blood carrying a purse with a hundred gold ducats. I counted the money a dozen times. I would love to have bought a string of blue beads,’ says the deformed Alien; eyeing the blue beads around the Queen of the Fairies slender neck… and maybe even a pair of ‘glass-eyes’… we Sillians are short-sighted you know,’ the Alien added looking in Blodwyn’s direction, focusing on her round spectacles.’

‘Well don’t look at my blue beads!’ says Myfanwy, ‘and four-eyes over there, is as blind as a bat without her… ‘Glass eyes.’

Blodwyn felt sorry for this lonely, deformed being. She had an identical blue necklace; taking it off she quickly handed it to the being and stepped back to a safe distance: out of reach of its long hooked appendages.

‘Thank you young Terasil,’ hisses the Sillian. It admires the necklace in its clawed appendage.

‘Where is the money now?’ asks Grunwalde.

‘Circling a Black hole where Cygnus minor used to be… before it exploded two hundred years ago.’

‘Flaming Hell!’ exclaims Myfanwy, ‘just my rotten luck.’

‘Now clever-clogs,’ continues Myfanwy, ‘my shadow was not quite right today. My Lings smelt someone…but saw no one. My shadow had a little snout and a pot-belly – explain that.’

‘Then you are now harboring a parasite!’ answers the Alien.

‘Uggh…gross… You mean a parasite is curled up in my guts scoffing all my food?’

‘No… A Sarris,’ answers the Sillian, ‘a Shadow-chaser has jumped into your shadow and is now in your body… stealing and feeding off your sensations.

Grunwalde giggled nervously, holding her slim stomach. ‘Now isn’t that the queerest thing.’

‘You see a Sarris feels no pain or pleasure,’ says the Sillian, ‘they have to steal these experiences from others.’

Grunwalde giggles hand over mouth, ‘how embarrassing. What… you mean the Shadow-Chaser is there when I am going to the toilet – bloody cheek!’ exclaims the Queen of Fairies.

‘It is there all the time. A Shadow-chaser has no respect for Queens of high station.’

‘Will the Sarris tell everyone what I get up to?’ asks the Queen of the Fairies.

‘Shadow-chasers are not discreet Your Majesty,’ answers the Alien. A Sarris will tell everyone what you have done and what you experienced. It is eavesdropping even now on our conversation.’

‘Flaming Hell!’ Exclaims Myfanwy, ‘Listen here you little snitch,’ says the Fairy Queen patting her tummy, ‘don’t you dare go around telling everyone what I get up to and don’t go snooping around down there either… and keep your dirty little hands to yourself!’

‘Can a Sarris be got rid of ?’ asks Blodwyn.

‘Immerse your whole body in water on a moonlit night… a Sarris is hydrophobic, it will panic, leave your body and run away. A Shadow-chaser shows up green in moonlight,’ adds the Sillian.

‘Could a Sarris be also spying on me for the Malis Afar?’ asks Grunwalde.

‘No. But the Cold-bloods are planning to capture you, Your Majesty… the sly Jal-Mar have a potion to kill your magical powers…so they claim.’

‘Well clever clogs – I know things that you don’t know – you smelly little know-it-all.’

‘Such as… what?’ Blodwyn interrupts.

‘Well… let me see,’ ponders Myfanwy, and turning to the Sillian says, ‘I bet you did not know…ah yes…your son is a gay, pyromaniac… who sniffs glue… and your Grandmother is a raging, pigeon-breasted, pole-dancing transvestite…there see… you did not know that did you?’

‘Stop talking rubbish Myfanwy,’ says Blodwyn, ‘what are you going to do about the Sillian?’

‘I will send two of my Lings, Boodi and Boochi, to contact the Salas Panar, or the Dandy Indra; to take you away from earth.’

Myfanwy welcomed a chance to get rid of the two most mischievous and annoying of her two Lings. The beautiful Mayling Boodi was very greedy and always kept the best morsels for herself; Boochi was the Sisling who had taken to dropping unpleasant things into its Queen’s ever ready cherry pie mouth at feeding sessions.

‘No! Your Highness. The six-fingered Salas Panar are thieving rogues, they will sell me to the Jal Mar or to our enemies – the Orb eyed Oga Koya. The Dandy Indra are of direct simian descent – they are terrified of Sillians. They will kill me!’

Blodwyn moves closer; more confident now.

‘The Sillian is right – only the Galla Qualls respect all life forms. They can be trusted – I have seen a caged Sillian on Goya Perilus bought from the sly Jal Mar and then sold on to the Malis Afar.’

‘For how much?’ asks the Fairy Queen with sparkling interest.

‘Can’t remember,’ fibs Blodwyn, just in case Grunwalde got any mercurial Ideas.

‘That Sillian was me!’ exclaims the creature, ‘I escaped, when the Galla Qualls war fleet ambushed the Malis Afar invasion fleet.’

‘The Galla Qualls could be anywhere,’ says Grunwalde.

‘Perhaps I may be of assistance Your Majesty,’ says the Sillian, ‘I know the Galla Qualls are testing a new Time-traveling war ship now orbiting the Planet Mars’.

‘Your Lings could reach the Galla Qualls in two days.’ says Blodwyn.

A thrill of excitement flooded Blodwyn’s body. The Time-ship was obviously ready; would the Galla Qualls come for her as they had promised? Was this her chance to go back into the distant and near past; there was a family mystery she wanted answers to. “Was the beautiful young girl who approached her in True Arcadia and who held her hand with detached affection, her Grandmother – now a Star Child? What did the prehistoric period really look like? What was it like when the Malis Afar ruled the earth and man was only three feet tall?”

Then suddenly a discrepancy entered Blodwyn’s mind: If the Sillian had been in transit in the meteor supposedly for two hundred years before it reached Earth – how did it have such up to date information? She would have to find out.

‘How do you know all this recent information… if you were cocooned in the meteor for two hundred years?’

‘The Sarris told me early this morning,’ answers the Sillian, ‘it was feeling very unwell – its previous host only drank strong, foul liquid and breathed in clouds of choking smoke. The Shadow-chaser was so ill that it was forced to leave this host. It staggered up the path, intoxicated, where it gave up all these sensations in its stomach – it will be very hungry now – right opposite my trap door… we spoke.’

‘You mean the Sarris Shadow Chaser puked?’ asks Myfanwy holding her stomach and giggling. ‘Don’t you dare throw up in my guts… Mr. Sarris… and don’t go snooping around in there either… or I will lampoon you.’

Blodwyn knew straight away the Sarris had entered Bryn Jones the Wino’s body and was the victim of one of Jones’s drinking binges and accompanying hangovers.

Myfanwy patted her tummy, ‘now remember – don’t you go telling everyone about me, you naughty little Sarris.’ Then after scrutinizing the Sillian’s deformed body she asks,