Here Be Dragons – The Road Beyond Betrayal:

I lie, bone-weary but quietly content in the warm embrace of a still darkness, 
The wind sighing,

Gently stroking the Autumn leaves, cleansing trees and playing pianissimo

The wind chimes.

Squeaker’s small and perfectly formed head lies gentle upon my arm,

Quietly purring, slowing

My heart.  My random thoughts turn to mist and my eyes search inwards as

My mind navigates

To those familiar lands where so many old friends, wise teachers and the 

Wildest of enemies, bide.

Their rich, diverse and busy lives are not on hold when I am here; their esoteric 

Magic is not

In any way, shape or form dependent upon my presence or that of any other, 

Mage, man or beast.  

A dragon is a dragon, and elves are elves, there is there and here is here no less 

Or no more than

I am me and you are you. You say that it is not so? Ha! You are serious? 

What do you know?

Where do you walk to when your eyes close and the Inner World comes?  

What winding roads

And star studded skies are yours?  How do you make believe it is not real?  

Come!  Think!

Your mind is your only reality.  Je pense donc je suis.  Cogito ergo sum.  

Believe it! 

You must clearly let the two worlds collide and become one, your very real, 

Awesome, unpredictable whole.   

My eyes refocus on the ‘other’; I stretch in a body free of pain and climb

His scales and settle,

My knees tight upon his neck, poised and ready, wildly alive, and he leaps, 

Clasps the sky,

Roaring his joy, vast wings effortlessly cutting  through the breaking palour

Of another dawn.

The air is different, crystal-fresh, its purity catching in my lungs.  

A sharp Crescent moon hangs

High above like a holy scimitar, and far below as light creeps on, there a 

Boatman slowly sails

The Morning Star across Night’s ever-dark sea.  I pull my collar closer against 

The keen chill and

Dragon-wind as we see the Sun launch her daily challenge, steadily, insistently 

Leaching into the

Darkness, calling  coquettishly to the semi-sleeping world from behind the 

Raggle-toothed,

Shadow-strewn eastern mountains.  Below, as the light softly grazes now

The waiting tree tops,

Red Kites rise like whispers from the heights of the dew-washed forest, 

Clearing-bound for breakfast,

Their dread beauty sharpened by their silence, their glinting talons and 

Emerald-cold eyes.

Below, the dawn chorus slowly commences, chatter filling the air, raising the 

Alarm, warning

The Innocent of the coming of aerial death, though always to some slow, old 

And unwary too late. 

A wyvern appears, an aspiring alpha male, tries its luck, screams and

Falls away, tail thrashing,

Singed by white dragon flame.  Again Grezeyal roars, celebrating his simple 

Triumph, and I laugh,

Intoxicated, forgetting for a moment my heavy burden here in the Inner Land, 

But only a moment,

And as my mood darkens my steed, sensing my uncertain feelings, flexes

His claws in empathy. 

Below us elven gauchos ride their gryphons, guiding dazzling white unicorns 

Across a ford,

Away from a pack of skulking and hungry wolves, crossing a river which 

Snakes, ribbon-like

Off into the shady distance, and here we see the elven demesne, their wondrous 

Summer cottages

Floating, anchored to the highest branches above a small copse of trees which 

Lies close by a loch.

On their extended platforms cooking fires warm pots, the smell of divine 

Ambrosia rising up as  

Children climb, assuming immortality, down rope ladders, splash, wash and 

Swim before rescaling

The heights to break their fast. Some, their faces turning up, wave precariously, 

Laughing, full of

The joy of a fresh dawn which is singing out an invitation to them, promises of 

New adventures.

Then in moments they pass, their laughter still in my ears, and below soon lies 

A careless sea.

Gazing at its uncaring waters I think again of that which I carry.  It weighs so 

Little, and yet so

Very much, this anguished and lost soul.  And for this we fly, our route to take 

Us to most ancient

Atlantis, the eternal city, the city of curlicued spires, of magic, passion and

At times, some glorious

Madness.  Once the centre of both the Inner and Outer Worlds, and after the 

Time of Healing,

So to be again.  There I will seek out, as I was prompted so to do, 

The Healer, The formidable Chiron

The Centaur.  A movement by my arm breaks my thought and shortly 

Squeaker’s head appears

From her carry bag. She looks about, yawns lazily, unimpressed, and returns 

To her untroubled slumber.

As my eyes scan the horizon I am at last rewarded by a great trumpet call

Of recognition from Grezeyal

As the distant, longed for golden towers scintillate, dance and gyre in the

Now risen sun.

As nearer still we fly the soft, hypnotic music of rainbows rises like mellifluous

Diamond-cut butterflies

Chasing each other around our heads and the sea below us calms in

The great, bustling harbour.  

There I see activity round ships of all descriptions, shapes and sizes,

The great behemoths of the

Seas and skies, the fingers of Atlantis which reach out to warm, reassure and 

Unite her World.

Shortly, too, rise Grezeyal’s kinsfolk, the skies filling with whirling, 

Trumpeting dragon-folk,

Welcoming home their ever-wandering, much loved son. Slowly then we start 

To circle down,

Landing gently at last in the Great Central Hold where grooms and riders sit

At long boards

Laden with breakfast. The smell of cooked oats, honey, fresh bread and 

Steaming Masala chai

Clamour for my attention as I demount, bow to my steed and most dear friend, 

And then turn,

Waving to various companions of old, deeply desirous to stop and talk of this 

And that but

Mindful of my task, regretfully boarding a vacant roamer which stands waiting 

For instructions.

I tap in coordinates and in moments then move to a portal and drop far below 

The city's surface,

There to hurtle through mosaiced tunnels, fungus lit. As I travel I hastily peruse 

The roamer’s texter.

As I expect – sadly know, in truth - news is not good. Isms and phobias in that 

Other world

Darken the souls of many and divisions grow, spreading discontent.  Countries 

Now building walls

And viler ordnance, turning inwards, seeking differences with those elsewhere.  

Suspicion and her sibling

Paranoia are stalking the lands and cruel winds chill the souls of even those 

Guiltless and guileless.

Suddenly my eyes adjust as I rise to the daylight again and before me lies

An ornate pool with

Tinkling fountain,  therein basking the joyous mermaid Kallisto and her 

Dolphin steed, Catulus.

I know her of old and cherish her friendship.  I step from the roamer, smile and 

Bow low my greeting.

“So formal!” she gently chides, her chiming laughter filling the air, and she 

Offers me welcome.  

Apprised of my purpose she points the way to the golden maze, and there I find

Chiron the Centaur.

He awes me, always! Though said to be the son of ancient, long dead Gods it is 

He who bows low,

However, and then holds out his hand, expectant.  I place therein the lightest 

And yet the heaviest

Of burdens and he stands, eyes almost closed, tail lashing rhythmically

Back and forth,

As he concentrates, his keen empathic and healing mind reaching out into its 

Depths. A look of

Puzzled strain crosses his wise and noble face and, surely I am wrong, a touch 

Of uncertainty.

His Eyes fly open and stare at me. "I had not expected this, had thought the 

‘Time’ still well off. 

Perhaps that is not so. Thou bringest not a wandering Soul, I see. Thou Bringest, 

'The' Lost Soul.

How so?”  In the distance I hear growling thunder, and the approaching storm’s

Ominous perturbation chills me.

My mind returns to the enchanted forest when I turned off the beaten track

And chose instead

To tread the sun-dappled path untaken.  It was in short order that I came across 

A most extraordinary 

Man with his small, grey and white cat which stared around him, purring 

Contentedly, a look of

Wonder and benevolent surprise glowing in his kindly eyes.  Though the 

Tender-hearted little creature was

Clear to see, the old man’s face wavered in my sight if I looked at him directly.  

He stroked his

Small friend absently causing his claws to pulse in pleasure even as his 

Companion’s eyes shone

Through and then started to dim.  As I came close he reached out a gnarled 

Hand, touching my face

Most gently as though he knew each and every contour. "You will know what 

To do, where to go and  

To whom"  he wheezed.  “Trust your instinct.”  Most tenderly then he touched  

The cat. “Let go your

Burden now, my little one, beloved Shadow.” And the light fled it and the husk 

Fell peacefully,

Needed no longer.  The man then sighed a sigh of sorrow, reaching out once 

More and pressing

Something into my hand as his breath rattled and his chest sank. His face 

Becoming visible.  

I leaned forward and closed his now glazed eyes for the last time. It was then that 

I noticed the stigmata. 

There were holes in his hands and his bare feet, long healed, and his face was 

One writ clear with

Untold sorrows and beauties beyond imagining.  As I leaned forward, awed but 

Somehow obliged

To touch him again, my head filled with a raw cacophony of screams, shouting 

And images of great

Hordes of folk and beasts battling savagely across an arid plane committing 

Unimaginable horrors and giving

None quarter.  In haste I plucked my hand away as if burned and then, still 

Impelled by some

Unknown force, with trepidation reached out to his small companion.  Instantly 

The horrors left me.

He no images gave but such a beauteous sense of love and innocence I could do 

None other but weep

With the purest possible joy and most lost-loving sorrow.  As at last my eyes 

Cleared and my lungs

No longer breathed in sobs, I stepped back then, my mind uncertain and 

Exhausted but my heart full.

Briefly the world sparkled and the old man’s body turned to mist, leaving only 

The most horrific

Stench of a charnel house, making me gag and vomit, forcing me to stumble 

Back in haste, the

Stink of Death crawling down my throat and clawing at my soul.  Then finally, 

Such beauty, the cat

Followed his companion, leaving me an endless waterfall and deluge of pure, 

Unjudgemental love. 

I look now outward at Chiron who seeing me finished lifts his frown and

Nods understanding. 

“Two souls, it was, were lost, in all of time it seemed, not because of 

Punishment, no never that

Though some thought it so, but because they could not ... would not ...

Forgive themselves,

Or indeed each other, that which had long been forgiven.  Companions they 

Were, of a sort,

Limping down a barren tunnel of time until at last one found his heart and 

Warmed his soul

As no other was able.  In this enlightenment he slowly forgave himself and 

Translated to other

Realms.  Cartaphilus, the cobbler he, a man who asked of himself an awful 

Price for but a

Moment’s mockery.  Thou hast here brought the other, the wanderer through 

Millennia, who found

No chance for his heart to warm his broken soul, as had his companion 

Cartaphilus.  His stain,

His anguish lay in that Darkest of realms, Betrayal.  He had done only as he 

Thought was right,

That which he needed to do but thus it was that he thought his eternal soul was 

Lost.  And irony, too,

Lies at the heart of his self-condemnation, for in a world of free will this one 

Act of his was set,

Predestined!  He had done what was required of him and yet he could not – 

Would not! – believe.

And thus it was that the One he had betrayed with a kiss felt his pain through 

All the years,

And needs must find him in the darkness and try to lead him to the light.  

Hard And long has

The search been and when at last his soul was found it had still the need of 

Warmth to bring it to

The light.  Thus it was, I now see, that the Seeker placed him within touching 

Of a soul so pure

Selfless and unreservedly loving that it would be as a furnace to warm him and 

A lantern in the

Darkness to show him the way.  That which thou hast brought to me is still in 

Need of learning

To forgive himself, though Shadow warmed him and taught him well with his U

nquestioning

And unjudgemental Love.  When that task is completed, then may be the time 

When the Outer and

The Inner worlds rejoin, no dark and lost souls dividing them.  It is then that 

The folk of faery and

Of legend may mix again with the Outer world, and magic will be real to all 

Who will look

And believe!  Atlantis will take its place as was once the case as a centre for 

Learning, for research

Into the melding of the magic of the Inner world and science of the Outer, the 

Love of the Inner and

The logic of the Outer and the dreams of both to make Gaea the bright beacon 

Amongst the stars.  

I give thanks to Charon for the explanation, bow my respects and turn to leave, 

Thinking I will

Return to the waiting roamer, in deep thought and  not some little confusion.  

His voice

Breaks my stride.  “Wait.  Hear me. Thy work is not yet done. Thou were sent 

To me by the weary

Seeker that I may assist and instruct thee as to how to complete thy task.  

So be it.”  He paces

Forward, looming large but benevolent, and returns to my unhappy hands the 

Package I had so

Recently bid farewell!  “The time is not now, the alignment is not complete 

And this soul is not yet

Found in itself.  Though love from Shadow warmed it, so great was the cold 

That more must  be done. 

It needs now to find self-forgiveness and perspective.  Only then will it know 

How small it is

To carry such guilt, for it seeks to carry the shame of all that has been wrong 

With humanity.  

The Seeker dies endlessly through eternity as the betrayer lives his guilt.  This 

Circle must break!” 

Thus it is, therefore, that I soon find myself in a place I know only by the 

Reports of others,

Though I recognise it in my eyes and heart. There a great golden thread soars 

Up into the

Heavens, higher than the eye can travel, giving off a golden halo of bright 

Coruscating light. 

It is, I know, the Moon’s birthing chord, that which connects the Light Soul Of Her Luna 

Child to the

Great Soul Gaia.  I walk hesitantly across the surprisingly empty, mosaiced 

Piazza towards it,

Not without some small trepidation, hesitate and then force my reluctant body 

Forward and

Step into the soft aura.  Straight way my head is filled with the soft chiming of 

Many bells

Accompanied by such deep bass notes I feel rather than hear.  Then there is a 

Rushing of wind

Followed by cold and dark which starts to creep into my bones and heart.  It is 

As my soul begins

To tremble that Squeaker once more chooses to appear.  Her casual glance and 

Return to sleep

Steadies me!  Despite myself, I laugh and find my body begin to relax. I look 

Around me and my

Eyes adjust.  The stars stand, an array of jewels scattered randomly across a 

Now mellowed, endless

Sea of a million trillion worlds and possibilities.  I am forced to study my 

Humanity, the meaning of

My oh so small life and its purpose, and become almost lost among that 

Vastness.  I feel my head

Swim and know somehow I am at risk of turning inside out and losing myself. 

I close my eyes

Tight against the overwhelming universe and reach into the bag, to be restored 

By a purring cat! 

 

Suddenly then my eyes reopen as I feel my feet blessedly upon the wonderful, 

Solid ground and

Find myself  surrounded by a kaleidoscope of coloured flamingoes, all

Of whom wear spectacles

And stand at lecterns talking firmly, incessantly and with absolute solemnity 

About how many

Angels may dance upon the head of a pin, and the placement, size and 

Dimensions of all things, plus

Heaven and Hell. Turning then, my eyes fall upon a slowly growing hillock 

Built by a million

Scurrying ants, and upon the top of this formicidaec cathedral there stands, 

God-like, a small dog,

A tricoloured Jack Russell, one eye closed, the other covered by a most 

Fetching crimson eye patch,

Apparently peering most intently through the wrong end of a telescope towards 

Who knows what

Whilst he relieves himself copiously upon the endlessly grafting, hapless 

Insects building below.

A tall figure then appears from the mists and all activity stops.  Within the cowl 

I can just see

Glowing eyes but when it is pushed back it reveals an androgynous face

Of exquisite beauty. 

“I am Michael” it says. “Welcome. Charon told me to expect you and your 

Extraordinary package. 

Perhaps the Time must be nearer.  May I see that which the Seeker sought for 

So very long?” 

I know not why but I bow low to him as I hand over the dark, tormented soul 

With some relief.

At the instant it leaves my grasp I feel as though a great weight has fallen away 

From my shoulders.

“What will you do here to show him the sad futility of his guilt and his ultimate 

Forgiveness?”

Michael smiles a sorrowful and compassionate  smile.  “I will let him have that 

Which he seeks

But knows not; that which will allow him at last to purge the stain  and forgive 

Himself.” 

“And that is?” I ask, dreading the answer that sits suddenly, most heavy in the 

Deepest pit of

My stomach.  He glances up from that which he holds so tenderly and speaks.  “

Ah, I see you know already. 

Why do you need my confirmation?”  I nod. “I do not wish for it to be so; 

Surely there is

Another way?”  Michael slowly shakes his head.  “You know that there is only 

One.  Come,

I have prepared it for his arrival.  You will see how he takes to it with alacrity.”  

Turning then,

He walks back into the mist and I meekly follow.  Momentarily I am lost,

My darting eyes

Finding no familiar thing to fall on, just swirling colour and an unkindness of 

Ravens cackling. 

Then the mist parts and I see it.  A lone, crudely fashioned wooden cross stands 

Upon a small rise.   

I watch Michael stride firmly up and place the package most gently at the base

Of the cross as

Suddenly he metamorphoses, growing vast angel wings, his body dazzling with I

ntense light. 

It is now that the package animates and slowly unfolds to be replaced by a 

Naked man. 

He turns.  He is of around middle years, dark of hair and skin, with staring 

rown, seared eyes

Which project as pools of tragedy.  Well trimmed and fit, is he, with a most 

Livid purple scar

About his  neck.  He seems not to see me but bows low unto Michael who 

Bows lower still

In return.  Then  he turns again, once more to face the lonely cross, his

Self-inflicted penance,

Stands a moment as though in prayer and then with extreme dexterity, 

Clambers up upon it,

Putting his arms over the bar, through the thongs, his feet on the tiny platform.  

For a instant

Then he seems almost content but in moments looks down at Michael and 

Grimaces.  His

Voice grates, as if long unused. “This will not do, thou Servant of the Lord.  

Though I fear it,

Give me reality!” Michael’s face momentarily radiates pain as slowly he

Raises one hand. 

Nails appear then, through the Lost Soul’s hands and through the heels of his 

Feet.  As his

Life blood begins to pour forth from him, staining the cross and earth below, he 

ries out, a wild

Sound which lies within me still, a scar seared upon my soul, and then, slowly, 

He smiles. 

Michael bows once more and turns abruptly, “We must leave him now to

His own devices.” 

As he enters the mist his wings disappear and by the time we come blessedly to 

The other side

He is as when I first saw him.  I ponder aloud.  “How long,” I ask, “will you 

Leave him there?”

Suddenly the man / angel’s composure appears as a fragile thing and I see in 

Him some dread

Pain.  “I? I will not leave him there at all.  I did not put him there; How could I 

Ever do such? No,

That was his own work!  Oddly he ‘enjoys’ his guilt, revels in it.  Yet it is real 

And he believes

That he must pay the price for that one kiss.  Though he knew it not, this is the 

Payment he always

Sought.  He will stay thus for as long as he feels it is right.  He will indulge in 

His pain and sorrow

And his ultimate suffering.  The clouds shrouding and obscuring his heart and 

Soul will clear just as

This mist will part allowing him to be entertained by these simulcra and many 

Others.  Slowly

They will heal him by slashing his sense of significance.  I know not for how 

Long this most

Obdurate of souls will wallow in the mire of misery of his own making but 

When he stops

He will fall gently from the cross, depart at last and the Outer and Inner 

Worlds can reunite.”  

Puzzled but feeling his pain, and knowing that my work is done I bid him 

Farewell and return

To Atlantis just as I had arrived upon Gaia’s child.  There I make my way 

Through bustling crowds

Of men and women, elves, gnomes and creatures vast and small, ugly and 

Exquisite, some of which

I know not their name, and find myself  joyously lifted by their presence, 

Arriving at last back where

Grezeyal dines with friends among the riders.  Little time, it seems, had passed 

For them

And so I sit at the board by old friends and eat oats and honey as Squeaker 

Deigns to join us,

Nibbling titbits shared by all around, for she had quite melted their hearts.  

We Talk long through

The day and into a moonlit night and then I must take my leave, for the 

Outer World calls to me. 

Squeaker gathers herself and slides into her carry bag, asleep in an instant, and 

I climb the scales

Of my oft thought mythical beast.  Yet again his strong wings launch us 

Upward and as they take     

A regular beat I start to doze.  It is thus as I sleep that I return and wake in the 

Outer World,

Squeaker curled at my side, softly purring, Grezeyal’s trumpeted farewell still 

Echoing through

The dawning light, two owls responding to him with a haunting song, both 

Worlds in momentary harmony.