Sunday, February 24, 2008

Check Your Prophets (fanfic) by Jonathan Scott-Farley





*this fanfic was scanned and there may be some errors in text translation. If you find any, please leave a comment and the webmaster will correct it.

Far away from the capital city of Sullom Voe, in the middle of
a dry sea is the island of Woz. Now that the sea is dry,
'island' is a bit of a misnomer. Mountain would be a more
accurate description. As the tides receded, the people of
Wozport cut steps in the rock ever downwards to the waters.
Building their jetties of Wozma wood lower and lower until the
tides no longer came and the boats were burned. Today, to
reach the precipitous heights of Wozport, you have to climb
four hundred feet up narrow steps hewn out of the mountain's
rock. Wozport, once famous for its elegant cuisine such as its
renowned delicacy mammelplatz, until recently was a largely
forgotten place in the middle of nowhere.
Once men would prove their bravery to their prospective
mates by diving off Wozport pier, and swimming to one of the numerous jetties before they were attacked by the legendary
Murla fish. The famous Wozport dive became more hazardous the
lower the waters sank, but ardent males were sticklers for
tradition, and wouldn't give up the custom lightly. The
population declined.
Today the four hundred foot Wozport dive is into a
waterless sea, there are no Murla fish any more, but that
hasn't improved the survival rate. The dive is now generally
considered to be the most heroic way of committing suicide if
your prospective mate has turned you down. Others think it is
just plain vulgar exhibitionism.
There is no housing shortage in Wozport, and there is no bus service either. Old men sit on the veranda of Grakharl's Wine Bar and take refuge in talk of the good old days before these young'uns were in their eggs.
The young'uns were so bored that they'd hang around on the corner, throwing bottles at Grakharl's window to see if the old dragon would come out and rile them. When he didn't, they got so riled anyway, they would throw more bottles or find a corner on their own and practise swearing. The girls would sit on the walls kicking their heels just to see what would happen, or form into bitching circles and pick on the outcasts. This was a good game, you had to get enough like minded bitchers around you to be safe. One of the best at this game was Drognar, who was voted by all her classmates as being "the one most likely to be had by the leader." Unfortunately, at that point, the scribe ran out of room in the yearbook, and Drognar left for the bright lights of capital city with this thought in mind. What her classmates really meant was "for lunch". Still, Drognor is not part of this story, and whether he ate her in the end isn't important, but our glorious leader does like his meat well travelled.
Anyway, you'd wonder how this dusty streeted town halfway up a mountain could survive with no commerce. The answer to that came from the town council. The honourable treasurer Glik had been skulking in his home for two weeks before the council meeting, attempting to couch some simple words in accounting persiflage. His statement to the council was to be something along the lines of:
"Revered members of the council, honoured Elders and Matrons, For a time not below fifty planetary rotations, the town expenditure has exceeded its revenue, and we now find ourselves in a negative finance situation." Of course, what this really meant was: "Voted members, members who have a seat on the council because they did something heroic in the past that no one can remember, and egg layers. We're bankrupt." But to say it that plainly was a sure-fire way of having your head separated from your body. What Treasurer Glik needed was a nice governmental piece of techtalk, so for two weeks, he poured through government legislation for a method of saying that the town was bankrupt without saying that the town was bankrupt. He didn't come up with a word, but he did come up with a cure. "Revered members of the council, honoured elders and matrons. For fifty planetary cycles, Wozport has been in a financial wilderness, but no longer. I have found a solution to our problems, a new industry to replace the Wozport fisheries." Every member of the council remained quiet, not one apathetic mouth was raised in enquiry. After all, having work to do would spoil their routine of sitting outside of Grakharls and reminiscing. Grik continued.
"Best of all, this new industry will not affect our lifestyle at all." Now that was better, the matrons looked up from their knitting.
"All right said Chairman Phting, what is this new industry." "Religion "
"What?"
"Religion, all we have to do is institute a position of town luminary, and watch the money roll in."
"Ughh, that means nasty unwashed traveller's with geckos on bits of string wandering around our nice clean streets," said one xenophobic matron.
"Homeless invaders sleeping in doorways," said another.
"No, No, No!" Shouted Glik, trying to regain attention, "not
at all. We don't have to advertise our luminary, and we won't
lay on anything like transport for people seeking
enlightenment, and they damn sure won't walk across the dry
sea to find us."
"So no one will come," said the chairman, "no tourists, no
pilgrims, no one?"
"exactly," said Glik
"Doesn't sound like much of an earner to me," said the
chairman.
"but a Lamasery that's income drops below the cost of
existence qualifies for government subsidy. All we have to do
is prove that every business in the town is dependant on
income from the pilgrim trade, and the government will give us
all lovely handouts without our having to do anything."
"1 must say, I rather like the sound of that," said the
chairman. The plan was put to the vote, and passed
unanimously.
The next task was to find a luminary for the town. This
wasn't as difficult as you would think. Auditions for the
post were held in the town hall the following week. Many
prospective candidates were turned away as the auditions were
so over subscribed. The winning contender was Mrl Tilnok of
South side buildings. He had once been a Garla vet of the
third circle, but since the sea had dried up there were no
Garlas left. He walked into the audition room swathed in his ceremonial third circle veterinary robes which he had died black and painted the symbol of the eternal egg on.
"Hmm, " muttered the chairman, "comes with his own robes. What is your name?"
"The answer to that my son, you must find within yourself," said Tilnok.
"ho ho!" Exclaimed the chairman, and where do you come from" "My son," said Tilnok, "These answers you must find within yourself."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, han Went the council.
"All he has to do is repeat that if we ever get a visitor, and that's sure to keep seekers after truth away," said Glik. Tilnok was awarded the post on the spot.
Above the town on the pteranodon cliffs, a cave was hollowed out as the official audience chamber of the Sage of Wozport. A hidden elevator was also constructed so that Tilnok and his retinue would be able to get up there quicker than the seekers, who would have to clamber up the steep cliffs in true seeker fashion, (should any actually come). Every shop visage in Wozport was converted to an establishment that sought its profits from the passing seeker trade. Pilgrim trinkets shops, painted souvenirs of the cliffs of the sage. Authorized eating establishments purveying refreshments nfor Seekers only". No trade came, no money was taken over any counter, and the government slipped them a big bung of cash to keep the religious establishment going, after all, we have to preserve our traditions, don't we?
The council continued to sit in front of the wine bar reminiscing about the old days, and the kids practised swearing on the street corners just as they had always done. For two years, the town continued in a government subsidised lethargy, until one day the chairman came shouting at the council. He was so annoyed, he didn't even wait for the sunthly meeting, he came right out in the street and shouted. A despicable display to be seen, especially coming from a council member.
"What's got into you?" said Glik.
"I'll tell you, shall I. You're stupid plan has got us a visit from the government's crack squadron of revenue inspectors. They have a habit of shooting people whose book keeping isn't up to date."
"What are you talking about?"
"The government inspector of prophets will be doing a snap inspection, sometime in the next two months."
"So what? All we have to do is look like we're running the town for tourists that aren't coming any more, and show empty account books. We just have to show we are expecting an upturn in the industry at any moment."
"If we don't get shot, it'll be a bloody miracle," screamed the chairman storming off. Glik clasped his hands together in true meditation manner;
"for miracles, you must look within yourself," he said, making a passable impression of Tilnok. "Hey Kids," he shouted at the Young'uns who were trying out a new game called 'Kick the Curb'. "You all have to pretend you are impoverished urchins preying on the tourists and seekers, or you'll end up decidedly dead. If you don't play along, I'll make sure you are prematurely dead! Now get to the town hall and we'll give you some roles to play." The kids showed how much they had been practising swearing and making gestures, Glik walked over to the ring leader who flashed his face in defiance. Glik picked him up and threw him over the pier rail.
"Who's going to miss a chameleon?" He said, "You can never tell where the little sods are any way! Now get to the town hall, all of you!" The children ran.
For three weeks, the town got into their parts. Tilnok adjourned to his cave and practised giving sage advice. The children ran around trying to sell pilgrimage badges to each other and the owner of 'The Seeker's Rest' had to learn how to cook again, very quickly ..
At the end of the third week, a cruiser fell out of the sky and parked in the town square. For two minutes it remained quiet while the townsfolk looked on wondering if they would end up seriously dead, or just marginally decapitated. The cruiser had emblazoned on it's side 'Sullom Voe Government, Prophet Returns Department." The hatch opened and Glik stepped up to make the ritual obesence that it is well to perform to any government official, just in case.
"Salutations," said the officer that got out, "I am Inspector General Garlik, and I am here to look at your books." One of the youths ran up to the inspector and took his photograph. "Honoured Pilgrim," said the child, "it is a shame to have to
.ask you for ten Krivs for this souvenir photograph of your visit to Wozport, but if I don't, my dad will beat me!" Garlik smiled at the child, reached into his pocket, then shot him.
"Now, if we could get on, my time is precious,"
"Certainly," said Glik, "I have assembled all of the business account books in the town hall, if you•11 follow me."
"No," said Garlik, "I'm not from the accounts department, I'm from Prophet Returns, I'm here to inspect your prophecy
accounts."
"My what?"
"I'm here to examine your sage's prophecies. I hope you have been keeping a record."
"Of course," said Glik, "we will have to go up and see the town luminary though. Would you like to climb the ritual cliff face, or shall we go up the newly installed steps for the disabled?"
"Cut the crap, we'll go in the elevator you've built yourselves." Glik swallowed hard and waved the inspector to follow him.
Journeying in the elevator with Garlik could not be described as being a relaxing journey for Glik, who felt that at any moment he might be embarking on a more metaphysical journey upwards.
"Why do you want to inspect the prophecy returns anyway?" he asked, trying to make small talk.
"To make sure your sage is not saying anything immoral or
illegal of course."
"But prophecy is prophecy I thought," said Glik naively.
"Yes, and prophecy that predicts the downfall of our glorious leader is treason. It is punishable with some interesting methods of Death we've developed." Glik swallowed, being an accountant, he knew nothing about religious book keeping procedure, he just knew about money. His only hope was that Tilnok would get blamed and shot for the absence of accounting instead of him.
The elevator doors opened and they passed from behind a curtain into a cave that had been soothingly decorated in the most livid purple that its decorator, Loxen, had been able to find. Glik wanted to throw up, the colour was so sickening, but the inspector seemed to approve. Tilnok sat at the end of the cave chamber on his luminary's throne, hands clasped in meditation.
"Greetings my son," he said, "you have travelled far, I am prepared to prophesy for you now."
"Drop it," said Garlik, "where are the books?"
"The answer to that my son, lies in yourself." Garlik drew a gun and aimed it at Tilnok.
"I said drop it! Where are the books?" Tilnok shrugged,
"over there in the drawer," he said indicating a Wozma wood bureau to his left. The only piece of furniture in the cave other than his throne. Garlik walked over to it and pulled the drawer open. Inside were two ledgers, Garlik took out. the first and examined it:
"First prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Second
prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Third Prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Is that the only prophecy you hand out?"
"The answer to that my son ... " Garlik pointed the gun.
"No the long prophecies are in the other ledger." Garlik took the book out and examined it.
"But its empty," he shouted.
"Well, there's been no one worth prophesying for, yet."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Garlik.
"Come over here," replied Tilnok, "make the ritual devotion
and I will tell your fortune."
"Ho, ho," laughed Garlik, moving over and flipping his dorsal
in respect.
"You have come to Woz looking for evidence of Zonists, and
will go away angry because Zonism isn't followed here. But do
not be upset, when you get back to the capital city, you will
find you have been promoted, the leader has a new job for
you."
"Ho, ho, that's rich," said Garlik. Tilnok continued.
"Many years ago, the leader's scientists discovered a planet,
far away, and today, they return from their survey mission.
There is enough water on this planet to re-float Woz, and the
leader has decided that he wants the water. He has decided
that you should command his invasion fleet."
"What me? A prophet return's inspector?"
"Yes, you. Even now your promotion awaits you. This planet is
populated by a grotesque race of mammals who talk in a curt,
disgusting language and give themselves horrible sounding
names. Yet, the next craze to overtake Sullom Voe will be that
everyone will take upon themselves one of these names."
"That's right," interrupted Loxon, " he was telling me about
this just before you came in. I think I'll call myself
Oswald." Garlik pointed his gun and Loxon shut up.
"Always knew you were a fairy," said Glik.
"Is there any more," asked Garlik.
"Yes, you will call yourself John."

"John?" queried Garlik, "What a boring name! Make sure you
copy that prediction down in your returns," he said laughing,
"and 1111 see you in a few sunths when I return with the
device we reserve for false prophets."
Garlik left the cave, laughing all the way to his cruiser.
"How did you know about the returns books?" asked Glik.
"You didn't think I'd accept the job without doing a bit of
studying for it first, did you?"
"You realise that he'll corne back and kill you when he proves
that prophesy false, don't you?"
"It isn't false, I tell you, I've been studying. But I didn't
tell him all of it."
"What else is there then?"
"Well, the leader has only given him the post so he has
someone to blame if it goes wrong."
"Yes, and?"
"And he'll be shot by someone who used to live in this town.
You know, the girl who used to head that bitching circle. You
know, Drogna, but of course she'll have re-named herself by
then. Diana, I think it is."
"You're mad," said Glik turning to leave.
Well as you know, Garlik was promoted, and he did set out
in command of the leader's fleet. So he never did go back to
Woz. In fact, he never did get the time to tell anyone about
this amazingly accurate prediction before he left for foreign
planets. Except that is for his empathic advisor, Bragakah.
Bragakah was a very sensitive man, but easy to rile,
especially when he thought he was being duped, which isn't an especially good trait for an empathic advisor. One day, a sunth or so after the fleet had left, he decided that his life lacked fulfilment. He needed advice and direction, and who better to get it from than the sage that Garlik had raved about. Putting a sign on his door saying 'Gone for Consultation' he purchased the ritual accoutrements of a seeker. Cloak, thumb stick and satchel and set off across the dry sea basin towards Woz.
It had been seven sunths since Woz had been visited by the Department of Prophet Returns, and everything had reverted to its lethargic, apathetic norm. The kids had found a new game, it was called 'Whip the Wocket', when one of them noticed a tiny dot on the horizon. He pointed it out to the others, and over the next two days they watched it until it resolved itself into a traveller, coming their way. The Young'uns leader ran off to tell Glik. Day by day, the council stood on the pier and watched the figure approach.
"What do we do?" asked the chairman.
"The same as last time," replied Glik
"But he might be from the good sage guide" said the chairman, "if he is, we'll never get any peace."
"Then again, he might be a government spy, checking up on us. We'll just have to play it by tongue," said Glik.
Two days later Bragakah started to ascend the steps of Woz. In his journey across the dry sea, he had broken three fingers, and had set them himself. He had even wandered into a crivit patch, losing a few bites from his dorsal. When he reached the town centre, he was assaulted by urchins trying to sell him pilgrimage badges, and restaurateurs trying to force Mammalplatz on him. Bragakah ignored them all, walked to the rock face of pteranadon cliffs and began to climb. Up he journeyed, all day, pausing only on a rocky outcrop for some Grola Grass sandwiches before continuing to the cave. At twenty past dinner, he arrived, and panting heavily, entered.
Tilnok, sat in meditation on his throne, in calm reverie.
Glik stood behind, (they had used the elevator).
"You have journeyed far my son, I am ready to prophesy." Bragakah flipped what was left of his dorsal in the religious sign of respect and said;
"Oh wise one, my life lacks fulfilment. I need direction. Please tell me why I am here? What is the meaning of life?" "The answer to that, my son, lies in yourself," replied Tilnok.
"I don't believe it," cried Bragakah, his temper rising, "What did you say?"
"I said, the answer, my son, lies in yourself." Bragakah was not amused.
"I have journeyed for eight sunths across the dry sea, lost part of my dorsal to a Crivit, broken three of my fingers, and you give me that piece of Rex Shit! Tell me the meaning of life now, or I break this thumb stick over your revered ass!" "OK, OK!" said Tilnok, "You are forcing this out of me. The truth is that the meaning of life can not be found here." Bragakah stood up menacing his stick. Tilnok raised a hand in pacification. "But I can tell you where the meaning may be found."
Bragakah fell to his knees,
"Tell me oh wise one where I may find this truth."
"I hesitated in telling you because it is such an arduous
journey."
"No matter, I need to know."
"Very well. On the planet our leader has sent the fleet to,
there is a wretched land of ice and snow, and there on one
mountain top there is a tree which blooms once every hundred
years, when the snows melt. If you taste of this flower, you
will know the meaning of life. But to taste this bloom, you
have to avoid the giant creatures with vicious claws that roam
the land, and defeat the tribe who protect the tree. If you do
this, you will know the meaning of life."
"Revered sage," said Bragakah, "I will set out on this journey
today, I will find the meaning of life, or death will overtake
me in the trying."
Bragakah crawled back down the slope and set out over the dry sea back to capital city.
"What did you say that rubbish for?" asked Glik.
"He threatened me, didn't you see? Anyway, prophecy under
duress isn't lawful."
"You're getting good at this sage stuff, arenlt you."
"I try my best. Its just a pity that sometimes it is easier
for people to swallow a load of raptor dung than it is to
swallow the truth. The 'in yourself' is the only answer to
that question." Tilnok sighed and got in the elevator to go
home.
Now as it happens, it doesn't matter whether the quest he gave Bragakah was true or false, (it was false actually, but Bragakah never found out. The red dust got him first). The prophecy still did the damage that Wozport feared. Bragakah returned to capital city and before embarking on his quest to Earth, he told everyone about Garlik's true prediction and the perilous quest he was going on by the direction of this most revered of sages. The listeners told other listeners, until the whole of capital city was talking about the sage of Wozport. Seekers began to journey for advice, and when Tilnok gave one of his long predictions, it was generally accurate (he'd been practising). These seekers told other seekers until every seeker of truth was setting out to hear the wise words of the sage, which only goes to show that from a very small investment, you can get enormous prophets.
The citizens of Wozport never managed to regain their lethargic parochial life, Wozport became too busy with pilgrims and tourists, but it didn't really matter because most of them made a killing selling sucker bait to the gullible. No one noticed when the government withdrew their subsidy either, or even when they started taxing them, heavily. And that is how the little town of Wozport became the religious capital of Sullom Voe. If you stand on Wozport pier at night, the whole of the dry sea is illuminated by pilgrim campfires, and if the wind is in your direction, you might catch a sniff of the Wozma wood burning and the odour of roasting Grola Grass. On the other hand, if the wind is still, you can hear the faint strains of camp fire singsongs that the seekers of truth indulge in when they bed down for the night. Those classic pilgrimage songs that every child now learns in class such as "The Wozport sage has news for me." or "We're off to see the Lizard, the wonderful Lizard of Woz."

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