The Irish Tales

Hiatus




The Pond. How to explain it troubles me somewhat, if I'm honest.
It is at once both simplicity itself and yet more complex than Fermat's famous Last Theorem.

Y'see, contrary to popular belief, time does not pass. Nor does it heal. Nor can it be killed, or wasted, or served, or saved, or any of the other cliches.

Time simply is, then it isn't.
And when it isn't, guess what happens to it ?
No ?

Then I'll tell you : it goes to The Pond. And once there, is re-cycled.
We are talking here only of minutes and seconds, all others being perrenials and absolute.
Though as always, some are more absolute than others.

Think of it as a primeval soup, where beneath the surface, living things heave and swarm and struggle for life.
Except that, in normal times, the surface of this soup is as calm and serene as a millpond.

Seconds are absorbed, cleansed and re-born, some as Minutes.
Minutes are absorbed, cleansed and re-born, some as Seconds.

Time, at least in this sense, does indeed pass, to the mortal heart.

From The Pond comes the renewed particles needed to keep the pulse of life beating and vibrant, to sustain the mistaken belief of mortals that time is everlasting and eternal and will alway come to their rescue, somehow, some way.

Idiots. Dear, romantic idiots. I despair of you all, at times. You cling to the most idiotic beliefs simply because they comfort you in your hours of need, something which is perfectly understandable in children, but not in supposedly mature adults.

But I digress; as mentioned, The Pond is normally calm and peaceful on the surface, whilst all beneath is turmoil.

Yet now, according to Cal, it was as a raging sea, spitting and foaming with a fury which terrified him.
Frankly, it even terrified me and I haven't been scared for a long time; centuries, in fact.

Tuesday seemed unconcerned. Whilst Cal and I sat in silence, taking it in turns to suck on the bottle, she sat looking coldly from one of us to the other, until finally, she lost patience.

"Oh get a grip, you two," she snapped, which made us both sit up.

She glared at us. A mere Day ! Glaring at us ?? I could see that Cal did take this very kindly and neither did I. But before either of us could say anything, it continued.

(Sorry, but I can no longer define her as female. There is nothing feminine about a woman on a mission.)

"Stop drinking yourself into a stupour and act! We need to visit The Pond and verify the facts. Now."

So commandingly was this delivered that we both involuntarily stood up and headed for the door, before I remembered myself, nipped back and grabbed the brandy bottle, stuffing in the cork and stowing it safely in my cloak pocket.

You never know, you know. And I was right.

As we passed through pitch dark tunnels and a myriad subterranean pathways and bridges guarded by unseen chronodogs and worse, the shape of the bottle was some comfort to me. Only some.

I had been here once before, guided by a rogue dog with an addiction to Rolex and that was scary enough.
This was much, much worse.

Cal was used to it of course, but I sensed that even our cute little Day was losing its nerve a touch, which made me giggle somewhat.

Served me right then, when I smacked my head on the low roof of the final passage and emerged dazed and confused on the banks of The Pond itself.

Cal stopped as if shot. "No, no," he whispered, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

Tuesday went white.

I clutched a hand to my head and felt sick at the sight of the blood on it.
Then I looked.

The Pond was indeed a raging sea; tossing, spuming, foaming, angry.
"Wow!" I managed.

Tuesday said, "That is worrying."
Cal, horror-stricken, merely pointed at something.

Tuesday looked perplexed. "What?"

Cal turned to face us and suddenly seemed like a man drained of all hope.
"The...the level. Look at the level."

We both looked, but didn't immediately see.
"It has dropped below GMT and is receding as I speak....LOOK!"

And we did.
And we saw.

It was Tuesday who spoke first.
"It's...leaking. Time is leaking away."

Cal nodded.

I groped in my cloak and pulled out the bottle.

"Give me that," demanded Tuesday harshly.


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