The Cosmic Logos (21 page)

‘It can't have been very long since I made first contact.' Tory strode over to take a seat on the coffee table, facing the subject.

‘Four years.' Arthur jumped up on the table beside Tory.

‘She's been uninspired for four years?!' Tory was most concerned by the news.

‘I've been feeding her an outline of your story and dropping hints about what to research to prime her for your coming,' Astarleia added. ‘But with working full-time in retail to earn a living, she's too exhausted to be interested in researching early British history, Celtic mythology and earth light phenomena.'

‘Hello, dear, I'm Hazel,' said the old woman looking up from her knitting.

‘Hazel is a good part of the reason that our subject has been happily married for nine years now,' Astarleia boasted on the old woman's behalf.

The old woman waved off the credit. ‘I was married for close on sixty years myself.' She gave her credentials.

‘My marriage was a very happy one too.' Tory thought she'd best not mention how long she'd been married for, which was somewhere in the vicinity of ninety years.

‘Oh, my marriage was hell,' Hazel corrected. ‘My husband wasn't anything like our subject's fellow. He's a real sweetie.' Hazel went back to her knitting.

‘And this is Frances.' Astarleia introduced Tory to the monk, who nodded his head in greeting. ‘He's been taking care of our subject's health.'

‘I've arranged for her to start yoga soon.' Frances outlined the latest scheme he'd been working on.

‘That's terrific,' Tory encouraged. ‘So, her health is good.'

‘Not lately,' Frances was sorry to say. ‘But I am confident that it will improve greatly now that you are here.'

Tory frowned and looked to the dark annoying entity darting around their subject, blabbering over the top of their conversation. ‘What is that thing?' Tory asked, as it seemed to be completely ignoring them.

‘Nictar is a low-grade elemental who latched on to our subject when she took up smoking,' Astarleia advised Tory regretfully.

‘And it just ignores you all?' Tory commented regarding his behaviour.

‘It does not perceive us,' the Oversoul advised, ‘as it is functioning on a lower etheric level than we are.'

‘So our influence is more powerful,' Tory assumed.

‘That entirely depends on the state of mind of our subject,' Astarleia concluded, whereupon all eyes turned back to their charge.

‘Come on,' Nictar appealed. ‘It must be ten minutes since you last had a smoke. You can probably fit several in before you get so hungry that you'll have to raise that lazy carcass off the lounge and fix yourself some food. With hubby away, why even bother? Just smoke away that hunger.'

The subject looked to the packet of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

‘Oh, no, you don't.' Tory focused all her will on the subject. ‘Now you listen to me, Traci Harding. You have
to eat now, because after dinner we have some serious creating to do.'

‘Yeah, good luck,' Arthur scoffed. ‘The X-files is on next, she won't forego watching that.'

The subject placed a hand on her empty, rumbling belly and reluctantly decided to go feed herself.

Tory looked to the cat and grinned triumphantly.

‘I'll believe in miracles when I see her start writing.' The cat spirit followed the subject to the kitchen.

‘What are you doing?' The smoke-filled entity protested at being ignored and rushed through Arthur in pursuit of the subject. ‘How about a smoke whilst you cook then?'

‘Watch it, buddy.' The cat shook off the negative vibration that had moved through him and jumped up on the kitchen bench, out of the way.

‘So …' Tory turned to Astarleia, ‘where do we write?'

‘The office is up the hall,' the Oversoul advised, floating ahead to lead the way.

 

In the office was a computer, printer, telephone and fax, along with a couple of bookcases. One was full of reference books, the other with fiction novels, photo albums and files. There was also a large metal filing cabinet.

‘What's in there?' Tory motioned sideways at it, as she began to peruse the reference books.

‘Top drawer — electrical leads. Second draw — David's tour itineraries. Third draw —'

‘Tour itineraries?' Tory queried with interest. ‘Who is David?'

‘Our subject's husband. He's a concert lighting director and has toured with just about every rock band known to man.' Astarleia sounded in awe of his achievements. ‘He's somewhat of a technical whiz. Modern technology just astounds me,' she confessed. ‘Let alone understanding how it works. He's destined for great things and is bound to be helpful to our cause.'

‘I'd say so.' Tory smiled at the wonderstruck Oversoul and looked back to the books. ‘He's going to design the jackets of our books.'

Astarleia was pleased by the news and surprised that Tory would be aware of such an event before she was. ‘How do you know that?'

‘Oh, an angel told me.' Tory's smile turned to a cheeky grin.

‘The other two drawers are filled with files of paperwork, information and redrafts of Traci's film projects.' Astarleia got back to Tory's original query about the filing cabinet. ‘I think that's why she avoids this room, as it reminds her of past failures.'

‘Well, we'll not fail this time,' Tory assured the Oversoul. ‘She's got a mighty fine collection of reference books here, some truly cosmic reading.' Tory looked to Astarleia, knowing this must be due to her influence.

‘We do our best.' The Oversoul accepted the intended compliment graciously.

‘Do any of these books make mention of Maelgwn of Gwynedd?'

‘A couple of the Arthurian books do, but they are very obscure references,' Astarleia was sorry to say.

‘Not to worry,' Tory stated confidently. ‘We have a
whole chapter to write before we need to make reference to Maelgwn and his knights. She's already got a book on earth light phenomena, and that ought to serve as inspiration enough for the first big scene.'

‘Do you really think you can get her writing tonight?' Astarleia wanted to believe it, but after the last four years of inaction she feared Tory was being a little ambitious.

‘Yes, I do,' Tory said surely, as she schemed away in her head. ‘And tomorrow she will be so inspired and eager to pursue the tale that she will go to the library and find the texts she needs to learn about Maelgwn.'

‘But she has to work tomorrow?' Astarleia informed, not wanting to be a nuisance.

‘Then we'll go to the library at lunchtime.' Tory shrugged off the problem and Astarleia burst into a huge smile.

‘I'm so glad you've come, Tory,' said the Oversoul sincerely. ‘I have a feeling you're going to be a very good muse and I am extremely thankful for your aid.'

Tory dragged herself away from her plotting to assure her new associate, ‘It is I who am thankful to you, for giving me the means to work out my karmic debt to this dimension.'

The subject entered the office, crunching on a piece of grilled cheese on toast and began to peruse her non-fiction books.

‘She's quite psychic this one,' Tory commented aside to Astarleia, who nodded.

‘Thus the ease with which she perceives our suggestion. Still, she hasn't been this receptive in a while.' When their charge selected the earth light book
from the shelf and sat down at the desk with it, Astarleia kissed Tory's cheek.

Tory was trying not to appear too stunned herself. ‘Why not switch on the computer and bring up a blank file?' She moved in closer to egg their subject on. ‘Just in case you want to take some notes.' Tory winked at Astarleia as the writer reached for the ‘on' switch.

‘Hey, the X-files is starting.' Arthur came romping up the hall to see where everyone had got to and was bowled over to find his soon-to-be owner in the office. ‘Well, bugger me … a miracle.'

‘Shhh!' Tory and Astarleia stressed at once.

The writer hesitated from switching on the computer when she noted the haunting theme music of her favourite show wafting up the hallway. She closed the book and stood to leave.

‘Forget the television,' Tory appealed. ‘I'm offering you a trip to the Dark Ages, complete with handsome princes and knights, castles, dragons, Merlins, time travel and other Otherworldly mysteries.'

‘Go on, write.' Arthur attempted to undo his interruption. ‘It's only a repeat anyway.'

The writer sat down again, and licking her fingers in the wake of her cheese grill, she switched on the computer.

‘Oh, haven't you given up on that ridiculous project yet?' Nictar appeared on the writer's shoulder. ‘You got a D in English for Christ's sake. You're never going to be a writer.'

‘Is there some way to dismiss that thing?' Tory
inquired, as she watched the writer rise and leave the room.

‘The only way is to allow her to do as he wants,' Arthur replied. ‘He's as quiet as a mouse when she's smoking.'

‘Nictar telepathically perceives stimulation from our subject when she smokes, and he concentrates very hard to do so,' Astarleia clarified. ‘The only other way to be rid of Nictar is if our subject stops smoking altogether and she's not very disposed towards that idea.'

The TV switched off and a haunting Celtic melody began to waft through the apartment.

‘Now that's more like it,' Tory said with feeling. The melody created just the right mood for their tale.

The writer re-entered the office carrying an ashtray, cigarettes, lighter and a cup of tea, all of which she placed on the desk.

‘Oh, for heaven's sake will you please have a smoke!' Nictar followed the writer back to the desk.

‘Put us all out of our misery, will you, Trace,' Arthur insisted, jumping up onto the desk where he could check out the action.

‘Arthur, we do not encourage her,' Astarleia scolded sweetly.

‘I know.' The cat watched as the writer created a new file. ‘But constant chatter makes me crazy!'

The writer, faced with a blank page, reached for a smoke and lit up. Nictar gave a satisfied sigh and shut up.

Frances and Hazel appeared in the office and were quietly delighted to see the new muse was on the case.

‘All right then, let us work.' Tory manifested a copy of the not-yet-written novel in her hand and the book
opened at her mental command. ‘Chapter One, The Stones,' she read.

SC 1. EXT. SACRED STONE CIRCLE/ENGLAND. EVENING. The writer typed and then paused.

‘Oh, no.' Tory had forgotten about this little snag.

‘Listen to me, Traci, my sweet. This story has to be a book, not a film.' Astarleia intervened to assert her influence. ‘No more waiting for other people to give the nod. If we write a book, our success rests entirely upon our own shoulders. It's high time you took control of your destiny … fortune does favour the brave, after all.'

‘What the hell,' the writer decided, deleting what she'd typed. ‘Screenwriter, author, who cares,' she shrugged, ‘as long as I'm getting paid for doing it.'

‘That's the spirit!' Tory gave a cheer as the writer typed, Chapter One, and then paused. ‘The Stones,' Tory prompted.

‘But what Stones?' The writer looked at her reference books and pulled one off the shelf that detailed the sacred stone circles of Ancient Briton.

‘Is the King's Men stone circle featured therein?' Tory asked the Oversoul.

‘Yes.' With a wave of Astarleia's hand the book fell from the writer's grasp and landed open on the floor to the section that featured the said site.

After checking out the location of the King's Men stones in Oxfordshire on a map of the ancient world, the writer decided that the site would suit her tale well. She'd visited several stone circles whilst in the UK and knew well enough what the atmosphere of such sites felt like.

‘Now to give my warrioress a name,' the writer
mumbled, reaching for a little booklet titled
What To Name the Baby
.

‘Tory,' Astarleia advised her subject. ‘Look under “T” names.'

‘No, not Tori.' The writer picked up on the thought and rejected it. ‘There's a chick on a TV soap called Tori and she gives me the shits.'

Tory laughed, familiar with the show her subject was talking about. ‘Why not spell Tory with a Y then?'

The subject placed the book aside seeming rather pleased with this solution. ‘Yes, with a Y. I like that, it's more masculine … more befitting my character's warrioress nature.' The writer sat forward and placed her fingers on the keyboard to begin.

‘As evening cast its shadow across the horizon …' Tory began to relay her tale and all present fell silent to listen, bar Nictar.

‘Any chance of another smoke?'

Six hours later, in the wee hours of morning, six pages of text scrolled past the writer's eyes and filled them with tears of relief. ‘This is really good,' she decided, referring to how stimulated she felt, rather than to what she'd written, although that wasn't bad either. ‘I want to keep going, but …' She glanced at the clock on the wall that was telling her that she should have been in bed hours ago.

‘Got any holidays owing at work?' Tory, who was still raring to go, questioned.

‘I could probably get a couple of weeks off,' the subject posed, inspired by the idea only a moment. ‘But I'd have to book them in advance,' she resolved
sounding disappointed that she couldn't award her new story all of her time and energy straightaway.

‘Then book your time off,' Tory urged enthusiastically. ‘We have some serious researching that we can do until then.'

‘A holiday and a research trip to the library, is exactly what the doctor ordered,' the writer decided, saving her work and switching off the computer for the night.