"Atop the mountain,
your legacy is buried in white sheets
of horizon; circling
mounds of precarity."
-Reese N. Liese
Why climb a mountain?
There is a sense of glory in it, certainly. You hear those tales of the first to Mount Everest, planting their flag at the peak to signify not only the height of human achievement they'd so physically reached, but also to boast of their skill forevermore. Hear them saying,
"See! Oh can you see! Nobody has planted their flag as high as me!"
And that was that, for a time, until jealousy set in.
I must call it jealousy, for what else it provoked by waylay boasting? It's the sort of thing that I must imagine deeply grinds the nerves of some, interrupting idle talk all,
"Oh would you look at the weather we were having…"
"Weather? Let me tell you of the blizzards up on Everest."
Or perhaps,
"Eh Jim, how's the wife?"
"Stunning ever- say did I ever tell you that I left a picture of her up there on Everest?"
Or,
"It was a long one, and she trialed through the birth, but gosh is he the cutest little thing."
"Totally… It reminds me of that fateful day we reached the top. I reckon it's close to how childbirth feels… The sore legs, the bated breaths, all cumulating in ripping that flag from the virginal womb of my pack-"
But I get past my self. What I mean to say is that if something is worth boasting about, you're right in your way to make others want to do it themselves to shut you up. And would you believe it? That occurred, and the glorious magic of taking the sorry corpus we all carry clumsily up the top of a massive pile of rocks got less and less so. Nowadays, all it takes is hiring a Sherpa and they'll carry you up on their back! What honor. What glory. Plant your body full frozen in the side of the mountain and get back to me.
So, why climb a mountain?
Well if not for glory it must be something, and that something—I'd bet—is hidden just under the surface of that hearty boasting tradition. A thing missing, perhaps, in this age of information we find ourselves in now. A time so drab… Your city is fully mapped. The seas are flat. The skies are charted. It's a dream of exploration, true discovery, stepping onto the frigid peaks, and further, taking another step—foot free from the earth—and tempting what gods you may hold dear to lease you fly.
Would there be any other reason to run to the hills? Why else boast of the highest peaks?
For legacy? Oh what's that—The fella full frozen in the side of the mountain got back to me. He says your legacy is shit. No, you want to be up there because it's not here. You want to be up there because it was somewhere people hadn't been. You want to climb the mountain to be free.
And that's why I climbed the mountain.
And that's why he's there.
"His head was that of a falcon,
his body lion brute;
but of qualities I could do without:
the tangents, I've no doubt."
-Reese N. Liese
And it wasn't Everest, to be clear. But to keep a long story short, I was promised a Griffin at the top of a mountain, and atop a mountain I did find him. And find him, well. Put some emphasis on that line:
"find him"
Because I didn't.
He more found me, in distress—barely conscious after a poorly chosen grip didn't quite settle the right way—, and if I could ever describe the sight of his wings to my fading eyes. Speak nothing of angels and their trumpets! I'm not faithful, but In the dim, He was holy.
Waking found me next, and was much less courteous than my new host. Try as he may, you can only do so much with claws and a beak to staunch fresh flowing blood embrittled by cold, nor properly set a jutting bone from its distinct—though lesser in my view to mine—desire for freedom atop the mountain. My body would have to suffer. What he could do though was nestle me gently in the warm of his little bore in the mountainside atop a bed of loose feathers. It was black with old blood, yes, but only partly. One must appreciate small comforts in times of need. After all, I would need that teetering hope at the front of my mind as I mustered,
"When can we go?"
He looked at me sideways—as a bird headed fellow must do—and I would like to say I intuited a sense of bafflement in his inhuman expression as it met me—if such intuition is not only self-centered human's delusion—but he did quickly reply,
"Excuse me? You're in no condition, certainly."
"I'd rather not-" I cough, "dawdle."
The Griffin paced a half circle, musing,
"To go at all you must be able to hold yourself up."
"But-"
"I will not carry you by claw again. Undignified, for one."
"Of course… Sorry about that."
"It's no object. Life precedes dignity, and I am a courier by trade."
"So when?"
The Griffin approached and prodded my leg.
"I have called a friend to mend this. In the interim, we will share tales."
"Share?"
"I will do most of it, it is likely. But it will pass the time nonetheless."
I paused.
"I shall begin then?"
I nodded.
"Don't give him an in."
-Reese N. Liese
"Where to start… Where to start… Oh yes!
Once in a different while and when, atop a distant precipice and below it too at once, lived the lord of all skies and seas alike. Stalwart well, she stood high and tall above all she reigned, and she reigned well, for all she saw was hers to command. Alas she had not the many eyes to practice omniscience, so she sat in her Mirror's palace, a wonder so intricately designed that she may see any of infinite views within the radius of the slightest turn. One might think this notion impossible, but none of these doubters number within her folk, for none could reject the weight of her influence as it emanated from all corners of the land.
It's actually a very interesting story how this palace came to be! I came to know how as it told to me by a wayward vassal of the Lord who took a stint of their eternity to master the artistry of illusions. And I say a stint, as you'll find he was not a master when he started his tenure! Rather, he was caught in quite a contrived lie that I wont dare repeat for fear of libel.
Anyhow, being a being who was so suddenly thrust into the pursuit of illusionry, he dug for any possible thread unto how he might master the art, and learned this:
The key to illusion is the mirror.
He set his mind to mirrors at that very moment, but it would not be till years later that the true reason for their relevance, as he told me such, would become clear.
But one must ask- What of the mirror? Say, I have one in my own home and it's always done me good! As benign as an item could be, just for seeing. No tricks, no nonsense. Just light.
It's this very benignity assumed, unquestioned, that unfurls into an essence of twisting and makes its home within the mirror. Be it the calmest lake or a stray glass, one turns their eye to its borrowed light with the expectation that it is returning a truth that otherwise would be veiled. The vampiric exemplify this: The reason you fail to see a vampire through a mirror is that it itself is constructed from lies- but where was I.
Yes, in working to master the form of the mirror, this acquaintance of mine; Glace by name, was tasked by an eternal master of the illusory arts to create a perfect mirror. He worked day and night to this end, and brought to the master a myriad of his finest works. Silver, gold, iron, all polished to perfection, glasses forged with magic and without, to say simply, he perused every facet and ironed out every imperfection. Still, upon every encounter, where he'd show masterwork after masterwork to the eternal master of the art, he was always found to flaw.
And how frustrating this was! So toilsome was the repeated practice that Glace took upon the habit of venting his frustrations to all who would listen within The First-Dive-Above-The-Sea at the very edge of his lord's domain. Complain as he did, he quickly became the ire of most of the regular patrons, but he was never turned away. Such privileges are afforded to those who pay in full and more. Such are the privileges of a lordly patronage.
And I must say, The First-Dive-Above-The-Sea was well in need of his patronage, mostly for matters relating to the local politique. As it happens, though she was a benevolent lord, The Queen of Eyes—the lord I mentioned just before who lived in the Mirror Palace; yet to be built—was quite domineering over her folk. It happens when you must commit all your attention to what can be seen with just ones eyes, the undiluted pressure of purpose chars so deeply unto the subject of view that it struggles not to melt into inaction. And what was she to do? Look away from those wonderful subjects she'd deemed as her own? This could not be accepted, and so, she deigned to have her palace built.
Strain and struggle embodied this early pursuit, aimlessly grasping for worldly materials that could construct her point-of-view, but she simply could not manage. In a bout of fits, she ended up crying out to the world, begging for a being that could wax her woes, and answering came Glace. I dictate thusly from the Lord,
"Glace? Glace?
You go by the name Glace?
Enter my view
so I may assess you!"
"I cannot my liege,
as you please,
for the subjects you lead
in your view
cannot depart from you.
If a tool's what you wish,
to oblige I may quick,
but now only if I can pass through!"
"Glace? Glace?
I see it must so.
But how will you help me
if I cannot assess you?"
"I assure you my liege,
as my name is Glace,
that my help will mend all,
or all know I an ass."
"Glace? Glace?
By your name, Glace?
A Glace tool for the vast!
Tarry not,
I won't last,
but I wish you well pass!"
"A Glass tool you insist?"
"A Glace tool I insist!
I trust this will not be missed?"
"Indeed, yes fast,
and for you, this Glass will last!
But at last, I pass."
And going as this was, Glace, though burying himself in an auspicious employment, he had equally buried himself in a lie. To promise a perfect glass to the Lord, especially one that would last, was no small bargain, and so it must be understood why amongst his continued frustrations with the eternal master of the art, he still persisted.
Though persistence is of little object to such a being that lives within eternities, as Glace was. He needed not worry for food through famine, or safety through war. He needed not worry for many things at all, save for the Lord, great Queen of Eyes, who he knew for certain could best him.
This was a resentment he expressed to me quite thoroughly in his personal retelling, in some modern parlance, as a "problematic power dynamic" in the workplace. I tend to counter that he knows little of true work, and that he should fly a day in my wings. But no he says. His eternal form is not nearly malleable enough for that, he says. Pish posh.
Anyhow. After so many rejected and shattered mirrors offered to the eternal master of the art, Glace finally broke before him, screaming and crying and destroying a number of precious pieces that stood in the master's own workshop. Sitting among the piling remnants of old but perfect lies, he could not distinguish his own from the master's at all. He was put besides himself, seeing them just moments ago, there was always a clear distinction between the perfection of the masterworks to his own. So how could they blend so finely together?
Indeed, it was all lies. To reach perfection in a mirror is a fool's game. No matter how much one tries, no matter how much one polishes, or however much they curse or bless the silver, there is no way to reach absolute reflectivity. Instead, the mirror must embody its lie.
Avoiding the embarrassment of lingering, Glace bolted from the workroom at once and set to the job of building his first true mirror. Fervent fury stood embodied at once, and this constant work possessed him for 3 full nights.
And then a pause. He realized at once an important truth: He could work years on end perfecting an untested theory, or he could put it to action and vent his frustrations at the same time.
This of course meant another of his regular trips to The First-Dive-Above-The-Sea. Though in previous visits he had remained outside of the establishment to dodge the gaze of his Lord—complaining still loud enough to be known by the patrons, of course—he now donned the perfect lie he wished his mirrors to embody and stepped in.
And nobody noticed—not even the Queen who watched on eternal over the dive and its folk that she loved—for the lie was that he wasn't there.
With that, it was as though the mirror completed itself. Its creator needed not to return to the eternal master, for they were sure of its efficacy beyond measure, and soon came before the Queen of Eyes. As it followed,
"Glace? Glace?
Is this your tool Glace?
Have you brought me a Glass
to soon see?"
And there was silence.
"Glace? Glace?
I see all at last
though I turn,
my people steadfast
do last!"
And there was silence.
"Glace! Glace!
I must recognize your task
this spell you have cast
release it for me!"
And there was silence.
And the Queen of Eyes cried out for Glace for a long while. Once this failed, she soon began to use her perfect glass to attempt to locate him, turning it about the sky and seas, and all the domain she may soon reign freely over,
in their beauty:
she saw all the islands of the far archipelago,
she saw all the griffons of the highest peaks,
she saw all the smallest stink-caps of the deepest forests;
but no Glace.
Over time her palace grew and grew. Mirror by mirror her constant surveillance became total. Vision by vision, she conquered anything that eyes could see, but all were free of the voice she knew.
Eons have passed from then,
The Queen of Eyes remains at her point-of-view in the Mirror Palace,
and her eyes have found all that may exist but Glace."
"I'm on my way to deliver the last mirror now,
but if you'll have me,
I'd prefer someone else place the capstone."
-Unattributed
He looked at me intently.
"It's your turn now."
"I guess it is…"
I stretched. Then I paused.
There was no pain. I quickly stood up.
"My friend came and went during my telling."
"I hope you didn't mind the intrusion?"
I paused again, checking across my body for any wayward blemishes.
"Not at all."
I tested my legs again. Spry.
"You know what?"
He turned his head 45 degrees.
What is there to know?"
"Since I'm all fixed up already, why don't we head out?"
He looked almost aghast.
"What about your story?"
"I can tell it along the way, can't I?"
He contemplated for a moment.
"You will have to speak loudly, but that is amenable."
"Inflight entertainment will be ideal for Flyover Country."
"It's a deal then?"
"A deal indeed."
"I never say no to a captive audience."
-The Lampeter Griffin
