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Towards a Scheherazadeian Death

Chapter 8: Dreaming While Dawns left Hand was in the Sky

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Dawn on Arkadia is beautiful. It makes me think of earth dawns, far back before the time of pollution, global warming, overpopulation and other crimes humans have inflicted upon nature.
The glowing colours of yellow, gold & red – just draw one to the feeling how alike Arkadia & Earth are.
Yet the bursts of violet, magenta & lime green – while surreally beautiful, demonstrate that Arcadian & Earth similarities are very very superficial – Arkadia is in essence an alien world.
When the colours of dawn appear in the eastern sky, the dark just melts away, it is night no longer. Yet till the sun peeps over the horizon, till the tops of tall mountains & structures are captured by the sun’s rays, till Daybreak occurs – then neither is it day.
And in this in between state – neither night nor day, Magic happens, Arkadia begins to sing.
Beautiful as it is, it is much more than singing, it is a message, a feeling, it.. I do not have the words nor the poetry do this justice. I do not have the science to explain it – other than to say it is glorious beautiful magic.
Strangely most humans cannot hear it, yet Oratans can – they hear it so very clearly.

This song is not heard all over Arkadia – places of human habitation, well the noise & bustle of human society just drown it out.
It is clearest & purest in those beautiful wilderness places, those deserts that are clean & cool, near those giant patches of crystals that pulse with an inner light, at some quiet restful oasis amongst restful vegetation. Those wildernesses those are close to paradises.

I am in a desert now – but it is nothing like I just described. Arcadias’ song is so very muted here.
Here the air is hot dry & suffocating. The hot wind brings clouds of caustic dust. If I look to my right, in the distance, is the sea – but there is no relief in its waters, tepid and barren, if they wash the desert grime off, they just replace it with a layer of itchy caustic salts.
The vegetation is stunted and hard, poisonous & thorny – offering neither sustenance nor shade.
Nobody would choose to come to such places, my purpose is hunting Oratans – they appear immune and uncaring of discomfort and just go wherever they will.

Over the flat barren waters I can make out the tall pointed peaks of the Island of Monsters – where rich idle Arkadians go to hunt the savage wildlife – on the occasions they poke their noses out of their air conditioned all mod cons camps that is. They slaughter savage creatures to prove their superiority, or more accurately, the superiority of their arms & armour.

To my south is Arkadia’s Oil Fields – Arkadia’s magical song has given up on that hell. As well as the discomforts of the surrounding desert, there is the continuous banging & smashing of the rigs, and the intrusive petrochemical stench.
I believe the Rig is currently controlled by the Russian Mafia, whose thugs “protect” the unfortunates (probably illegally trafficked) who everlastingly trudge over the polluted grounds to pick up a few pecs of oil – out of which they must pay their “protectors” a cut for being protected.
Mind you, these protectors, while hell on wheels getting their cut, seem rather useless in guarding to miners from the occasional desperados after quick money, or Oratan raiding parties after scalps.
Honestly, those unfortunates would be better off begging for pecs on Celeste’s street corners.

While the song is muted where I am, it can still be heard in Arkadian buildings (temples?) even though they lie in ruins.
So each morning I and the local Oratans gather to listen. There is no cease fire nor treaty, Arkadia’s song is just far more important than us killing each other. And it seems that as Oratans hear its magic more clearly than I – they stay under its spell far longer, gives me time to leave with my scalp intact.
The song brings me great clarity of thought – and I wonder about Oratans & Arkadians what really happened? There is so much that just does not add up.
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