Just in case some of you aren't on the main astrology tribe. This special one can be read straight through from Aries to Pisces, or by sign. Past episodes are on my blog. Enjoy!!
Horo*Soaps Special Edition
Forecast by Fantasy! © 2007 by David Ray
Previously in the Horo*Soaps…
She certainly felt the mystical power that was welling up within her now. At the spring equinox ritual, they had all joked about what if they were really a coven of witches. Now, with everything that she and Dhanus had set in motion, Meena wondered if there was more truth to that joke than they realized. Months after the ritual, Meena and Dhanus had finally managed to trap the serpent god they had accidentally freed from the votive. But Dhanus insisted that their job wasn’t finished yet. They needed to return the Naga Votive now to the world inside the paintings, the magical dream world called Prakriti, which floated like an island in the midst of an infinite chaotic sea called the Purusha.
To this end, Meena had followed Dhanus’ instructions and created twelve unique tarot cards. Each card depicted one of her twelve friends as they existed on Prakriti. Simha was the King, of course, and Kataka was the Queen. Most of the others were part of the King’s royal court. There was the Wizard, the Messenger, the Artisan, the Jester, the Elder, and the Architect. Mesha was the Light Warrior, while Vrischika was the Dark Warrior. Meena herself was the wise Seer, while Dhanus was the Explorer. Dhanus insisted that each of them had this alternate self in this mystical other world. And in order to return the Naga Votive to its rightful place and restore the balance between Prakriti and Purusha, they had to enter this other world together. . .
The LIGHT WARRIOR (Aries)
Mesha had been preparing herself for weeks, yet still they descended upon her unexpectedly. The entire arduous journey along the Merchant Coast, and then up through the meandering Sunken Valley toward the interior of Prakriti, she had been concentrating on her singular aim. Yet now, after days of impatient waiting camped out in the Lonely Marsh where the last sightings were reported, the stinging damp slowly marring her once resplendent armor, it was as if the creatures had taken her completely unawares.
They came from nowhere, born out of the air like rain. But even rain has its parentage in clouds, Mesha thought as her hilt hand flickered. These things were born from oblivion. At once she had gone from being surrounded by gray empty waste to being immersed in a swarm of black, greasy horror.
But the King’s best warrior was not without her defenses. Her long, slender blade shone with the brilliance of the New Sun. It was crafted by the Wizard of Prakriti herself in her secret workshop, and nobody could wield it with as much practiced skill and raw fury as the Light Warrior. She hacked and sliced, flinging slimy detritus of claw and tentacle, until her sword’s glow was completely stained, its effervescence hidden beneath layers of black blood.
Amidst the chaos, Mesha soon grew more ecstatic than she had been in a long time. It had been too long since her last great battle. She had started to feel the sharp edge of her warrior spirit begin to rust, as it languished unappreciated in Prakriti’s tedious peace. The joyous toil of war, when she was only a sword’s length away from the gruesome jaws of death, was what Mesha loved best. This new violent rapture gave her the strength to best her foes, and soon she was disappointed to find all the creatures dead, lying in gory pieces around her still struggling body.
When her adrenaline drained and the veil of sweat finally cleared from her eyes, she was surprised to see a familiar human standing in her campsite, not far from where the fight had taken place. It was the King’s Messenger, a young woman named Mithuna. She looked out of place, dressed in fine linens that had not been in the marsh long enough for their vivid colors to fade. The expression on her face betrayed her shock and horror at what she had just witnessed.
“I’ve never seen the Nagasus before,” she was finally able to utter, “I heard descriptions, from the survivors, but I never thought they could be so hideous. It seems as though each one is different from the rest.”
“You heard what they can do,” Mesha spoke directly, “And still you ventured all this way alone, risking death?”
“I have means of traveling quickly through Prakriti,” Mithuna spoke, “Appearing wherever I like with but a thought. The King instructed me to come here and beckon you home. There is a more important matter that needs your attention.”
Mesha walked back to her humble camp. She found a cloth and wiped her blade until it was clean of the Nagasus blood. All this time she pondered the Messenger’s words in silence, and still they made no sense to her.
“There is something more important than fighting this infestation?”
“The Wizard believes their attacks are not random,” Mithuna explained, “To end this invasion once and for all, you must do battle against their leader and champion.”
Mesha smiled in satisfaction. Her sword was once again gleaming. Even as she sheathed it, she knew it would taste blood again soon.
The war for Prakriti had just begun.
The ARCHITECT (Taurus)
Vrishabha shifted positions on the plush sofa by the balcony, doing her best to ease the tension in her neck. Though she was a hard worker, she also liked to be comfortable, and she had furnished her royal drafting room with all the finest fixtures. She was trying to relax and enjoy the fruits of her recent accomplishments, until she realized there was nothing wrong with the sofa. She couldn’t relax only because there was still more work to be done.
She rose from her rest and crossed the room, eyes looking to a technical illustration of the King’s Palace, which nearly filled one of the massive walls in the giant drafting chamber. The imaginary structure hovered there on the wall. To Vrishabha’s artisan mind, it looked just like the real version, which hovered magically within the Purusha. The palace was not far off the narrowest tip of Prakriti, a place called the Oblivion Peninsula because it was once a spot where you could stand and be almost entirely surrounded by the enigmatic Purusha. Now, a magic bridge extended from that place to the King’s new palace. Still being built, the King’s palace was already nearly a twelfth of the mass of Prakriti itself. Vrishabha’s world, the little floating island called Prakriti, was no longer alone in the infinite chaotic sea known as Purusha.
Standing beneath its abstract representation, Vrishabha quietly contemplated the impact of the palace she stood within. Its construction represented a profound shift in the consciousness of the people of Prakriti, one which the King’s Architect, with all her geometrical genius, could barely wrap her head around.
A new idea was teasing the creative centers of that lovely head, like a feather against stone, when the Jester appeared at Vrishabha’s open door and interrupted her inspiration. Kumbha entered the room in her usual fashion, in a somersault that became a cartwheel that became an accidental careening backwards into one of Vrishabha’s drafting tables. As papers flew in every direction and the dust found its resting place once again, Vrishabha helped the Jester to her feet with a smile.
“The King requests her court to assemble at once!” Kumbha declared, once she could get the words out, “Would the Architect like an escort?”
“Thank you kindly,” Vrishabha replied with a demure smirk, and held out her arm for the Jester to take. Together they walked down the bejeweled passages to the great hall of the King.
The great hall opened up on one end in the direction of Prakriti. From the objective view of the detached floating palace, the King could always view her humble kingdom. The weather that the Wizard had created on the peninsula was always mild, and the view from the palace was of the sweet, temperate mountains of the Green Fold, Prakriti’s main mountain range, which traced the twisting span from Oblivion Peninsula to the shorelines of the Fertile Delta.
The Jester pranced forward until she fell upon the left side of the King’s ornate throne. The Elder stood on the right side, looking more comfortable resting on her old gnarled staff than the Architect had felt on her luxurious sofa.
“This creation of yours is truly beautiful,” the Elder addressed her with gentle frankness, “Too bad it will all be destroyed. Alas, you can’t hold on to anything.”
“Enough with your pessimism, old woman,” the King irately declared, “We have urgent matters to discuss!”
Hushed murmurs rang out among all the King’s attendants and advisors, while Vrishabha wondered what could cause the King to grow so angry that she would speak harshly towards the Elder, whom Vrishabha knew the King respected and loved deeply.
The MESSENGER (Gemini)
“Where is my Messenger?” The King’s resonant voice filled the silence of the great hall, and her many attendants all looked around, searching for Mithuna.
“Here I am,” Mithuna spoke suddenly, astonishing everyone with her mercurial magic. One moment she had been absent from the hall, and the next moment she was standing amongst them, her eyes as bright and her timber as cheerful as everyone remembered. Her colorful robes were only slightly stained by the gray mire of the Lonely Marsh, which she had been standing in only moments ago.
The King smiled, a ray of light breaking through the storm of her anxiety on her troubled face. “Did you find the Light Warrior?” she asked.
“Yes, Mesha the Light Warrior was in the Lonely Marsh doing battle with the Nagasus, as you instructed her to do,” Mithuna replied, “She has received your new orders, and is making haste back to the palace.”
“Perhaps…” spoke the Wizard. Her voice was soft and quiet, but when she spoke the other members of the royal court always listened. She was as eloquent as Mithuna, but could say the same thing with fewer words. Mithuna had always admired her. “Perhaps it is time to reveal the truth of the Nagasu attacks.”
The King gazed out beyond the wide expanse of the great hall, to the island of Prakriti, the only home she ever knew. She had been entrusted with its safety, and Mithuna could sense it was a heavy load. She sighed, saying, “As always, you speak the truth, Kanya. My friends, the Wizard has reason to believe that the champion of the Nagasus, the one behind their attacks, is the Dark Warrior herself.”
“Vrischika?” Mithuna gasped, unable to discipline her tongue like Kanya, “But she serves only the Queen of Prakriti. Why would the queen endorse the Nagasu invasion? There is peace between the courts of the King and Queen. Prakriti is the Queen’s home too. She would never put it in danger.”
Mithuna stopped speaking at last, thinking about that fragile peace, and the many times she had traveled back and forth between the palace of the King and the Queen’s sanctum high in the dark peaks of the Green Fold, delivering messages. The Messenger had bounced to and fro so many times with her uncanny ability that to her they did not seem like two separate places. But now, under the shadow of the Nagasu threat, the small floating island of Prakriti seemed to be tearing apart at the seams.
“We do not want to jump to conclusions,” the King sternly spoke, “Wizard, is there any other option but to engage the Queen’s warrior in battle?”
The Wizard looked grim, and for the first time Mithuna thought she caught a hint of remorse in her dour countenance. “No, I’m afraid there isn’t. We have already spoken with the Queen and she denies any involvement. There is no doubt in my mind that Vrischika is behind these attacks, and the Nagasus threaten everything we have worked to create on Prakriti. This palace…”
Kanya looked around, and it was as if her mind was momentarily lost in the labyrinthine passages of the giant palace, which floated impossibly off the far tip of Prakriti. For a moment, Mithuna no longer recognized her dear friend and confidant. It was as if a nameless fear had taken over her body.
“Let me go speak with her!” Mithuna appealed above a murmur of surprise.
“That would be extremely dangerous,” the King said plainly.
“And foolish!” said Kanya, voice rising uncharacteristically.
Mithuna’s eyes implored. “Let me go on this mission of peace for you, my King.”
The King looked firmly into those eyes, granting her courage. “So be it.”
The QUEEN (Cancer)
Standing on the balcony of her mountain sanctuary, Kataka looked to the infinite Purusha. Though it was a constant chaos of shifting color and light, inhabited by random debris of formless matter, she had always found it to be deeply calming. Gazing into such endless pandemonium would force her mind to loosen its hold, and her thoughts to drift into oblivion like just another comet in the Purusha, dying as soon as it’s born. But that trick didn’t work today. The Queen of Prakriti had too much on her mind to be soothed by chaos.
She lowered her gaze, looking instead to the green patchwork that was her home world, the little floating island known as Prakriti. The mountains descended below her, towards the inside of the island’s crescent. Gradually they became rolling hills, which in turn became the fertile fields where most of Prakriti’s food was grown. Then Kataka traced the distant coast with her eyes. Far off to her right, beyond the furthest tip of the island, Kataka could just make out the King’s new palace. It was not built on Prakriti like the Queen’s sanctuary. It was built within the Purusha itself, floating impossibly like Prakriti. The Queen could barely see it, but that meant that it was already bigger than any structure ever conceived by the people of Prakriti, and it was growing larger every day. The Queen thought it strange that the King had decided to build the new palace in such a remote place. The Queen’s sanctuary sat square within the center of Prakriti, where she could look out at the infinite Purusha for inspiration and ease of mind. The King’s new palace, however, sat within the Purusha, and looked back at Prakriti instead. Their perspectives had become decidedly reversed. The delicate peace between the two rulers of Prakriti was clearly threatened.
There was a movement like the softest fluttering of a moth’s wings. Kataka turned to find the Seer entering the balcony from the tower. Her beautiful silk robes drifted around her as if she were underwater. Her voice was as gentle as waves.
“War has not yet begun, my Queen,” the Seer spoke, “The King’s edict has been stayed by the Messenger, who has been sent on a mission of peace.”
The Queen sighed. “But my Dark Warrior will never surrender to the King. She believes what she is doing is right. Is war so inevitable, Meena?”
“Yes, as long as there is imbalance between Prakriti and Purusha,” replied the Seer, “Without the Naga to protect the Purusha, the King is able to exploit its infinite resources. Somehow, she has found a way to draw upon the energy of the Purusha and transform it into more Prakriti. That is how she is able to construct her new palace. She does not realize the folly of her actions.”
“She does not realize that the Purusha is alive and has consciousness,” the Queen said softly, as if she were in a dream. She turned back to face the distant glimmering point that was the King’s palace. It looked small and harmless from such distance, but in Kataka’s mind it was like a germ bringing a new kind of sickness.
“The King is unable to see beyond her own perspective,” the Seer explained, “To her, the Dark Warrior will always be evil as long as she defends the Nagasus. She does not realize that the Nagasus, the children of the Naga, have been forced out of their rightful home in the Purusha by the King’s own actions. She has created this so-called invasion herself, and the Dark Warrior is only defending those that have been unjustly persecuted. You must face it, my Queen. Our only hope lies in the Explorer.”
Listening to the Seer, Kataka found her mind lost in the Purusha after all.
“I pray that Dhanus finds the Naga, then. Before it’s too late.”
The KING (Leo)
Simha could not think over the commotion of talking in the great hall, so she stood and slammed her heavy staff down upon the resonating stone.
“Enough!” she exclaimed, descending her raised dais and strutting forward, into the fracas. She had purpose, and the crowd cleared before her like grass. “I have heard enough opinions. I will confer with the Wizard now.”
Once she had cleared the bend and was on her way to the Wizard’s workshop, the King let out a heavy sigh. Simha knew when she took the job that being the King of the entirety of the known world would not be easy. The challenge had once awoken her inspiration. She saw herself achieving great things back then, spearheading the island of Prakriti into a new age of greatness. She never intended to revolutionize Prakriti. She merely wanted to celebrate everything that was already good about it.
The palace was part of that vision. This vast labyrinth of beauty she now walked within was evidence of the amazing things the people of Prakriti could create. In truth, they had always been as powerful and infinite as the Purusha. But it wasn’t until Simha’s reign that they realized this. Simha was the one to show them that they were not limited by the restrictions of Prakriti’s natural circumference, the entirety of which could be walked inside a week. The King had created a Sun and a Moon, to orbit Prakriti and illuminate the darkness of the chaotic Purusha, and divide their time on Prakriti into the day and the night. The King had created the counting of time, which gave structure and identity to the people’s lives. Thanks to her, their lives now had a rhythm and a pulse, and a direction. But most of all, Simha had done something no other king had ever dreamt of doing. She had built within the Purusha.
The King could not have done all this without her royal Wizard. Kanya was the wisest of the King’s many advisors. She was a natural philosopher and an inventor of ingenious devices. Though the King did not understand how, it was Kanya’s discovery that had allowed them access to the infinite abundance of the Purusha.
Simha entered the Wizard’s workshop without introducing herself. Mithuna was there. As the King had ordered, the Wizard had brought the Messenger back to her workshop, so she could begin preparing her for the dangerous mission ahead. Along one curved wall of the massive space sat several large crackling machines. Kanya called them the trawlers, because they captured energy forms out of the Purusha, random manifestations of that infinite sea of chaos. These energy forms were then harvested and transformed into a piece of the King’s palace. The King spoke over the terrible humming sound one of them was making, having just caught something.
“There is no more time!” the King said, “The Nagasus have been spotted along the Merchant’s Coast. Their reach is growing every day. It won’t be long before they will find the palace.”
“Mithuna is our only chance to avoid war with the Nagasus,” the Wizard spoke calmly. It was too calmly for the situation, Simha thought to herself. “If she cannot convince Vrischika to stop the attacks, then we will have no choice in going to war to defend ourselves. It is simply the most logical outcome. In order to avoid war, I want to ensure that Mithuna is well-prepared.”
The King turned from Kanya to Mithuna. “Well, are you?”
Mithuna didn’t speak, only looked her king in the eye. Simha saw in the young woman’s face the desire to please and the will to always do her very best. But she saw something else there too, in those twinkling eyes.
The King of Prakriti saw the quiet, glimmering light of hope.
The WIZARD (Virgo)
The King left shortly after arriving in the Wizard’s workshop, leaving Kanya free to prepare the Messenger for her mission of peace. The Wizard felt safe within her workshop, surrounded by her familiar tools of inquiry. More than anything, the Wizard wanted knowledge. She wanted to know what made the world the way it was. In her pedantic passion, she had discerned the true nature of everything on the island of Prakriti, the whole of the known world. And so her curiosity had turned to the one remaining mystery, which was the never-ending Purusha.
Kanya was good friends with the Messenger. She had seen that same curiosity in Mithuna, and had cultivated her own thirst for knowledge. So she did not mind her many questions.
“What are those big noisy machines?” she asked now, voice lilting like a child’s.
“Those are the trawlers,” the Wizard explained to her, with a humble tone that veiled a secret pride, “Those machines are responsible for this amazing palace the King has built.”
“How so?” Mithuna queried.
“Before I invented the trawlers, construction on Prakriti was limited by whatever natural resources were available. Prakriti is finite you see, but the Purusha is not. The trawlers capture energy forms from the Purusha and convert that energy into matter. They convert it into whatever the Architect and the Artisan can imagine, and they can imagine a lot. They have imagined this amazing palace, which floats in the Purusha just like our island of Prakriti. The trawlers, in essence, allow the King to expand her domain. At last, little Prakriti can grow beyond its borders.”
“But aren’t you afraid of the Naga?”
At the sound of the serpent god’s name, Kanya could not prevent an involuntary shiver from wracking her body.
“The Naga no longer exists,” she stated emphatically, “We don’t have to worry about the Naga anymore.”
Mithuna continued, and Kanya realized that one of the differences between them was that unlike herself, Mithuna did not know when to stop talking.
“But the Elder told me that the Naga is meant to protect the Purusha, that the great serpent exists for a reason.”
Kanya’s expression was calm and kind, but her voice betrayed her impatience.
“You do not know about that which you speak,” she said, “There is no reason at all to the Purusha, and therefore it has no consciousness. By its very definition, the Purusha is endless chaos and mystery. It is only now, with the technology of the trawlers, that we are able to make anything useful out of it. With my humble invention, we will one day transform all of the Purusha into more Prakriti.”
“But…”
“Mithuna, no more questions,” Kanya sighed, revealing her exhaustion, “We must prepare you for the dangerous journey ahead. If you cannot convince the Queen’s Dark Warrior to stop leading the Nagasu attacks on Prakriti, then the King will have no choice but to wage war. It is simply a logical equation.”
Mithuna’s smile seemed to light up the darkness of the workshop.
“It seems to me there’s something missing in your logic,” said the Messenger, “It seems to me that mystery has its place. We aren’t meant to know everything, are we?”
Kanya stopped. With a single innocent question, Mithuna had challenged everything upon which the Wizard’s many accomplishments were based.
The ARTISAN (Libra)
Tula stood proudly before a blue velvet curtain that seemed to go on forever. The ripples of the curtain disappeared above into darkness, and stretched from wall to wall of the ornate antechamber. Once the King arrived to inspect the new royal theater, Tula did not waste a moment before tugging on a soft yet sturdy gold cord. The blue velvet rose and parted, disappearing into ingenious compartments hidden within ivory pillars, and the magnificence of Tula’s creative vision was revealed.
Tula had no time to consider whether or not the King’s stoic expression meant she was displeased with the Artisan’s work. She had to keep the tour moving, for the King of Prakriti was a very busy woman. She escorted the King down the main aisle of the theater, pointing out some of its most significant features. At the King’s sides were Makara, the great and wise Elder of the king’s court, and Kumbha, the royal jester. They remained respectfully quiet as they followed Tula and the King up onto the stage. It wasn’t until they got there, and the lines on Simha’s face were illuminated by the stage lights, that Tula realized the King was neither pleased nor displeased with her work. In fact, she could hardly see the extravagant beauty that surrounded her due to some pressing crisis, which was obviously foremost in her mind.
Once the King had made a weak and hollow accolade and excused her self, Tula stopped the Jester to ask her what was wrong. Makara the Elder also lingered, resting on the gnarled staff that was even older than she was.
“What’s wrong?” the Jester laughed, “Are you the fool, or am I? Maybe you’ve been lingering in the fantasy world of this theater and missed everything?”
The Jester had managed to not really answer Tula’s question, before she decided to enter her own fantasy by doing several back-flips across the stage, leaving Tula to her frustrated worry.
“Have you not heard the whispers of war, my child?” the Elder offered.
Tula scoffed in disbelief. “I heard rumors but paid no attention. The courts of the King and the Queen of Prakriti would never go to war against one another. Our little world is too small for war. It would destroy us!”
“That may be true,” the Elder told her, “But you saw for yourself the worry in Simha’s face. That king does not worry her self over nothing.”
“But isn’t there anything I can do?” Tula cried, “I’ve worked so hard to decorate the King’s new palace. I haven’t just decorated it. I’ve envisioned it. I’ve taken what the Architect has built and made it blossom. This palace is the most perfect human creation ever imagined. I don’t want anything to threaten that beauty and that harmony. But I’m just the Artisan. What do I know about war and peace?”
The Elder’s face was wrinkled and weathered by the years. But Tula thought she could see a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
“You know everything about it, my child,” the Elder confided, “Peace is not just the absence of war, it is the presence of something else entirely, a beautiful vision of the world living in harmony. You hold that vision with your artistry. You inspire the leaders of the Prakriti with your creations, even if you don’t know it.”
The Jester was already gone when the Elder turned and walked away, leaving Tula alone in her newly-fashioned theater. She stood on the stage, lights blaring in her face. Though she was just the royal decorator, though the King never confided in her about the affairs of state, in that moment Tula pretended as if she would, if only she could see the profound vision of peace and harmony she was holding, under those bright lights, standing alone on that beautiful stage.
The DARK WARRIOR (Scorpio)
On the far side of Prakriti, beyond the Green Fold and the Queen’s sanctum, there was a stretch of the floating island’s coast that had long ago been blasted away by a freak cosmic event. The wrath of the infinite Purusha had taken a chunk of Prakriti, leaving a jagged line of treacherous black cliffs that spanned for miles. Nobody ventured there unless they were crazy, desperate, or suicidal. As Vrischika made her way through the dense forest towards the abyss, she wondered which one she was.
Her ebon steed followed along a rushing river that gathered the rainfall on this side of the Fold. Over the span of forgotten time, the powerful cascade had impressed itself into a deep ravine, which became steeper as it approached the cliffs. The Nagasus had carved stone steps into the inner face of the ravine, out of love for their great champion, the Dark Warrior.
Vrischika secured her horse to the sturdy carcass of a dead tree at the top of the ravine, checked her sword in its sheath, and carefully began her descent. The gray stone steps wound their way downwards, past hissing ribbons of white water and the occasional breath-taking waterfall. Up ahead she could hear the roaring rage of the river’s last breath. Beyond that the water fell away, off of the floating island of Prakriti, to eventually disperse itself into the enigmatic Purusha. Vrischika felt cold. There was an icy mist in the air and the rock beneath her feet was slippery with moss. One false step and the Dark Warrior would fall into the torrent, to be swept down the last leg of the ravine and into oblivion. But the burning intent within her gripped her body to Prakriti, and she soon found the entrance to the caves the Nagasus had built at the base of the ravine, in this forbidden and inhospitable land.
They were already there to greet her, lighting torches and lovingly taking her sword and armor, and offering her a dry gown instead. Vrischika looked at them. Each Nagasu was different from the others. Together they were terrible to behold, the sharp bite and slimy choke of nightmares. But Vrischika knew another side to them. The Seer of Prakriti had revealed the truth to Vrischika, and since then the Dark Warrior had sworn to protect them and champion their cause.
Vrischika had not been in the lair of the Nagasus for long before the intruder arrived. When she first appeared out of the air like magic, the Nagasus began to crowd around her, spitting and hissing and whipping their claws and spiked tails in her direction. But Vrischika commanded them to stand down. She looked upon the intruder with sharp eyes. It was Mithuna, the King’s Messenger.
“I come in peace!” the young woman shouted right away, “Please, the King does not want war. She implores you to stop the Nagasu attacks on Prakriti.”
Vrischika scoffed. “But it is the King who attacks the Nagasus.”
Mithuna’s face revealed confusion now as well as fear. “I don’t understand.”
“The Nagasus are the children of the great Naga, sacred serpent god and protector of the Purusha,” said the Dark Warrior, “Now that the Naga has vanished, the King thinks she can construct her new palace inside the Purusha, something that has always been forbidden. As a result, the Nagasus are being forced from their home. The King has been hunting them down, capturing them in their pure energy forms and transforming them into more of her palace. Out of desperation, the Nagasus have begun migrating to Prakriti, where their energy bodies take physical form.”
“I didn’t know…” Mithuna replied, “If you would just come and talk to the King…”
“Talk is the weapon of thieves and tricksters!” Vrischika yelled, “If the King wants peace, she must stop invading the Nagasus home. That is my final word.”
The EXPLORER (Sagittarius)
Dhanus was free. She felt freer in this moment than she had ever remembered feeling, and she had known freedom before. There were countless destinations, and she could go to whichever one she wanted. And there would always be somewhere else to go. In all its swirling majesty, the great Purusha opened before her.
It was easy to forget what she was doing there, venturing through the unknown where no one had gone before. For one thing, she was riding on a white winged horse. Her body was covered in golden armor, her head wore a golden helm, and an enchanted bow was strapped across her back. It was easy to forget the ordinary world with which she was familiar, and lose herself to the magic of Prakriti and Purusha. But her awe did not eclipse her sense of purpose. Dhanus had come back to the world inside the paintings for a reason. She had to restore the balance that the Spring Equinox ritual had accidentally upset. They had reactivated the portal through the Purusha to the Prakriti in order to bring the Naga back to its home. Gripped beneath her armored elbow was the Naga Votive, the mystical item from Dhanus’ home world that had started all the trouble. Meena’s Spring Equinox ritual had summoned the serpent god, opening a portal into the Purusha and releasing the Naga into Dhanus’ world. Dhanus and Meena had trapped the Naga in the votive, but Dhanus knew that the Naga must be returned to its rightful home. Now Dhanus sped to the sanctuary of the Queen on Prakriti, hoping she wasn’t too late.
Though her journey might be a matter of life and death, Dhanus could not help but feel a sense of exhilaration at being back in the impossible Purusha. Huge heavenly bodies dotted the bright oblivion that surrounded her. Planets clustered together so close they were like berries on a bush, each a different vivid hue. Swirling nebulas mingled with schools of shooting stars. Comets crisscrossed the distant span like quiet fireworks. In the Purusha, nothing was impossible because everything that could happen was already happening simultaneously. The Explorer let herself enjoy the ride. But she didn’t linger. She spurred her steed onward, rushing towards her destination.
Dhanus never thought about obstacles, and so she did not expect her way to be interrupted by a sudden explosion. Her flying horse was stunned as it was sent spinning in a different direction than Dhanus. Dhanus clutched at the knife strapped to her belt, but soon realized when she regained her senses the futility of that instinctive action. She stared up into the hypnotic eyes of the serpent god, the great Naga. It was larger than when she had seen it in her world, back in Meena’s art studio. And it grew until it seemed to be almost as large as the infinite Purusha itself. Yet it still glared down upon Dhanus. Its booming voice shattered her ears, yet still felt as intimate as a whisper.
“The votive cannot hold me here in my home. Beware, I am free once again!”
“Sacred Naga,” Dhanus spoke, doing her best to bow her head without the resistance of gravity, “I humbly ask you to show mercy to Prakriti. It was not their fault that you disappeared from the Purusha, upsetting the balance. It was us, the twelve Ladies of Lovedale, who are to blame for that.”
The Naga made a strange noise, like a staggered sideways hiss, and Dhanus realized it was the sound of a snake laughing.
“Don’t be foolish, Explorer,” the vast black serpent laughed, “Who do you think sent Meena the votive in the first place? I control my own destiny, and that destiny is forever linked to the Purusha. But now is not the time for mercy. Now is the time for the fierce retribution of nature when nature denied. Stand back! And pray that your friends on Prakriti survive my wrath!”
The ELDER (Capricorn)
Makara had lived a long time, and had grown accustomed to recognizing the foreboding feeling that occurred whenever something terrible was about to happen.
“Your majesty,” she said to the King, interrupting a private meeting she was having with the royal Architect, “Please forgive my intrusion. You know that I only speak when I have something important to say. If you value my sage advice, please listen to me now. You must evacuate the palace immediately.”
The King looked up from the table. The Elder could see the lines of stress on Simha’s face, which was usually youthful and vibrant. She could see the dark circles under her eyes, which exposed her lack of sleep. The little island of Prakriti was on the verge of war, and still the King found time for meeting with the Architect to discuss the plans for the new additions to the palace. She was a stubborn and ambitious woman, thought the Elder. But she was overtaxing herself, and the signs were starting to show.
“Makara,” said King Simha, her voice calm but direct, “This is not the time to give into panic. I know that you have lived a long time and seen many horrors. I know that you are as concerned about the threat of war with the Queen as the rest of us. But I will not listen to you if the only advice you have to give is to run away in fear. All of us have worked hard to build this fortress in the Purusha, something that’s never been done before. We are not going to just abandon it on a whim!”
The Elder leaned into her gnarled staff and did not move. Her eyelids fell halfway over her eyes as if they too were leaning against the staff for support. Every part of her body was relaxed except for her eyes, which held fast their stoic stare.
“Listen, child,” she said, somehow making her voice both quiet as a whisper and loud as a thunderstorm all at once, “If you do not evacuate the palace immediately, everyone inside it will perish.”
The Elder, though Simha’s senior by decades, had never disrespected the King before by calling her a child. The King was speechless at first. Then she got up, excused herself from the table, and marched out of the room.
Vrishabha, the royal Architect, looked up at the Elder for comfort.
“Is it true?” she said, defeated. She had worked so hard to build the King’s palace. She had put all of herself into it. Makara had warned her many times before that it would be destroyed one day, but Vrishabha never listened, thinking her words to be the bitter pessimism of the old and senile.
“Yes, unfortunately it is true,” the Elder responded, with deep compassion.
“What is coming?” Vrishabha asked, “The Dark Warrior and her army of Nagasus?”
“No,” the Elder said, “I’m afraid it is something far more destructive.”
Vrishabha took the Elder’s hand and led her from the meeting room. They tried first to locate the royal Jester among the crowds of people evacuating the palace, but could not find her, so they went on instead to the Artisan’s quarters. When Tula heard the news she could not help but break down into tears. Like Vrishabha, the Artisan had poured her heart and soul into the King’s new palace, decorating what the Architect constructed. Together, they had built the most beautiful and amazing manmade thing in Prakriti history. But it was all about to be destroyed.
Once they were standing safely on the Oblivion Peninsula, Makara looked back and saw the crowds of people filling the little bridge between the peninsula and the palace. Beyond that, she could see the death and destruction that was on its way. Heart open, she embraced death, just like she embraced all things absolute.
The JESTER (Aquarius)
The evacuation was almost complete when somebody realized that Kumbha was missing. The King of Prakriti insisted that she must be among the residents of the King’s new palace, who had gathered on the precarious shores of the Oblivion Peninsula. Once she had stopped sobbing and cleared the tears away from her eyes, the royal Artisan mentioned that the Jester had last been seen alone in the new theater she had recently fashioned, doing cartwheels across the stage. It was a newly added portion of the constantly growing palace. Nobody had used it yet and nobody had thought to look there when the orders for evacuation were being sent out.
“It’s too late, your majesty,” said the Architect, defying custom and grabbing the King on her arm for emphasis. “Look! The destruction of the palace is already here!”
Everyone standing on the peninsula all along the road to the Merchant Coast looked back towards the palace and beyond it to the infinite Purusha. Their faces became washed with unfathomable fear at what they saw there.
Meanwhile, Kumbha the Jester was entirely oblivious to the danger that loomed over the new palace of the King. She had remembered a little game while standing on the stage in the new theater, which was lavish and grand but completely empty. Soon she was transforming herself into different people. They were all the important people on Prakriti, the players in a grand and epic performance. There were twelve of them in all. The King and Queen of Prakriti were among them, of course, as well as all of their attendants. There was the wise Elder, the ingenious Wizard, the dependable Architect, the bright-eyed and hopeful Messenger, and the passionate Artisan. There was also the mysterious Seer and the adventurous Explorer. And of course who could forget the constant contest between the Light and Dark Warriors?
The Jester got underway, assuming the voices and characteristics of each living archetype. But then she stopped. Something was wrong. There was supposed to be twelve archetypes, and she could only remember eleven. She sat on the edge of the stage and considered this mysterious puzzle very deeply. She thought more intently about it than she had ever thought about anything before in her life. She was thinking so intently that she didn’t even notice King Simha when she ran into the theater.
“Kumbha!” the King declared, “We have to leave at once!”
“I’m busy,” the Jester told her. Kumbha was the only one normally allowed to touch, disrespect, or disobey the King. It was acceptable because nobody took her seriously. They all thought it was funny when she did it.
But the King could tell this time was different. Simha would have to play along in order to get Kumbha out of the palace. The palace began to shake around them, and plaster fell from the ceiling, but Kumbha didn’t budge. The King sat beside her.
“My dear friend and trusted Jester,” Simha spoke, “Didn’t you hear my orders?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not as important as what I’m doing,” Kumbha replied, “I can’t figure out who I’m forgetting…”
She revealed her little game to the King, and told her about the twelve important archetypes of Prakriti, and when she was finished the King only smiled.
“The person you are forgetting is you, my friend. You are the Jester, and while it may not seem like it at times, you are an important piece in the jigsaw puzzle that is Prakriti. That’s why I came back for you. You remind me that folly is not something to judge or be ashamed about. Folly is just our nature. Now come on, you silly girl, let’s get out of here while we still can!”
That’s when Kumbha noticed the destruction all around, and ran for the exit.
The SEER (Pisces)
The Seer of Prakriti sat in meditation sat on the highest tower of the Queen’s sanctuary, high up in the tallest mountain of the Green Fold. She sat atop a mound of pillars, and her body was so covered in silk that her robes seemed to blend with the fabric of the cushions beneath her and the ornate rugs all around. Her ephemeral body was so relaxed it was as if it wasn’t there. Her eyes were closed but her mind was open, and she could see everything.
She could see the destruction of the King’s palace far off in the distance. The Naga had seized its revenge on mankind’s arrogance. They had thought that with the Naga gone they could plunder and exploit the Purusha. For countless generations, people had lived in fear of the Purusha and its guardian. But what they did not realize was that the Purusha was the original source of everything on Prakriti. In its infinite chaos, the Purusha allowed for all possibilities, even the improbable existence of a floating island world that travels safely through the crazy Purusha. All of the beauty and wonder of the Prakriti was born out of the Purusha, and so the Purusha was truly sacred. The people had tried to convert the energy of the Purusha into matter to build the King’s new palace. But they didn’t realize that they were really destroying the children of the serpent god, the Nagasus. The Queen’s Dark Warrior had tried to defend the Nagasus, and in so doing had almost started a war. But it was really the King that had drawn the first blood, though she was not aware of her actions.
Now, with the return of the Naga and the destruction of the palace, everything would be put back into balance. The people had all been evacuated before anyone could come to harm, and the Naga only took what was rightfully his. Now the Nagasu would no longer threaten Prakriti.
Meena opened her eyes to see she was not alone on top of the tower. Dhanus had landed her winged steed there and was dismounting. The Seer could see a complicated blend of emotions on her face. She was ecstatic from having just flown through the Purusha, but she was concerned for the well-being of her friends on Prakriti.
“Don’t worry,” Meena told her, “Everyone’s okay. The King was warned and had everyone evacuate the palace before the Naga attacked.”
Dhanus sighed, “So we did it? Our plan worked?”
“Yeah!” Meena cheered, getting up from her pillows and stretching her limbs, “Boy, being psychic and everything is hard work.”
“We should be getting back to our world now,” Dhanus told her, as she unclasped her armor and set it gently on a nearby bench, “Do you want to say goodbye to the Queen first?”
“Well, we aren’t really going to be leaving her,” Meena mused, “Our consciousness is just going to travel back to our bodies in Lovedale. But our counterparts here will still exist. Do you think any of the others will remember what happened here? Will they just forget this strange and beautiful world, and their part in shaping its destiny?”
“I don’t know,” Dhanus shrugged, “Maybe it will be like a dream. But for me, there’s no way I can forget it. I thought I had traveled everywhere, but until you’ve flown through the Purusha on a winged horse, you haven’t really seen anything.”
The two friends laughed and embraced and fell back onto the mound of pillows. Breathing hard, they stared up into the Purusha. Meena was in awe at the infinite color there. And she marveled at how things had a way of always working themselves out in the end.
David Ray’s Horo*Soaps
Forecast by Fantasy! © 2007 by David Ray
Horo*Soaps Special Edition
Forecast by Fantasy! © 2007 by David Ray
Previously in the Horo*Soaps…
She certainly felt the mystical power that was welling up within her now. At the spring equinox ritual, they had all joked about what if they were really a coven of witches. Now, with everything that she and Dhanus had set in motion, Meena wondered if there was more truth to that joke than they realized. Months after the ritual, Meena and Dhanus had finally managed to trap the serpent god they had accidentally freed from the votive. But Dhanus insisted that their job wasn’t finished yet. They needed to return the Naga Votive now to the world inside the paintings, the magical dream world called Prakriti, which floated like an island in the midst of an infinite chaotic sea called the Purusha.
To this end, Meena had followed Dhanus’ instructions and created twelve unique tarot cards. Each card depicted one of her twelve friends as they existed on Prakriti. Simha was the King, of course, and Kataka was the Queen. Most of the others were part of the King’s royal court. There was the Wizard, the Messenger, the Artisan, the Jester, the Elder, and the Architect. Mesha was the Light Warrior, while Vrischika was the Dark Warrior. Meena herself was the wise Seer, while Dhanus was the Explorer. Dhanus insisted that each of them had this alternate self in this mystical other world. And in order to return the Naga Votive to its rightful place and restore the balance between Prakriti and Purusha, they had to enter this other world together. . .
The LIGHT WARRIOR (Aries)
Mesha had been preparing herself for weeks, yet still they descended upon her unexpectedly. The entire arduous journey along the Merchant Coast, and then up through the meandering Sunken Valley toward the interior of Prakriti, she had been concentrating on her singular aim. Yet now, after days of impatient waiting camped out in the Lonely Marsh where the last sightings were reported, the stinging damp slowly marring her once resplendent armor, it was as if the creatures had taken her completely unawares.
They came from nowhere, born out of the air like rain. But even rain has its parentage in clouds, Mesha thought as her hilt hand flickered. These things were born from oblivion. At once she had gone from being surrounded by gray empty waste to being immersed in a swarm of black, greasy horror.
But the King’s best warrior was not without her defenses. Her long, slender blade shone with the brilliance of the New Sun. It was crafted by the Wizard of Prakriti herself in her secret workshop, and nobody could wield it with as much practiced skill and raw fury as the Light Warrior. She hacked and sliced, flinging slimy detritus of claw and tentacle, until her sword’s glow was completely stained, its effervescence hidden beneath layers of black blood.
Amidst the chaos, Mesha soon grew more ecstatic than she had been in a long time. It had been too long since her last great battle. She had started to feel the sharp edge of her warrior spirit begin to rust, as it languished unappreciated in Prakriti’s tedious peace. The joyous toil of war, when she was only a sword’s length away from the gruesome jaws of death, was what Mesha loved best. This new violent rapture gave her the strength to best her foes, and soon she was disappointed to find all the creatures dead, lying in gory pieces around her still struggling body.
When her adrenaline drained and the veil of sweat finally cleared from her eyes, she was surprised to see a familiar human standing in her campsite, not far from where the fight had taken place. It was the King’s Messenger, a young woman named Mithuna. She looked out of place, dressed in fine linens that had not been in the marsh long enough for their vivid colors to fade. The expression on her face betrayed her shock and horror at what she had just witnessed.
“I’ve never seen the Nagasus before,” she was finally able to utter, “I heard descriptions, from the survivors, but I never thought they could be so hideous. It seems as though each one is different from the rest.”
“You heard what they can do,” Mesha spoke directly, “And still you ventured all this way alone, risking death?”
“I have means of traveling quickly through Prakriti,” Mithuna spoke, “Appearing wherever I like with but a thought. The King instructed me to come here and beckon you home. There is a more important matter that needs your attention.”
Mesha walked back to her humble camp. She found a cloth and wiped her blade until it was clean of the Nagasus blood. All this time she pondered the Messenger’s words in silence, and still they made no sense to her.
“There is something more important than fighting this infestation?”
“The Wizard believes their attacks are not random,” Mithuna explained, “To end this invasion once and for all, you must do battle against their leader and champion.”
Mesha smiled in satisfaction. Her sword was once again gleaming. Even as she sheathed it, she knew it would taste blood again soon.
The war for Prakriti had just begun.
The ARCHITECT (Taurus)
Vrishabha shifted positions on the plush sofa by the balcony, doing her best to ease the tension in her neck. Though she was a hard worker, she also liked to be comfortable, and she had furnished her royal drafting room with all the finest fixtures. She was trying to relax and enjoy the fruits of her recent accomplishments, until she realized there was nothing wrong with the sofa. She couldn’t relax only because there was still more work to be done.
She rose from her rest and crossed the room, eyes looking to a technical illustration of the King’s Palace, which nearly filled one of the massive walls in the giant drafting chamber. The imaginary structure hovered there on the wall. To Vrishabha’s artisan mind, it looked just like the real version, which hovered magically within the Purusha. The palace was not far off the narrowest tip of Prakriti, a place called the Oblivion Peninsula because it was once a spot where you could stand and be almost entirely surrounded by the enigmatic Purusha. Now, a magic bridge extended from that place to the King’s new palace. Still being built, the King’s palace was already nearly a twelfth of the mass of Prakriti itself. Vrishabha’s world, the little floating island called Prakriti, was no longer alone in the infinite chaotic sea known as Purusha.
Standing beneath its abstract representation, Vrishabha quietly contemplated the impact of the palace she stood within. Its construction represented a profound shift in the consciousness of the people of Prakriti, one which the King’s Architect, with all her geometrical genius, could barely wrap her head around.
A new idea was teasing the creative centers of that lovely head, like a feather against stone, when the Jester appeared at Vrishabha’s open door and interrupted her inspiration. Kumbha entered the room in her usual fashion, in a somersault that became a cartwheel that became an accidental careening backwards into one of Vrishabha’s drafting tables. As papers flew in every direction and the dust found its resting place once again, Vrishabha helped the Jester to her feet with a smile.
“The King requests her court to assemble at once!” Kumbha declared, once she could get the words out, “Would the Architect like an escort?”
“Thank you kindly,” Vrishabha replied with a demure smirk, and held out her arm for the Jester to take. Together they walked down the bejeweled passages to the great hall of the King.
The great hall opened up on one end in the direction of Prakriti. From the objective view of the detached floating palace, the King could always view her humble kingdom. The weather that the Wizard had created on the peninsula was always mild, and the view from the palace was of the sweet, temperate mountains of the Green Fold, Prakriti’s main mountain range, which traced the twisting span from Oblivion Peninsula to the shorelines of the Fertile Delta.
The Jester pranced forward until she fell upon the left side of the King’s ornate throne. The Elder stood on the right side, looking more comfortable resting on her old gnarled staff than the Architect had felt on her luxurious sofa.
“This creation of yours is truly beautiful,” the Elder addressed her with gentle frankness, “Too bad it will all be destroyed. Alas, you can’t hold on to anything.”
“Enough with your pessimism, old woman,” the King irately declared, “We have urgent matters to discuss!”
Hushed murmurs rang out among all the King’s attendants and advisors, while Vrishabha wondered what could cause the King to grow so angry that she would speak harshly towards the Elder, whom Vrishabha knew the King respected and loved deeply.
The MESSENGER (Gemini)
“Where is my Messenger?” The King’s resonant voice filled the silence of the great hall, and her many attendants all looked around, searching for Mithuna.
“Here I am,” Mithuna spoke suddenly, astonishing everyone with her mercurial magic. One moment she had been absent from the hall, and the next moment she was standing amongst them, her eyes as bright and her timber as cheerful as everyone remembered. Her colorful robes were only slightly stained by the gray mire of the Lonely Marsh, which she had been standing in only moments ago.
The King smiled, a ray of light breaking through the storm of her anxiety on her troubled face. “Did you find the Light Warrior?” she asked.
“Yes, Mesha the Light Warrior was in the Lonely Marsh doing battle with the Nagasus, as you instructed her to do,” Mithuna replied, “She has received your new orders, and is making haste back to the palace.”
“Perhaps…” spoke the Wizard. Her voice was soft and quiet, but when she spoke the other members of the royal court always listened. She was as eloquent as Mithuna, but could say the same thing with fewer words. Mithuna had always admired her. “Perhaps it is time to reveal the truth of the Nagasu attacks.”
The King gazed out beyond the wide expanse of the great hall, to the island of Prakriti, the only home she ever knew. She had been entrusted with its safety, and Mithuna could sense it was a heavy load. She sighed, saying, “As always, you speak the truth, Kanya. My friends, the Wizard has reason to believe that the champion of the Nagasus, the one behind their attacks, is the Dark Warrior herself.”
“Vrischika?” Mithuna gasped, unable to discipline her tongue like Kanya, “But she serves only the Queen of Prakriti. Why would the queen endorse the Nagasu invasion? There is peace between the courts of the King and Queen. Prakriti is the Queen’s home too. She would never put it in danger.”
Mithuna stopped speaking at last, thinking about that fragile peace, and the many times she had traveled back and forth between the palace of the King and the Queen’s sanctum high in the dark peaks of the Green Fold, delivering messages. The Messenger had bounced to and fro so many times with her uncanny ability that to her they did not seem like two separate places. But now, under the shadow of the Nagasu threat, the small floating island of Prakriti seemed to be tearing apart at the seams.
“We do not want to jump to conclusions,” the King sternly spoke, “Wizard, is there any other option but to engage the Queen’s warrior in battle?”
The Wizard looked grim, and for the first time Mithuna thought she caught a hint of remorse in her dour countenance. “No, I’m afraid there isn’t. We have already spoken with the Queen and she denies any involvement. There is no doubt in my mind that Vrischika is behind these attacks, and the Nagasus threaten everything we have worked to create on Prakriti. This palace…”
Kanya looked around, and it was as if her mind was momentarily lost in the labyrinthine passages of the giant palace, which floated impossibly off the far tip of Prakriti. For a moment, Mithuna no longer recognized her dear friend and confidant. It was as if a nameless fear had taken over her body.
“Let me go speak with her!” Mithuna appealed above a murmur of surprise.
“That would be extremely dangerous,” the King said plainly.
“And foolish!” said Kanya, voice rising uncharacteristically.
Mithuna’s eyes implored. “Let me go on this mission of peace for you, my King.”
The King looked firmly into those eyes, granting her courage. “So be it.”
The QUEEN (Cancer)
Standing on the balcony of her mountain sanctuary, Kataka looked to the infinite Purusha. Though it was a constant chaos of shifting color and light, inhabited by random debris of formless matter, she had always found it to be deeply calming. Gazing into such endless pandemonium would force her mind to loosen its hold, and her thoughts to drift into oblivion like just another comet in the Purusha, dying as soon as it’s born. But that trick didn’t work today. The Queen of Prakriti had too much on her mind to be soothed by chaos.
She lowered her gaze, looking instead to the green patchwork that was her home world, the little floating island known as Prakriti. The mountains descended below her, towards the inside of the island’s crescent. Gradually they became rolling hills, which in turn became the fertile fields where most of Prakriti’s food was grown. Then Kataka traced the distant coast with her eyes. Far off to her right, beyond the furthest tip of the island, Kataka could just make out the King’s new palace. It was not built on Prakriti like the Queen’s sanctuary. It was built within the Purusha itself, floating impossibly like Prakriti. The Queen could barely see it, but that meant that it was already bigger than any structure ever conceived by the people of Prakriti, and it was growing larger every day. The Queen thought it strange that the King had decided to build the new palace in such a remote place. The Queen’s sanctuary sat square within the center of Prakriti, where she could look out at the infinite Purusha for inspiration and ease of mind. The King’s new palace, however, sat within the Purusha, and looked back at Prakriti instead. Their perspectives had become decidedly reversed. The delicate peace between the two rulers of Prakriti was clearly threatened.
There was a movement like the softest fluttering of a moth’s wings. Kataka turned to find the Seer entering the balcony from the tower. Her beautiful silk robes drifted around her as if she were underwater. Her voice was as gentle as waves.
“War has not yet begun, my Queen,” the Seer spoke, “The King’s edict has been stayed by the Messenger, who has been sent on a mission of peace.”
The Queen sighed. “But my Dark Warrior will never surrender to the King. She believes what she is doing is right. Is war so inevitable, Meena?”
“Yes, as long as there is imbalance between Prakriti and Purusha,” replied the Seer, “Without the Naga to protect the Purusha, the King is able to exploit its infinite resources. Somehow, she has found a way to draw upon the energy of the Purusha and transform it into more Prakriti. That is how she is able to construct her new palace. She does not realize the folly of her actions.”
“She does not realize that the Purusha is alive and has consciousness,” the Queen said softly, as if she were in a dream. She turned back to face the distant glimmering point that was the King’s palace. It looked small and harmless from such distance, but in Kataka’s mind it was like a germ bringing a new kind of sickness.
“The King is unable to see beyond her own perspective,” the Seer explained, “To her, the Dark Warrior will always be evil as long as she defends the Nagasus. She does not realize that the Nagasus, the children of the Naga, have been forced out of their rightful home in the Purusha by the King’s own actions. She has created this so-called invasion herself, and the Dark Warrior is only defending those that have been unjustly persecuted. You must face it, my Queen. Our only hope lies in the Explorer.”
Listening to the Seer, Kataka found her mind lost in the Purusha after all.
“I pray that Dhanus finds the Naga, then. Before it’s too late.”
The KING (Leo)
Simha could not think over the commotion of talking in the great hall, so she stood and slammed her heavy staff down upon the resonating stone.
“Enough!” she exclaimed, descending her raised dais and strutting forward, into the fracas. She had purpose, and the crowd cleared before her like grass. “I have heard enough opinions. I will confer with the Wizard now.”
Once she had cleared the bend and was on her way to the Wizard’s workshop, the King let out a heavy sigh. Simha knew when she took the job that being the King of the entirety of the known world would not be easy. The challenge had once awoken her inspiration. She saw herself achieving great things back then, spearheading the island of Prakriti into a new age of greatness. She never intended to revolutionize Prakriti. She merely wanted to celebrate everything that was already good about it.
The palace was part of that vision. This vast labyrinth of beauty she now walked within was evidence of the amazing things the people of Prakriti could create. In truth, they had always been as powerful and infinite as the Purusha. But it wasn’t until Simha’s reign that they realized this. Simha was the one to show them that they were not limited by the restrictions of Prakriti’s natural circumference, the entirety of which could be walked inside a week. The King had created a Sun and a Moon, to orbit Prakriti and illuminate the darkness of the chaotic Purusha, and divide their time on Prakriti into the day and the night. The King had created the counting of time, which gave structure and identity to the people’s lives. Thanks to her, their lives now had a rhythm and a pulse, and a direction. But most of all, Simha had done something no other king had ever dreamt of doing. She had built within the Purusha.
The King could not have done all this without her royal Wizard. Kanya was the wisest of the King’s many advisors. She was a natural philosopher and an inventor of ingenious devices. Though the King did not understand how, it was Kanya’s discovery that had allowed them access to the infinite abundance of the Purusha.
Simha entered the Wizard’s workshop without introducing herself. Mithuna was there. As the King had ordered, the Wizard had brought the Messenger back to her workshop, so she could begin preparing her for the dangerous mission ahead. Along one curved wall of the massive space sat several large crackling machines. Kanya called them the trawlers, because they captured energy forms out of the Purusha, random manifestations of that infinite sea of chaos. These energy forms were then harvested and transformed into a piece of the King’s palace. The King spoke over the terrible humming sound one of them was making, having just caught something.
“There is no more time!” the King said, “The Nagasus have been spotted along the Merchant’s Coast. Their reach is growing every day. It won’t be long before they will find the palace.”
“Mithuna is our only chance to avoid war with the Nagasus,” the Wizard spoke calmly. It was too calmly for the situation, Simha thought to herself. “If she cannot convince Vrischika to stop the attacks, then we will have no choice in going to war to defend ourselves. It is simply the most logical outcome. In order to avoid war, I want to ensure that Mithuna is well-prepared.”
The King turned from Kanya to Mithuna. “Well, are you?”
Mithuna didn’t speak, only looked her king in the eye. Simha saw in the young woman’s face the desire to please and the will to always do her very best. But she saw something else there too, in those twinkling eyes.
The King of Prakriti saw the quiet, glimmering light of hope.
The WIZARD (Virgo)
The King left shortly after arriving in the Wizard’s workshop, leaving Kanya free to prepare the Messenger for her mission of peace. The Wizard felt safe within her workshop, surrounded by her familiar tools of inquiry. More than anything, the Wizard wanted knowledge. She wanted to know what made the world the way it was. In her pedantic passion, she had discerned the true nature of everything on the island of Prakriti, the whole of the known world. And so her curiosity had turned to the one remaining mystery, which was the never-ending Purusha.
Kanya was good friends with the Messenger. She had seen that same curiosity in Mithuna, and had cultivated her own thirst for knowledge. So she did not mind her many questions.
“What are those big noisy machines?” she asked now, voice lilting like a child’s.
“Those are the trawlers,” the Wizard explained to her, with a humble tone that veiled a secret pride, “Those machines are responsible for this amazing palace the King has built.”
“How so?” Mithuna queried.
“Before I invented the trawlers, construction on Prakriti was limited by whatever natural resources were available. Prakriti is finite you see, but the Purusha is not. The trawlers capture energy forms from the Purusha and convert that energy into matter. They convert it into whatever the Architect and the Artisan can imagine, and they can imagine a lot. They have imagined this amazing palace, which floats in the Purusha just like our island of Prakriti. The trawlers, in essence, allow the King to expand her domain. At last, little Prakriti can grow beyond its borders.”
“But aren’t you afraid of the Naga?”
At the sound of the serpent god’s name, Kanya could not prevent an involuntary shiver from wracking her body.
“The Naga no longer exists,” she stated emphatically, “We don’t have to worry about the Naga anymore.”
Mithuna continued, and Kanya realized that one of the differences between them was that unlike herself, Mithuna did not know when to stop talking.
“But the Elder told me that the Naga is meant to protect the Purusha, that the great serpent exists for a reason.”
Kanya’s expression was calm and kind, but her voice betrayed her impatience.
“You do not know about that which you speak,” she said, “There is no reason at all to the Purusha, and therefore it has no consciousness. By its very definition, the Purusha is endless chaos and mystery. It is only now, with the technology of the trawlers, that we are able to make anything useful out of it. With my humble invention, we will one day transform all of the Purusha into more Prakriti.”
“But…”
“Mithuna, no more questions,” Kanya sighed, revealing her exhaustion, “We must prepare you for the dangerous journey ahead. If you cannot convince the Queen’s Dark Warrior to stop leading the Nagasu attacks on Prakriti, then the King will have no choice but to wage war. It is simply a logical equation.”
Mithuna’s smile seemed to light up the darkness of the workshop.
“It seems to me there’s something missing in your logic,” said the Messenger, “It seems to me that mystery has its place. We aren’t meant to know everything, are we?”
Kanya stopped. With a single innocent question, Mithuna had challenged everything upon which the Wizard’s many accomplishments were based.
The ARTISAN (Libra)
Tula stood proudly before a blue velvet curtain that seemed to go on forever. The ripples of the curtain disappeared above into darkness, and stretched from wall to wall of the ornate antechamber. Once the King arrived to inspect the new royal theater, Tula did not waste a moment before tugging on a soft yet sturdy gold cord. The blue velvet rose and parted, disappearing into ingenious compartments hidden within ivory pillars, and the magnificence of Tula’s creative vision was revealed.
Tula had no time to consider whether or not the King’s stoic expression meant she was displeased with the Artisan’s work. She had to keep the tour moving, for the King of Prakriti was a very busy woman. She escorted the King down the main aisle of the theater, pointing out some of its most significant features. At the King’s sides were Makara, the great and wise Elder of the king’s court, and Kumbha, the royal jester. They remained respectfully quiet as they followed Tula and the King up onto the stage. It wasn’t until they got there, and the lines on Simha’s face were illuminated by the stage lights, that Tula realized the King was neither pleased nor displeased with her work. In fact, she could hardly see the extravagant beauty that surrounded her due to some pressing crisis, which was obviously foremost in her mind.
Once the King had made a weak and hollow accolade and excused her self, Tula stopped the Jester to ask her what was wrong. Makara the Elder also lingered, resting on the gnarled staff that was even older than she was.
“What’s wrong?” the Jester laughed, “Are you the fool, or am I? Maybe you’ve been lingering in the fantasy world of this theater and missed everything?”
The Jester had managed to not really answer Tula’s question, before she decided to enter her own fantasy by doing several back-flips across the stage, leaving Tula to her frustrated worry.
“Have you not heard the whispers of war, my child?” the Elder offered.
Tula scoffed in disbelief. “I heard rumors but paid no attention. The courts of the King and the Queen of Prakriti would never go to war against one another. Our little world is too small for war. It would destroy us!”
“That may be true,” the Elder told her, “But you saw for yourself the worry in Simha’s face. That king does not worry her self over nothing.”
“But isn’t there anything I can do?” Tula cried, “I’ve worked so hard to decorate the King’s new palace. I haven’t just decorated it. I’ve envisioned it. I’ve taken what the Architect has built and made it blossom. This palace is the most perfect human creation ever imagined. I don’t want anything to threaten that beauty and that harmony. But I’m just the Artisan. What do I know about war and peace?”
The Elder’s face was wrinkled and weathered by the years. But Tula thought she could see a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
“You know everything about it, my child,” the Elder confided, “Peace is not just the absence of war, it is the presence of something else entirely, a beautiful vision of the world living in harmony. You hold that vision with your artistry. You inspire the leaders of the Prakriti with your creations, even if you don’t know it.”
The Jester was already gone when the Elder turned and walked away, leaving Tula alone in her newly-fashioned theater. She stood on the stage, lights blaring in her face. Though she was just the royal decorator, though the King never confided in her about the affairs of state, in that moment Tula pretended as if she would, if only she could see the profound vision of peace and harmony she was holding, under those bright lights, standing alone on that beautiful stage.
The DARK WARRIOR (Scorpio)
On the far side of Prakriti, beyond the Green Fold and the Queen’s sanctum, there was a stretch of the floating island’s coast that had long ago been blasted away by a freak cosmic event. The wrath of the infinite Purusha had taken a chunk of Prakriti, leaving a jagged line of treacherous black cliffs that spanned for miles. Nobody ventured there unless they were crazy, desperate, or suicidal. As Vrischika made her way through the dense forest towards the abyss, she wondered which one she was.
Her ebon steed followed along a rushing river that gathered the rainfall on this side of the Fold. Over the span of forgotten time, the powerful cascade had impressed itself into a deep ravine, which became steeper as it approached the cliffs. The Nagasus had carved stone steps into the inner face of the ravine, out of love for their great champion, the Dark Warrior.
Vrischika secured her horse to the sturdy carcass of a dead tree at the top of the ravine, checked her sword in its sheath, and carefully began her descent. The gray stone steps wound their way downwards, past hissing ribbons of white water and the occasional breath-taking waterfall. Up ahead she could hear the roaring rage of the river’s last breath. Beyond that the water fell away, off of the floating island of Prakriti, to eventually disperse itself into the enigmatic Purusha. Vrischika felt cold. There was an icy mist in the air and the rock beneath her feet was slippery with moss. One false step and the Dark Warrior would fall into the torrent, to be swept down the last leg of the ravine and into oblivion. But the burning intent within her gripped her body to Prakriti, and she soon found the entrance to the caves the Nagasus had built at the base of the ravine, in this forbidden and inhospitable land.
They were already there to greet her, lighting torches and lovingly taking her sword and armor, and offering her a dry gown instead. Vrischika looked at them. Each Nagasu was different from the others. Together they were terrible to behold, the sharp bite and slimy choke of nightmares. But Vrischika knew another side to them. The Seer of Prakriti had revealed the truth to Vrischika, and since then the Dark Warrior had sworn to protect them and champion their cause.
Vrischika had not been in the lair of the Nagasus for long before the intruder arrived. When she first appeared out of the air like magic, the Nagasus began to crowd around her, spitting and hissing and whipping their claws and spiked tails in her direction. But Vrischika commanded them to stand down. She looked upon the intruder with sharp eyes. It was Mithuna, the King’s Messenger.
“I come in peace!” the young woman shouted right away, “Please, the King does not want war. She implores you to stop the Nagasu attacks on Prakriti.”
Vrischika scoffed. “But it is the King who attacks the Nagasus.”
Mithuna’s face revealed confusion now as well as fear. “I don’t understand.”
“The Nagasus are the children of the great Naga, sacred serpent god and protector of the Purusha,” said the Dark Warrior, “Now that the Naga has vanished, the King thinks she can construct her new palace inside the Purusha, something that has always been forbidden. As a result, the Nagasus are being forced from their home. The King has been hunting them down, capturing them in their pure energy forms and transforming them into more of her palace. Out of desperation, the Nagasus have begun migrating to Prakriti, where their energy bodies take physical form.”
“I didn’t know…” Mithuna replied, “If you would just come and talk to the King…”
“Talk is the weapon of thieves and tricksters!” Vrischika yelled, “If the King wants peace, she must stop invading the Nagasus home. That is my final word.”
The EXPLORER (Sagittarius)
Dhanus was free. She felt freer in this moment than she had ever remembered feeling, and she had known freedom before. There were countless destinations, and she could go to whichever one she wanted. And there would always be somewhere else to go. In all its swirling majesty, the great Purusha opened before her.
It was easy to forget what she was doing there, venturing through the unknown where no one had gone before. For one thing, she was riding on a white winged horse. Her body was covered in golden armor, her head wore a golden helm, and an enchanted bow was strapped across her back. It was easy to forget the ordinary world with which she was familiar, and lose herself to the magic of Prakriti and Purusha. But her awe did not eclipse her sense of purpose. Dhanus had come back to the world inside the paintings for a reason. She had to restore the balance that the Spring Equinox ritual had accidentally upset. They had reactivated the portal through the Purusha to the Prakriti in order to bring the Naga back to its home. Gripped beneath her armored elbow was the Naga Votive, the mystical item from Dhanus’ home world that had started all the trouble. Meena’s Spring Equinox ritual had summoned the serpent god, opening a portal into the Purusha and releasing the Naga into Dhanus’ world. Dhanus and Meena had trapped the Naga in the votive, but Dhanus knew that the Naga must be returned to its rightful home. Now Dhanus sped to the sanctuary of the Queen on Prakriti, hoping she wasn’t too late.
Though her journey might be a matter of life and death, Dhanus could not help but feel a sense of exhilaration at being back in the impossible Purusha. Huge heavenly bodies dotted the bright oblivion that surrounded her. Planets clustered together so close they were like berries on a bush, each a different vivid hue. Swirling nebulas mingled with schools of shooting stars. Comets crisscrossed the distant span like quiet fireworks. In the Purusha, nothing was impossible because everything that could happen was already happening simultaneously. The Explorer let herself enjoy the ride. But she didn’t linger. She spurred her steed onward, rushing towards her destination.
Dhanus never thought about obstacles, and so she did not expect her way to be interrupted by a sudden explosion. Her flying horse was stunned as it was sent spinning in a different direction than Dhanus. Dhanus clutched at the knife strapped to her belt, but soon realized when she regained her senses the futility of that instinctive action. She stared up into the hypnotic eyes of the serpent god, the great Naga. It was larger than when she had seen it in her world, back in Meena’s art studio. And it grew until it seemed to be almost as large as the infinite Purusha itself. Yet it still glared down upon Dhanus. Its booming voice shattered her ears, yet still felt as intimate as a whisper.
“The votive cannot hold me here in my home. Beware, I am free once again!”
“Sacred Naga,” Dhanus spoke, doing her best to bow her head without the resistance of gravity, “I humbly ask you to show mercy to Prakriti. It was not their fault that you disappeared from the Purusha, upsetting the balance. It was us, the twelve Ladies of Lovedale, who are to blame for that.”
The Naga made a strange noise, like a staggered sideways hiss, and Dhanus realized it was the sound of a snake laughing.
“Don’t be foolish, Explorer,” the vast black serpent laughed, “Who do you think sent Meena the votive in the first place? I control my own destiny, and that destiny is forever linked to the Purusha. But now is not the time for mercy. Now is the time for the fierce retribution of nature when nature denied. Stand back! And pray that your friends on Prakriti survive my wrath!”
The ELDER (Capricorn)
Makara had lived a long time, and had grown accustomed to recognizing the foreboding feeling that occurred whenever something terrible was about to happen.
“Your majesty,” she said to the King, interrupting a private meeting she was having with the royal Architect, “Please forgive my intrusion. You know that I only speak when I have something important to say. If you value my sage advice, please listen to me now. You must evacuate the palace immediately.”
The King looked up from the table. The Elder could see the lines of stress on Simha’s face, which was usually youthful and vibrant. She could see the dark circles under her eyes, which exposed her lack of sleep. The little island of Prakriti was on the verge of war, and still the King found time for meeting with the Architect to discuss the plans for the new additions to the palace. She was a stubborn and ambitious woman, thought the Elder. But she was overtaxing herself, and the signs were starting to show.
“Makara,” said King Simha, her voice calm but direct, “This is not the time to give into panic. I know that you have lived a long time and seen many horrors. I know that you are as concerned about the threat of war with the Queen as the rest of us. But I will not listen to you if the only advice you have to give is to run away in fear. All of us have worked hard to build this fortress in the Purusha, something that’s never been done before. We are not going to just abandon it on a whim!”
The Elder leaned into her gnarled staff and did not move. Her eyelids fell halfway over her eyes as if they too were leaning against the staff for support. Every part of her body was relaxed except for her eyes, which held fast their stoic stare.
“Listen, child,” she said, somehow making her voice both quiet as a whisper and loud as a thunderstorm all at once, “If you do not evacuate the palace immediately, everyone inside it will perish.”
The Elder, though Simha’s senior by decades, had never disrespected the King before by calling her a child. The King was speechless at first. Then she got up, excused herself from the table, and marched out of the room.
Vrishabha, the royal Architect, looked up at the Elder for comfort.
“Is it true?” she said, defeated. She had worked so hard to build the King’s palace. She had put all of herself into it. Makara had warned her many times before that it would be destroyed one day, but Vrishabha never listened, thinking her words to be the bitter pessimism of the old and senile.
“Yes, unfortunately it is true,” the Elder responded, with deep compassion.
“What is coming?” Vrishabha asked, “The Dark Warrior and her army of Nagasus?”
“No,” the Elder said, “I’m afraid it is something far more destructive.”
Vrishabha took the Elder’s hand and led her from the meeting room. They tried first to locate the royal Jester among the crowds of people evacuating the palace, but could not find her, so they went on instead to the Artisan’s quarters. When Tula heard the news she could not help but break down into tears. Like Vrishabha, the Artisan had poured her heart and soul into the King’s new palace, decorating what the Architect constructed. Together, they had built the most beautiful and amazing manmade thing in Prakriti history. But it was all about to be destroyed.
Once they were standing safely on the Oblivion Peninsula, Makara looked back and saw the crowds of people filling the little bridge between the peninsula and the palace. Beyond that, she could see the death and destruction that was on its way. Heart open, she embraced death, just like she embraced all things absolute.
The JESTER (Aquarius)
The evacuation was almost complete when somebody realized that Kumbha was missing. The King of Prakriti insisted that she must be among the residents of the King’s new palace, who had gathered on the precarious shores of the Oblivion Peninsula. Once she had stopped sobbing and cleared the tears away from her eyes, the royal Artisan mentioned that the Jester had last been seen alone in the new theater she had recently fashioned, doing cartwheels across the stage. It was a newly added portion of the constantly growing palace. Nobody had used it yet and nobody had thought to look there when the orders for evacuation were being sent out.
“It’s too late, your majesty,” said the Architect, defying custom and grabbing the King on her arm for emphasis. “Look! The destruction of the palace is already here!”
Everyone standing on the peninsula all along the road to the Merchant Coast looked back towards the palace and beyond it to the infinite Purusha. Their faces became washed with unfathomable fear at what they saw there.
Meanwhile, Kumbha the Jester was entirely oblivious to the danger that loomed over the new palace of the King. She had remembered a little game while standing on the stage in the new theater, which was lavish and grand but completely empty. Soon she was transforming herself into different people. They were all the important people on Prakriti, the players in a grand and epic performance. There were twelve of them in all. The King and Queen of Prakriti were among them, of course, as well as all of their attendants. There was the wise Elder, the ingenious Wizard, the dependable Architect, the bright-eyed and hopeful Messenger, and the passionate Artisan. There was also the mysterious Seer and the adventurous Explorer. And of course who could forget the constant contest between the Light and Dark Warriors?
The Jester got underway, assuming the voices and characteristics of each living archetype. But then she stopped. Something was wrong. There was supposed to be twelve archetypes, and she could only remember eleven. She sat on the edge of the stage and considered this mysterious puzzle very deeply. She thought more intently about it than she had ever thought about anything before in her life. She was thinking so intently that she didn’t even notice King Simha when she ran into the theater.
“Kumbha!” the King declared, “We have to leave at once!”
“I’m busy,” the Jester told her. Kumbha was the only one normally allowed to touch, disrespect, or disobey the King. It was acceptable because nobody took her seriously. They all thought it was funny when she did it.
But the King could tell this time was different. Simha would have to play along in order to get Kumbha out of the palace. The palace began to shake around them, and plaster fell from the ceiling, but Kumbha didn’t budge. The King sat beside her.
“My dear friend and trusted Jester,” Simha spoke, “Didn’t you hear my orders?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not as important as what I’m doing,” Kumbha replied, “I can’t figure out who I’m forgetting…”
She revealed her little game to the King, and told her about the twelve important archetypes of Prakriti, and when she was finished the King only smiled.
“The person you are forgetting is you, my friend. You are the Jester, and while it may not seem like it at times, you are an important piece in the jigsaw puzzle that is Prakriti. That’s why I came back for you. You remind me that folly is not something to judge or be ashamed about. Folly is just our nature. Now come on, you silly girl, let’s get out of here while we still can!”
That’s when Kumbha noticed the destruction all around, and ran for the exit.
The SEER (Pisces)
The Seer of Prakriti sat in meditation sat on the highest tower of the Queen’s sanctuary, high up in the tallest mountain of the Green Fold. She sat atop a mound of pillars, and her body was so covered in silk that her robes seemed to blend with the fabric of the cushions beneath her and the ornate rugs all around. Her ephemeral body was so relaxed it was as if it wasn’t there. Her eyes were closed but her mind was open, and she could see everything.
She could see the destruction of the King’s palace far off in the distance. The Naga had seized its revenge on mankind’s arrogance. They had thought that with the Naga gone they could plunder and exploit the Purusha. For countless generations, people had lived in fear of the Purusha and its guardian. But what they did not realize was that the Purusha was the original source of everything on Prakriti. In its infinite chaos, the Purusha allowed for all possibilities, even the improbable existence of a floating island world that travels safely through the crazy Purusha. All of the beauty and wonder of the Prakriti was born out of the Purusha, and so the Purusha was truly sacred. The people had tried to convert the energy of the Purusha into matter to build the King’s new palace. But they didn’t realize that they were really destroying the children of the serpent god, the Nagasus. The Queen’s Dark Warrior had tried to defend the Nagasus, and in so doing had almost started a war. But it was really the King that had drawn the first blood, though she was not aware of her actions.
Now, with the return of the Naga and the destruction of the palace, everything would be put back into balance. The people had all been evacuated before anyone could come to harm, and the Naga only took what was rightfully his. Now the Nagasu would no longer threaten Prakriti.
Meena opened her eyes to see she was not alone on top of the tower. Dhanus had landed her winged steed there and was dismounting. The Seer could see a complicated blend of emotions on her face. She was ecstatic from having just flown through the Purusha, but she was concerned for the well-being of her friends on Prakriti.
“Don’t worry,” Meena told her, “Everyone’s okay. The King was warned and had everyone evacuate the palace before the Naga attacked.”
Dhanus sighed, “So we did it? Our plan worked?”
“Yeah!” Meena cheered, getting up from her pillows and stretching her limbs, “Boy, being psychic and everything is hard work.”
“We should be getting back to our world now,” Dhanus told her, as she unclasped her armor and set it gently on a nearby bench, “Do you want to say goodbye to the Queen first?”
“Well, we aren’t really going to be leaving her,” Meena mused, “Our consciousness is just going to travel back to our bodies in Lovedale. But our counterparts here will still exist. Do you think any of the others will remember what happened here? Will they just forget this strange and beautiful world, and their part in shaping its destiny?”
“I don’t know,” Dhanus shrugged, “Maybe it will be like a dream. But for me, there’s no way I can forget it. I thought I had traveled everywhere, but until you’ve flown through the Purusha on a winged horse, you haven’t really seen anything.”
The two friends laughed and embraced and fell back onto the mound of pillows. Breathing hard, they stared up into the Purusha. Meena was in awe at the infinite color there. And she marveled at how things had a way of always working themselves out in the end.
David Ray’s Horo*Soaps
Forecast by Fantasy! © 2007 by David Ray
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