in Mirdoren, there’s a cacophony as the Goddess race around making sure that preparations are in place for the arrival of two newly awakened Goddesses.
Sola and Canola have awoken from their self imposed comas. Beverages and food are placed by servants, that tip toe throughout Mirdoren. Hot baths are drawn and suitable Goddess attire is distributed.
Canola stretches luxuriantly on her bed. Hidden deeply under swathes of silk, the only parts of her anatomy that extrude from the bed are her legs, slender and muscled. Their vanilla coloring blending in with the milky whiteness of her sheets, that have ensnared them in their embrace.
A muffled moan emanates throughout the room. ‘Oh Mothers be is it time to awaken already!’ a slender hand pushes back the silken sheets. ‘I was having such a nice dream.’ she announces to no one in particular.
The room is dimly lit, tea-light candles dance merrily in hidden cornices. Servants have been busily preparing for the awakening goddess, a soft scent of lemon and pinmint bring Canola into wakefulness. They stimulate the long dormant parts of her brain, in a gentle manner, that allows her to gather her thoughts.
There’s a gnomish male standing to one side of the bed with his hands on his hips, tapping a foot he bites his tongue as he awaits for Canola to rise. His indoor hat, sits lopsidedly on his head, but his long white brows constantly dance as we gets impatient with the Mother of Music and Dance. His azure trousers, drape around his ankles as his turned up toe boots tap loudly on the cold marble.
‘Fer Goddesses sake! I tok tha time ta bea presentable ain she aint even wakin as she s’possed ta. Me sharts getin rinkled ain me pant, av gin pest rinklin. ‘ he mumbles under his breath. ‘Tis nor rite fer a Goddess to delay her sis’ers, Im gin av ta make a ruckus.’
With deliberate loud steps the gnome moves toward the large conical bell that sits nearest the bed. Hefting the hammer, he grunts as he swings. The resounding din, makes his ears twitch in a dance that looks like his been stuck by a Beegon.
“Kaatoun aezarilos” (*1) Canola yells as she flies towards the ceiling. “Zhen Zoik!”(*2) Hanging from the rafters Canola searches the room for the intrusion to her sleep. “Kaa`aavoix rotouno yzhet aavoix os aevenáano” (*3)
“Khywä roki i apä ezhazh.”(*4) the gnome laughs as he watches Canola dangling from the rafters. Her ability to shape change, enabled her to fly with the aid of wings. They twitch and shiver as she scowls at her disciple and friend.
“Missus, yer beta be comin down and no mer of tha native language, yer s’posed ta be a lidy!” He chuckles as he watches Canola swing her legs upwards and lets go of the rafters. As she comes down she does a backflip and lands with a ‘harrumpph’ on the bed.
“So short one how long have I been out of action?” stretching out her legs, the wings evaporate as she moves off the bed stepping onto the cold floor, she wiggles her fingers. “I really aught to teach you the magicks for warming the floor.”
Canola reaches for a ripened berry, stuffing it into her mouth, she continues speaking, her voice is gravelly from sleep. “Is Sola awake too? I do so hope I’m managed to get out of bed before she does.” Dropping her wrap, Canola cares nothing for her modesty as the gnome scuttles behind her. “Ya’ve bin sleepin fer a ling wiles, missus. Tha ben a lit appin in Mernac, best na to talk bout it all nows tha. Ya be stinky”
Raising an arm and cocking an eyebrow, Canola catches a whiff. “You’re right of course, but weren’t some of the maidens supposed to bathe me, whilst I was havin a snooze?”
“Inded they’s were, bit ya must av bin a nitemarin, and hot. Plis yer na tha easiest ta bathe wen sleepin missus.” He walked past her, “Yer a bit scrawny ta, na as mich meat on ya bones as b’fore ya napped.” He chuckled as a berry flew past him “Ain yer still a bad aim!” He called as he darted into another room.
Canola surveyed her apartments, all appeared to be in its place and not spec of dust was evident. Along the walls her art collection stood proudly depicting various landscapes throughout Mernac. Canola smiled at the portrayal of her faerie self, she never regretted allowing the artist to capture her image. He’d done her proud and she had recommended him to the other Mothers. Her thoughts drifted momentarily as she wondered about the man. ‘To bad he’s one of Siberlees creations.’ she blushed at the thought.
“Cim in ere, ya stinky mother.”
“Oh you’re such a rude little gnome. You know I should complain to brother Roadius about you, maybe he’d get you a job back on Mernac, cleaning the drains at some Whore house.”
Canola strode toward the bathing quarters, her white scrawny body, not showing any of the normal bloating that some suffer when having slept for long periods. Catching a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface, she quickly tries to run her fingers through her hair.
“Na needs fer that Missus, Ai’s already seen the ropreabs mess ya avin on yer head. ” Another burst of giggling erupts as Canola chases the gnome around the bathing room, “Ai’s may av shorter pins then ya, but I’s not slept an age away tither. Yer na catch me.”
Giving up Canola decided to lie on the hot marble slab, closing her eyes and thinking of her faeries and how they have fared, she relaxes. A washer maid enters, wearing baggy silk knickers, she has sagging breasts that appear to have fed many mernacian children. She promptly begins her work with a sea sponge.
Not a part of the body is missed, Canola tries to slap the womans hands away as it feels like she is being dragged through hot sand. But the woman, slaps back and gives the mother a look of disapproval. Gritting her teeth as she stares at the ceiling, Canola observes that it is well and truly nightfall on Mirdoren. The domed ceiling had been crafted with small cutouts of the varying creatures and beasts of Mernac. Above her eyes, she sees a faerie and beside that Faerie, a dragon sits. Smiling through the pain, Canola remembers Sara. Not wanting to call to her friend, she waits idly for the next phase of bathing to commence.
Soaping, sand and oils from Mernac are combined with herbs and used to cleanse the body. But this day, Canola believes they’ve found the most industrial, as a mountain of suds appear all around her, her already slothed skin, tingles with the ministrations of the silent washer woman. Up and down she washes, not a spot is uncovered by soap suds. Canola cringes as the woman reaches between her legs and lathers up her neither regions, rolling her over and repeating the process, she grasps the mothers shoulder, directing her to sit up.
“Hey shorty, whats the chances of some music.” Canola sings out, only to find a fizzle brush is shoved into her mouth, this time it is Canola’s turn to give the woman a look of disapproval. Canola grasps the brush and cleans not only her teeth, but her entire mouth.
The washer woman watches, with nods of approval she hands the Goddess a bowl of pinmint flavored water and the process in complete. In a side vestibule Canola hears her gnomish friend fiddling, he is singing softly and strumming at a small lute.
Canola stands walking to the other side of the room, leaving behind her a trail of suds, she turns and waits, tepid water engulfs her head and she is vaguely reminded of another time and place. When another washed her hair, she recalls that it was not a pleasant experience then as it is now. Holding her breath between bucket loads of water, Canola thinks that maybe a small waterfall could have been incorporated into this part of the apartments. ‘It would make this routine a lot faster and easier.’ She musses ‘This way is a form of torture really.’
Waking back to the hot slab, she is handed some heavy woolens to dry herself, she nods to the women that she can attend to this aspect on her own. Slowly, she begins to dry herself. Not a bit of her skin does not tingle and some parts feel numb. Lying back on the slab, she prepares herself for the final stages. The best part, the massage. Once that is finished, she lies straight out and pretends that she is a mermaid sunning herself.
In the distance she can hear her disciple and the washer maid conversing. ‘Are they talking about me?’ she thinks as her eyes close softly.
Miränor Language can be found here for translation.
But for the lazy here is the translations in order of appearance.
1. Son of a Bitch
2. What the F**k?
3. SOB cheeky bastard.
4. I see you and I am happy.
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