The Song That Never Ends
The opening of the great final battle for Jidorik on the Ralse Plains became especially immortalized in a folk ballad known as “Highwind at the Bat” in the coming years and Days. Despite the horrific events that played out that long and lonely day, the ballad was almost comical in its tone, perhaps because Solomon himself had decided to throw a bone. He had never approved of Project Highwind, as Greffuhle had called the unholy thing that dropped from the sky that day, but he was happy with the end results of the experiment, all the livelong Day.
Apparently, Solomon had pulled the song out of the Babel archives from some rhyme about a game. Called “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, who no one on Gaia had ever heard of, but played similar to Catch the Dove. It was called...baseball.
Naturally, the sport exploded in popularity after the ballad was released and people connected the three to me. I don’t care what anyone says, a good time was had by all, it just took a little longer for some to see the Ball. But that’s the story of us all, including you and me.
The Pretty Prince of Manse von Muir refused to sing the “nasty thing,” as he/she called it, whenever it was requested. The dancing jesters Zorn and Thorn loved to recite it at the most inappropriate moments, those two bouncing bandits. It was a song many either were lovers or haters of, depending on their current relationship with its players, and with the Dove. Greffuhle especially had strong opinions on its writing, but as always, she kept her true opinions to herself, but you know she delighted in privately reciting that silly thing that sounded like Catch the Dove.
The last major players left in East Jidorik on that day, after the early morning foray slash invasion of the West and all its fray, came to be known as the “East Jidorik Nine,” and were equally immortalized within both this Song and in my lay. Bardin was, of course, very happy he hadn’t been mentioned anywhere near that ball, and Steiner and Fleming very pissed that they got missed and were forced to take a much-needed fall. Many players of Catch the Dove afterwards actually liked to take their names from the Nine as nicknames, it became so well-known and so well-heard. Thank you, Justin, for this stupid silly little song.
The Nine were so named, in no particular order of their fame:
Anton Bardin - only known as Baron Wittgenstein during the battle, much to his relief, and yet acclaim.
Zorn and Thorn – no typos, much to their amusement and others grief but never shame.
Unei and Doga - much to their chagrin. Don’t worry they’re still in to win. I don’t create things, just to chuck them in the bin!
Steiner-Schweitzer and Amaryllis Fleming - much to their disdain, but they’ll get their fame, somewhere at the end of the game.
Alus Harvey - much to his, very real, terror, and now look at him go! Hoho!
...and, of course, Project Highwind. The less said about him the better. But he is part of the whole mélange, just like Eddie Vedder. Whoever the hell that is - Solomon is pretty strange. You’ll see all of this when the stranger times come on and I really get cooking on the range! Love you all and all I can say is never drop that Ball!
Trust me.
The full lyrics to “Highwind at the Bat” I will sing here even though they are out there and so renowned. I just can’t help myself, death is dead this day. We’ve won folks, it’s going to be okay. Thank you thank you thank you, we will all meet someday. And I love you mom and dad, it’s because of you, rolling in the hay, that I am allowed to sing this lame-ass lay all the livelong day! Praise the Why and Praise the You and Praise the Fee between ’em, the biggest riddle ever, and we all got through ’em!
Now then, from the top, here we go one two three. Let us sing this stupid thing from Thayer, but also made by him and him through ME.
“Highwind at the Bat”
~*~
The outlook wasn't brilliant on East Jidorik’s Darkest Day;
the men were down to dregs, with but one last group's hand to play.
And then when Unei was felled first, and Doga cried in vain,
a sickly silence fell upon the fighters across the Plain.
A struggling few gave up to die in deep despair. The rest?
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
they thought, if only Highwind could get but a whack at that –
they'd put up even money, now, with Highwind at the bat.
But Harvey preceded Highwind, as did also Zorn and Thorn,
and the child was a newbie and the jesters were still torn,
so upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
for there seemed but little chance of Highwind's getting to the bat.
But Harvey let fly a swing, to the wonderment of all,
and Lux, the much despised, rose from Heaven’s Fall;
and when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
there was Lux dead and damned and Harvey's holy sword was heard.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it ran through sweet Medina, it rattled through All-Hell;
it knocked on Zozo’s mountains and recoiled on Ralse’s Plain,
for Highwind, mighty Highwind, was advancing to the game.
‘Twas chaos in Highwind's manner as that dragoon fell from space;
there was pride in Highwind's bearing and vengeance on Highwind's face.
And when, on brandishing his spear, he grandly donned his helm,
no man in the crowd could doubt 'twas a Highwind in the realm.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he cloaked his form in hate;
five thousand tongues exploded when he showed his blood-red plate.
Then while the writhing Dragon hurled the ball into his ship,
defiance gleamed in Highwind's eye, a sneer curled Highwind's lip.
And now the blazing mortal sphere came hurtling through the air,
and Highwind stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy spearman the ball unheeded sped—
"That ain't my style," said Highwind. "Strike one," that dragoon said.
From the trenches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the dragon!" shouted all in mortal fear;
and it's likely they’d have been killed had not Highwind raised his spear.
With a smile to pay even Kris Fey’s Fee, great Highwind's visage shone;
he stilled the rising tumult; he bade the rest go home;
he signaled to the Dragon, and once more the spheroid flew;
but Highwind still ignored it, and that dragoon said: "Strike two."
"Fraud!" let slip the red fool and the blue fool echoed "clod!";
but one scornful look from Draco and the foolish twins were awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew the Dragon wouldn't let that dragoon live again.
The sneer is gone from Draco's lip, his maw is wide in hate;
he pounds his tail with cruel violence, as he calls his mate.
And now the Dragon holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Highwind's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land Altimus shines strong;
Gaeus is at peace somewhere, and the Wind plays his song,
and somewhere Elia sings, and Janus gives a shout;
for there's still hope for Jidorik—mighty Highwind has struck out!
~*~
If you’re reading the physical version of this story, it’s plain to see the how and why of both the song and its initial deletion and disdain. But yes, yes, I’ll get on with it, we can’t just sing all day...
Here’s what actually happened on the Plains in plain Lufaine on that Day, the world language of Gaia just as gil was its world currency to pay. Gaians like to keep things short and simple and sweet...even if they do so rarely meet, as Zorn and Thorn would say to that unstoppable beat.
But first before the rest, a small note of thank-you before I really get started going at my best. Gratitude, humility and respect are always in order when greater things than yourself are a’showin you their breast...all things Project Highwind lacked and therefore he got whacked...and then he learned his lesson, and I let him back. Thank you to anyone who has read this far. Thank you mom and dad. Thank you God. Thanks from every star.
I may be writing this, but I know there are wheels within the wheels, and pens behind the pens...and stories upon other stories, underneath all this, Kris, my friend. I stood upon a multitude of shoulders to even get this to this bar, and I do not forget them even now, even from afar. Most of the time, eh? Mortals ain't perfect, and I ain't God and I ain't perfect either way, and neither is this story...or is it a really just a Song?
I'm just a simple penman, telling tales of magicality and wonder, beginnings and their ends; fantasy and finality, all the way to you, my friend. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, because it's about to get a whole lot stranger from here until the end, as if I haven't been saying that pretty clearly for a while now, all the way since Bag-End. And if you ever stop liking it, you know how to let me know, clearly. But I think we’ve reached a place where we both love each other dearly. More than anyone can know.
As within, so without, Maduin had simply said. It took a lot of myself to make it this far, and it will take even more to go further to THE END. All the way AROUND THE BEND AND BACK AGAIN.
This I swear, on the light of me and you, the Light of Hope will never fade, and I will go all the way to the end. And I won’t strike out, no I won’t strike out, my friend. Come along, come along, to the show that never ends. It’s a ball over here, do you hear? So hurry and finish this silly Thing!
~*~
(and don't forget to flush after that commodious plopping!)
"A simple and sweet painting, of lightness and darkness, together as they sing, by the simple brother of a simple penman. Thank you, too, Ryan. I’ll always love you, boo, even if we rarely meet. And yes this is Justin and he's crazy about you crew."