Amber Trips the Light Fantastic
By Robin Jenkins
Chapter 2
Phoebe and the White Bird
”This is a tube,” thought Amber as she reached out and tried to touch the light bands of blue, violet, red, orange, yellow and green. The light could not be felt, yet it passed through her body, lighting her up like a rainbow.
“Was that a wind chime?” she asked as she looked to see what was making a tingling noise.
“Ah! I’ve found it!” she cried as she shut her fingers over a diamond-cut crystal that sped through the yellow band.
“Gotcha!”
The tinkling went wild. “Pling – pling – pling – pling – pling – pling– pling– pling – pling – pling!”
Amber opened her hand and out flew the crystal. Now the crystal was a snowflake, now a sphere, again a crystal, now a star, now a blob of light, now a tiny Milky Way Galaxy!”
“Pling!” sounded the crystal every time it changed.
Poor Amber. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes crossed. She was dazzled, delighted and dumbfounded.
Again, the white light took the shape of a diamond and tinkled a tune. The light snuggled itself into her limp hand like a kitten wanting to be petted. She held the light loosely and looked deeply into it. The rhythmic tinkling became a voice that said:
The primal sun of the mind is in Faerie:
O golden fleece of Faerie
Which never a hunter won,
For it cannot be got by killing.
All is man in Faerie,
And this is one of its secrets
The forest is a great nation
The still pool is a soul.
A prayer is a work in Faerie
And a moonbeam may carry it.– Anonymous, from “Lineaments of Faerie,” Charles Muses and Arthur M. Young, Consciousness and Reality: The Human Pivot Point (New York:Discus/Avon, 1976) p.410.
The motion had stopped. Only Amber and the white, lighted crystal remained. The rainbow was no longer around her. Her body felt funny, like it was still moving through time while all else had come to a standstill.
It was very dark. There was only the light of the full moon and the shining crystal in her hand. She looked down into a still poool and saw the crystal’s reflections.
“M-e-ewling ma-a-ar-r-r-r-ve-lous ma-a-a-t-ters!”
Amber jumped and turned away from the pool. Her heart was in her throat.
A pair of huge, almond-shaped, yellow eyes glowed in the dark.
Amber held up the crystal and saw nearby a gray house cat as big as a panther. The cat stood on its hind legs and in its forepaws carried an arrow.
“Please don’t shoot me,” pleaded Amber.
“Mighty maniacal thing to do. I’m not in the mood,” meowed the cat.
The cat placed the bow around Amber’s body. After sticking the arrow into the wooden part of the bow, the cat dragged Amber into a circle of cypress trees.
“My minions,” meowed the cat, pointing to a row of faded, furry felines. Each had a pair of glowing eyes.
I mistook your light for the white bird,” explained the cat. “I’ve been miserable, a misfit, ever since the bird, the marvelous bird, unmasked me.”
The cat removed the bow with the arrow stuck in it and tossed them aside. She pulled out her claws and her fangs and tossed them to a minion-cat who laid them on a pile of hunting gear.
“What is this place?” Amber asked.
“Detaining quarters. Consider yourself hunted. You are in the Primal Woods. I y-a-am Phoebe, Goddess of the Moon. Gr-r-r-r-r-e-e-a-a-t Huntress. Mistress of Manxes. Mimic of males. Minister of Mothers. Minacious Mincer. Millions of Minds. I y-a-a-m-me-y-o-u-w!”
“Why did you hunt me – like that?” Amber asked, pointing to the discarded bow with the arrow stuck into it.
“Minimizes miscalculations. Mission isn’t minute steak anymore. Misplace a missile. Mistake a mole for a mouse. Must monitor mood of morbidity. Otherwise mourning in the morning.
“Never seen a glimpse of morning except for the white bird and your light. No motive, no mood to molest the motile since I saw the white bird in the still pool. Muscles moved to muzzle a mouthful. Mysterious mystery. Mystic myth. It flew away. Never even really saw it. It flew away. Only saw reflection in still pool.
“Ever since then my name a misnomer. No more misery-maker, me. Misreckon, misfire all my missiles. Mischief mixed with madness. Moaning, meowing, meandering, searching dark wood for white bird I never find.”
“Ah,” said Amber, feeling sorry for the cat.
“What do you cats, uh, eat nowadays?”
“No more moles, mousies, mongooses. Only moonbeams. Drink in moonbeams and pray find white bird.”
“Mighty morale,” meowed the cat.
Grandly, she arched her back. Her tail snaked back-and-forth behind her back. The cat carefully reattached her fangs to her gums and then her claws to her paws. She grabbed the bow-and-arrow and meowed, “M-r-r-o-o-ow, mo-o-ve it!”
“Many minions – stay here and pray,” she meowed to the many-eyed ring of fur.
“Oh-m-m-m-m, Oh-m-m-m-m, Oh-m-m-m-m,” purred the minions.
The woods shook.
Phoebe the cat and Amber walked a great distance through the darkness. There was no telling how long they wandered. Phoebe didn’t know what Amber meant when Amber asked what time it was. They did not tire and they were not hungry. They absorbed moonbeams and kept on going.
“Presently, they met a hermit sitting on a rock, holding a lantern.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Amber said to the hermit. “We are looking for a white bird.”
“Oh, yes. The white bird,” the old man replied. “Lives on top of that mountain. See that cliff – yonder? That’s where it dwells. High up.”
“What is the bird’s name?” Amber asked.
“The bird has many names. I call it Truth.”
“To whom are you talking?” Phoebe the cat asked of Amber.
“To the hermit,” Amber replied. “Don’t you see him? He’s holding a lantern.”
“No,” said the cat.
At that point, the hermit’s lantern went out. His shadow wandered toward the mountain and disappeared.
Amber and Phoebe the cat also continued toward the mountain. They walked for what seemed like forever toward the great, black stone.
At last, they arrived. They stood at the foot of the mountain.
Amber had noticed along the way that the closer they came to the mountain, the more tired Phoebe had become. The cat’s life was draining away as they approached the home of the white bird. Phoebe had lost her royal posture: her wobbling limbs could no longer support a regal stance. Her once dazzling eyes were dim.
Amber’s crystal lit up the entire side of the mountain, which was completely smooth.
The cat had fallen. She lay on her side, looking up, knowing she could never climb the mountain.
Phoebe the mighty huntress wanted more than life itself to catch a glimpse of the white bird called Truth.
Just then, Amber saw a white feather floating down, down, down. It landed on Phoebe’s eyes, just as they were closing.
“Truth?” whispered Amber.
“Many moments,” meowed the cat. And then she purred, “Oh-m-m-m-m, Oh-m-m-m-m, Oh-m-m-m-m.”
“Oh no. Now what will I do?” asked Amber. “This cat looks like Fred looked when he di-di-di … ,” she couldn’t say the word.
“Bird!” Amber shouted. “If you are here – give me a sign!”
Amber had to free her hands to try to make the cat get up and in the process, she set the crystal on the cat’s tummy.
“All of a sudden, a blaze of light lit up the whole countryside!
Where the cat had been, a fountain threw water toward the sky! The whole area was as bright as an August afternoon.
What a beautiful land it was – full of fruit trees and vines!
Birds flew from tree to tree and a great, white bird swooped down into the fountain, came up with the crystal in its beak, and dropped the crystal at Amber’s foot. The bird soared away toward the mountain peak and Amber stood, listening to the crystal.
It was tinkling again.
Then, from the crystal came a voice:
Here at the Fountain’s sliding foot,
Or at some Fruit-tree’s mossy root,
Casting the Bodie’s Vest aside,
My Soul into the boughs does glide:
There like a Bird it sits, and sings,
Then whets, and combs its silver Wings;
And, till prepar’d for longer flight,
Woves in its plumes the various Light.Anonymous, from “Lineaments of Faerie,” Muses and Young, p. 410.
(copyright 2007, Robin Jenkins)
Tags: Amber Trips the Light Fantastic, Chapter 2, children's literature, Dream Vision, Fairy Tale, Fantasy, Metaphysical, novel, Poetry
