The Raven And The Peacock Retold
Part I
Once upon a time, at an age when the Earth was an infant still, and Adam and Lillith were yet unmade by the Great Magician, the lands were filled with birds and beasts. But unlike the birds of present day which are discernible by colour and pattern, these birds were all as white as a virgin’s sheets and could only be told apart by form and song.
Among these birds lived a peacock and a raven and the two of them were the best of friends. Everyday, on the twilight hour, they would alight on the branches of the mighty oak in the woods and under the shadow of the canopy, they would speak of Philosophy and Love, of Art and Poetry, and the musings of the universe. They would sip little cups of mead and drink the juices of fermented grain and berries until Bacchus has kissed them full on the lips. None alive understood the Raven better than the Peacock. And so it was as well the other way around.
One day, the Great Magician called upon His creations and said, “Hark! My beloved subjects! Listen for I have an important announcement!”
As the animals gathered around Him, He continued, “I shall be holding a great banquet in my palace on the seventh passing of the week, which is on the morrow, and all are invited to feast and make merry with me. The cause for this celebration is to herald the noble birth of Man, whom I have made in my likeness. And I have deemed it fit that this novel beast shall be your new king in this world.
“But there is more! The birds shall no longer wander this Earth as ashen ghosts with wings. It is my wish that you shall all be pigmented to bring colour and life for the young King! Whatever pigmentation you choose to clothe yourself in, is entirely up to your fancy. And the most splendid one among all shall be granted this gift; that Mankind will make poetry of the victor’s beauty and adorn their tapestries and canvases with his gracefulness. Forever and ever will he be immortalized in sonata and story!”
There was much excitement in the air as the birds twittered and chattered to each other. How delightful, a banquet in the palace of the Great Magician! Certainly they must make themselves as stylish and stately as possible to befit such a royal occasion. And to be the earthly muse of Man! How grand that would be!
The Peacock, knowing what a fine artist the Raven was, beseeched her to make him the most glorious of fowls. One so dazzling to behold that not only will the rest of the birds pale in comparison to him, but even the trees and rocks will weep in wonder before his presence.
The Raven was more than happy to oblige her best friend. She took out her brushes and paint pots and with them, she began to work away. With bold splashes and delicate strokes, she summoned the spirits of the ancient artisans into her sinews and veins, weaving together the essence of rainbows and exotic wild flowers.
When she was done, the Peacock was covered in all manner of chromatics imaginable, giving light and reflecting it at the same time. The feathers on his wings shimmered and shone like the image of the waxing Moon on the ripples of a lake, the down on his body glittered like rare sapphires mined from the most perilous crags of the Southern realms, and the fine ruffle on his neck was as gold as a cherub’s curls. But the most impressive of all, was his tail, for the Raven had made it so that when the Peacock fanned out his plumes, a thousand and one basilisks opened their onyx eyes to stun all who gaze at them.
The Peacock looked at himself and felt most pleased indeed. “How astoundingly artistic you are, my dear Raven! How remarkably rare your talents! Why if I know not any better, I would’ve thought you the one who clothed the Earth in her raiments of emerald, ruby, and turquoise, and not the Great Magician himself!” he expressed his gratitude in verbosity, for he was as good with words as she was with colours.
The Raven smiled and said, “It was my pleasure, dear friend. Indeed it was my pleasure.”
The Peacock bowed and said, “Now, pray tell, what are you going to do about your own appearance?”
Still smiling, the Raven took out a big pot of black paint and painted herself all over, including her beak and feet, as black as coal. When she was done, the Peacock started.
“By the hallowed plumage of the phoenix! Have you gone the way of the Hare in March? Why, with all your artistry, did you paint yourself to look like a mourning procession?”
“It is so, my dear friend that while your colours are admirable, as truthfully I must admit that you’re my greatest masterpiece, but the colour of the sky at the death of day, is timeless.” She exclaimed, “Mark my words, black will always be in fashion!”
“Ah! Artists! Such a delightful mystery they are!” The Peacock nodded and laughed. “Well, well, well, it is getting late, my dear Raven. I better be on my way. We shall meet again on the morrow! I express my gratitude to you again!” With that, he bowed once more, and flew off.
The Raven turned away and sighed. The truth was she knew the Peacock would very much love to be the muse of Man; to inspire humanity to believe in the beautiful, to influence their dreams, to dance in their imagination. She knew that his amazing gift with words was not enough for the ambitious Peacock, who wished to be as charming in appearance as he was with speech and script. Hence, she had painted herself in such a manner so as she would not outshine him come the day of the banquet, even though she knew she could never undo what she had done to herself. Great was her love for him and greater still was her devotion to their friendship.
* * * * * * * * * *
The hour of the banquet came. There was much merriment on the holy grounds of the Great Magician and the palace was a spectacular sight to behold! The ceiling was composed of sparkling stars and silver clouds, held up in position by giant pillars of fiery bronze carved to resemble Ishpan Darmaz, Bene Elim, Farun Faro Vakshur, and their blessed kindred. Marvellous aromatic flowers hung heavily around them in intricate wreaths giving the air an enchanting scent of Eastern spices. The ivory walls were covered with glittering tapestries, woven by the Norns themselves, depicting the yarns of Then, Now, and Yet.
At the very end of the hall was a throne of gold decorated with purple brocade and gilded ribbons, and there sat the Great Magician Himself with a halo of blinding light on His head. Seated beside Him on a smaller throne of silver and granite-veined marble was Man, the beast of whom all creation he was destined to reign (and later destroy).
The feast was magnificent and all who attended could not help but indulge with the wanton nature of a spoilt child. After everyone had eaten and drank their fill, the dance began. From the instruments of the musicians flowed note after note like thick honey seeping through a fracture in a hive. The Nightingale and the Mockingbird, unable to contain their joy, burst into a harmonious accompaniment, much to everyone’s pleasure.
“Wonderful! Simply wonderful!” exclaimed the Great Magician, clapping His hands thunderously. “Now, it is time for the birds to display their plumage so that I may judge which among them shall be crowned tonight!”
The birds stood in line and marched before the throne in a grand parade, puffing out their feathers haughtily. Many were adequately dressed, some were more captivating than others, and some looked rather dull, but none were as grand as the Peacock, who certainly looked most handsome that night. The Great Magician laughed heartily and applauded their efforts. Then He caught sight of the Raven, who was as black as coal, and frowned. “How dare you attend the birthday celebration of Man in the dark raiments of Death? How impudent! You should make an example of the Peacock, look how grand he is! Why I shall now declare him the most exquisite of birds!” and placed a little crown of pearls on his head.
“Hmff!” the Raven huffed. “The colour of the sky at the death of day is timeless.” She exclaimed, “Mark my words, black will always be in fashion!” And with that, she flew off into the woods with a slight smile knowing she had done her friend well.
And so it came to be that the Peacock wears a crown of pearls on his head and he was thereafter immortalized in the Arts of Man, some of which can still be seen to this day; while the Raven was since then said to be the harbinger of Death and Decay.
The Peacock and the Raven became even better friends after then, sipping mead and indulging in the juices of fermented grain and berries, and speaking of things of this world and the next; until Fate, with his twisted sense of humour, and Love, with her want for cruel games, tore them apart. But that tale is for another time to tell.
For the people out there who actually read my blog...Simon was right, I didn't have Internet connection. I *was* in a limbo. I'm now sitting in a bloody cyber-cafe where pimply-faced teenage boys swear better than I can while playing Ragnarok and Cronous. Motherfuckers.
