Iamo seeks sanctuary

Where is this place?

It is very dark in here. I must find the lights. I wish I had my flint and tinder because I think I can see candles on an altar over in that corner … ah! Here, one of those electrickery things, now I may see better.

No, not much better. I am Iamo, whom some of you may know from Shaman’s Drum, the record of our adventures that Scribe wrote down. I am seeking sanctuary. My beloved and Scribe appear to be trying to out-scream each other downstairs and I have sought peace and quiet in the only room in this house that is currently unoccupied.

Scribe’s brother, Cameron, who is a decent enough chap but a little strange, has gone away on some sort of holiday. So I have, quite rudely, taken possession of his room in his absence.

What a bizarre place this is! The lighting is very dim and his altar is not one with which I am familiar, he seems to have taken representations of every religion in the world and placed them there. His incense is foul. I shall not light any. At least his candles are white. They would appear to be the same as Scribe’s and I would not be surprised if he took them from her hoard. The twins appear to share many things, as is right.

My beloved is shouting at Scribe because she feels that as the “Awfur”, Scribe should be making more of an effort to interest people in our recorded deeds. Personally, I am not concerned. The book is available, the Goddess will move people to buy it or not. Constantly demanding will only make them resistant, such as do the “ads” on that infernal box that plays almost continuously in the main room downstairs. I find I may buy furniture, car insurance and bathrooms at cheap prices every day of the year … if I so wished, which I do not. Scribe’s colleagues tell her that it is essential that new prospective purchasers must be made aware of the book’s availability every day but my own sentiment is that if the publicity is in the same place every day it will lose effect. I am not, however, an expert in book marketing, I am a simple monk who has left his order.

This room fascinates me. I wonder why Cameron feels the need of so much black paint and instruments of torture as decoration. One could be forgiven for thinking that one were in a dungeon of the Inquisition, at which I shudder. Inflicting physical pain on people to make them recant is worthless. Repentance must come from the soul and the heart. And if Cameron is such an ardent advocate of returning the strayed sheep to the true ways…why is he not aligned to one religion?

Indeed, I find his ways very troubling. While good company and amusing at parties, his dress sense and ways of conducting himself are unknown to me. I find the fact that he and Scribe exchange clothes so readily quite confusing. Sometimes I have found myself at table not knowing to whom I was speaking, Scribe with her hair plastered down or Cameron with his hair fluffed up. They are, despite being our kin, odd people.

Ah – here now I find something heartwarming. A framed photograph of two men. They must be relatives. A taller and younger blond one who is not dissimilar to me and a shorter, older one. They must be on holiday for they have no tops on and their arms are around each others’ shoulders as they smile for the picture. Ah, there is an inscription if I can see it by this light “To Cam, with love from Jack and Rory, Mykonos 2012″  How very endearing. They must be his cousins.

At least here I can find the writing box for which Scribe has given me the magic words. I can write this by the dim lighting, undisturbed by the chains and other equipment which unsettles me. In peace for a moment I can commit my thoughts to the “screen” and perhaps, if I remember the other spells, share it with our friends on the line. I am sure Cameron will not mind me intruding on his space for a little while.

Almost anything is better than listening to Riga and Scribe yelling while Scribe’s husband and the dogs take refuge in the kitchen. In this near- Stygian dark I can communicate with our “Face The Book Friends” and perhaps even twit. I have been longing for the opportunity to do so.

Sincerely, Iamo.

ah – no – LOL, ROFL and FFS – I believe I must write these incantations into the entry or they will not function!

About ailsaabraham

Author of "Shaman's Drum", a story of forbidden love between opposing pagan faiths. Iamo and Riga must undertake a task in order to be together. Renegade priestesses, demons and a traitor-monk are ranged against them. If they don't succeed they will die or face eternal disempowerment. They have everything to fight for. Published by Crooked Cat Books.
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