Long Way To Earth... Part 24

 

On the Eve of the Holidays Bromford, the llama-bard, and KussKuss, the llama, found the High Castle in turmoil of a lot of festive preparations. Lords and ladies, servants and visitors were twirling around the building buzzing busy around like the inhabitants of a bee hive in summer, all queens and workers and drones and collectors.

In the castle's courtyard they had built a giant campfire, maybe a bonfire, surrounded by benches and chairs and tables where they wanted to celebrate the big Holidays feast with tasty meals and drinkets and music and dancing that night.

On the far side of the yard they saw Colin from the Firth, the castle's astronomer and magician, adding the rolled parchments of his distance learning courses to the pile of fire wood as if he wanted to burn them. Around his neck on a thick chain hung the glass bowl with Eelon, the eel, swimming inside. And the two of them seemed to be arguing the whole time.

Bella, the kitchen aid, crossed Bromford, the lama-bard's and the lama's way with arms full of plates, tableware and cutlery.

'Hello, Bella', the llama called her. 'We are back from our journey. Didn't you miss us?'

'KussKuss, the llama', Bella said. 'You were on a journey? Didn't really notice that you were gone. And I see you brought a llama friend with you. That is nice. No one should be alone at the Holidays. But I have to hurry. I want to finish my work in time so that I can listen to the new bard of the High Castle tonight.'

'The High Castle has got a new bard?' Bromford, the bard, transformed into a llama, asked shrill and horrified.

'Yes', Bella said, 'his name is Bono, the bard, and you two should listen to him, too. He is very good, and not as frightening as the last one. See you later.'

And she disappeared in the swarm of bees formerly known as the High Castle's court.

'They did not even notice that we were gone', Bromford sobbed, 'and yet they have replaced me. What a bitter gift for the Holidays this is. All witchcraft and sorcery in vain.'

'We can always return to Dora of Wye and her barrel by the banks of the River Why outside the gates of the City of Earth, you know', the llama said poking Bromford gently into the side with its snout. 'And we can ask her to withdraw her spell.'

'Return to where your heart leads you', Bromford remembered and repeated Dora's words after her Latin spell. 'And after only four days you will see your inner drive, your inspiration, your mojo return to you.'

'Didn't your inspiration, your so-called mojo, return to you the same night, when you sang that song to her? And didn't you sing and invent songs and stories ever after that first night?' KussKuss, the llama tried to encourage.

'But I did not ask to become a llama. It may be alright for you. But I don't see no sense in it for me. I am Bromford, the bard, not Bromford, the llama.'

'Then there is only one part of her words we did not yet think through', the llama said putting its face into a deep thinking expression. 'Did you return to where your heart lead you to, Bromford, the bard?'

A light began to glow on the bard's face, brighter and brighter the clearer and clearer his mind got forming his new plans.

'I always thought my heart would lead me back home', he said. 'And home to me was the High Castle of Bromford, I thought for a long time. But what if this is not true?'

'Go on', the llama encouraged him grinning.

'What if my heart didn't want me to return to all of this?'

He gestured around, pointing at all the hustle and bustle in the castle at the same time.

'What if my heart and my mojo wanted me to return to travelling around the land and country from village to town, fortress to castle, rest stop to tavern again to tell the people my stories through my songs? What if these journeys and that wandering life on the road always were the inspiration I could draw my mojo, my flow from?'

'Yes? Yes?'

The llama couldn't stop grinning.

'I am Bromford, the bard', said Bromford, the bard. 'And I am travelling. I am no one's jester stationed and caged in only one castle. I will go out there on the road and I will become the greatest and bestest bard of all towns and times again.'

And all of a sudden he was covered in bright, white feathery sparks of light which exploded in one big glistening ball. And as the blinded eyes could see again Bromford, the llama-bard, had vanished and Bromford, the human bard, had returned for good.

'Happy Holidays', said KussKuss, the llama.

And Bromford, the bard, replied, 'Happy Holidays to all of us.'

 

 

And from the other side of the courtyard they heard the man called Bono, the bard, say,

'You know that I heard all of this you said about being caged and back on the road and becoming the greatest and bestest bard of all towns and times, don't you?'

And he started singing his own little song.

Today is Tuesday, the 24th of December 2024
Christmas Eve

"Peace On Bromford"

Heaven on Bromford
We need it now
I'm sick of all of this
Hanging around
Sick of sorrow
Sick of the pain
Sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be
Peace on Bromford

Where I grew up
There weren't many trees
Where there was we'd tear them down
And use them on our enemies
They say that what you mock
Will surely overtake you
And you become a monster
So the monster will not break you

And it's already gone too far
Who said that if you go in hard
You won't get hurt?

Jesus, can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line?
Peace on Bromford
Tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Bromford
No whos or whys
No one cries like a mother cries
For peace on Bromford
She never got to say goodbye
To see the colour in his eyes
Now he's in the dirt
Peace on Bromford

They're reading names out
Over the radio
All the folks, the rest of us
Won't get to know
Sean and Julia
Gareth, Ann and Breda
Their lives are bigger than
Any big idea

Jesus, can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line?
Peace on Bromford
To tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Bromford
Jesus, in the song you wrote
The words are sticking in my throat
Peace on Bromford
Hear it every Christmas time
But hope and history won't rhyme
So what's it worth?
This peace on Bromford

Peace on Bromford
Peace on Bromford
Peace on Bromford