The October Court

In the woods, there was a clearing. The clearing was a perfect circle devoid of trees and grass and plants. No animal would ever venture into this clearing, no bug nor worm. All that was in the clearing was dirt and the light that shown from the moon when it wasn't new.

When it was new, on the other hand, the clearing was illuminated by the moss on the trees surrounding it, making the dirt inside the clearing shine with a sickly glow.

And then, once in a while, when the moon was new and the moss glowed, the October Court convened in the clearing.

A shadow crawled across the surface of the clearing. A dog, his fur like pitch, stepped into the sickly glowing dirt. A bird landed in the clearing. A woman, her arms trailing thin strings, jerkily stepped inside. And, finally, an old man rose from the dirt, his eyes hidden behind dark glass.

"I call the October Court to session," the man with the dark glass said. "The Lethean presiding." His voice was the sound of dry pages turning. He gestured to the shadow. "The Glimmer Men present." He gestured to the dog. "The Limehound present." The bird. "The Inclemency present." The woman. "The Mammet present."

The woman jerked her hand upward, her strings lifting to the sky. "And where are the rest?" she asked. The strings curved like stairways in the air.

"They have declined to join us, as is their right," the Lethean said. "All or one, the October Court convenes."

"I would have thought the Epiphany would have shown," the Mammet said, her fingers splaying outward and then back. "Or the Orarian. They love these little meetings."

"They are busy," the Lethean said.

"Of course, of course," the Mammet said. "And there are some who never show up when you call. Why do you suppose the Floramour has never come to a session?"

"You ask questions you already know the answer, Mammet," the Lethean said.

"Those are the best kind," the Mammet said. "I know the Floramour chafes against all rules, just as I know why you refer to us with those silly names. Tradition, tradition, tradition, oh how we all pine for older days gone by."

The Lethean looked at her with the pits that were his eyes. "I have called the October Court to session. Five have come. Many have stayed. It matters not. I have called and it has been convened. The world runs ruinward. The Entanglement shrinks."

"Not possible," the Mammet says.

"You can see for yourself if you like," the Lethean said. The shadow on the ground held up its hand and motioned with its fingers in sign language. "It is not a random incident. It has been happening steadily. The end has caught up with us, like it catches up with every one and every thing. We may see it happening, but we cannot stop it."

The Limehound growled, the sound so low it reverberated through the trees and caused many animals to hide in their heads underground, trying to block it out and failing. "I understand," the Lethean said. "Where once the seasons recurred, so too will they end. Even the Epiphany, in this aeon, will die. I can tell you no more. I have convened the October Court and you came when I called. That is all. That is all there is. Go now."

The Inclemency flew out from the clearing, thunder in its wake. The Limehound walked into the woods, its eyes like lanterns. The Glimmer Men pulled themselves back into the shadowy depths of the woods. Finally, the Mammet looked at the Lethean with her pearly eyes and stated, "I do not believe you."

"Belief is not required," the Lethean said.

The Mammet sneered at him. "You are holding something back. I can force it from you. I can play you like a puppet." The strings unwrapped from her body and slid towards the Lethean.

The Lethean did not move. His face never changed. The strings stopped right before touching his papery skin. He said nothing.

The Mammet stood still for a second and then pulled her strings back. "It would be pointless," she said and stepped off into the woods, her strings curling around her body as she walked.

The Lethean looked around the clearing. There was only the sickly glow from the moss. He pulled out a book from his coat and glanced at a page. It was all there, he knew. It was always there.

And then he scattered into dust and was gone.