Diseased Jottings From A Random Mind

Midnight Bargain

He had done just as the ritual had said. First had chosen a crossroads on a blasted heath - one where there would be no light save that of the full moon. Then he had brought milk from a red cow and honey from black bees. These he had poured onto the ground while reciting the invocation he had found in an antiquarian tome:

Sacred Aoidé,

I call upon thee.

I bring thee milk

And bring thee honey.

Grant me visions

To inspire me.

Sacred Aoidé,

I call upon thee.

Then he had waited. There was silence, except for the sound of the night wind blowing through the grass. As clouds gathered around the moon, he began to feel foolish. What was he doing here, on a cold night when have could have been sitting in front of his computer, trying to fill the blank spaces with words? He picked up the jars, sticky with the residues of their contents, and made his way back to the car he had left under the signpost.

"Aoidé? That's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

Sitting on the bonnet of his car was a young woman. In the light of his torch he could see that the young woman had pale skin dotted with freckles. Long red hair framed her face and reached down almost to her waist. However, the most striking thing about her were her eyes. In the light of the torch they glowed a bright green. And her voice - her voice was like a stream flowing over pebbles.

"Are you ... ?" His voice cracked and failed him.

The young woman laughed. "Silly! Who else did you think would come in answer to your enchantment?" She eased herself off the car. Despite her long limbs, the young woman was a head shorter than he was. "But, like I said, I haven't been Aoidé in a long time. Or she hasn't been me. I'm not sure which. These days I go by the name of Eleanor."

"Guillaume," said the man. It seemed to him that this was the proper thing to say. "I didn't think it would work."

"But you tried it anyway," said Eleanor. "So you must have believed it would. And here I am." She laughed again. "Guillaume? You're not French are you?"

"No," said Guillaume. "I'm not."

"Not that it matters. So, tell me, what do you want?"

Guillaume blushed. "Look, this is going to be rather awkward. I want to be a writer - a good one. But I find it difficult to write. The words are in my head, but I can't get them down onto the page. They just won't come. I've tried everything. And I'm desperate."

"I understand." Eleanor nodded and pursed her lips. "So, here I am."

"Well, according to the book, I'm meant to ... ." Again, Guillaume's voice failed him.

Eleanor ran a soft hand under his chin. "Oh, that! You don't have to do that. That was just put about by Varro. Dirty old man! But I will help you. First, though, we must strike a bargain." She reached up to the sign at the side of the crossroads and spun it around. When the boards stopped, the words on them had changed.

"I can't read Greek," Guillaume mumbled.

She pointed at one of the signs. "O tempora, o mores. Very well. I offer you two paths. If you refuse my bargain, then all shall continue as before. You may continue as before, your inspiration bringing you what it will. You will always wonder what might have been" Then Eleanor pointed at the other. "Of course, you may accept my offer. I will grant you visions of such beauty, of such magnificence that you cannot help but write them down. You will be praised for all time. However, few mortals can bear the brilliance. You will die young. Choose."

Guillaume looked at the sign: one way pointing to hard work, maybe fame, maybe obscurity; the other pointing towards a life of creative madness. "We all die anyway. At least I shall leave some mark on this world."

Eleanor smiled. There was joy in her smile, but also a touch of regret. "Very well. you have made this choice of your own free will. Let the gods witness what bargain you have wrought. Now, there is one more thing you must do."

"What?"

Eleanor pointed at Guillaume's car. "Well, you don't expect your muse to walk, do you?"