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Nameless: A Fairy Tale
by A Very Tall Oak Tree in City Park
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“I know little of the wars. I am what some would call
nonpartisan. Unfortunately that is untrue. I care very much about the
wars regarding the outcome, but that particular is not yet upon us.
And you, most unusual Morgan…the shame of your father’s spirit…you
hope very much that the wars will end soon, yes?”
She spoke in wafts of words. They drifted as if carried on an unseen
wind. She walked as if waltzing in a dream. Morgan found her
conversation intriguing, yet terribly disconcerting. How could this
stranger so confidently confirm his emotions? They walked in silence
for a while, Morgan not wanting to answer the woman’s last question.
She did not press him; she already knew that she was right.
Finally Morgan spoke. “It is a rule of mine that I trust no one who
knows my name without my knowing theirs. By some trick of fate you
seem to know mine. Will you honor me with yours?”
She looked sadly wistful for a moment, then tossed her head and said,
“I have none.”
Morgan gaped at her. “Every being has a name! You must be hiding it
somewhere.”
The woman laughed. “It is not I who keeps it hidden. Another is
keeping my name from me.”
Morgan puzzled over this for a moment in silence. If she wanted to
tell him who it was that knew her name, surely she would have already
done so. Light was visible ahead of them, and within moments they had
emerged from the cover of trees and stumbled into a small village.
Ancient farmers instantly crowded around them.
“Who are ye? Where’re yeh from? Why’re yeh here?”
Endless repetitions of the same three questions attacked Morgan from
all sides. The woman came to his rescue.
“He has come from the West to consult Mildred.”
“A superstitious Westerly? Never.” Cried one
particularly hideous man from the back of the crowd. “You know as well
as I that they don’ believe in ‘nonsense’ like tha’, Nameless.”
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