The Stones of Talarana
The Door of Ivory
A.H. Den
A Short Story


SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:
Alessandro H. Den on Smashwords


The Stones of Talarana 
Copyright © 2013 by Matteo Berilli


I dream that exists
Since it exists, what I dream.

The dreamer was no longer the same: his time had dazed, his surroundings misled, the gray cement cities oppressed. His dreams, influenced by that gray had become emaciated and inconsistent: for years he was not dreaming more the blue waters of Selthon, the soaring spiers of Naren and the adamantine splendor of the great capital of the Land of Dreams, Oonanai Talarana. He himself, in his melancholy, he had almost lost the memory of the vast halls of the crystalline Dastama and joyful banquet in which it participated, sitting at the right hand of the Emperor. That was his world as a child, that was the fact that he felt he belonged. Growing his fairy world was gradually faded: the banquets which were witnessed and horseback riding in the wide meadows of Esperia became increasingly rare and soon forgot how to get there. So he was forced to conform to the masses, to become one among many, stranger among strangers in a desperate world. Then, one morning, the brightening dawn the thing happened: his sleep, without dreams for years, underwent a change. He found himself in a courtyard arcades, adorned with numerous fountains from which sprang fountains of perfumed water. Covering it the way he discovered that it opened into a large hall, the edge of which were placed two doors: one ivory and bone. On that vision, finally remembering his past, he walked with a firm step towards the ivory door, seemingly carved from a single gigantic block. Approached her, throbbing with emotion: the half-open portal seemed to invite him to enter. The dreamer felt distinctly a beautiful symphony that filled his soul, like the one listening to the party in the halls of Oonanai Talarana, accompanied by flutes and lutes. Entranced by the bright vision he grabbed the oversized handle chryselephantine, pulling himself. A blinding light enveloped him and for a fleeting moment the dreamer had thought again to fly back over the Crimson Desert or sail to the heavenly Mideroa, but to his great regret, he found himself lying on his bed, dazzled by the rays of a warm sun, guilty of his untimely awakening.
In vain he tried to back to sleep, trying to find the big yard and the ivory door. For three days he went to bed early, but his results were nil. There was, however, been a change unexpected and unhoped for by the same dreamer, he had begun to dream again. He did not, however, sailed on the great Sea of Dreams on which overlooked the majestic Oonanai Talarana not gazed over the vast turquoise dome of the Major Basilica of Selthon. In front of him ran cities, the high spiers of pink marble, stained silver and large gardens. The dreamer, though he had begun to dream,  was sad and steadily, and went looking for the ivory door that opened into his own world, in his dreams. Unfortunately for him, nor the wise men of Zolon nor the makers of celestial sailing of Kathandra were able to help him in his search.
Soon the day life became for him superfluous, annoying and almost prevented, thus sought remedy in the opiate drugs and morphine, thus extending its still many hours of fruitless search. New landscapes stood in his dreams, crystal towers, snow-capped mountains on which the developed cities, towns underwater vaults of gold and red coral. Anyone who questioned, however, was unaware of the porches with fountains and no one had ever seen soar beyond the clouds the crystalline Dastama the capital Oonanai Talarana or had heard the pluck of the harp of the green Renodia. Soon, however, he exhausted his financial resources, so having to give up its prolonged stagnation. He was so confined to his house gray cement in total darkness, in an attempt to regain the sleep that seemed to have abandoned. The moons rose and waned but the dreamer remained motionless in his bed with his eyes wide open: no physical need could dissuade him from his purpose: that was his world, his reality and therefore felt the desperate need to return. In a night of full moon, whose rays filtered through the bulkhead windows set in concrete, the dreamer heard something unusual, something that shook him from his state of semi-consciousness: carried by a gentle wind from the east traveling notes a procession of violin and flute. The dreamer stood up and ran to the window, opening with strength, and seeing a vision remote and ethereal, in which he had given up hope. He felt condemned to an eternal night without dreams, but the sight of him revived, healing him in body and spirit. Took to the streets, enlightened and enlivened by the unknown festive procession: the musicians joined exquisite dancers, graceful as dryads, just as refined and beautiful. After they finally appeared a long line of knights with shining orichalcum armor, advancing on steeds white as the eternal snows of Mount Barantha. The dreamer watched the procession with his mouth open, and ecstatic at the same time confused when at one point a gentleman in the front row, laying on his right a caparisoned horse without his rider, broke away from the camp, catching up. The man bowed in front of the dreamer, inviting him to mount the horse to reach the blissful Land of Dreams, along with festive procession. The dreamer went up on the horse, recognizing, in the decorations and the trappings of his companions, the emblem of imperial Oonanai Talarana. When he looked back to him, he found himself wearing the dress more sumptuous and rich he had ever seen, worthy only of the emperor. The knight beside him dissolved any doubts: greeted him as a new and long-awaited Emperor Talarana. The procession marched, crossed the deserted streets of the gray city, and there finally reached the harbor at the end of a long dock, crossed the big courtyard with arcades with scented water fountains. He crossed the hall and stood again in front of the ivory door this time, in obedience to his silent order, swung open on its own, allowing the long procession to cross it. The dreamer was back, this time for good, in his beloved World of Dreams, in the middle of the halls of Oonanai Talarana and banquets, the towering golden spiers of Naren and his lute. Finally, he would have enjoyed this paradise, ruling forever and wisdom from the imperial throne of adamantium and lunoctio, the material they are made of the stars. He was finally back home.

Aroused little surprise among the cynical and moralistic population of the great city of concrete, the discovery, a few days after the full moon night, of the body of what appeared to be a bum, caught between concrete barriers and surrounded the putrid waters of the harbor.

The End


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