The Song of Ceber

Argument: The queen of the dauber wasp plans a feast and commissions the dauber poet Elle to conceive a story that will provoke Ceber and Medy to finally admit their feelings to each other. As the feast preparations get underway, Takara arrives among the daubers ready to make trouble.

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The Plot

The Queen of the daubers,
Sochek Wall-builder,       Chief Mud Mistress
Heart mender,       Fire tender
And soul-mate to Card of the yellow shell
Knew everything in her village
Nothing ever       was not noticed.

Watching Ceber, the Queen to her husband said,
“Charming       country folk
Such as we river wasps
Should not be as clueless as Medy is.
The two are       twin-matched
in affection and lack of detection.
They will never know love
The sweet country of both fools and heroes
Upon whose shores       ships wreck
Because they are blinded.”

Her husband laughed.
“Then give them a light.
Guide them to port.
They call it ‘falling in love
So push them off that cliff.”

Sochek Mud Mistress smiled
“Let tomorrow be a feast day.
I don’t care for what reason.
Tell the people we've spied a good star.
Gather mead, meat, and ale.
Arrange a virtual orgy of carousing.
Get our the storyteller, the talekeeper
And make the couple drunk
On some love-splattered fantasy
Gooey in details
Rich in romance
Hot and sticky as fresh honey.
With conflict and climax
Dripping from her lips
To work the youth to ecstasy
So that they can’t refuse Elsalay’s embrace.”

They sent for Elle, Song-Writer
Elle, Song-Fisted, Weaver of Words
Conjurer of Conflict,       Climax, and Resolution
And they told her their plan.

“Have no fear my gracious lady.
They will have no chance to resist.
I will tell a tale
Set on the heart       as hunting hounds
are on foxes.
They both will feel       a flutter
I am a fiction teller
Not a Prophet
But I foresee twelve or more wasplets
For the happy couple.”

The Queen clapped       copiously
Joyed to hear       such jolly words
And sent Elle, Heartbreaker
Posthaste to conjure memories of old

Storm-tongued Elle’s house
Was up the river       right by a raging waterfall
Down a well-worn       winding trail
Built by the       fairfolk before
Being run off in the great war
Between them and mankind.

Poetic images danced in her head
Distracted, warming to her task
She met a stranger       standing in the road.
Takara as a great       tiger beetle
Stopped the poet for to ask,

“Good lady, I’m lost. Is this the road to Terbeir?”

Elle fearing nothing from a beetle, answered,
“It is, good gallant green sir.
Truth, it is Terbeir on Vada
A good town       that treats travelers well.
Never a visitor have they turned away.
Dedicated to Ausohara they are friendly to all.”

Takara thanked her and in passing
At the closest point
Struck the poet with her jaws
Snapping Elle’s head off
Amber blood flecked       from the frothing body.
Twisting limbs       scoured the sand
And Elle, light of       the Weaver Worms was dead.
The goddess of gears took Elle’s skin
That pretty pearly shell       wearing it like a cloak
With the poet’s head as a hat
The goddess’s       magic made her unto the poet,
So alike       in appearance
That even       Elle’s husband
Sendy of the Blue
Didn’t know his wife’s destroyer.
So impressive a show she put on
Elle’s two little wasplets
white larvae before the change
Did not notice       her new mind
The plots clicking behind her eyes.

The Song of Ceber

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