The Soothsayer

Elegy for a dying world and the silence in-between

“This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.”

T.S. Eliot

---

For a moment only silence prevailed, the wind ceased its prattling, the inn’s signpost stopped squeaking, and the heart of the traffic stopped beating. The town exhaled, its breath held for the longest time. Nothing moved. The courtyard was deserted devoid of all life. Only the lamp washed light over the damp cobblestone. Ahead was a stone building, its roof once thatched stood naked, proud, and defiant beneath a starless sky: pitch black. Even the moon was afraid to be seen this evening.

This place was once alive, inebriated men and women could be heard carousing and wassailing, gaily singing songs from the past, a tribute to the land they tilled yesteryear. Now they were gone, their footprints a monument to time on the grimy pavement, betraying the life that once was. The town inhaled, oxygen-drunk and witless, its lungs punching greedily at the air.

Once upon a time this hamlet was thriving, the stones knew everyone’s secrets, the stories they could tell, and the witches who would listen — even they have gone, swept away by fear. ‘Beware! The ides of March,’ they screamed. No one would listen, by then it was already too late. Only ghosts remained lamenting the loss of the living, who will they haunt now? Unable to move on or hitch a ride to another part of mankind’s universe. Then there are the Lost Ones: withered things shapeless and without form. Creatures of the night afraid of the daylight lest they see their reflection and mourn their loss. They too have succumbed to the inevitable, somnambulists because sleepwalking makes them feel alive, with haunted eyes scavengers seeking a reprieve from the hell they’re afraid of.

Only a Guardian remains, he hasn’t spoken in a thousand years and will never spill their secrets. Comforting the forlorn not with words but with song that speaks soul deep to the spirits of the Aethyr. Indeed, this town is theirs until daylight brings hope and like rain washes away the sins of the night. A dark rainbow heralds change as songbirds chirrup a satanic greeting to the dawn.

“You do have a way with words and a vivid imagination.” He told me once. “You talk of futures as though they were real. Places no one has heard of. Exotics no one has ever seen. Are you a bard or a witch?”

I left the answer unspoken.

“The wind speaks truths to him; the leaves whisper his name as they rustle.” Someone said.

“He’s of the Fae, see his ears and look at his eyes, he’s not human!” spoke another.

“But even so, he tells us when the crops will be a good yield. His words always come to pass.”

I smiled, knowing this debate of old, if only they knew the truth.

And somewhere on a distant star a man holds another and he loved him like no other.

---

To its end and its beginning

The soothsayer is an assignment from the Ystradgynlais Creative Writers Group where the remit was to write outside our comfort zone. So I did. Actually I find writing outside one’s comfort zone creates new depths to forage in. So I wrote a haunting piece, that was tempting to bring the citizens of this story majikly back to life, but I refrained from so doing and just let the words flow. It was in effect a stream of conscious writing which I thoroughly enjoy doing. Now the song Mortality which is haunting in and of itself means that I couldn’t resist marrying it to The Soothsayer because of its subject matter. The contemplation of death, what it means and ultimately what happens to deity do they die with us? Do they have a sell-by-date like us? And what happens to ghosts who will they haunt when we’re gone?

---

Mortality

As a child I was afraid of the dark now I fear mortality. I cannot imagine not existing simply not being there in my purest form sentient and alive. I cant imagine being part of the silence I cant imagine being consumed by the silence being a memory fleeting fading forgotten. Who will remember us when we’re gone? Family? Friends and then who? Those names in the graveyard no one knows or remembers their tombstones falling into disrepair. When the living forget us is when we the truly become dead. Even Gods are mortals suffering our same fate. When humanity kisses extinction will the Gods die too?

---

© Mizieya 2026

All rights reserved.

No part of this work (story, lyrics, or music) may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This work is part of the Tzi Universe | Queerscape.