MMCM - The Quest of Iranon скачать в хорошем качестве

MMCM - The Quest of Iranon

   • This is what I call Lovecraft Vol. 3: Drea...   MMCM - The Quest of Iranon H.P. Lovecraft; The Quest of Iranon (written 28 February 1921; published 1935; Galleon, July to August 1935, magazine) Iranon arrives in the granite city of Teloth wearing vine leaves and a torn purple robe, speaking and singing of a radiant city called Aira. He claims he is a prince from that place, and his descriptions are so rich that the children believe him. The adults do not. Teloth is a city of strict labor and grim order, and the officials demand usefulness, not wonder. Iranon refuses to become ordinary. He insists his destiny lies in returning to Aira, and he tries to make the city’s council accept his story. Teloth responds with contempt and an ultimatum: take up a trade or leave by sunset. A sympathetic friend, Romnod, recognizes how quickly a city like Teloth can grind a dream into bitterness, and urges Iranon to flee before his spirit is broken. The two wander from place to place for years. Iranon continues to perform and proclaim his royal origin, using the myth of Aira as both shield and engine. The story treats his belief as something that sustains him, but also as something that prevents him from accepting reality. He cannot compromise without feeling he would die inside. As time passes, the mask of eternal youth begins to slip. Iranon’s body shows strain. His certainty becomes more desperate, and the world’s indifference grows heavier. The dream of Aira, once a bright banner, starts to look like a fragile story told to postpone grief. In the end, Iranon encounters a plainspoken truth that undercuts his claim. The revelation does not arrive as cruelty from a villain; it arrives as the simple fact that the world did not arrange itself around his longing. Iranon’s strength fails in a desolate place, and he dies still reaching for the city he sang into being. The tragedy is that Aira may be real only as an inner homeland, and that the pursuit of it in the physical world consumes the pursuer. --- Iranon walked into Teloth with vine leaves on his brow. He spoke of Aira, a city of marble joy. The merchants laughed. The elders frowned. The children listened close. His voice made lanterns seem warmer. His eyes made dust feel holy. I remember a home I cannot reach. I sing its streets into the air. If the map is lost, I still will walk. I still will swear. He told them of gardens that never close, of fountains that know your name. He told them of music in the stones, of days that do not bruise. Some called him liar. Some called him blessed. He kept moving either way. Romnod said, "Leave before sunset, they want you bent to work." So they went out past the gates, past rivers and hard fields, past cities that traded wonder for order. They passed a town that sold prayers by weight. They passed a town that sold sleep. I remember a home I cannot reach. I sing its streets into the air. If the map is lost, I still will walk. I still will swear. Years did not touch his face. Faith held him bright. Then the old shepherd by the road spoke one small truth, not cruel, not loud, only plain. No palace. No birthright. A child’s story used as bandage. The song stopped. The body caught up. The sun hit his shoulders as if new. Quicksand took the grief without pity. Aira stays unbroken, far away, inside the voice that failed. The road keeps going without him.