Part 2: Laws of Immortality

Chapter 11: Beneath Gloom and glory

Under a grey sky and late in the evening of his second day on the South Way, Jaomin arrived at West Ganariel, and while he had met no further mishap in his journey, he had found himself looking over his shoulder at frequent intervals. It was indeed a tired horse and boy who trudged down the road that night, weary with travel and vigilance.

In his fifteen years, Jaomin had never been to West Ganariel and he found the town both strange and forbidding. Although many of the buildings were similar to the stone houses he had often seen in Cair Galinal, other buildings were made of beam and stucco, and appeared very, very old. Some leaned at crazy angles out over the street, and seemed to be in imminent danger of collapsing onto the hapless public. To Jaomin they looked like gradually melting wax-works, their beams appearing malleable and their plaster cracked, patched and yellowing. Scattered among this ramshackle array of buildings, were vacant lots that gaped like missing molars in a mouth of very irregular teeth. These bore mute testimony that in some places decay had reached the point of disintegration.

Was it his imagination or did something else, perhaps of the war itself or something darker, hang above the town? The slate grey sky and gathering dusk of night seemed somehow to mesh with the sombre mood of the people. Nowhere did Jaomin see a smiling face, and for a town of this size he saw few faces of any description. Pedestrians passed without a word or glance. They went with eyes downcast, like so many sow-beetles scurrying for rocks under which to hide. The rows of dark and empty shops, whose bleak windows, peered like listless eyes, seemed to echo the souls of their inhabitants.

Thoughts of foreboding wove their ambiguous net around the mind of the young traveller, but all was vague. It took fifteen minutes of riding, before Jaomin could put his finger on something that he knew was definitely wrong. He hadn't passed a single soldier in his journey through the town. This was very odd for Evening Patrol had always been seen in Cair Galinal, Rama-gil and Sharsta Nal. The latter two of these were both smaller in size and population than West Ganariel. Why no soldiers? Jaomin wondered.

It was beginning to get quite dark. He had travelled along the main street for almost twenty-five minutes, and was just beginning to wonder if he'd ever find accommodation, when he saw before him a small tavern with the legend Lion's Head Inn on a shingle over the door. It seemed like an island of hospitality in a hostile world. Warm light flooded invitingly through its lead-veined, mullioned windows, like soft beckoning fingers. Jaomin didn't need to think twice. He pulled Nina towards the inn and dismounted. "I'll be back in a minute, old girl," he said as he tied her rein to the nearest hitching iron.

Glad to be out of the street, Jaomin walked through the front door and into the happy hubbub and confusion of a crowded public house. After the muted silence of the street it was almost shocking. He squinted through the dim murky atmosphere at what appeared to be a rustic and even run-down establishment. Well, that's in keeping with the rest of the town, thought Jaomin. He stood timidly peering about him, at the wooden walls and tables, trying to locate someone who seemed to be in charge, but among the various boisterous patrons no one stood out as being obviously the landlord.

"Can I help ya', darling?" came a trenchant baritone voice, to his right.

Jaomin turned and saw that he had been boomed at by a buxom, middle-aged barmaid, with swept-back straw coloured hair and a remarkably full double chin. On her left hand she effortlessly balanced a tray of half-filled and empty beer tankards, while with her right hand she vigorously scrubbed a tabletop. Very talented, Jaomin thought.

"Er, I'm looking for a night's lodgings for myself and stable room for my horse, mam."

"Sure, darling," she said, finishing the table and tossing the damp rag on the tray, "step to the back and knock on that door there," she pointed with her ample arm and stubby finger towards the rear of the building, "Master'll fix yer' up in a trice."

"Thanks, mam."

She grinned and shook her head, which caused a mild earthquake in her chins, "Don't mention it."

If Jaomin's lungs had not yet adjusted to the smoke at least his eyes were now accustomed to the turbid lighting. He walked to the door indicated by the beefy barmaid and knocked, fairly loudly in order to make himself heard.

"Wa'yer wa'?" a voice gabbled from within; Jao could scarcely hear above the general noise.

"A room, please," he answered firmly.

A few moments later the door opened and a dried up old man, with a gaunt beard stubbled face, grizzled hair and the most remarkable blood-shot eyes Jaomin had ever seen, leaned against the door jam and looked dubiously at him. The man appeared to have no chin at all, and subsequent verbal evidence suggested he was also missing his teeth and, perhaps, other items vital to lucid speech. He was clad in an ancient undershirt and trousers, and smelled like an equal mix of liniment, body-odour and alcohol. "Wa?" said the old man, irritably as he scratched his emaciated stomach.

"Lodgings, please, sir. And my horse needs stable room."

"Y' got money?" the man mumbled through a yawn. At least that's what Jaomin imagined he said, for he seemed to speak a language devoid of consonants. His actual utterance was closer to, 'Y gaw mooey'.

"Yes, I do. How much is one night's stay?"

The man looked him up and down, "Sis min you, tu' fer yer' hose."

"Pardon?"

"Sis min you, tu' fer yer' hose," repeated the man, more loudly but not one bit more clearly.

"Eight mins?" Jaomin took a stab at translating.

"Yu'."

Jaomin scowled. He was no fool and knew that the most it should cost him, for the horse and himself, was five mins. He had really been expecting four. Abba had given him seventy mins and a list of tools he needed that would cost almost all of that. He could use some of Maric's money, but didn't see why he should have to do so simply because this old wheezer was being greedy, "That's too steep for me. Thanks anyway."

Jaomin turned to leave, but before he took a step the man mangled a few more words. Jaomin presumed they were directed towards him.

"Wu', sees how' y' young', 'appen I cu' tay' fie'f."

"Pardon?" Jaomin said.

"Fie'f," the man repeated.

"Five mins?"

"Yu'."

Jaomin pondered a moment. He was very tired and five mins wasn't too bad. He could travel on looking for another place, but he felt exhausted. Jaomin nodded his head. He produced the moneybag, peered into it and extracted five brass coins. If Jao had seen the eager way the proprietor eyed his small horde, he would perhaps have thought the better of lengthening their acquaintance and gone elsewhere. However, Jaomin's eyes had been on the purse and he had missed the sharp covetous expression that had crossed the owner's evil face.

He dropped the mins into the owner's hand and gave his name. Then he asked what room he could have and where it was located. Mostly from the man's gestures, Jao was led to understand that the room was number three and that it was upstairs.

The man went back into his office and returned in a moment, handing him a small metal key.

"Thanks," Jaomin said, and then glanced at the man, "where do I take the horse, sir?"

The man jerked his thumb towards the back of the tavern, an action far more explanatory than his, "Row' ba'," which accompanied the gesture.

"Thanks," said Jaomin, though not feeling very grateful. No ostler here, he supposed, and turned himself around to go out front and fetch Nina.

As soon as Jaomin's back was turned the old landlord looked towards the far wall of the tavern. He caught the eye of a burly, bearded, black-haired man, shrouded in smoke. Garf the thief had watched the whole interview closely. The owner grinned sardonically and jerked his head slightly but significantly in the direction of Jaomin. The large man nodded almost imperceptibly, stood up and then nonchalantly walked out the Tavern's side door.

a8b

In the distant south, beneath the Dancing Sky, rise the Mountains of Wisdom. On one lofty peak, his venerable hair and beard swept by the racing winds, stood Melchizedek, First Knight of the Portals of Loridan. His face august beyond nobility, the very likeness of His Majesty, shone with a deep unquenchable joy. By his side, Cloud Dancer, valiant steed of many battles stood, wings furled, awaiting the birth of her first brother.

Much time had mighty Melchizedek spent in prayer, in consulting the Wise Ones of the mountains and in hearing the Oracles of Truth. Now he waited poised beneath this sky of promise, beneath the glory of the rainbow sky, gazing out across the Sea of Peace. In his hand he held a belt, scabbard and sword - Logos, Taril's sword. In a loud voice he spoke, uttering strange oracles above the foaming waves. The High Tongue of Loridan, robust language of the Ancient of Days, rang out to mingle with the misted spume:

Spoken, is it not? Two days shall you sleep then rise.

Place of Wonders, Portal High; seemingly all silent is beneath the music sky; Rock all engraved, all significance its own, Runes of Truth its lines.

Upon this living-stone, lay ear; listen to the beating heart resonate within this sacred land. This stone beneath, there lies the heart of Majesty; Him you hear, as lie you in that place. Much loves He one that listens to the Truth, e'en Beloved John - much loved, much loved.

Oh, Noble steed now rise and set hard hooves upon the unlit lands. Move on, Great Heart, pound across the dark. Distance beckons, does it not? Light in circles, calls you on. Come forth, Wise Beast, all mortal parts consumed. Gone, all weariness is gone; triumph eternal calls thee; trample all beneath thy hooves.

Come, Great Sky-born, come to the High Portal!

a8b

The beating hooves pounded along the foot-worn path of death. See how those steps, in all their markings, point only down and down! Yet the Wise Beast raced on: going up. He saw the one set of prints - only one - that led upwards to the High Portal of light.

An explosion of eye-searing brilliance! Sky-born leapt up through the High Portal and careered at full-gallop down into the fields of Loridan. Beneath glories of titanic weight he thundered; his nobility transfused within his coat, his mane, his powerful legs - all glowing like the Morning Star. A greater glory still, flamed within his eyes! Oh, Sky- born, majestically you ate the ground beneath your hooves. What power, then, was in your leap! What welling joy within your heart!

The great horse neighed thunderously, rearing on his hooves. Then, like flags raised in the day of victory, mighty sails that ride before the wind: wings! Oh yes, wings burst forth like sunrise from his mighty back.

Sky-born, raced like the dawn across the fields of Loridan and up the Hill of Portals. With what wild speed he came! He crested the hill in flight, and shot precipitated into the enigmatic glory of the sky, flying all joyful beneath its radiant eye.

Like a comet he streaked across the sky and banked above the Singing Forest. Then, gathering speed, he raced across the Sea of Peace, towards the knight who had called him back from death.

a8b

The world portals are marvels, but they are also beautiful. Viewed from the Hill of Portals, each appears as an opaque pool of radiant liquid silver. However, viewed from the fields - looking towards the Place of Wonders - each is transparent, appearing and acting like a normal stone archway, if such delicate carvings in stone existed outside Loridan. This is the way the four lower portals had always appeared, but not on this day.

Under the wonderfully strange many-coloured sky of Loridan, on the Hill opposite the Western Portal, two knights stood, their tunics trailing in the wind. The sound of the Singing Forest rose and fell with the cadence of the wind.

Together they gazed at the swirling black opacity of the Western Portal. Something dreadful had happened to the portals, something utterly unfamiliar, without precedent. Each of the portals looked as if black oil rested on its surface; the way to the lower worlds was contaminated and neither knight knew what it meant.

They were both deeply concerned, and spoke quietly and earnestly, one with the other - Meda, Knight of the Rising Sun and Jaffar Redeemer, Knight of the Dancing Sky. Yet while he spoke gently to his sister, Jaffar's bright eyes flashed with dazzling intensity, which contrasted sharply with his ebony skin.

"I can think of no reason, Meda, why Taril has not come to the High Portal. If he has fallen in battle - I cannot believe he is fallen in error - then I do not comprehend why he has not returned," Jaffar hesitated. "Yet, if he is dead, and not here, it would seem to mean that for the first time in all worlds, the Knight of the Wounds has been reclaimed by disobedience. Would such a thing change the portal? Would it damage it?"

He paused considering, "Can the portal be passed through, do you think?"

Meda raised her brows but still kept her gaze on the Portal. "I don't know. Where is Melchizedek?" Meda asked, "Do you know?"

Jaffar shook his head; "I have not seen our brother since our prayer and council. The Spirit sent me to the world of Kenitus, there to arrest the spread of corruption and bind it until the time of their visitation. Your question tells me that you have not seen him either."

The Knight of the East looked up at her brother, "No, Jaffar, I have not. I had hoped that the Spirit would direct him to Grenwilde, but have not seen him in my wanderings through that land. I have, however, found the lair of our enemy."

Now Jaffar raised his eyebrows, "The enemy is localized in a body and place, Meda?"

She nodded.

Jaffar considered. When evil directly possessed a person to work its will, coming out of hiding - when wickedness boasted and paraded itself - THEN was the cycle of a world nearing a crisis: redemption or final calamity must follow. "Do you think Taril knew this?"

"I believe he must have. For one thing, Nalitha is in Grenwilde, Jaffar. And she has spoken to Taril"

Now Jaffar really did look amazed. "Nalitha Mother?"

"The same. And I believe that is why our swords did not detect the presence of the Royal Blood in Grenwilde. Nalitha's prayer was shielding them from all detection."

"What do you mean? Why would she pray such a thing?"

"Well, Jaffar, I might as well tell you that my source is our sweet young Jenna. Do you remember the vision she saw of a hen covering its chicks? She told us of it during our last prayer and council."

"Yes," Jaffar smiled remembering the excited eyes and the bold words of the little princess.

"You will remember, then, that in the vision there were hundreds of disembodied eyes, turning and searching, looking everywhere for the mother hen's offspring.

Our consideration of the matter's meaning was cut short, you will recall, when the Spirit prompted Melchizedek to say, 'though the West glows, the North beckons'."

Jaffar nodded, he remembered how Melchizedek had told Taril he must go through the North Portal, for there he would discover all he needed to complete Quest.

"But I could not shake the oracle young Jenna had seen from my mind," Meda continued. "I prayed and prayed. The name that kept coming to me was 'Nalitha'. I thought that, perhaps, the Spirit was directing me to speak to wise Nalitha, so I started searching for her. However, none of the Jewels had seen her, which I thought was very odd. Then young John told me he remembered that long ago Joy took her over to the Hill of Portals, and that since that time he had not seen her again."

Jaffar smiled, "So then you had just the excuse you needed to speak to Joy!"

Meda returned his smile, "So I did just that. Majesty says that He sent her to answer her own prayers, but of course I couldn't ask what the prayer was, for that's their secret. Yet I took the opportunity to ask Him about Taril, as well. He told me this, 'The Knight of the Western Portal has growth in Loridan, beneath the hand of great Melchizedek, for in his steps he walks.'"

"Growth?"

"That's what our Master said."

Both Jaffar and Meda knew that there was no point in prying into the affairs of another child of the Great King. He would tell you what you needed to know and leave you to discover the rest from prayer or the child in question. For it is the Great King's delight to conceal things and it is the delight of his children to find them out. However, the well being of all Joy's children was engraved on his hands. Would he not let them know if Taril needed their help?

"Well, there's encouragement in what Majesty told you, as there always is. He would never say that Taril was destined for growth if he had...fallen into disobedience."

Meda nodded AND continued, _

"On my way back from the City, I found Jenna praying beside the Crystal Stream. For once, I latched onto her! We walked back to the Forest and she told me all about her interview with Joy. Now there, Jaffar, is a girl who gets right to the source. So much of what you get out of talking to the King seems to depend on what you bring with you. She'd had a vision of Taril. She saw him sitting at a table holding two lots in his hand; they looked exactly the same to him. Jenna said they both had the face of a handsome young man on them. But, on the back of one of the lots there was a crushed spider, only Taril didn't know this for he did not turn it over. She says she saw him put the clean lot down, and slide the fouled one into his pouch. She said that at that point Taril simply froze, seeming unable to move. The King told her that Taril had been allowed to choose between two ways, and that the way he chose would bring a hard good. But that the good hung upon the choice of kings." _

"Allowed to choose?" Jaffar wrinkled his brow, "Taril chose incorrectly, you think?"

Meda shrugged, "Jenna certainly thought so."

Jaffar wished very much that they had Melchizedek to help them understand. They needed a sign, something to help them interpret what had happened to Taril, to help them know whether they could and should follow him into the world of Grenwilde.

Meda and Jaffar knelt upon the hill, beneath the musical air and fabulous sky of Loridan, and sought the Spirit of Joy to know which course they should pursue. As they were praying, encouragement came to them, in the form of a most unexpected visitor, for the sound of irregular hoof beats coming up the west side of the hill caused both Meda and Jaffar to turn simultaneously. What they saw drew them both off their knees and left them standing, staring in amazement. Cavorting, playing and galloping towards them came Tagar, Callais and Sky- born. It was Sky-born; they both knew him instantly, but winged!

"Sky!" Meda cried, as the magnificent horse - more magnificent by far than she had ever known him to be - came right up to the Maiden of Healing Hands and butted her gently with his nose. "Oh, Sky! I'm - oh, I'm so glad to see you! Winged Sky, how wonderful, the second in Loridan. Jaffar, look..."

However, Jaffar stood staring down the hill. Nowhere did he see the Knight of the Western Portal. "Meda, Sky's alone. Sky, where's Taril?"

Sky stepped across to Jaffar and looked straight at the Knight of the Dancing Sky. "Look, Meda, Logos is strapped to Sky's saddle!" Jaffar barked, "What a mystery is here! Sky bearing wings and Logos, but Taril nowhere to be seen."

Jaffar put his hands on Sky-born's neck and raised his head. "Sky, can you take us to Taril?" The huge winged horse stepped back, whinnied and began to gallop down the western slope. So fast did he move that he was three-quarters of the way down the slope before either knight could speak.

"Sky!" Meda yelled, "You mustn't, Sky! Stop!"

Sky did stop. He reared up on his hind-legs, neighed shrilly, and then flew vertically upwards. His enormous wings beat the air and held his form momentarily suspended, hovering like a cliff-jumper poised above dark uncertain waters. Then suddenly he plunged, banking sharply and plummeting straight into the darkened Western Portal. Meda and Jaffar froze for one second, looked at each other quickly, and then both knights scrambled for their horses and galloped full-tilt towards the Western Portal.

a8b

Jaomin untied Nina from the hitching rail, noticing how very tired and unhappy she seemed. Her head was down and she didn't acknowledge his coming to her at all.

"Cheer up, Nina, oats are on the way. Eat your fill, too; I paid enough for them!"

Whether it was the soothing sound of her human's voice, or the smell of the provender that revived the horse, would be hard to say, but as soon as she started down the narrow alleyway between the Tavern and its neighbouring store, her spirits recovered. So much so that she actually prodded Jaomin with her nose so as to hurry him along.

"Alright, Nina, it's a bit hard to see you know. Don't be impatient," Jaomin said as he worked his way along the dark lane. Just as they came opposite the side entrance of the inn Jaomin tripped over what he took to be a rock. At the same moment, Nina whickered nervously and pulled hard on the reins, jerking him backwards onto the ground.

"Ouch! Aah! Nina, what are ya' doin' ya' dumb horse!" Jaomin sat nursing his shin, which he'd scratched. He'd also smacked his shoulder into a wall and bumped his head on the ground. "What was that for? First you're bumping me along and then you're pulling me off my feet. Come on, Nina. There's no desigarg here."

Jaomin got up and pulled the reluctant horse along the alleyway. He had no idea what had gotten into Nina, but with some difficulty he managed to bring her down the lane and to the entrance of the stable. The door was unlocked and opened easily. Jaomin lead her into the stable. Finding no one to help him, he looked around and finally managed to find some oats. These he poured into the nosebag and then began to strap them onto Nina's eager face.

"Gar'?" came a voice in the darkness. Jaomin turned and recognised the innkeeper standing silhouetted against the open stable door.

"It's me, your guest, Jaomin Bindaved," said Jaomin looking at the man while continuing to cinch the feedbag.

The innkeeper neither spoke nor moved. Jaomin wiped his hands and walked towards the exit, coming directly up to the owner. Now the man's face, on Jaomin's last acquaintance with it, was not one that could be accused of carrying marks of great intelligence. Now, Jaomin thought, he looked more dumb-founded than simply dumb.

Jaomin paused, studying the man's face.

The old man blinked and pointed behind him. "Y' ca' go in ad' way," he mumbled.

"Thanks," said Jaomin, who walked through the door, and found himself at the rear end of the tavern's dining hall.

The man looked around the stable with a very puzzled expression. He scratched his head, and peered out into the yard. All was quiet. Shrugging his shoulders he turned and went back into the tavern.

In the side door alcove of Jagga's Pharmacia, just opposite the alley-way entrance to the tavern, his eyes still wide and glassy, his head quite badly smashed and his face still wearing an expression of horror and surprise - there lay the very dead body of Garf the thief.