Chapter 12: Mirror of Visions

Twelve years ago, on Lanten Eve, Nalitha had dreamed of Loridan. In her dream she stood by Wisdom Mirror, the lake in which all worlds are seen. She gazed down and beheld Grenwilde. It was stretched before her like a lush green lawn. Yet far to the east, bearing towards the south, she had seen a pulsing vortex of darkness. The darkness became enormous hands reaching out into the world, one hand reaching towards the Kingdom of Grenwilde.

Now in her dream Nalitha thought, "I must stop it." Therefore, she dove into the lake, and found that she stood upon the plains of Grenwilde. She looked up at the ominous hand. It looked like dark thunderclouds piled oppressively high, stretching menace across the land. Something in her struggled to wake, but the dark hand seemed to press upon her and make all movement and thought very difficult. She needed space; she could hardly breathe.

"Wake, Nalitha, and pray," the Spirit commanded and woke Nalitha, who stumbled out of her dream already praying. What was wrong? she wondered as she poured herself out in prayer. The moon shone brightly through the window, falling across the bed and lighting the room with a soft white radiance. Beside her, Jessef was sleeping soundly, breathing evenly and deeply. Everything seemed peaceful and beautiful. Nalitha sat up quietly and continued to pray in obedience to the voice of God. Somehow, even though she was praying, a numbing fear clutched at her.

Unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, she rose silently and dressed. Quietly, she walked out into the living room of their home. What is it, my King? She asked in her heart. For a few minutes she stood in the living room, listening to the sound of soft breathing coming from behind the five bedroom doors. What, dear Majesty? She repeated.

Is it because the youngest is the most vulnerable that a mother is drawn to him in times of danger? However that might be, it seemed to Nalitha that it was almost a process of instinct that led her into Jaomin's room. She walked over to the low bed beneath the window on which her child slept. The moon's beams lay across the gentle young face, so beautiful and peaceful.

Suddenly, as she was watching the child, a shadow crossed the face of the moon, simultaneously shading her son's face. Nalitha looked just in time to see the tail of an enormous bird or bat silhouette. It must be huge, Nalitha thought, for it appeared very high up. It was then that the Spirit spoke to her, "They seek the child." Nalitha, wise Mother in Loridan, did not question that it was the Spirit of Joy who spoke. Long had she known His voice. She did not question who the child was, for she knew that she had been brought to this low world to bear kings for the restoration of these people. Concerning who 'they' were she was uncertain; about what they were she had no doubt.

She was on the point of waking the household, when the Spirit restrained her. "What must I do, my Lord?" she whispered softly.

"Come out," came the still small voice within her heart.

Nalitha had followed her King for too many years to argue or even question. Softly she bent and kissed her sleeping son, praying that the Creator would keep him safe within His hands. As soft as the light falling from the moon, she made her way back into her bedroom, intending to get her clothes.

"Come out," the Spirit repeated.

Nalitha heard a high eerie wail, faint and far off but dreadfully disturbing. She felt absolutely certain that the creature that made that cry was evil - beyond measure. The Spirit's prompting seemed urgent. Moving with haste she grabbed her coat and shawl, then she took off her small pendant and lay it on the pillow beside her sleeping husband: the husband she had prayed and wept for in the world of Iystra; the husband she had been granted by the King in Loridan; the husband she loved.

There was no time to wait. Praying protection over her family, she delicately walked through the doors of the house and out of Jessef's life. But never, not for two minutes together in a day, had she ceased to pray for him and for her seven sons.

Out beneath the open heavens, the handmaiden of the King closed her eyes and prayed. Then, like an unfolding flower, a glorious song broke in the night sky above her. She knew the song and loved it, for it was the song of Loridan and she carried it always in her heart. The shivering beauty of that cry was as wonderfully good as the earlier cry had been horribly evil. No, truthfully, it was more beautiful for it washed the memory of that other dreadful wail out her mind and heart. She looked upward, and - to her wondering eyes - He came. It was the Spirit, the Dove of Loridan, swooping down from on high.

"Go, my child, into the wilderness," the Spirit whispered into her heart.

Without a word, in instant obedience, the woman fled into the northern waste, leaving upon the first syllable of her Lord's command. The bird went before her: her light, her guide and her protector. For no wretched creature of evil dared come near the signature of God.

Joy had indeed provided for her. The Dove of Loridan himself brought her bread, and always water was at hand when she thirsted. Up into the mountains of the north she journeyed, following the urging of the Spirit and the leading of his likeness.

Then, quite without warning, halfway up the craggy face of an enormous cliff, the white bird had simply disappeared. The Spirit also was silent. However, Nalitha did not pause long, for in the first place it was further to go back down than to go on; secondly, there was no possible way to stay where she was and, finally, she knew the principle of pilgrimage: when no new orders are given, you follow the old.

Yet questions began to occur to her. She found herself quite faint in the rarefied air she was breathing, and in her light-headed condition she even wondered whether she had been deluded. Had God really directed her to leave her family? Surely that was madness. She must be mistaken. Would God do such a thing? However, Nalitha knew where these thoughts came from and had long learned that the best course was to ignore them. In addition, at those moments she recalled the Song of Loridan to her heart and carried on more bravely. Yet it was not an easy way that lay before her; it was a mountain and her hands were sore, cut, cold and bruised. Yet the wise woman continued on her way, despite doubts, difficulties and bruisings.

However, lacking the provision of her King, she grew wearier as she went. Thirst troubled her and her body was not used to the thin oxygen that she was forced to breathe, for the northern lands are very high. When at last she reached the summit of Mala Nal - for this was the mountain she was climbing - she was so weary and cold, so utterly exhausted, that she fell into a deep sleep on an exposed rock ledge, hundreds of feet above the valley floor. And there she might well have died, except for Balla Luba and her mate, Nizzle-par. For the ledge was the front porch of their cave.

In the season of geezle berries, mountain arlor are very early risers, so that Nalitha had not been on her doorstep for more than an hour when Balla Luba - on her way to gather succulent delicacies - nearly tripped over the sleeping human's form. It will be readily admitted that female arlor are very territorial. No arlor, male or female, would have dared venture as close to Balla Luba's house as had this sleeping woman - except, of course, by invitation. However, Balla Luba was beyond all other things a mother. She and Nizzle-par had reared many arlets. Never could her mother's heart abide to see a creature suffer, and this poor thing seemed frozen almost to death. Gently the great arlor lifted the woman, wrapped her in her supple arms and carried her into the warmth of her cave; there she tucked her in beside and beneath the sleeping Nizzle-par. Satisfied that the creature would survive, she went in search of geezle berries.

On her first day in the company of her new friends, Nalitha had woken to the sweet fragrant odour of geezle berries. They were so good that even her primitive human taste buds could appreciate them. The Spirit had chosen her hosts carefully. The vital matters of food, shelter and companionship had been attended to at one stroke by her Master. These Spirit appointed creatures seemed instantly to form a bond with her. When she first ventured from that cave, later on the same day, they both accompanied her. On the very threshold of the cave Nalitha stopped amazed. For from the vantage point of the ledge on which she had slept Nalitha saw why the Creator God had brought her here.

Even to the eye of an ordinary human the King's Chalice would be breath-taking. It lay rich and beautiful at her feet, like an unclaimed jewel. However, to a citizen of Loridan, one who had stood beside Wisdom Mirror, the sight was like a messenger bearing tidings from home. Nalitha knew immediately that here was this world's Mirror of Visions.

The Jewels of Loridan sing of these lakes - lakes that speak to the faithful. For in every world the Creator has let a drop fall from Wisdom Mirror; these drops are the oracle lakes of the low worlds. The Creator has planted each pool where its essence mingles with the spring fed out-pourings of the world's heart. Therefore, in them the weaving of the Creator can be seen - things intricately woven in the depths of the earth. In them visions may be seen, and by means of them oracles may be uttered.

As Nalitha stood gazing down into the valley, the Spirit spoke to her clearly, "Here you must do warfare with the enemy. Build walls of protection and forge weapons to tear down the strong-holds of darkness." This the wise woman did.

Over the years she had learned much of the enemy's doings. She knew he was using image crystals to weave webs of deception and entrap nations. The Lands of Desolation, that which had been East Grenwilde in the far off days, were grafted to evil and broken. The lands of Tylar, to the south, lay bound within his grasp, trapped in despair. The land of Grenwilde struggled, for his dark hand held it by the throat, threatening to choke out its life. Only the island lands of Osi Chi and Virikria were untouched by him. All this Nalitha knew.

Furthermore, she had prayed wings of protection around her sons, whom she knew the Creator planned to use. She had also released her children into his plans, praying for them obedience, life, protection, wisdom and strength - in that order. Wise Nalitha knew that obedience must be first; that all things followed from that. She knew that without obedience, nothing else had value.

And so the wise woman had waged her long and single war against the Prince of Night. She believed he knew nothing of her work, how she had woven islands of protection that his eyes of deception could not pierce. Yet she knew that his power grew. She knew it had more than doubled since his defeat of Taril. The pressure on her seemed almost unbearable, yet she continued to bear it and pray.

Every evening she joined the arlor in their twilight hymn. Every morning they joined her by the Mirror of Visions, and sung high praise to the Creator. And from praise, much strength flowed.

a8b

During the night, the dream had come again. Despite his tiredness, Jaomin could by no means sleep after it had finished with him. Always it left him limp as a dishrag. He sat on the side of his bed, staring out the window into the darkness. What did it mean? He had hoped that after the incident with the desigarg, the dream would cease, but it had come again. It was exactly the same. Jaomin felt sure he would know the man, or even the horse, anywhere; that he could pick him out in a crowd of a thousand.

He stood up and stretched, and walked to the window. He rested his crossed arms on the pane of glass and leaned his forehead against the backs of his hands. He peered down into the dull lamp-lit street; no one was to be seen below. He looked up and noticed that the first grey promise of dawn was lining the distant horizon. There was no point in trying to get back to sleep. He needed to find and purchase the items his father and brother wanted. Perhaps, if he had five mins or more left, he could stay for one more night and try to get a decent sleep before heading back out on the high road. In the mean time, he might as well get washed and go to breakfast.

That _

's what he said to himself, but instead found himself standing at the window waiting for sunrise, thinking about West Ganariel, Grenwilde and the war. Above the shops on east side of the main street, silhouetted against the sky, he could make out the blurred outline of Ganariel Castle. He remembered reading that the king who had built this castle had ended Grenwilde's hundred-year war with the desigarg. Caliphanus the Magnificent had utterly defeated the half-human Horde at the Battle of Elb River. Afterwards, he had launched that staggering feat of engineering, which became known as the Great Wall. Jaomin couldn't remember whether the King Caliphanus or his son - Stephanus? - had finished the construction. But he knew that the Wall had been built so as to move the border between Grenwilde and the lands of the desigarg eastward to the crest of the East Hills.

Who would end this war? Jaomin wondered. He thought about Akinwrath. Jaomin admired the king, he had been taught to pray for and honour the ruler of their land. His father was too loyal to speak openly against the monarch, but Jaomin had known some of what his father said to be indirect criticism. 'We trust in the Wall and not Creator God,' his father had remarked. When Ganarth or Orun had asked who was to blame for that, Abba hadn't answered.

The sun was rising now, spreading its canopy of gold and scarlet across the sky, and spilling liquid gold on the roofs of the city. A touch of light makes the most ordinary things beautiful, Jaomin thought. He could see two pigeons nesting beside a chimney across the street. One took to wing, catching the gold of the rising sun on its wings - a bird of glory.

How do birds fly? Jaomin wondered. Is it faith that lets them ride on the wind? Increase my faith, Creator. Jaomin was just turning from the window when he happened to glance down. His eye fell across the sight of two travellers coming along the street with a donkey and cart. It took a moment for him to realise that he knew them. It was Yason and Regine!

Jaomin tried to open the window but found it was painted shut, and he was too excited to bother with it. Quickly, grabbing his shirt as he went, Jaomin ran out the door of his room and went hastily down into the street.

"Yason!" he yelled.

Yason turned around and stared, recognition growing in his features.

"Jao! What in the world are you doing here?" his brother said loudly, beaming at him. Regine, as well, was turned in the wagon smiling at him, holding a small bundle in her arms. Jaomin approached them at a run. He and Yason embraced, and then Jao kissed his sister-in-law.

"Can I hold her?" Jao said eagerly.

"Him, and yes you can, Jao," said Regine proudly holding the child out to him.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" said Jao, smiling involuntarily at the small sleeping face. "What's his name?"

"Chion," Regine said primly.

"I like it," said Jaomin. He then looked at Regine mischievously, "I think he may be beautiful enough to stop Abba from being angry!"

They all laughed. Abba had been determined that with seven sons to his credit, his first grandchild would be female.

"Brother, what are you doing here?" Yason asked.

"Buying things for Abba. But come on back to the inn; we should be able to get breakfast by now and we can catch up on all our news while we eat."

"Sounds good to me," said Yason, taking hold of the donkey's rein and turning him back towards the inn. "Is Maric with you?"

"No," said Jao, struggling to sound casual, "I'm here alone."

Yason, who was probably the most considerate of all Jao's brothers, refrained from making any comment on the matter.

A few minutes later, having secured the donkey to the hitching rail, four Bindaved's - including the smallest of that name - were seated in the dank morning atmosphere of the Lion's Head Inn. After Regine had gotten Chion nursing quietly under her shawl, they composed themselves and prepared for a good old fashion chinwag. There was, as yet, no sign of waitress, waiter or landlord.

"Now," said Yason, "how are Abba and Maric?"

"Well, Maric was sick when I left, but it was only the flu. Abba's doing fine. We've cleared about seven acres and I think Father had seeded about three before I came away."

"You've really been working hard!" said Regine, who knew about such things - having grown up on a farm herself.

"Sure have," echoed Yason. "What are you getting for Abba?"

Jao listed the tools and then turned the conversation upon his brother and wife. In answer to his questions, Yason told him they had been travelling for two weeks, and that after the first two days of coming west they had seen no sign of desigarg or war. "But as far as I can see, brother, the gargs are content to hold the Wall and no more. I don't understand it but it seems to be the case."

Jaomin considered; he was the only one of the seven brothers who had yet to take up arms for King and country. He understood military matters fairly well though, for they were constantly discussed by his family. It seemed to make little sense to him. The advantages were all with the enemy; if they could take the Wall they could certainly push King Akinwrath out of the Western Hills. Why hadn't they?

"So, anyway, after the first three or four days we were able to travel without having to keep little Chion a deep dark secret."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard about the Law of Registration?"

Jaomin shook his head, "You have to realise that we haven't heard any news. This is the first time any of us has been off the farm."

"That Gamarad fellow made a law that all children, two years old and younger, were to be registered," Yason looked at Jaomin meaningfully and paused.

Jaomin frowned, "I don't understand."

"Well, I don't know that I do either, but from what I know about desigarg nothing would surprise me."

"They kill them, you think?"

Yason nodded and they were all silent.

Just then a pretty young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age, came out of the kitchen and towards their table. She was aproned, had black ringleted hair, deep brown eyes and an engaging voice. She spoke, Jaomin noticed, very clearly. Jaomin couldn't help thinking that if she was the child of the owner he must have a stunningly beautiful wife or very mixed up lines of heredity.

"Good morning," she said convincingly and with a smile. "What can I get you?" Jaomin thought to himself that she owned the only smile in town. Well, no, he realised; the rotund barmaid had smiled at him last night. Nevertheless, looking guardedly at this young girl, Jaomin had frankly to admit that here was a much more pleasing sight.

They ordered their food and then continued to talk about their brothers, the farm, their lost home and their plans. Yason and Regine had been planning to begin searching for the farm, but had intended first to stay in town for several months. Now that they had met Jaomin, and could come directly with him, they thought it a good idea to do that instead. Silently, Jaomin wondered if they could get back to the farm within his allotted twelve days. As he was wondering how best to broach the topic, the young girl returned with a tray of steaming food.

"Here you go," she said cheerfully.

"Oh, my," said Regine, "We didn't have anything this good looking in Pen Abara. Did we Yason?"

"No," replied her husband, "This looks wonderful, miss."

The girl blushed slightly at the praise. "Thank you, sir," she said quietly.

"Haven't seen food like this since Rama-gil!" added Yason.

Jaomin, who had been slyly watching the young maiden, saw her stiffen at the mention of Rama-gil. Her reaction was, in fact, so noticeable that all three customers eyed her quite openly.

"You're from Rama-gil, sir?" she asked wonderingly.

"Yes," he replied.

She hesitated and looked down, "Begging your pardon, please. But is it true what they say?" She spoke so quietly that she was hardly audible.

"What do you mean, child?" Regine asked nonplussed.

She looked at them and didn't speak. Suddenly, from out of the kitchen, the startlingly vulgar figure of the landlord burst into the dining area.

"Kay' y' bi..." he stopped speaking, seeing that he had customers. He appeared somewhat abashed. He muttered something inarticulate, probably meant as an apology, then rounded sharply on the young lady. "To' ya of'n 'nuff, doe' be tal'n to cus'umers. Get in kit'shin."

The young waitress dropped a hasty curtsey and made her way off to the kitchen, quickly. Bowing his head towards them slightly, the landlord followed the young lady through the swinging door. The three Bindaved's exchanged looks of bewilderment. What had she meant? They each wondered. Yason determined that he would find out on her return, owner or no owner.

At that second, a shrill hysterical scream came from the alleyway beside the tavern. Jaomin and Yason exchanged looks and jumped up, running quickly out the front door. "Men!" said Regine, "they always assume that action can have nothing to do with women!" She gathered up Chion and was about to follow, when the owner of the establishment came quickly out of the kitchen and walked towards the side entrance. Realising that this was the direction the scream had come from, Regine followed him.

As it happened, all four of them arrived at approximately the same moment. There they found a plump woman leaning against the wall of the tavern crying. Jaomin recognised her as the barmaid who had served him last night, a half-second later he also recognised that a dead man lay at her feet.

"Gar'!" the landlord said and stepped across to the fallen thief, stooping down over him. "Dea'," he said. For once translation wasn't difficult. Suddenly, the landlord wheeled around and looked right at Jaomin. Jaomin stiffened beneath the gaze of his blood-shot eyes. Then Jao remembered something; wasn't 'Gar' the name the landlord had spoken last night in the stable, mistaking him - Jaomin - for someone else? The wheels began turning. It was the landlord, not Jaomin, who first broke their staring match, dropping his eyes.

Regine and Yason didn't notice any of this, for Regine quickly went to the woman and - holding Chion in her left hand - put her free hand on the woman's shoulder. At that moment the young barmaid came to the door, and stopped, gasping at the sight of the dead man. Yet she recovered quickly and went to the hysterical woman's side. The three women went back inside, closing the door.

Meanwhile, Yason had bent down and was examining the man's injuries. Yason had fought in many battles, and recognised the damage a trained war-horse's hooves could inflict.

"Look!" he said. He pointed to the dirt in the alley. There were a number of hoof prints on the ground, as this was a regular horse thoroughfare. However, both Jaomin and the landlord could see what he was pointing at. One set of prints was much larger than all the others; it appeared fresher too. As Jaomin looked he noticed what he thought must be Nina's prints, also appearing fairly fresh, but not three-quarters of the size. The three men examined the prints.

What was very odd was that they appeared suddenly in the midst of the alley. Clearly they appeared to be coming from the direction of the street, but didn't stretch back that far. They were just suddenly there.

"You see that mark on his head?" said Yason, pointing at the corpse. Jao and the man both looked closely. They could clearly see what appeared to be the impression of the horse's hoof on the man's head. "That man was killed by this horse," said Yason, glancing up at his two companions, while pointing between corpse and hoof print. "And look," He pointed further up the alley; "There's blood on the ground all around the front right hoof print."

Jaomin nodded the man only grunted, though with him the line between grunts and words was blurred at best.

Jaomin walked along following the prints. There was indeed blood in the dirt around one hoof, fading after three or four steps. Both Yason and the man followed Jaomin along the horse's trail and into the stable yard. Fifteen feet beyond the end of the alley, all three men stopped, for so had the hoof prints. They stood staring but speechless; the hoof prints abruptly disappeared. It looked as if the horse had been carried off into the air.

All three, began to check around, looking for missing evidence.

Finally, Yason straightened up, "Well, I certainly can't make head or tail of this: a horse that comes from nowhere, kills a man and then disappears."

The landlord slid a sideways glance at Jaomin and mumbled something, shook his head, and walked up the alley. Yason and Jaomin looked at each other. Jaomin shrugged and they also walked back towards the tavern.