Chapter 15: Sky-born

Sleeping under the stars is a great pleasure, but waking up in the morning on hard ground is somewhat less so. Jaomin was the first to wake. Feeling stiff and tired he made his way down to the stream and stuck his head in the water. It was quite cold but very refreshing.

He wanted to minimize the amount of cold water he got on himself, so Jaomin stood up and leaned forward. He then shook his head hard - drying himself dog-style. He had to admit to himself he wasn't as good at it as most dogs. Jaomin then pulled out his pocket copy of the Runes and sat down by the stream to read, while water flowed down his face, wetting his shirt and pants.

He loved to read the Runes while sitting beside a stream. The sound of gently running water somehow echoed the whole process of meditating on the Creator's words, even more so when there were sun-starts coming off of the stream and reflecting on his face. That always made him smile.

He found the place where he had left off reading two days before. He was about to start reading, but lifted his thumb from the page while adjusting his position on the riverbank. The moment the place wasn't being held, the wind blew the pages of the book over. It had blown open to the book of Ambro the Seer. Jaomin was not superstitious, but he did like to read Ambro. It was more fun than working his way through The Wisdom of the King, where he was supposed to be currently reading. He loved the oracles and visions of Ambro, but he had a hard time understanding most of them. A Speaker, like his Uncle Yason, was able to explain many of the mysteries, but not all.

He began reading until he was arrested by one particular section:

My righteous child shall not be burned, though he walks through fire;

Though nations fall in flame, he will not be consumed.

The smell of fire will not come upon him,

Only his bonds will fall from his arms,

And he shall walk in freedom.

My righteous child shall mount up above his foes;

Though cities collapse in ruin, his wings will be faith and hope.

And he will cut a swath through the enemy,

Through the man whose hope is in himself.

And my servant shall be a door,

And my people will be the flock in his care.

'Nations falling in flame' sure sounded like what was happening now. He had read the passage often before, it was one of those places where his copy of the Runes fell open. As always, Jaomin had more questions than he had answers. Who was the 'righteous child'? Was it any child who was righteous? Or was it only one? Could it mean both? Why would he not be burned?

Some things he was certain of; the wings, being faith and hope, must be pictures - not literal wings. A person, for example, couldn't really be a door, so that must be symbolic as well. Perhaps, if that was the case, everything in the passage - including not being burned - had to be regarded as pictures, not as physical facts.

"Hi, Jaomin."

Jaomin jumped, startled from his thoughts. Turning quickly he saw Caylene standing behind him.

"Oh. Caylene, you scared me."

"Mind if I sit here," she said pointing to the bank.

"No, 'course not. Howdya' sleep?"

"Pretty good. I got used to sleeping on the ground when I came from Rama-gil to Ganariel. But we ate a lot better last night than I did on that trip."

Jaomin glanced at her. Caylene was pretty brave, he figured. Not many kids her age would have run away from home alone and unaided. On the other hand, her life must have been pretty terrible to make her want to run away.

"Whatcha' readin'?" she said nodding at the book.

"Hm? Oh, the Runes."

Caylene didn't say anything for a minute. She knew about the Runes of Truth, naturally, but neither she nor anyone she knew actually read them. She looked at Jaomin with a strange mixture of timidity and defiance on her face:

"Why do you read them?"

Her tone like her expression involved a mingling: curiosity and accusation, he would estimate.

"Well, to begin with I like them."

"Ha!" she said derisively, "bunch a' boring old dead guys. Why should you let them tell you how to live your life?"

"But it isn't..." he broke off, remembering a proverb from The Wisdom of the King. Those who have not known, mock. Those who dispute with mockers, earn blows. Teach a man of understanding, and he will be wise. "You've never read them, have you?" he said softly.

Lies came fairly easily to street-urchin Caylene, but somehow the lie she was going to tell stuck in her throat.

"No," she said simply, surprising herself in the process.

"Well, listen to this," Jao said. Then without any further introduction he read to her the prophecy he had just been meditating on. It rolled from his tongue, sounding - to Jao - both powerful and beautiful.

Caylene listened in complete silence. When he finished reading she continued to sit staring at the water. Jaomin stole a glance at her. Sunrise and sunset, thought Jaomin, she is beautiful. Anyone who's just woken up and is still pretty must be pretty.

"So?" she said, at length turning to him.

"Hm?"

"So, what's that supposed to mean, stupid?"

Jaomin sighed; he'd been demoted to stupid again. "Well," he said maintaining his temper, "don't you see? It's just like today. It's what's happening right now. Fire and cities burning and all that."

"Jaomin, if you write a big thick book about whatever comes into your head, some of it's got to be true. What would that part you read have meant last yer, huh? Nothing, just nothing."

Jaomin looked at the book in his hands. "It's not really that thick. Is it?"

"Well, is that the whole book?"

"No," Jaomin admitted, "this just has the books of Wisdom and Visions."

She seemed to measure him with her eye. He felt he wasn't measuring up very well, "Do you really believe all that stuff? Like prophecies and all that?"

Jaomin nodded. Then he began praying silently. Creator, be kind to her and open her heart to the truth.

She opened her mouth and then closed it without speaking. Caylene was thinking about the kindness of Regine and the happiness of all three of them last night as they sang. What did she know? Maybe what they believed was stupid, but what about her? What did she believe in that was so great?

"Jaomin, Caylene," Regine called from the fire, which she had rekindled for breakfast. "We'd better get going. Come on, Jao, it's you who wanted to get away early!"

"Coming, Sis," Jaomin stood and wiped the grass off his trousers, and started back to the camp.

Caylene stayed for another minute or two looking at the stream and thinking. Was it so strange that the Creator should tell people living in one time what would happen in another? She thought about it for a moment. She really wasn't sure, but she was sure that she would like to know about the Creator, if he was willing to be known.

a8b

Two hours later, the travellers, having washed, breakfasted, packed and readied the animals, were making their way northward again towards the fork.

They had been on the road for about forty-five minutes and were lazily discussing the weather when a strong and vile odour wafted to their nostrils. It smelled exactly like decaying meat. They were on the south side of a long and wide bend in the road.

"Oh, sick! What's..."

"Be quiet and halt," the first words had been Caylene's; the second words - delivered in terse army diction - had been Yason's. Caylene shot a glance at him, but one glance convinced her to be quiet. If ever a man looked deadly serious, it was Yason at that moment. All three adults watched as he quietly drew his sword.

"What is it, brother?" whispered Jaomin, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"Desigarg, and more than one of them by the smell."

Now Nagara Diserac had not - in strictest terms - been honest with his commanding officer. He had reported that some thirty or so gargs were unaccounted for. At the time he had said this, more than one hundred gargs had already gone missing. Since that time, at least another hundred had slipped away to make their fortune off the roads and farms of Western Grenwilde. A fortune to a desigarg is, for the most part, reckoned in kills and meals.

They were not roving in sufficient numbers to attack towns, for they were in scattered isolated groups, usually of four or five gargs. Desigarg without leaders don't co-operate very well. They must fight, and if they can't find humans they fight each other.

Still these marauding bands were cutting a random swathe of destruction through the farms of the Western Province.

Yason, who was on foot, crept along the inward edge of the curve, staying close to the bracken that lined the roadway. He knew desigarg were ahead, and felt very fortunate that he and his family had come downwind of them. Yason doubted that they had yet been detected, but couldn't be certain. If they had been sighted, the enemy couldn't be in very great numbers or they would already have sprung the ambush.

Jaomin didn't know what would be the best thing for him to do. He pulled a large, smooth rock from his pouch and took his sling off his belt. Should they get off the road? The desigarg might be in the bushes beside them. He wasn't sure. On the road they had a chance to run. If it happened that the gargs were without mounts they would probably escape.

As he watched, Yason bent down peering around the curve in the road. Suddenly, Yason stood up and came back to them at a dead run. At the same moment Jaomin noticed that the smell of the desigarg had actually lessened.

"Quick!" said Yason urgently, "get the horses off the road and up into the bracken."

"What's going..."

"Do as I say, now!"

Princess and Caylene got up easily enough. Then, from the apron above the road, she helped Pud pull the wagon up as Yason pushed from behind. Last of all came Jaomin on Nina. They hadn't cleared the roadway by more than fifteen seconds when they heard the beat of hooves, presumably troll-beasts, approaching rapidly from north of the bend. All of them stood as still as possible, not breathing and praying through the pounding of their hearts that Chion wouldn't cry.

Yason seized Jaomin's arm. "Brother," he whispered fiercely, "watch me. If I leap out you do too. Then, peg as many as you can as quickly as you can."

Jaomin nodded, almost numb with fear. He didn't think he'd ever wish to be fighting the catamin again, but right now he would have preferred even that!

The desigarg charged around the corner of the road, heading south rapidly. There were three of them. Suddenly, just as they passed, Yason leapt out of his hiding place, screaming in a terrifying voice the like of which Jaomin had never heard before. He landed just behind the tail-most rider, swinging his sword as he jumped. His blade bit home, slicing deeply into the garg's upper chest and nearly severing his head.

Then a number of things happened all at once: Jaomin tried to leap out right behind his brother, but caught his foot as he jumped; as a result he sprawled uselessly over the bracken and tumbled onto the road. At the same moment, Yason's sword was ripped out of his hand by the momentum of the garg's body - still riding away, though stone dead. Finally - but again at almost the same instant - the remaining two gargs pulled hard on their troll-beasts' reins, meaning to turn as rapidly as possible on the humans.

Jaomin recovered and moved like a cat.

Quickly springing to his feet he energetically whirled his sling and launched a rock, releasing it just as the gargs completed their turn. His aim was a little low. Instead of hitting his intended target between its eyes, his missile went right into the monster's open mouth. The effect, however, was much the same; it tumbled backwards from its animal.

The remaining garg, seeing that its two companions were dead, continued his turn, making it a three-sixty, and galloped full bore down the road away from these victims who had unexpectedly turned into predators.

Yason turned and looked at his brother, "Very pretty, bro."

Before Jao could return the compliment, a string of very salty swear words turned the boys' amazed attention towards the bushes. The two girls were re-emerging onto the road bringing the animals back with them. Regine was looking at Caylene aghast. Caylene, her eyes flaming and face flushed, was holding forth like a sailor on furlough. But she lapsed into the language of common speech long enough to frame a question:

"You stupid idiot. What did you do that for?!" she said looking at Jaomin, then widened her abuse to include both boys, "Do you both want to get killed? They would have ridden right by. What the..."

"That's enough, young lady," Yason thundered, cutting her off before she launched into another tirade. "You will not use that language around my wife again. Is that clear? "

"Don't you yell at her, Yason Bindaved. She's just scared," said Regine, coming unexpectedly to Caylene's defence. "She's right in what she's asking, even if her wording leaves a bit to be desired. Why in the world did you two jump them?"

"Wife," said Yason sternly, "we had to. They knew we were here, that's why I came back so quickly. I saw one garg riding north when I came to the corner. He'd seen us and was getting his companions. How far do you think they'd have ridden before they realised we'd given them the slip? They'd have come back and killed us for sure."

Everyone was silent as Yason stalked off to get his sword back, pulling it out of the fallen desigarg's body. The rest of the group pulled themselves back into order and prepared to continue their journey. Chion was crying very loudly; everyone agreed he had good justification for this. Caylene sat on Princess, watching Yason as he carefully wiped his blade on the grass. Desigarg blood is very foul.

As he came back to the small group, Regine looked at him meaningfully. Yet before he could address Caylene, she spoke to him. "I'm sorry, Yason, and all of you. I'm sorry I spoke the way I did."

Yason smiled at his wife and turned a gentle expression towards Caylene, "It's all right, little sister - forgiven and forgotten."

Being called 'sister' was a bit of a jolt to Caylene, but not at all an unpleasant one. She nodded at Yason and murmured a soft thank you.

"Well," put in Jaomin, "let's be thankful to the Creator that we're all in one piece."

"Yes, now let's get back to quiet travel. At least we've put the worst part of the day behind us right at the outset," Regine added.

However, subsequent events were to prove her very wrong.

a8b

Even Targa Gamarad could not keep forty thousand desigarg troops in check forever. The reappearance, therefore, of the vulgraths both pained, pleased and frightened him. The child crystal that super-intended his thinking gave him only glimpses of the mind of the Master, not clear access. However, on the night the Great Wall was destroyed, Targa Gamarad had felt enormous pain, the pain of the Demiurge. Indeed, under lesser circumstances, Lord Nihilos would likely have tried to shunt off any pain he might have been forced to feel towards Targa Gamarad. Such an operation was quite possible, and, under other circumstances, would no doubt amuse his Master. Nevertheless, what Targa Gamarad felt that night was only the over-flow effect of a searing agony that passed all comprehension. Lord Nihilos' brain had been on fire.

For a time after the Battle of the Wall, seven days in fact, Targa Gamarad had heard nothing from his Master. The toad had even hoped he might be dead. However, on the eighth day the first vulgrath had appeared on the balcony outside Gamarad's new residence, and all such thoughts, from that moment on, had to be shunned. They were dangerous thoughts: knowable and punishable.

The vulgrath that had come greatly surprised Gamarad. It was small, not more than three-feet high, and contemptibly weak. Nonetheless, Gamarad had naturally deferred to it. For he knew what rejuvenated power it spoke of. The creature had commanded him: thirty-two days to find the True King. No consequence was mentioned; there was no need.

So while the reappearance of the vulgraths, in all their hideously terrifying splendour, had caused him great personal pain - in the form of a headache, which had lasted a week - they also meant he could control the masses of desigarg much more effectively. Four winged monsters each flew a patrol along the west side of the wall. Though each had sixty miles of wall to watch, the terror of them was so great that they might as well have been omnipresent.

It is true that the vulgraths were not under his immediate control, but they served his purposes by keeping the desigarg from over-running the hapless humans. Thus it was very nearly time, the great toad thought, to send a final ultimatum to the humans. The True King was dead; the Prince of Night could begin his rule. The strange and powerful out-worldly knight was gone; the vulgraths were once again invulnerable.

a8b

"Lieutenant Ganarth Bindaved, my Lord," the young officer said smartly, standing stiffly before his monarch at attention.

The King, who had been looking down at his hands, raised his face to the young man, and for just a fraction of a second his mouth fell open; he quickly snapped it shut, but not before Ganarth saw the effect his name had upon the king. In that split second, the mask of proud superiority had dropped aside, and - what was it that took its place? Ganarth had no name for it. Why should my name summon up that look? Ganarth wondered. The look reminded him of a chess player who had suddenly realised he has made a large mistake. The look was certainly one of surprise but also - was it possible - of fear? Ganarth was very shrewd and no fool. His own expression as he looked at the king was quite impenetrable, but his mind was calculating, sifting through possibilities.

"We, uh, we find ourselves greatly in your debt, young man. Our life was forfeit, this day, but for your timely...intervention."

The lieutenant bowed slightly, "You honour me, my Lord." Yet all the while the lieutenant was wondering. My brother knew the king. He had come to know him quite well. My brother, the king announced to us, was treacherously killed by the desigarg. Now he hears my name and he startles.

Although he did not quite see the link, he knew one must be there. Putting all family pride aside, Bindaved was not a name with which to conjure. Until the death of three generals, five colonels and seven majors - all incinerated on one night - he doubted the king had ever heard of the name.

"...your bravery." the king paused. Waiting for a response.

Ganarth blinked, what had he missed? Some response seemed required of him, "Yes, my Lord."

The king paused a moment seeming to calculate. Suddenly his smile became positively warm. "Bravery seems to run very strongly in your family, Lieutenant. Captain Telliam Bindaved, he was your brother?"

"Just so, Your Majesty," Ganarth said evenly.

"Yes," the King stared down at the fingers of his right hand for a moment. "You are no longer a lieutenant, young Bindaved. We hereby raise you to the rank of captain. This is only fitting, for We see the stamp of your brother upon your actions and character, as clearly as it rests upon your features, and you - no less worthily than he - shall bear that rank. Your own bravery alone warrants this promotion, you will understand. However, the fondness We feel towards your brother's memory makes this action not only appropriate, but - as it were - a fit form of justice. Fate has sought to steal Our ablest officer, but the Creator raises up a replacement from the very same seed. Poetry, We truly believe."

Justice, Ganarth thought, even as he bowed his head: justice and wisdom. Why had the king sent his 'ablest officer' with a message that a corporal could as easily have carried? Surely the king knew that there were scores of men beneath his command who would not glance at their right hand, let alone read the letter it carried, if forbidden to do so by the king. "Thank you, Majesty," he said unemotionally.

"Er, Captain," said the king, emphasizing the word and smiling, "how many other fine young officers and soldiers bear the honour of calling you brother?"

'Don't tell him!' something screamed in Ganarth's mind and for a full five seconds the young man stood silently with the warning echoing through his being. However, lying and disobedience were utterly anathema to him. The warning was clear, but his duty was clearer. "Five, my Lord."

The King's face showed nothing but pleasure at the hearing of this. "Five," he repeated. "Captain, had we two hundred such men, we believe the Wall would not have fallen, and Grenwilde would be safe."

Ganarth stood silently again, for perhaps three seconds, "Yes, my Lord." he said softly.

The king noted that the flattery did not seem to greatly move him, and that moreover he was troubled. Perhaps he is overcome by remembering his brother, the king reflected. "Well, Captain, We will inform Lord Torba of your promotion. He will see that you are properly uniformed. Come to Us tomorrow and We will make your new duties clear to you. For tonight, We are too fatigued. You are dismissed."

Captain Bindaved bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said mechanically, and turning on his heel he marched out.

Alone in his tent the king pieced out a message in his head. Then he glanced down at the image stone sent to him by the enemy. He picked it up and imaged a picture of Ganarth Bindaved. Perhaps all was not lost after all, the king thought.

a8b

In five hundred years only one thing had surprised Lord Nihilos. Now he was receiving his second surprise in less than eighty days. How was it possible he hadn't known?

His dark terrible gaze turned suddenly from the Shaping Crystal where he had been forming the nygrath. He looked across at the Seeing Crystal opposite his dark throne. The face of King David stared at him from its crystal heart.

"No!" he said quietly. "NO!" he screamed violently so that the yell reverberated through his cold, dark lair. Seven hundred miles away, Targa Gamarad shifted uneasily, nearly choking on the dog he was eating. What had that meant? He wondered.

a8b

It was a far more cautious and subdued troop of travellers that moved along the South Road than had set out that morning. Still, only one of them was truly tense - Jaomin. The reason was quite simple, the corner they were approaching - which was less than an hour's travel below the fork - was as well known to him as his old bedroom. Had he not dreamed of it for months? Had he not fought for his life there only six or seven days ago?

He was walking now, as it was Yason's turn to ride, so that no one noticed his growing anxiety. Only another minute or two, he thought, then we will have safely passed the place and if I ever come this way again, split me for a...

The thought remained in that curious suspension where unfinished thoughts forever linger. For just at that moment, they could clearly hear the thunder of approaching hooves.

Yason quickly and anxiously looked about: precipice to the left, three-foot embankment to the right. No place to hide a cart, no chance of running from those rapidly approaching hooves. At least it was only one animal approaching. He drew his sword and looked down at Jaomin. "Jao, get a stone...Jao?"

Jaomin was backing towards the embankment. Then, suddenly, he turned and leapt up to its top where he stood staring - not at his family - but towards the curve of the road. No time to worry about him, thought Yason. Maybe he's lost his nerve, or maybe he thinks he can get a better shot from there. Who knows? But in the next moment a sight so strange came to his eyes that it drove out all thought of Jaomin and everything else from Yason's mind. For around the corner came an enormous war horse - looking for the instant like a galleon under full-sail - glowing like a day-time moon and bearing wings that must have measured seven feet in length.

Now, it is one thing to read about such an event; it is quite another thing to live through it. For, in the first instance, the reader is sitting snug on his or her couch and, in the second, he or she has had considerable warning of this event occurring - not so the people who stood that day upon the South Road. They had been drawn as tense as notched bows hoping for a human, fearing of a desigarg and - against all laws and possibilities - had received a winged horse!

Chion was the first to recover his senses. He didn't know what that thing was - any more than he knew what seven thousand other things that daily crossed his omnivorous stare were - but it glowed and he wanted very much to put it in his mouth.

The second to recover her wits was Caylene. Nudging Princess forward she rode towards the magnificent creature. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she said wonderingly. "You must be king of all horses!" Princess was certainly acting as if she were standing before a king. Her ears were twitching and her head lowered.

Next the young married couple approached the winged wonder, both on foot: Yason having dismounted and Regine having climbed from the wagon. Regine stroked his nose and Yason walked around to his side.

"What a beautiful saddle. And look at this sword!" Yason had never seen its like, but, as he reached out his hand toward the sword, the horse shied away, whickering loudly.

"It's all right, fella. I'm not stealing it," Yason said, but a second attempt to grasp the sword was met by a rearing up of the horse, and Yason was not rash enough to try and master another man's trained war horse - let alone one that glowed with super-natural brilliance and bore wings!

"It's the horse," came a voice from beside the road. All three adults looked up at Jaomin. (To his credit, Chion remained focused: bending all his uncoordinated attention upon the glowing mystery object.) Jaomin walked slowly to the edge of the embankment, and leapt lightly down onto the road. "It's the sword, too. But, where's the rider?"

"I was wondering that too," said Regine.

"You don't understand," said Jaomin. "I've dreamt all this before...thousands of times, I think. But it wasn't quite this way."

"Stupid!" he heard Caylene mutter.

At the moment he didn't care. Sky-born, for of course it was he, walked across the road towards Jaomin. He came right up to him, lowered his head and pushed it softly against the young man's chest. And there he stayed. Hesitantly, at first, and then more readily, Jaomin began to stroke his glowing main. "Hey, fella," he said softly.

"Will you look at that," Regine said in amazement.

"Yeah, he has less sense than I thought," chimed in Caylene, but she was more amazed than sarcastic.

"Guess he likes you, little brother," Yason said, truly puzzled.

Jaomin put his hands under the great horse's head, "Where's your owner, big fella?" The horse raised its head.

Jaomin's breath was taken away by the intelligence in the horse's eyes. These were not the pools of benign curiosity possessed by most horses, nor were they the liquid fire he had seen in his brother Telliam's warhorse. These eyes had a light of real wisdom and understanding. His eyes, no less than his coat and wings, betokened a creature not of this world.

It was like the dream but not. Jaomin knew this was a waking moment of destiny. He felt circles of light rolling through him. The axis was way beyond him - high up and far off; the wheel was centred elsewhere but was related to him, passing right through him. These actions, right here and right now, were purposed. He had the strangest sense that he was being handed his portion in life. Stepping to the side of the horse, he swung himself up lightly and easily into the saddle. He felt very much at home.

All of his companions stared at him open-mouthed: amazed at the enormous horse, amazed at Jaomin and - in short - amazed at the circumstances. However, Yason had an additional reason for amazement, mutely he pointed to the horse's front legs.

"Jaomin!" Yason's voice sounded urgent and surprised. "Look at his leg!"

Jaomin leaned out and looked down, the creature's front right fetlock and hoof were spattered with blood.