Chapter 16: Prisoners of the Crystal

Small particles of multi-coloured glass strewn across black velvet. The disconnected fragments of consciousness. Glimpses of things that exist but with no precedent and no consequence. No movement. No thought. Just a fractured awareness flitting between islands of disassociated moments.

It was like viewing a photo-album, or walking through a gallery. No necessary relationship existed between the pictures. Each stood in isolation.

Jenna shook her head, letting the images dissolve. None of it made any sense to her. It had become one her favourite pastimes to spy on her friends. She would look into the Crystal River and pray; it had been just that simple. Doing this she had seen things that were actually happening to the knights. Sometimes it was Jaffar, Taril or Melchizedek. Best of all, sometimes she could watch Meda. She would laugh and sing as she told them what they had been doing in the worlds to which the Spirit had sent them. The knights, for their part, had laughed and enjoyed it, rejoicing in her gift just as much as Jenna.

Then had come the fascinating and valuable discovery, during the siege of Aurora, that some of the things she was seeing had not yet happened to her friends. Her accuracy, hitherto, had been complete. Why was she now seeing things that hadn't occurred? It had been Meda who first guessed what it all meant and Melchizedek who first thought to make use of it.

After that Jenna had become more than a joyful amusement to the knights, she was practically a member of the team. Jenna had learned that it was all in the way you looked at things. If she looked down stream she could see things in the past; in front of her she saw the present and up stream the future.

Yet now Jenna was completely stumped. Didn't matter where she looked, she didn't seem to see anything. Whenever she prayed about Taril, either she saw nothing or these nonsense pictures. It meant nothing to her. Jaffar and Meda she couldn't see at all. Whenever she prayed about them she saw this swirling, milky stuff. She sighed.

"I guess it just doesn't work any more," Jenna said to herself. Now it might seem odd, but this didn't really disappoint her. In addition, this wasn't due alone to the fact that disappointment is hard to achieve in Loridan, although it is. It was due to the fact that she had come to realise that every dead end was really only a corner. She knew just what to do. She stood up, looked down at the stream, and then raising her arms, she danced and sang to Joy.

That is how Cherion found her: singing, dancing and making a heavenly racket.

"Hello, small one," said the huge angel.

"Hello, big one," she responded, hardly pausing in her dance.

"What are we doing?"

"You're standing and I'm dancing," she chirped.

"Wrong!" said the angel, "we're both flying!"

Without a word of warning the angel gently scooped the child up and wheeled high into the air, his magnificent wings holding him in the air as firmly his legs had held him upon the ground. Jenna loved it when Cherion did that. She liked it so much, that she had told him never to warn her, just swing her up into the sky. Her opinion was that flying shouldn't be something you planned, just something that happened.

"Yay! Wooooo!" screamed Jenna, "That's fun!"

"Yes, it is fun," agreed the angel.

"Take me to the Singing Forest, Cherion."

"I will if that's what you really want, princess; but would you like to see Melchizedek?"

"Would I!"

"He sent me to fetch you to him."

"Well, fetch away!" she beamed.

The great wings carried them smoothly and easily across the forest and out over the Sea of Peace, towards the distant Mountains of Wisdom.

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It required very little in the way of sleuth work for the travellers to realise that this horse, being winged and blood-spattered, was the answer to the mystery of the dead man in the alley. On the other hand, that brought with it an even greater mystery: why was the horse there in the first place? And, being there, why had he left? They had, needless to say, no answer to these riddles, but they felt them to be of almost no significance whatsoever compared to the great mystery of this creature's existence. He was a winged impossibility.

However, we readily accept what we see with our eyes as being real. This may be weak-minded, but it seems more foolish still to doubt our senses. They made a short search in the surrounding area for the horse's owner, whom they thought they might find dead, sleeping or unconscious. Neither eye could find nor voice summon a trace of anyone at all. As a result the travellers were soon moving again, and moving more quickly now that everyone had a mount. The great horse seemed to be quite content to accompany them. In no time at all they came to the fork of the roads and swung west along the densely forested Wilderness Way.

Yason and Regine were gladdened, feeling themselves that much closer to something they could eventually think of as home. Chion was sleeping. However, as for Caylene, this was an important juncture; by turning west she was 'throwing her lot in' with this strange family. Yet if Caylene felt any hesitation about doing this she didn't show it. Silently, she did reflect that if things didn't work out for her she could ride on to one of the three large western cities, most probably she'd go to Bonaira Vis. It was supposed to be the most beautiful city in the world.

Jaomin, for his part, would not have noticed so subtle a thing as a moment of hesitation or pensiveness on the part of one of his companions. He was riding through a dream, astride a winged horse with a magnificent sword at his side. He was hardly aware of the beautiful forests they were passing through. Instead, Jaomin was looking at the sword's hilt, but felt too timid to pull it out.

"What will you call him, Jao?" Regine asked.

Jao looked as if he was waking up, "Huh?"

"She means the horse, stu...Jaomin," interpreted Caylene, who seemed to reserve all her impatience for him.

Jaomin frowned at her, and looked at his sister-in-law. Name him? He hadn't given it a thought. Surely such a horse had a name already, but there was no way of knowing what it might be. Nonetheless, it would be very daring to just...

At that precise instant, Jaomin's thoughts were interrupted and his waking dream became a nightmare. For rounding the corner of the road they saw in front of them no less than five desigarg. They were fully armed and had the road barricaded by means of a large fallen tree that they had dragged across its surface. They seemed to be quite relaxed. Apparently they anticipated little difficulty from their quarry.

"Dismount, pathetic humans!" growled a garg that appeared to be mostly wolf. Indeed, all five looked to have either wolf or dog heads.

Without responding Yason drew his sword. The odds were hopeless but flight was not possible. Flight.

Without any urging from his rider, Sky-born leapt between the humans and their mortal enemies. It was a leap without a landing. For he hung suspended between heaven and earth, at about a sixty-degree angle, beating his enormous wings. Jaomin was leaning forward, just holding on for dear life.

The next instant Sky whirred forward straight at his adversaries. He streaked like an arrow into their midst. Startled gargs jumped in all directions. One was not quick enough. His head no longer looked like anything, in particular.

Sky wheeled upward above the narrow avenue of trees and banked back upon the scattered enemy. The manoeuvre was accomplished in less than sixty yards horizontally and forty vertically. Jaomin's hair would have been standing on end even without the wind's assistance. There are no roller coasters in Grenwilde, so that Sky's free-style imitation of one was a first in those lands.

As they swooped back down towards the regrouping enemy, Jaomin found he had unconsciously pulled the beautiful sword from its scabbard. He was amazed at how light it was to wield. Clinging to the horse's body with his legs, Jaomin raised the sword above his head. The high scream he emitted, while diving towards the enemy at break-neck speed, was one part fierce two parts fear.

Now these gargs were not so cowardly as their lot usually are. For being, in fact, a wolf pack, they were not entirely devoid of loyalty and mutual purpose. Yet as they turned to face their winged tormentor, they did so at the price of failing to reckon with Yason, himself a seasoned warrior. He was on their undefended flank before they could react. A second later and another garg lay dead, split by the elder Bindaved's sword.

Now Sky plunged through again, bowling one garg over and knocking a second off balance. And here it was, that Jaomin's second killing of a rational fellow creature was accomplished. For the light sword sliced through the off balanced garg as though it were splitting a bar of butter. Indeed, smoke issued from the creature's wound. Smoke at encountering, in the midst of its unhallowed self, a holy thing. It was killed so quickly that it did not even cry out.

Seeing the devastation brought about by the blade, Jaomin leapt from Sky and stood before the garg bowled over by Sky, gallantly waiting for it to recover itself. The great horse immediately turned and stood behind its new Master. His eyes, for all their wisdom, were aflame now.

In the meantime, the other remaining garg was going at it - both weapons - against stout Yason, who, for his part, was returning it payment, stroke for stroke.

Now the fallen garg rolled over, shook its head and suddenly bounced to its feet, snatching - as it did so - its fallen battle-axe.

"Arrgh!" growled the garg, "Kill! Nargrow make you dead. You no kill again."

From his speech, Jaomin realised the creature didn't have much happening inside its head - just hatred. However, for all that, it wasn't about to plead for mercy.

Without further warning, and with the deliberate malice of intended murder, it swung the huge axe straight at Jaomin's head, but the sword was there to meet it. Jaomin had never fought with a sword, and carrying any other blade he surely would have died. Yet the sword seemed to teach his hands terrible things. As fast as light it moved in his unpractised hands. Blocking and thrusting as he leapt and feinted. Jaomin's confidence grew as the battle dragged into minutes. He felt power surging through him, from unsuspected depths. The garg, who had been arrogant to begin with, was fading. He had thought himself to be fighting a boy, and instead he was battling a whirling terror.

In a desperate attempt to smash through the boy's defence, the wolf-garg brought his battle-axe downwards in what should have been a devastating two-handed stroke. It was a mistake, and his last one. Jaomin did not block, but deftly dodged the blow. In the next instant the tip of the boy's blade was in the garg's rib cage. The effect was horrifying. The desigarg doubled over howling, smoke rising from the wound inflicted by the blade of Loridan. It was as much an instinct of mercy as of battle to end the horrid creature's misery with a single stroke.

A lone - rather loud - swear word, followed instantly by an embarrassed apology came from Caylene. Regine sat wordlessly holding Chion protectively against herself. Miraculously, he'd slept through the whole battle.

Panting from the exertion, Jaomin slumped back and down on the tree that lay across the road. It wasn't until that moment that he was able to spare a glance for his surroundings. There stood Yason, leaning on his sword watching him with a quizzical expression.

"Where in the world did you learn to fight like that?" his brother said.

Jaomin was panting so hard it took him a few seconds before he could utter his single word response. "Here," he said weakly.

Yason's brows shot upwards. He had dispatched his second garg and had been watching his brother closely. Ready to jump in if needed. Sky had also been watching intently. However, it had gradually become evident to both warrior and war-horse that no help of theirs would be necessary. Jaomin fought like a miniature sword master.

"Well," said Yason, "I was going to offer to teach you how to use that sword. Looks like you could teach me!"

Jaomin shook his head, still gasping, "It's the sword, brother. It's like thoughts were flowing out of it right into my hands. I was doing the legs; it was doing the hands."

Yason stared at him silently, noticing that the blade had no blood on it at all.

"Here, hold it yourself." Yet as Jao offered the blade to his brother, Sky walked forward, neighing at his young Master. "Maybe not," Jao said staring at the horse. The horse walked right up to the boy and interposed his head between Jao and his brother.

"Well, there's no more question about his name," said Caylene puckishly. "He's obviously called Jao-master."

"What about Sky-rider?" said Regine. "He sure can ride through the sky."

Jao looked at the horse carefully. "Sky-rider. Well, it sure does fit. I don't want to call him 'horse' all the time. Sky-rider all right with you, fella?"

Sky whinnied loudly and all four of the young adults laughed. "Guess it is all right," remarked Yason.

And so it came about that Sky-born, steed in Loridan, was granted a new name, and a quite appropriate one at that.

Using Sky's and Princess's combined strength, they were able to pull the tree off the road. They also dragged the corpses off of the road, some thirty or so yards into the forest, and there buried them beneath stones and brush. They had no shovel with them.

After two battles, separated by the astounding advent of a winged-horse in their midst, the travellers made only sluggish progress - being both tired and emotionally wrung out. They had put perhaps fifteen more miles behind them when they unanimously decided to look for a place to spend the night. Only Sky-rider seemed completely fresh.

A quarter of an hour later they came to a babbling brook that wound north to south, flowing right through the road. No bridge had yet been made over this stream for it was not two feet wide and - even in spring - only eight inches deep. They turned north off the road and followed it into the forest, stopping at an open glade some nine hundred feet from the road. Yason thought it wise to be invisible to any passers-by; two bands of gargs in a single day had convinced him that they would not be safe until they reached home, if then.

He would let them build only a small fire, and it was constructed to the north of a large boulder; this was to prevent its easy detection from the road. It was as the darkness fell that everyone became aware that Sky-rider's faint glow was not illusory, but real.

"Might have called you Moonbeam, if we'd named you at night," Regine remarked.

As the darkness grew, Yason told Jaomin to go back to the road to see if any trace of the fire could be seen from there. Jaomin began to leave the camp alone, but he hadn't gone twenty steps before Sky-rider was following him.

As he turned to greet this affectionate titan, he heard Caylene call out, "Hey, wait for me."

Jao waited.

"Regine doesn't need your help?"

"She said she didn't. Mind if I come?"

Jao shook his head and turned again towards the road. He wasn't exactly mad at Caylene, but her name-calling was beginning to be irritating. For a time, the horse and two humans picked their way through the forest without talking. Caylene seemed to sense Jaomin's mild hostility. "He really does glow, huh? Makes a good night candle!"

Jaomin didn't answer. In his head he was thinking that if he had said something like that she'd probably have replied, 'Of course, stupid!'

After seeing that he wasn't about to respond, she said, "So, what did I do?"

Jaomin was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, Caylene, but I always seem to be making you angry. I guess maybe I'm tired of you being angry with me."

"I don't get angry with you!" She said angrily, then paused for a moment, considering: "Well, all right, I did get angry the first time you and Yason tried to kill yourselves today. But didn't you notice? The second time you got suicidal I wasn't mad at all!"

Jaomin smiled. "If Yason hadn't done what he did, we'd all be dead."

"Yeah, I figured that out. That's why I didn't say anything the second time." She seemed remarkably light-hearted for someone talking about a near brush with death. "And forget about what Yason did; what about you?"

Jaomin didn't know quite how to respond to that. He felt himself blushing a bit. He hated that! Maybe, given the current lighting, she wouldn't notice his colour change. Mr. Chameleon, he silently jeered at himself, always matches his emotional surroundings.

"Jao, what's it like to ride a flying horse?" she asked quietly.

"Huh! Oh, wild! Scary but really fun," he turned to her. "Would you like to try?"

"Would I! I sure would," she said excitedly. "But do you think he'd let me?"

"Don't know," Jao looked at Sky-rider speculatively. He seemed to choose whom he'd let near him. The others he'd allowed to pat him, but only Jao had he so far permitted to mount him - or to touch the sword. "We can try when we get to the road."

"Oh, good!" said Caylene, clasping her hands and performing a short impromptu dance of joy. She looked like a little kid on Kandar Morning.

When they reached the road, they peered carefully back along the creek to see if there was any evidence of the camp. There wasn't, Jaomin was pleased to note; it was entirely invisible. They decided they'd better discover whether the fire could be seen from possible angles of approach. So they walked in opposite directions along the road, Jaomin walking east for thirty or forty paces and Caylene going west. A few minutes later they met back at the stream.

"Couldn't see anything from that direction," Caylene reported.

"Not from that way either, but you can smell the smoke a bit," Jaomin observed.

"Well, that probably won't matter. If you smell a fire and can't see it, you just keep walking hoping to find it. At least that's what I'd do."

"I guess that's right," Jao responded.

"Can I try to ride Sky now?"

"Sure. Come here, Sky."

Sky had been drinking from the stream quietly while the two humans had performed their brief reconnaissance mission. He now raised his head and plodded over to Jaomin.

"Here, I'll hold his head and you climb up."

Caylene, who was very competent around horses, reached out her hand for the saddle horn, but the moment Sky knew what was happening, he whickered and side-stepped.

"It's all right, Sky. I want her to ride. It'll be just fine, fella," Jaomin spoke soothingly. But Sky had a mind of his own. He continued to walk sideways from the girl, by no means allowing her to mount up. They completed most of a circle before giving up.

"That's really strange," said Caylene, in a bewildered and disappointed voice.

"I've got an idea," said Jaomin. He quickly leapt up onto Sky's back and then reached a hand down for Caylene. They clasped wrists and up she got.

"Is this all right with you, Sky?" Jaomin asked politely. Sky was quiet. He didn't seem to object to the arrangement.

"Now," said Jaomin, "I'll climb down and you'll be aboard."

"Better not," said Caylene.

"Don't worry. It'll work. I'm sure," Jaomin pulled his foot up and across the front of the saddle and - pulling his other foot from the stirrup - leapt down.

There sat Caylene, looking very pleased. "Yes! Now gee-up." She said happily and prodded the horse gently, at the same time giving the reins a quick shake. Nothing. "Come on, Sky. Get going," she said encouragingly. She poked him a little harder. Still nothing.

"Hm, guess not," remarked Jaomin.

"I'm afraid so," Caylene added dejectedly. "Oh, I want so much to fly him!"

"Well, we could try riding him double. He certainly didn't seem to have any difficulty getting me up."

"I'm game," said Caylene. She was a bit disappointed as she had envisioned riding across the sky by herself, but still it was better than nothing.

Jaomin, with Caylene's assistance, got up and sat behind her. When they were both seated in such a way as to allow them firm leg grips on Sky, Jaomin urged the horse forward. Obediently he began walking down the road. But although Jao could make him trot, canter and gallop - nothing would induce him to fly. And, of course, Jaomin was breaking new ground - if that's the right phrase - for no one, except for Melchizedek and Joy, know what command you give a horse to make it fly. That afternoon, Sky had flown on his own and in response to danger.

"Well, I give up, Caylene, I don't know how to..." suddenly, all on his own - perhaps having sensed their desire, Sky leaped into his namesake. For a moment he flew vertically upward, then - from not more than twenty feet above the ground - he lunged forward in a shallow dive, building momentum as he did so. His great wings beat a blur in the night air, he was moving faster than any horse - himself included - could gallop, straight down the avenue of trees.

"Oh, yes! Fabulous!" Caylene screamed out. "I love it!"

"Great, isn't it?" said Jaomin loudly - and a little bit fearfully. The rushing air made it necessary to talk very loudly in order to be heard.

Once they were air-born, steering him wasn't too difficult - even if keeping in the saddle was. Jaomin discovered that pulling gently back on the reins prompted Sky-rider to fly upwards - rather than stop, as it would have on the ground. Right and left turns were accomplished by gently pulling on the reins in the appropriate direction. Figuring out how to make Sky fly downwards presented a bit of difficulty. But following a suggestion made by Caylene, he discovered Sky would descend, if you leaned forward and tugged down on the bridle.

After they had stunted for a while, Jaomin steered Sky-rider in a wide arc above the forest, they looked down and could make out the fire about two hundred feet below.

"Hello, Yason; hello, Regine!" Jaomin bellowed down. They weren't quite sure whether or not they could hear a response, with the wind rushed all about them, stirring their hair and filling their ears. It was delicious, lovely and ideal. However, after a time the keenest pleasures begin to fade, and both adventurers were quite tired.

It was very dark now, and they both thought it would be a good idea to get back to the camp. But before Jaomin could communicate through the reins, and without being bidden to do so, Sky-rider suddenly flew back and downwards towards the road. As he did so, both riders noticed that he was glowing more brightly and increasing his speed, becoming almost a winged comet. Below him, Jaomin could make out the figure of a desigarg mounted on a troll-beast, rapidly growing larger with their approach. It's doubtful that the desigarg, with his back turned, ever saw them. Sky was wonderfully destructive with his hooves.

They thundered to earth just beyond their fatally stricken foe.

"Good riding, Jao," said Caylene a little breathlessly and shaken, "but where did you learn to be so savage?"

"I didn't have anything to do with that manoeuvre; it was all Sky's doing."

They dismounted and walked back to where the desigarg had fallen. The troll-beast had taken one look at Sky and turned away, running as fast as he could. Much good it did him. As soon as his passengers were off his back, Sky galloped after him, running him down in matter of seconds, and then pummelling him to death.

Now such wanton destruction sounds quite horrible. To live through it was much worse. And although both children felt a great disgust for these unwholesome and terrifying creatures, yet it was still sickening to see such blood-shed - even of desigarg blood. For his part, Sky-rider had within himself a perfect hatred for these monstrosities; he knew that they had somehow been responsible for the death of his Master. He was remorseless and terrible. If Jao had not called him back he would probably have trampled the troll-beast into paste.

Feeling his stomach rise in the process, Jao dragged the mutilated garg off of the road. He'd need Yason's help to dispose of the troll-beast. They stopped long enough at the stream to wash Sky's hooves and then started back to their camp.

As they walked back through the forest they were quite subdued. Both young people thought they'd seen enough killing to last them a lifetime. And while they were quite right that they had, they both felt a horrible certainty that they - and everyone they knew and cared about - would likely see a lot more.

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They had no idea how long they had been in this place of endless fog. Long ago they had stopped riding and were now walking in front of Tagar and Callais. There was no reason to have done so, but there was no reason to do anything else either. Neither horse nor master knew anything of weariness, hunger or thirst. In fact, it was hard to know anything at all. The fact that they had vigour but no purpose was a real danger to their sanity.

Meda put out her hand and laid it on her brother's arm.

"Jaffar, could we try to make the world bright using Verity and Truth?"

Jaffar thought for a moment. He reached up and pulled golden Verity from its scabbard. "I have no idea what will happen if we try. I have no idea whether it will work. But I'm coming to the place where doing something - anything - is important. For it is becoming hard to think. It is even becoming hard to remember Loridan or Majesty. Prayer is hard."

Meda nodded, she too was having difficulty both thinking and praying. Somehow light seemed to be the one hunger remaining to her. She wanted light. Reaching to her shoulder harness, she drew forth the beautiful silver blade of Truth.

The two knights stood about five feet apart and opposite one another, face to face. They raised their blades, holding them above their heads so that the points touched. Then with a dogged determination they began to sing. As they did so, joy began to grow inside their hearts. Human hearts, born in distant and different worlds, but both made pure by hope, strong by faith and good by love:

How Great, how Marvellous is his Peace,

A world of Joy unbounded,

His Love has made all wars to cease,

Before all worlds were founded.

Come, Brothers, hurl before his throne,

All crowns, all songs, all honour,

His blood has made our hearts his own;

Come adore and wonder.

As the words welled up from their hearts, light opened like a flower above their heads. Shafts of light shot upwards, spraying out like a fountain.

Suddenly, a reverberating cry of agony ripped through the gloom beyond the cascading circle of light. There was no mistaking this cry: it was that of a soul in deep torment, in pain beyond the scope of its abilities to express.

Meda and Jaffar stopped singing and looked at each other. The sound had not come from a specific locality, but from everywhere and all around them.