Chapter 17: Mouths of Babes and Children

It was early in the morning -- very early in the morning. Regine didn't know exactly how early, but she did know she hadn't gotten any sleep. Chion was fussing; he had been screaming, so fussing was actually an improvement. "Please, little guy, couldn't you be quiet?" she mumbled through a yawn.

"Hi, sis," said Jaomin huskily, getting up and walking towards the fire while hugging himself. He was cold and itched everywhere. He always felt itchy when he hadn't slept soundly. Maybe it was nerves; he wasn't sure. "Chion didn't sleep too well, huh?"

Regine looked at him dolefully. "He didn't sleep at all, Jaomin."

"Uh, would you like me to hold him for a while?" he offered.

"Oh, would you, please?" Regine said with obvious relief.

"Sure. Come to Uncle, fella," Jaomin held out his hands and Regine - with no reluctance at all - passed him along. Chion continued to fuss and fume. Jaomin bounced him gently, hugging him and singing softly. Jao was glad of anything that helped him forget yesterday's carnage.

"I'll get breakfast," Regine said.

"You wanna lie down instead?" Jao said over Chion's noise.

"No," Regine shook her head, "no point. Yason and Caylene'll be up in a moment or two." She yawned, stretched and started to gather some wood.

Jaomin continued to bounce his little nephew, trying to pacify him. "You're really upset, huh? Wanna go for a walk? Let's go up the stream, Chion." He walked up the side of the stream bouncing, talking and singing. No good. He still cried.

"Wanna touch the water, Chion?" Jaomin carefully lowered little Chion down, until he was parallel to the water, holding him so that he could dabble his hands. Chion stopped crying, and stretched towards the water. Hands were rather new to him. He huffed and puffed, splashed once, got water on his face and started crying again, even more loudly than before. "Hey, that's no good. That's no good. Come here; I'm sorry. What a lousy uncle."

Jaomin considered for a moment. Oh! I know, Jaomin thought. Hugging Chion to himself, he walked carefully back to the camp. Cradling the baby on his right arm, he rummaged in his satchel with his left. He found and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth.

"Here, Chion, look at this!"

He handed little Chion the image crystal. Instant success. It went right into the mouth and stayed there.

a8b

Nagara Diserac stood at attention, not moving a muscle. Circumstances had forced him to carry the message; he had no choice. But, oh, how he wished he were anywhere else!

"Six!" the great toad roared, "SIX!"

"That is what the note said, Great One," Nagara said bowing.

Gamarad's eyes flapped randomly about like flags in a cyclone. Nagara had never seen him so agitated.

Six, Gamarad thought. He had felt a disturbance in his Master and knew already that something was wrong. The blood was burning on his brain, burning. But six more? Was it really possible? All day he had been expecting a vulgrath, and now this miserable captain brings a note saying six more kings of the Blood still live!

Crack!

His tongue, like a whiplash, laid the Captain out - sprawling. "Did you speak to this worm, this Akinwrath?" the toad spat at him.

"No, Great General. The note was on an arrow. It was fired from horse back," Diserac swallowed, rubbing his jaw he stood up. It was difficult to speak, "It also had a small parcel tied to it, Over-General. It held this." Diserac reached into his pouch and pulled out an image crystal.

He held the crystal out towards the toad.

Gamarad's eyes bulged, swivelling their united focus on the captain, "Bring it!"

Unconsciously, Diserac held it as far in advance of himself as he possibly could. He walked towards the general.

The general extended his clawed limb towards him. Diserac gingerly placed the crystal in the toad's hand.

Gamarad looked long and considered carefully. There was no question; this was yet another image of his Master's most hated foe.

a8b

"Jafra! Meta!" Hector had been sitting on the High Portal, as he had frequently of late. Suddenly, glowing like twin suns, the two knights were towering over him. He stood up and turned around to get a good look at them. They looked very strange. They were silver and gold and he could see right through them.

"I see on utter side you, Meta. I see on that side," he pointed. "Why I see you utter side? Jafra, you all," Hector waved his hands in front of his eyes, making everything flash, "like that, you go!"

They appeared to be talking or singing but he couldn't hear a word. Hector turned his head on an angle studying them.

"Why you do like dis?" he flapped his mouth soundlessly. Then, as the little fellow watched, they disappeared completely.

"Hey, why're you go? Meta, Jafra, why're you go? You go down hole?"

He scrunched down on his haunches and peered at the High Portal. He couldn't see a hole, but there must be one. Maybe the hole had gone away. Well, he'd tell it to come back.

"Hole, come back, hole," he called.

Maybe he had to move the stone to get down the hole. He pushed the stone very hard. He grunted. He shoved. The stone didn't move.

Now to Hector everything was alive. If he couldn't move the stone by pushing it. He'd ask it to move.

"Move, 'tone," he said. He waited. "PLEASE!" he added.

Then Hector had a really good idea, he grinned up at the sky that always watched him, "Ma'sty, move 'tone, please?"

For all of time the stone had lain unmoved. Before worlds it had been planted. It was the rock of the covenant between High Eternity and time. Its likeness appeared again and again, in the great adventures of every world. Jacob had slept on it at Bethel. Abraham had been covered in it by God. David had hidden in it from Saul. Tankresh had pulled Anarsis from it. Mara Tan had prayed upon it. Chira Han had been crushed beneath it. The Great Lion had died on it. Saints in all worlds and times spoke of it - an image of the One who never changes. The Knights of the Portals returned by this the High Portal when they had conquered death, but no one had ever entered it. How could it be entered, since no one could lift the cover? A person could much more easily tell a mountain to be thrown into the sea than to tell this stone to move.

And so, beneath the Promise Sky of Loridan, all ignorant of laws and rules Hector invoked Majesty - asking Him to act; and since He cannot change, and His promises stand always to the last particle of all, for the first time in forever - the stone of the High Portal moved.

"Oh, thank!" said Hector, and he meant it too. He squinted down into the hole below the Place of Wonders. "Meta, Jafra, you come up?"

Hector waited. He waited some more. He thought maybe he should count. Jenna had taught him to count. She said he counted real good.

"I count for you. Dat be fine?" there was no answer.

"One, choo, sick, three-teen, ten," Hector counted till he didn't know any more numbers.

"Meta, Jafra, you duck?" No answer. "You down dare?"

Hector sat up. He couldn't see anything in the hole, but he was sure his friends must be down there. He needed help.

"Noma!" he called to his angel.

In the twinkling of an eye, a spectacular angel stood beside him. Hector would have had to stretch up to touch the bottom of his knee.

"Hector, what can..." He stopped, looking in astonishment at the hole. If you know anything about angels, you will know that they do not astonish easily. But seeing the stone of the High Portal shoved aside, removed like a bottle top! Noma was speechless. "Hector, what...what happened."

Hector pointed down the hole, "Meta and Jafra, down dare."

"How did the stone move, Hector?"

"I ass' Ma'sty. You come wit' me, please?" Hector squatted down by the hole and jumped in.

"Hector, wait!" He was gone. Instantly, Noma spiralled into the air and dove in a perfect vertical line down the hole, following his Hector.

a8b

People who have made careful studies of history have often wondered why it is that evil men - at the very moment when they might have won victory - hesitate. Why, for example, did Hitler not destroy Britain after the Battle of France? Why did he allow the British to evacuate Dunkirk?

It is difficult to answer such questions, because we - so limited in our understanding of eternal laws and spiritual forces - know almost nothing of the battles occurring in realms invisible to the eye. The prayers of mothers, of little old ladies and of small children may account for more things than are guessed at in all man's philosophies.

However that may be, looking at the way in which evil creatures behave, it is probably fair to say that creatures who rule by fear also live in fear. This was certainly the case with the Demiurge.

He had not acknowledged that there was a force that could so easily dismiss his carefully woven thoughts from existence. Yet, on Lanten Eve, his vulgraths, the children of his mind - all of them - had evaporated like a mist at dawn.

He had learned a lesson that night. Never again would he let all five vulgraths appear in one place. Always, he would keep some separate and one or more of them near his lair. He would keep reserve vulgraths in limbo. Never, would he suffer a humiliation of the like again. Furthermore, he would eliminate that power that had wounded him. But how?

He knew that he could only trap goodness, by sacrifice. But bitter, bitter experience had taught him that sacrificed goodness became immortal goodness. Oh, how he feared the power of an indestructible life: feared it and lusted for it, hated it and imitated it.

What if he could freeze goodness in the act of sacrifice, leaving it suspended forever within the weaving of a moment? He believed it would work; he believed he understood the Laws of Immortality. He was confident of his understanding. A sacrifice must be complete to be effective.

He had carefully laid his double trap, and it had succeeded, as he knew it must.

So what if the King had escaped the destruction of Rama-gil? He had run him to ground in the end; he was now a frozen prisoner of the crystal - an ornament in his cave; he was!

How then did he yet live? The only answer he could think of disturbed him, for it meant that he had been mislead by the crystals. There must be more than one King.

How many were there? Why did he not have a clear reading? The crystals couldn't lie - they were his diametric opposite. They had to tell the truth! The Demiurge knew it was dangerous not to know why this had happened. But what could the reason be? There didn't seem to be a reason, which meant, that for the present, he had to continue operating in acknowledged ignorance.

The Demiurge brooded. Bad memories from distant times returned to him: memories of careful weavings unravelled, falling into pieces, dissolving into destruction. He would not let it happen! If there were a hundred kings, he would trap them all. All would be prisoners in the crystals. All would be fuel, strength for the nygrath. Not one of them would...

What! What was that pulling? What was happening? Something was sucking out his strength, sucking out his life. He could feel a relentless pulling and pulling.

This was weakness he felt. He had not felt weakness in so long he had forgotten it. The link with the Mother Crystal was wandering. Why? The abyss gaped before him. No! He would not lose two millennia of planning. He staggered. He fell to the floor.

Then he saw it.

A vortex in the Seeing Crystal, sucking his power into its depths. No time to question. It must be destroyed. He had no choice but very little strength.

Concentrating all his energy - putting his iron will against defeat - he summoned his nearest vulgrath. It roared towards his lair, gathering speed. His energy flowed out; he was being spilled like liquid. Faster, come faster, he commanded.

Roaring through the vast window of the lair, the enormous black monster smashed at full speed into the Seeing Crystal. In an explosion of blue sparks and smoke, crystal and vulgrath disappeared.

The mighty Prince of Night, Lord Nihilos the Demiurge, gasped, sighed and collapsed on the stones of his lair. There, for a very long time, he lay perfectly still.

a8b

"Done with that, little guy?" Chion threw the image crystal on the ground and gurgled happily. "Well, you certainly are happy all of a sudden."

Jaomin bent down and picked up the Seeing Crystal, wiping and dusting it off on his trousers. "Boy, you gooed this pretty good; didn't you, goober face. Oh, yeah, just smile, but you're a goober face! I can tell."

"Jao, Caylene, Sleepy Head, breakfast is served," Regine called out to her family.

"Good," said Caylene - who had been feeding the horses, "Thank you. I'm starved. What'd ya' make?"

"Beef strips and eggs," announced Regine proudly.

"The best," Jao said enthusiastically.

"Jao, you're a wonder. How did you make Chion so happy?"

"Easy," Jaomin said lightly, "gave him Maric's image crystal to suck on."

Regine looked concerned, "He couldn't choke on it, could he?"

Jao pulled it out of his pocket, "He'd have to be a megamouth blow-fish to swallow this thing."

Caylene exclaimed, "Oh, great, a crystal. Can I try it! I haven't played with one of those in weeks!"

Jao handed it to her, "Sure, why not?"

"Yeck!" Caylene said, "This thing is gross."

"Well, I guess I didn't get all of Chion off of it."

Caylene walked away from the fire down to the stream to wash off the crystal. At the same time Yason came towards the fire, half asleep, and sat down heavily. "Morning," he said.

"Morning, Mr. Big-help!" said Regine.

"Huh?" he muttered sleepily.

"Didn't you notice that Chion was crying all night?"

"Yeah, I noticed," Yason said sleepily. "Can't you keep him quiet?"

Regine opened her mouth as wide as...well, as wide as a megamouth blow-fish. "You...," she stopped, snapping her mouth shut and compressing her lips. "Which ear do you want your egg in? The beef strips go right up the nose; no options offered!"

Regine jumped on Yason like a tigress, wrestling him to the ground. Not, it should be mentioned, armed with breakfast.

"Go easy on him, sis," Jao said laughing.

Caylene came wandering back to the fire, staring down at the crystal. "That's strange. This thing isn't working properly. It's not like any other crystal I've ever used. I wonder if it's some kind of new one."

She sat beside Jao holding the stone on her lap between her hands, and peering down at it intently. "Oh, forget it. I can't make it work."

"How's it work, anyway?" he asked.

She looked at him exasperated, "I just said that it isn't working." Her aggravated expression melted into a smile, however, as she looked at the happy infant Jaomin was holding, "You must have broken it, Chion."

Yason and Regine had ended their wrestling match in a mildly romantic fashion and stood up holding hands. "Forgive me?" Yason asked.

"I guess so," she said softly.

"Yeck!" Caylene remarked, glancing over at them. But she was smiling at Regine when she said it.

"Yason, Caylene says that the baby might have busted Maric's new crystal. Could that be?" Jaomin was genuinely worried. After all, it was Maric not he that was supposed to have gone on this trip. He'd feel pretty badly if he brought home a broken crystal.

Yason held out his hand and Caylene passed him the crystal. He looked at it and raised his brows. "Well, it doesn't look broken, but I don't really know 'cause I've never used one." He looked at it for a moment. A kaleidoscope of colours swirled on its surface, "Look at all those things moving around in there. What's it supposed to do anyway?"

"It's broken," Caylene said authoritatively. "All kinds of strange pictures are in it. But they're not the ones I'm imaging."

"Hm," said Yason, "well, there isn't much we can do about it now." He passed the stone back to Jaomin.

"Let's eat," Regine interjected. "Before everything is completely cold." And eat they did; it would be a long day's journey and another after that before they could reach home.

a8b

"Hail, Image of Joy," Cherion saluted, as he landed on the peaks of Wisdom.

"Well met, Guardian of the Jewels," returned Melchizedek, "and welcome to you, Child of the King," he said addressing Jenna.

"Hi!" she chirped happily, "I love flying, Melchizedek; do you think Joy would give me wings?"

Cherion smiled weakly and waved his hands back and forth, "No, please, Jenna. It's hard enough keeping up to you now. What would I do if you had wings?"

"But then you wouldn't have to catch me when I fall, Cherion. It would make it easier for you."

Visions of Jenna dive-bombing into volcanoes drifted across Cherion's mind.

Melchizedek smiled, "Thank you, Cherion, for bringing Jenna. As for wings - well, you never know; there's a first time for every creation. A winged child would be a first."

"Farewell, Melchizedek, small Princess, I go to look upon your Father." His wings he raised vertically above his head, and in one great thrust was gone.

"Oh, don't I wish!" Jenna said putting her arms up and jumping as high as she could. But then she remembered why she was there. She turned to the great knight, and looked at him quizzically. "Why did you send for me, Melchizedek?"

"The Wise Ones, Jenna, have called for you."

Jenna's eyes widened. Even in a world of wise people, the Wise Ones stood apart for their insight and understanding. They seemed to live equally in all times, moving between events in the past, present and future the way most of us walk between rooms. They knew the sacred scriptures of a hundred worlds. They knew the Creator's ways as well as his words. These were the Sages, Apostles, Prophets and Martyrs: the witnesses of many worlds to the One Maker of all.

"Why do they want to see me?" It might seem strange that one who could run happily into the presence of Joy would be timid about seeing anyone. But the Wise Ones were spooky, Jenna thought. It wasn't that they were unkind or anything, quite the contrary. Yet when Jenna met the Apostle Paul once, as he was walking beside the Singing Forest, he seemed to look through her as if she were a window. He'd said, 'greetings,' rightly enough, but still - it gave her a strange feeling. You felt you had to mind your manners around the Wise Ones.

"Well, Jenna, I told them what you had been seeing in the Crystal River. They were fascinated. Several of them believe you must have the gift of prophecy in a great degree."

"Oh! Well, let's go home to the forest then," she said feeling very relieved.

"Why do you say that, Jenna?"

"'Cause it don't work any more, Melchizedek."

"Doesn't work," he said gently.

"That's right!" Jenna said, oblivious to correction but always open to agreement.

Melchizedek sat down on a rock and canted his head slightly. "What's happened, Jenna?"

"Don't know," she shrugged. "Everything's all weird. It's like there's just colours everywhere when I pray for Taril. And Jaffar and Meda, they're just a jug of milk."

"A jug of milk?" Melchizedek enquired. They weren't from the same era, and it did make communication tricky at times.

"Like...well, it's a fog or something. I don't see them at all."

He looked at her for a moment without talking. Then he nodded his head slowly and thoughtfully. "I remember," he said at last, softly.

"Pardon?"

Melchizedek frowned for a moment and then smiled. "I was thinking of something long ago, Jenna, from a different world. But come, what you have said makes speaking with the Wise Ones even more important."

"Uh, Melchizedek?"

"Yes, princess."

Suddenly, she looked very small and her eyes very large. "Will you hold my hand, please?"

"Of course, small one," he said.

Clasping hands they turned and walked towards the Caves of Understanding. She held his hand very tightly.

a8b

"You will not speak to this - worm - again, Captain Diserac," Gamarad croaked. "You will only bring him here, to me, alive. Do you understand? Alive and unhurt."

"Yes, great General," Diserac answered.

He, not I, will report to Lord Nihilos, Gamarad reflected. His death will spare me a headache. "You will do this and then you will begin the hunt I described to you earlier. You will be fast; you will be ruthless and you will succeed. Is that clear?"

"Yes, great General," Diserac snapped again.

"For this longer mission, take any number of gargs you wish, but I should advise no more than fifty. Whom do you recommend to lead the Horde in your absence?"

"Captain Gorba, your Magnificence."

"He will do."

Nagara Diserac bowed to the toad and backed out of the room respectfully. Once the doors were closed, he expelled his breath, and turned to walk down the stairs of the Tower. Offal was everywhere, but this was only to be expected and was to Diserac a comforting reminder of desigarg dominance. He secretly believed that in the end the desigarg, not the nygrath, would be the favourites of the Dark Prince. His carefully guarded ambition would not let him consider any other possibility.

But until opportunity presented itself, he would have to obey. Gamarad was too powerful to directly oppose. Subtlety would be required. His current commission was plain and by no means unpleasant. He believed it would not be difficult to capture Akinwrath alive.

After that, he would be free to purchase relief for his burning brain. The only relief possible: the death of the Kings of the Blood. But Gamarad would pay for making him burn! This, in his secret heart, he vowed.