Part Three: The Nygrath and the True King

Chapter 21: The Deeds of Men and Children

For days Jaomin lay on Ganarth's cot, fighting a grim battle in which no one but the Creator could lend him aid. The vulgrath had sliced him all down the right side of his body, and he had lost much blood. The violence of the impact had broken his right arm and the fall afterwards had fractured his left leg and severely concussed him. The men of Grenwilde, who first clustered about him, believed him to be killed.

When Ganarth, in utter amazement, had recognized his brother, he had given orders that he be brought to his tent. Miraculously, Jaomin was not dead, but he was so badly wounded that Ganarth feared he soon might be.

The King gave instructions that his personal physician attend to this hero of Grenwilde, so that Jaomin had the best doctor in the country looking after him. This was just as well, for without expert care he would not have survived. Ganarth had kept a close eye on the doctor. Something he would have done even if he weren't suspicious of the king. But the man was a competent expert who quietly did his best for Jaomin. His best was very good.

Finally, four days after the defeat of the desigarg, Jaomin opened his eyes and looked uncomprehendingly around him.

"Hello, little brother," Sethrim smiled down at him.

"Seth!" Jaomin said feebly, "Where am I?"

"In Ganarth's tent on the Western Hills. You won a battle, Jao; you're a hero. Don't you remember?"

Jao looked mostly confused. He was obviously in a great deal of pain. "Actually, I don't remember much."

"That's not surprising. How do you feel?"

Jaomin winced, "Like a mountain fell on me."

"Well, pretty close," Sethrim said, smiling, "Just a second, brother, I need to get Orun and Ganarth."

"Orun's here?"

"Uh-huh, every soldier that isn't dead or hasn't deserted is here. All one thousand of us."

"One thousand! Is that all?" Jao said incredulously.

"'Fraid so. Just a minute, while I get the others."

A minute or so later Ganarth, Orun and Sethrim all crowded into the tent and were congratulating Jaomin on being alive. Which, under the circumstances - as Orun pointed out - was a significant accomplishment. How good it was for Jaomin to see all of them alive and even happy! For him it was a better medicine better than any other.

"Jaomin, can you talk, or do you want to sleep?" Ganarth asked.

Jaomin smiled crookedly, "I can talk for a while, but my head feels like someone's dancing on it."

His three brothers grinned, "Altogether understandable, Jao. Since you were flattened by a vulgrath." Sethrim said.

"Are you sure?" Jao asked shocked.

"Well, it would be very difficult to be mistaken, little brother. The things are about fifty feet in circumference."

Jao looked puzzled, "Well, maybe I'm remembering wrong. But there were only three of them, and I'm sure Sky and I destroyed all three."

Orun snorted, "You never were very good at arithmetic."

"It must have come right out of nowhere," Jao said, ignoring the remark.

"Speaking of coming out of nowhere. How in creation did you come to own a winged horse?" Orun asked.

A look of panic crossed Jao's eyes, "How's Sky?"

"Hah! Sky indeed, good name. He's standing right outside of the tent, he won't leave the doorway," Ganarth said in some chagrin. "I keep tripping over him. He won't let anyone touch that sword either. He backed Sethrim right up to a tree, and pinned him there till he slid it back into the scabbard."

Jao looked at Sethrim; very gently but firmly he said, "Don't ever touch that sword, please. I don't want to sound greedy, or anything; it isn't that. The sword, well it's a gift from...well, from the Creator I think."

The three brothers looked at each other. After seeing what they had seen on the night when, between them, Jao and the winged-horse had destroyed perhaps twenty thousand desigarg and four vulgrath, they were prepared to accept Jaomin's remark.

"But, Jao, how did you come by the horse and the sword?" Orun repeated.

Jaomin took many minutes to tell his brothers that fascinating tale. For, of course, he had to include the fact that they were all uncles now. He told them a bit about Chion, the farm, their father, their brothers and Regine. He told them about his adventures in West Ganariel and how they had met Caylene. He didn't tell them about the vision by the lake, for he didn't really understand it himself. Finally, doing his best to be modest, he described the rescue at the farm.

"Hah! Guess being a hero is just second nature to you by now!" Ganarth was smiling very widely as he said this. It was not possible for any of them to feel and real jealousy for Jaomin; they loved him too much. They knew how much he loved them.

Jao was suddenly struck by something, "Where's Telliam?"

There was a moment's silence.

"He's dead, Jao." Ganarth said gently and simply.

Jaomin thought for some time before saying, "Are you sure?"

~ ~ ~

Where is it that children go and angels cannot follow? Why, the lands of death, of course. Where is it that children go and adults cannot follow? Why, through any place adults can't fit. Anyone who has played hide?and?seek with children will know exactly what is meant!

There is just such a gate between our world and the next. And it has been said, by the very highest authority, that it is a gate no adult can cross through. Any adult wishing to cross must first find a way to become a child.

Between all the Low Worlds and Loridan there was the passage of the Portals, which had been opened at the dearest possible expense. The Portals of the Four Directions allow any living person, with the aid of the Spirit, to enter or leave any world. So that they, within the worlds they come to, might continue the works of the one who opened those ways. The High Portal, the Place of Wonders, is the Portal of the Rising Again; the place where - through the Blood of the King - the dead, become living and may leave the Low Worlds for the fields of Loridan.

Yet, by faith, Hector had walked into the Portal of Death, alive. So that his name could be added to the lists of those who, by that strange and powerful spiritual force, have in all places and times, done the impossible. For Hector, in addition to having a very large appetite for food and a heart slightly larger than some countries, had the gift of faith in particular abundance.

When Hector saw that he couldn't come back up through the gate of the High Portal - it being far too high for him, he had taken the small gem that encased his two friends and hurled it up into the strange multi-coloured opening. (Noma and John had shown him how to throw stones, and this now came in handy.) There, Meda and Jaffar had much amazed the great angel Noma - already twice astonished that day - by their sudden materialization.

For his part, Hector was not finished in the lands of twilight. He had found Meda and Jaffar in the grip of a death not their own - and by an act of faith, he had freed them. But had he not seen his friend Taril at that same portal? He would certainly go and find Taril as well. And so, singing a song - of the strange wandering type known only to little children - in which he sung of not being afraid and of finding his friend, his small legs stumped through the lands of death looking for his hero, Taril.

Now, of all the citizens in Loridan, perhaps Melchizedek best understood the Laws of that land. He certainly best understood Taril's current predicament, for he had been in it himself. Yet he knew as well, that no knight of his order could cross through the Light Portals while they lay beneath the blight of Taril's failure. Could the Lord of Loridan himself, not have done something about that blight?

He already had.

There is always a fire escape out of any well-constructed building, and the Maker of all things, makes all things well. It was to this 'back entrance', known to Melchizedek, that Jenna was being sent. It is true, that Hector had, by faith, opened a new way of which even Melchizedek, the Wise Ones and the angels knew nothing. However, to the way Melchizedek did know, Jenna was being sent.

Far beyond the mists at the edge of Loridan, away beyond the Sea of Peace and the Mountains of Wisdom, are the lonely worlds without a name. These are the places that were never formed, but might have been, that lie within realms only frequented in dreams. They are dangerous lands for an adult mind, often filled with spectres and frights that take on bodies most fearful. An adult entering these lands in a wakened condition would surely be forever trapped - screaming in torment. Even children, who have drunk too deeply of the adult world of images, may find fear in this place.

But to a child, purified or unblemished, they are lands touched with honey; they glow with a promise unequalled in the waking worlds. There children meet with and dance with things quite beyond the scope of mere adult experience. For in the worlds of sleep, as in the worlds of waking, things are often revealed to children that are hidden from adults. This fact has always made those who love the works of the Father give praise.

Melchizedek, righteous as he always has been, would likely have been safe in this world - even while awake. But it was the end of Jenna's journey that neither he, nor any adult, could attempt. For at the far end of the lands of mist are the Maybe Mountains, so called not because they may be but because there many things may be. And through these mountains a very narrow pathway winds; in places it is no more than a foot in width and moreover has arches less than three feet high. An adult foolish enough to enter this way would certainly find himself stuck fast. But not so a child. Jenna would walk this passage without doing more than occasionally turning sideways or crouching.

When Melchizedek had told Jenna that she was going to rescue somebody, she was excited. When he had told her it would not be dangerous, she was very disappointed. Yet when he added that it would be dangerous to him if he went, she jumped and clapped her hands and did a very rapid dance. And finally, when he told her she was going to able to fly! She was ecstatic.

As she stood on the shores of the Sea of Peace, Jenna's smile was as wide as a slice of pie. She was going to ride Cloud Dancer, by herself!

"Jenna, you must listen closely. There are three signs you are to watch for. Each will show you the proper way to your destination. Don't neglect the signs and..."

"It's a Quest; it's a Quest!" she chanted.

"Jenna, you're not listening," he said quietly. What a wonderful place is Loridan! There youth and vitality is given scope. There no impatience creeps in to make us think of how patient we are being. Melchizedek did not need to be patient with Jenna; he loved her too much to be troubled by such a need.

Jenna nodded, trying - for Melchizedek's sake - to look solemn, but added, out of sheer excitement: "It's a Quest, isn't it, Melchizedek?"

"Yes, Jenna, it is," he said, smiling at her enthusiasm, even while it worried him.

"And I could have accidents, couldn't I?"

Melchizedek knelt down and put his hand on her shoulder, "Jenna, listen to me carefully. You must promise not to try and have an accident."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Melchizedek. The Spirit won't let me when I try."

Melchizedek shook his head; "You won't be in Loridan any longer, Jenna. And the Laws won't protect you. Listen very closely; you are going where you could be hurt. Cherion won't be with you; no angel or knight can go where you are going. You'll be alone, except for the Dove of Majesty."

Jenna danced and clapped, "Oh, neat! I love the Dove! I love the..." Then she stopped and looked at Melchizedek with an open mouth, "But if I could have an accident, then it is dangerous!"

"Not for you," wise Melchizedek said, and waited adding nothing more. For if you want a child to listen, you only need to arouse her curiosity.

Jenna's little brow knitted together, "Huh?"

"I won't let you go, unless you promise me that you will listen to the signs and that you won't try to have an accident."

"Okay, that's no problem," said Jenna happily.

"Since I know you will do what you promise. There is no danger at all. For the place where you are going is only dangerous to those who might forget to follow promises," he smiled at little Jenna, "and I know you would never do that."

"Of course I wouldn't," Jenna said.

"Do you understand?" asked Melchizedek.

Jenna thought, "Not really."

"And that's why you're safe: you will do what's right, even if you don't really understand."

Jenna smiled, "Okay."

~ ~ ~

Later, it came to be known as the Battle of the Western Hills, which was odd because, first, it occurred in the plains and, secondly, it wasn't a battle but a slaughter. None that went down beneath the flame of the vulgraths or the light of Logos lived to tell of that night; not many who became acquainted with Sky's hooves survived either. But at least one did, Nagara Diserac.

He dragged himself, under cover of night and by very slow degrees, five hundred yards to the trees that fringed the northern edge of the battlefield. He moved slowly by design and - to a great degree - by necessity. First, anything that Sky saw moving was trampled to pieces. Nagara saw this and though he was a fool he certainly wasn't stupid. Secondly, his head and shoulders were terribly bruised and prolonged movement was not possible.

When he achieved the forest, he pulled his aching frame to an upright position and staggered through the woods until he found a stream. There he slumped down and finally slept. When he awoke, it was almost the next night. He had to make a decision.

He knew that if he were to return to Gamarad now, he would certainly be killed. A failure of the magnitude of the past night would be never be excused, over-looked or left unpunished. He would be eaten if he went back to the toad; of this he was certain. However, there were two things he could do, and he might possibly do both.

First, he could try to capture Akinwrath and bring - or better yet send - him back to the toad. Second, he could hunt for the Princes of the Blood. He knew that this second thing was not an option, but a burning necessity. His first inclination was to gather as many gargs as he could find, forget about Akinwrath and hunt down the Blood that scalded him. But he wasn't sure that this would be very wise. Even if he succeeded in killing all six princes, would he be forgiven for failing this night? He knew he wouldn't. In fact, he was fairly certain that no matter what he did he would never be forgiven, not by Gamarad.

His only hope lay in the fact that, not Gamarad, but the Prince of Night was truly in command. Gamarad's implanting of the blood in his - Diserac's - brain, had been done by the Dark Lord's command. He would not think thoughts against the Dark Lord. He would not. He would prove his great worth to Lord Demiurge by hunting down all of his foes, beginning with Akinwrath.

Diserac was fairly certain that neither Gamarad nor the Demiurge would care very much about the slaughter of the desigarg at the Western Hills. It was possible, even likely, that the Demiurge would be very upset that the vulgraths had been destroyed. If so, wouldn't he blame the toad? If, despite the toad's failure, he - loyal Captain of the Horde - should snatch victory out of defeat, then wouldn't he meet with the approval of the Prince of Night? If Diserac succeeded where both toad and vulgrath failed, he would be the most valued servant of the Dark Lord!

He pulled himself to his feet, still feeling very wobbly, and began to search the woods for other survivors. Before this day was out, Akinwrath would be his prisoner or he himself would be dead. Better dead in battle, he supposed, than being made Gamarad's soup of the day.

~ ~ ~

Jessef did not think that the danger to the homestead had been greatly increased by the raid of the gargs. He thought this for two reasons. First, none had escaped from the raid. He had been told this - for, of course, he hadn't been conscious. Sky-rider had ruthlessly pursued and destroyed every last garg. Therefore, no one would be carrying the tale. Secondly, desigarg were known to restlessly seek bloodshed. He thought it quite likely that the garg troops slaughtered by his son and Sky were renegades, entirely disconnected from any organized attack group. It was almost certain, for the war, according to Yason, was two hundred miles to the east of the farm.

There wasn _

't much that they could do in any case. If they pulled up stakes and moved elsewhere, they would be no better off, and furthermore would have lost all the work that they had invested in this plot of land. So they had all bitten off the matter with a smile and settled to the work of clearing, planting, tending and building.

Yason and Maric split their time between clearing land and building two additional rooms on the house, using the trees they were cutting for the construction. It was backbreaking work, and Jessef was pleased that he had sons strong enough to cut, drag and square the timber. Jessef, meantime, finished planting and then began planning a new house. The ramshackle place in which they were now living was not at all to his liking, not as a permanent abode.

He hadn _

't come out and said so, but his whole outlook had been changed by the arrival of Sky-rider. The Creator had not forgotten his people; there was hope and a future. He would build a home that Nalitha herself would be happy with. He smiled ruefully at the thought.

Four hundred yards west of where Jessef was pacing out a floor plan, Caylene sat with the crystal stone on her lap and the Runes of Truth by her side. She was tending the sheep today. The young girl was anxious to pull her weight and wanted to help out in every possible way. Looking after sheep seemed easy enough, and her doing so meant more bodies available for hard labour.

Since the incident with the desigarg raiders, Jessef had given instructions that the sheep must be kept inside the valley. He believed that Maric and Jaomin's habit of pasturing the animals beyond the brow of the hills might have been what had attracted the raiders.

So it was that Caylene was watching the flock just beyond the small stand of trees and below the hills at the west end of the valley. It was a half-mile closer to the house than was the place where Maric had been ambushed, and the trees would offer immediate shelter if hiding became necessary.

Caylene had spent most of the morning trying to decipher the Runes. Regine and her whole family impressed Caylene by their kindness, love and faith. And, when she started reading them, she discovered that she liked a lot of what the Runes contained. She found the teaching and wisdom peaceful and even beautiful. But, except for the part that applied - as she believed - to Jaomin, she couldn't understand the oracles, so she left them alone. But even when she did understand things, it wasn't easy for Caylene to trust. This was due to the fact that Caylene couldn't trust people. She had been terribly hurt by those whom she had the greatest reason to look up to - her parents.

She had noticed in a book called the Wisdom of the King, a section which interested her, but which also made her mad. It said, in effect, that parents were a pattern of what God is like. Whole numbers of other things were supposed to be a pattern of what God is like too, including marriage. If that was true, then she hadn't been given very good patterns.

In fairness to the ideas contained in the book she had to acknowledge that her parents had neither believed nor read the Runes. So, what were parents supposed to be like?

With a sigh, she set the book aside and picked up the image crystal. She didn't think she was doing any better with the crystal than she was with the Runes.

Yet she had begun to discover some things about it. She was convinced, or very nearly so, that this stone wasn't broken but worked differently. It seemed that she could 'eavesdrop' on other people's minds. It wasn't her imaginings that appeared on the tablet, but if she focused on an idea - say clothing or food, she began to see images of every variety of food and clothing flickering across the surface. And she saw things, styles of clothes for example, with which she was altogether unfamiliar.

If she narrowed the focus of her thoughts to a particular person or place, she would see images that she thought pertained to that place, but they would contain things that she knew didn't come from her own experience or imagination. It was frustrating but fascinating.

I wonder, thought Caylene to herself, whether I could see Jaomin's brother again. She thought of the man she had seen in the crystal earlier. For a time she concentrated, but saw nothing, only a milky cloud.

She had just decided to give up, when suddenly there flicked across the stone a perfectly clear and sustained image. A beautiful woman with long black hair, very striking, noble and wise looking, and...Caylene gave a start... she had Jaomin's eyes! How could this be? Caylene wondered. The woman was walking slowly up a hill. It seemed dark where she was or as if the light was somehow smudged. Then slowly the image faded. Thinking of the woman did not bring the image back.

Caylene laid the stone aside, and looked up at the tree branches overhead; the leaves were being gently blown by the wind. It was extraordinary how much the woman had looked like Jaomin, Caylene thought. Regine had said that the Bindaved's were all boys, and that the wife had run off. Caylene didn't think the woman she had seen looked like the kind to run off on someone. She sighed, for of course you never can tell with people. They can seem so nice and turn out so terribly rotten.

She thought of the woman's eyes, of Jaomin's eyes. Would he be rotten too? She wondered. Would he be horrid, despite the fact that he looked so good and so beautiful? Were all men like her uncle and father? She sighed again, glanced down and froze.

There, very clearly in the stone, she saw the face of Jaomin. His eyes were closed; his face pale and he lay very still.

~ ~ ~

King Akinwrath gazed into the image crystal. He thought of the boy, this hero. He thought of him dead. Curse the eyes of all of them! Was he to be followed by this host of noble Bindaved's forever? Was there no end to them?

The King stroked his chin. Already he had heard his soldiers speaking. "That," he had heard one exclaim, "is a true king!" True King. The words haunted him. But the hearts of all the men had gone after him; what could he do?