Chapter 25: The Song of the Sword

The worlds, and all their works, are full of judgements. Laws are bound up in all intentions, objects and actions. A humble deed never falls to the earth, and works of love and kindness always make - or find - their heaven. A cup of cold water given in time, finds a river of reward beyond time.

It does not matter what men write on the monuments they raise; what matters is written in the hearts of the men that raise them. Things sown in pride bring the harvest of destruction; they are crooked fingers beckoning the last days. To this principle there are many witnesses in many worlds. Is there a thing erected in arrogance? It will fall, crumble, sink and vanish - not one stone will be left on another; it only awaits its time of judgement.

For the Great Wall the day had come.

The Death Nygrath searched and found the very first stone; the cornerstone of the wall. Here was the seed of pride, from which the structure - knit together in arrogance - had grown.

The grim figure stood back at arm's length from the stone and raised above his head Armageddon, the crystal sword of destruction. In one swift powerful stroke he brought it down. It smote the earth like a stroke of lighting shivers a tree. In the heart of the earth judgement groaned. The Runes pulsed through the nygrath's heart:

Smite upon the earth.

Beat upon the drum.

It is the heart-beat of doom.

Armageddon, the son, calls to his Mother.

In the seat of the Mother Crystal the writings of creation had come to the beginning of their end. The birth pangs of judgement are upon the world, for the judgement of the nygrath has begun.

~ ~ ~

"Did this fellow, Ambro, have a drinking problem, or something?" Caylene remarked to no one in particular. And continued to study the page of Ambro the Seer without looking up.

Yason looked across the fire at his little 'sister', Caylene. He had become quite fond of her, really. She had a fiery temper but a good heart. She also had an insatiable curiosity concerning the

Runes of Truth. Actually, she made Yason and Maric both feel ashamed. It was the third day of their trip and she read every evening of their journey and always had questions, about things to which they had never given a thought. As a result, both Maric and Yason had begun to read the Runes again themselves.

"What do you mean, Caylene?" Yason asked.

"Huh?" she said, looking up.

"About having a drinking problem?"

"Oh, well, I'm looking at what this man Ambro wrote. Does this make any sense to you?"

Things will b e as they must be,

But not as they would be -

Were we but what we should be.

After reading the passage she looked across at Yason and Maric. "Am I stupid or is he?"

Maric smiled and shook his head, "I can never understand Ambro; it goes right over me. The one you want to talk to is Jao. He understands it."

Yason sat thinking about the cryptic passage. "Hm, well the first part seems obvious enough: too obvious to bother saying. I'm not sure, but maybe the other part means that things are different if people are."

"What do you mean? That we'd see things differently if we were different?" Caylene asked.

"Maybe," Yason reflected, "but I was thinking more that the Creator would have things to be different, if only people were different."

Caylene sighed, "Like, if I'm a good little girl I get sunshine and if I'm bad I get rain! How can my behaviour change things? What effect can it have?"

Yason shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe you're right and he only means that things would seem different to us if we were different, meaning better. I'm not sure, Caylene."

The young girl sat staring into the fire for a while, "Why, if the Creator wanted us to understand something, wouldn't he just say it plainly?"

Yason smiled watching her intense face; he remembered something his uncle had said once, "Why do you like looking at the fire?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Actually, I'm not. Why do you like looking at the fire?"

"Well, 'cause it's always changing. It's fascinating," said Caylene.

"That's the answer to your question. If you say something plainly, something that has only one possible meaning, it's quickly understood and easily forgotten. Things that are said in strange ways come back to you, haunt you and then suddenly - in the oddest places - they open up for you. When you discover meaning, it stays with you forever. What's more, Runes can mean more than one thing - they can mean one thing to you, another to me, one thing today and another tomorrow. But all their meanings are related and don't contradict."

Caylene looked impressed, "That's really smart, Yason."

Yason put up his hand, "I'm just telling you what I remember my Uncle Yason saying at Celebration Service."

Maric snorted, "At least you remember. I don't remember that at all."

"Probably 'cause your uncle said it too plainly," Caylene quipped.

Caylene lay down beside the fire and stared into the dancing flames. She had read in the Runes that the way the flames moved immortalized the art of Dance - the art of Prince Dondais.

She thought about their flickering movements. Sometimes they looked liked tongues, flicking up around the wood. Many tongues saying many things, she guessed.

She thought about the prophecy that the Creator had shown her definitely applied to Jaomin. Yason was right. When Jaomin had first read it to her she had snorted and laughed. But after Sky came and when it became obvious Jaomin would have to fight creatures that cast flame...

"Creator," she quietly prayed, "protect him."

Caylene found herself praying more and more. She found herself thinking about Jaomin more often, as well.

~ ~ ~

Hector plodded on through the Lands of Death. It was a cold and dark world, but the longer and further Hector walked the happier he became. He knew he would find Taril; he never doubted it at all. Every time he found a rock he picked it up to see if there was any light in it. Between rocks he sang.

"An' I find my frien'. He be fine and not hurt. It be fine and good. Hmm Hm hum, oh Talil." He paused seeing another rock, "Dare's rock!"

"Talil," said Hector, holding the rock in front of his eye. "You in dare'?"

He put the stone up to his ear. Nothing. He put the stone down gently and kept walking. "An' I find my frien'. He not hurt."

Far behind, moved the small figures of Meda and Jaffar. Every step Hector took equalled some thirty of theirs. There was not much chance of them catching up, but since they didn't know this they kept on.

~ ~ ~

Ganarth was too experienced a warrior for the sight of dead and mutilated bodies to trouble him much, not so Jaomin. To his embarrassment and shame, Jaomin had to vomit several times.

Lord Torba was very dead.

Desigarg are not nice in the way they kill. They couldn't take the corpse for food for they had to travel quickly, but they had been very brutal in taking what they conveniently could.

Ganarth had not remarked on his brother's performance; he well remembered the first times he had seen the result of desigarg atrocities. While his brother recovered himself, leaning his head against Sky-rider, Ganarth threw his military cloak over the body and examined the tracks on the ground.

"Well," Ganarth shook his head, "you and Sky will have to wait here, Jao. But come away from corpse, you had better. I'll need to get back to camp as quickly as I can to see if the King got safely away. Looking at these footprints, I doubt it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look," Ganarth pointed. There was no sign of a struggle, and several sets of prints - one of them human - led off towards the east.

Jaomin quickly grasped the meaning, but if the king had been captured they couldn't wait to raise a search party to try and rescue him. The king needed help immediately.

"Ganarth," Jaomin said urgently, "quickly help me up onto Sky."

Ganarth looked at him dubiously, "You aren't thinking of trying to follow them? You're injured, boy."

"Use your head, brother. I don't have to come anywhere near them to kill them. This sword is fatal to desigarg from...well, from who knows how far - great distances. Hadn't you noticed?"

After a moment of reflection Ganarth nodded, seeing the sense in what his brother proposed. "All right, but promise me, Jao: don't fly down close to them, clear?"

"Don't worry, I can hardly climb off on my own anyway," Jao said truthfully.

A minute later, Jao was flying east high above the forests and plain, scouring the ground for any trace of the king and his captors.

~ ~ ~

Up into the mountain the little princess climbed. It was intolerably tight in places and very hard on her legs. Also, her head throbbed from where she had slammed into the cliff. Yet she was determined not to give up. It was too important; Melchizedek was counting on her and she had to get through.

No ordinary child would have been able to do what Jenna was doing, but the memory of Loridan flowed along her blood and sang in her heart. She could do everything in the name of the One who loved her, and would rather die than give up.

After one climb that had lasted for some ten minutes, little Jenna scrambled up on a ledge and looked around. The chambers of this mountain were lit with amber and turquoise lights, the same as she had seen in the entrance. She had discovered the source to be some minerals - or crystals - in the cave that were marvellously phosphorescent. Veins of it ran everywhere, some as wide as her hands. It was very beautiful.

At first glance, the ledge she stood on seemed a dead end. Then she saw a passage ahead to the right. She thought, with relief, that the passage looked nice and easy being level; then she noticed a chimney-like fissure above her head. She stopped remembering the second sign; take the most difficult pathway. Oh dear, thought Jenna, standing, looking and aching. Is that really a passageway I can get too? She wondered.

It was a bit of a puzzle. How was she to know with certainty? She prayed for direction. Almost immediately, the Dove of Loridan came sweeping up from the passageway she had just climbed.

"Oh, Dove!" she said reaching out her hand to him, "I'm so glad you've come back to me. Where am I to go from here?"

The Dove came and sat on her outstretched arm, but only for a matter of seconds. He then lifted himself into the air and flew gracefully up the shaft above Jenna's head. Now she was sure.

She examined the wall carefully and saw that, yes, she could - with a great deal of difficulty - make it up to the vertical shaft. Praying for strength, she took a grip on the wall and started climbing.

~ ~ ~

Nalitha did not know where the horrid cries came from; they seemed to come from everywhere - all around. But when they ceased there came a soft weeping sound. This sound she was certain came from the foot of the hill on which she stood.

She was not a woman easily frightened and her mother's heart would not allow her to stay sitting still while someone close by was crying. She stood immediately and made her way down the hill towards the sound of the sobbing.

It must be understood that nothing could be seen that was not right beneath one's gaze. So Nalitha nearly tripped over the despondent weeper without actually having yet seen her. An old woman sat huddled at the foot of the hill. She was thin, weak and withered looking.

"Hello," Nalitha said softly and she bent down beside the old woman.

"Who...who are you?" gasped the woman, her voice thin and brittle sounding.

"Nalitha, and who are you?"

"I'm...I'm the one by the window," the old lady's bewildered gaze swept the fog around her, apparently searching for something. "Where am I?"

Nalitha realized that the old woman had very little comprehension of her circumstance. She seemed very confused. It must be noted that even the clearest mind would have had trouble focusing in this foggy world, for the fog seemed to find its way right into the mind. But for one who was aged! Nalitha's heart went out to her.

"Why don't you come with me to the top of the hill?" Nalitha urged.

"What?"

"Would you like to come up the hill with me?"

"The hill?" the lady looked about distracted. "Why do we want to go there?"

"It's the place for us to wait, I believe," said Nalitha.

"What are we waiting for?"

"Release," said Nalitha simply.

A gleam of hope entered the mind and eyes of the woman, "I'll come."

Nalitha helped her to stand and together they began slowly to ascend the hill. As they where climbing the old woman mumbled to herself and then broke out in a loud question:

"Where are you supposed to go when you die?"

"What do you mean?" Nalitha asked.

"Well, why am I here? I died didn't I?"

"Did you?"

"I believe I did, yes," the old lady looked around as they continued to mount the hill. "What kind of place is this? And what are we?"

"I don't believe that this is really any place. I can't explain it to you, because I don't understand myself. As for us, we are what our lives have made us. I can tell you one thing for certain: we are not in the final place of the saved nor of the lost."

As she said this they reached the crest of the hill. Nalitha sat down and bade the woman do the same.

"Where is this?" the woman's thin fretful voice asked.

"I told you, I'm not sure," Nalitha said, "but I feel that I know this hill somehow." As they sat, Nalitha silently prayed for the woman.

After a moment Nalitha spoke, "Tell me, do you love Joy?"

"Who?" the lady asked.

"The Son of the Creator of all things; do you love him?"

"I've never heard of him," the lady looked around in bewilderment, "Did he make this place?"

Nalitha looked around too, "He made you. He made me. And today He calls you. I am sent to you by him."

"I want out of here."

"You are meant to want out of here," Nalitha said. "Let me help you understand the Way."

~ ~ ~

Jaomin wheeled through the open heavens finding no trace of the desigarg or his king. He did see that the earthquake had played havoc with the forest, and to the east he saw a great cloud of smoke and dust swirling up into the sky. What can that be? He wondered.

Although he was very curious, he knew he had to concentrate on searching for the king. If he was to be found alive, he would have to be found quickly.

~ ~ ~

As King Akinwrath scanned the thick cloud of dust and smoke for any trace of the wall, fear rose up within him. What could cause such a thing? How was it possible? How could even an earthquake destroy the Great Wall in just a matter of minutes?

Gripped by wonder, he stared into the swirling chaos of dust. Seconds lengthened into minutes, and as continued to watch he saw a figure emerging from the carnage. Even though it was more than a mile away he could see that the figure was huge - tall and massive. Who or what is that? Akinwrath wondered. The figure strode rapidly out of the maelstrom and seemed to be purposefully striding towards the east hills - moving, in fact, directly towards him.

An uncanny sense alerted Akinwrath that the creature did not merely appear to be coming towards him but was. It did not require thought on Akinwrath's part; he grabbed up his robe and ran down the hill to the west.

A person cannot run quickly in long robes, and though Akinwrath was not dressed for the court, neither was he dressed for battle. His robe and mantle were not designed for making rapid progress. After he had run forty paces he threw off his mantle, but still found himself quite restricted. As he continued to run he gathered his robe into his belt so that his legs would be free to move.

After continuing three or four hundred yards, King Akinwrath glanced around. Fear seized him so badly he nearly fell; the gigantic figure had already reached the hill on which he had been standing. It would be on him in less than a minute.

Akinwrath felt as if he were living in a nightmare. As he continued to run, he began to cry out.

~ ~ ~

Living in, what is fondly called, a democracy does nothing to help a person appreciate how a vassal felt towards his king. For whereas the leaders in a democratic society are generally regarded with contempt, even very bad kings were frequently loved in a way and to a degree which it is nearly impossible for a democratic person to grasp.

Jaomin spotted the king and instantly realized he was in grave peril. Suffice it to say that the fury, which had earlier driven the young shepherd down upon the catamin, was nothing beside the rage he now felt.

Jaomin saw the small figure of his king running west as hard as he could across the fields. Behind him he saw a terrifically huge creature, it seemed four times the size of the king, coming swiftly after him. The figure was not running but was still easily gaining on the king.

Jao urged Sky into a dive and made rapidly for a point that he calculated would allow him to intercept the monster. He did not intend to come to blows; he knew in his condition that he could not do so.

Whatever the creature was, he'd let the sword deal with it.

Had Jaomin elected to try and rescue the king rather than attack the creature, the outcome might have been different. His rage would not let him. That creature must die.

In an instant, using his left hand, he had Logos drawn. Fifty yards beyond the king, twenty-five yards in front of the monster, and thirty feet in the air, Sky slowed quickly and hovered. Jaomin began to point the sword, when suddenly recognition broke across his face. The reptilian monster, towering twenty feet above the ground was Telliam. Jaomin was struck speechless and motionless - paralysed with wonder and fear.

"You are surprised, little brother," the nygrath boomed. "You thought so easily to betray me and steal my crown. The Creator does not honour traitors. He keeps no company with treacherous men." A spasm of agony crossed the features of the nygrath, "It brings me no joy to kill you."

So saying the nygrath raised Armageddon into the sky. Instantly, a vortex of wind shot up into the heavens. Within two seconds, the funnel exploded into a raging tornado that raced across the short distance between the nygrath and Jaomin. Sky, though invulnerable to hurt, was still not able to fly in the face of a tornado. A moment later, and the Hero of Grenwilde was gone.

~ ~ ~

Jaomin was not the only one who recognized Telliam's features in the tragic countenance of the nygrath. Akinwrath, who had turned when the young hero had been swept from the sky, also knew that face. Even though the tornado passed him by without injuring him, his terror multiplied ten fold, for the figure was the embodiment of his own guilt.

In a loud voice the king screamed out, "How are you come here? You are dead!"

"No," the nygrath intoned, his voice like a muted trumpet of doom, "but you are!" Kneeling, he brought the hilt of the sword down upon the ground, one sharp rap. The ground ripped open, beginning from the knees of the monster. The earthquake tore open a wound in the world, running the directly towards the false king.

Akinwrath saw the fissure approaching and leapt in panic and fear, lunging to his left. Yet before his feet could touch ground, the ground was torn away. Desperately the king reached for what had suddenly become the edge of a cliff. He seized it and swung hard against the dirt precipice. The impact jolted him loose. For the merest fraction of a second he hung suspended in the air below the surface of the earth. His last living sight was of the nygrath towering above him. Then, with a long diminishing wail, he vanished into the deep places of the world.

~ ~ ~

Hector came to a very curious place in the land of the dead. It was a wall with a tracery of crystals running through it. Hector did not know what they were, any more than he knew this was the land of the dead. But he did know these were very pretty rocks. They had very nice colours. He wondered if they might be good to eat.

He walked up to the wall and put his hand over the glowing rocks. He could see right through his hand when he did that. They were nice rocks! He was about to turn away when he saw a curious thing. On the inside of the rock that he had been touching there was what looked like a hand.

"What dat hand do?" he asked the rock, which didn't immediately answer.

Hector was standing on the edge of an outcropping of this translucent rock that jutted into the passage along which he'd been walking, so he walked around to the other side. There, completely encased in the strange rock, and standing just as he had seen him on the High Portal, stood the frozen, agonized figure of Taril. He'd found his friend at last.