Chapter 26: The Trysting Place

Sky-rider was a wise and marvellous horse; he could not fly against the power of a tornado, but he could fly with it.

Within a minute of his being over-powered by the sudden appearance of a whirlwind, Sky was quietly flying within the eye of the tempest. Sky had used the momentum of the wind-funnel to catapult himself into the very heart of the storm. Having achieved that, he was gradually making his way upwards staying away from the raging circle of wind along the perimeter. Jaomin had not only managed to stay with the horse but had kept hold of his sword. The combination of these things, given his current condition, must be regarded as nothing short of a miracle.

Flying in the eye of a tornado is such a horrifying and awe-inspiring experience that for three minutes it drove the realization of everything else out Jaomin's mind. It was pure terror. To begin with Jaomin - reasonably enough - looked only for death. However, Jaomin soon realized that Sky was completely in control; he was the absolute master of the situation. His powerful wings beat in a regular rhythm keeping perfect pace with the storm's progress; moreover, the horse seemed to anticipate ever gyration or irregular progress of the storm. What a godsend was this horse!

But as his alarm about his own physical safety abated, there grew within him a repulsion; it felt like a sickening leaden hand clutching his stomach and heart. He had seen his brother, alive but somehow transformed into a raging monster. He was distorted in body and mind. Why had he thought Jaomin had betrayed him? What did he mean by saying that his kingdom had been stolen? Jaomin's body, mind and heart ached.

What storm is there in nature that can equal the tempests that rage within a man's soul? Surely no confusion of mere physical elements exceeds the torrents of torment that cast about within the hearts of troubled men. At all events, it seemed to Jaomin that the whirling maelstrom of the storm that passed before his eyes was a hand mirror replica of his thinking. A mild statement of the chaos within: what could he do? There's nothing you can do. The phrases repeated again and again. His emotions swirled within him: fear chasing anxiety, despair chasing fear - with panic driving all before it.

He must find the eye of this inner confusion; he must find the place of rest.

As his mind was still trapped within the raging storm of his own soul, Sky ascended beyond the apex of the cloud funnel and ranged again across the free heavens. He was free, but where would Jaomin find freedom for his brother?

At the tremendous height to which Sky had flown, Jaomin's head swam. He would have to get his bearings and then head for camp. But not even Ganarth would know what to do; he must somehow lay hold of God. Only he could help.

~ ~ ~

We come upon a ball of twine; it is gnarled and tangled. Patiently we sit to try to extricate the string from its tangled course and knots. The task is long, confusing and arduous; patience skill and insight are required. Cheaper and better to buy a new ball of twine.

But if the entanglement is the soul of a man, what then? What fingers have the skill to find and lay hold of the lines of our twisted human wanderings? What mind has the knowledge to bring a straight thing out of a crooked?

The Demiurge had no such knowledge; it did not interest him. He was the author of knots and troubles. He was the twister of the soul.

The Death Nygrath was the step the Demiurge had so long desired to take. In its warped being all causes of its own goodness were traced to false sources. Events were changed; personal history was re-written. His friends were made his enemies, his brothers his betrayers.

But the nygrath was noble; he meant to do good, but had lost the power to know what goodness was. At his darkness, Nihilos smiled. It was the little things that made his plan perfect. To shape the nygrath into the image of the prisoner it contained was the master touch, the final mockery of its noble soul.

There was one thing that could rescue the Death Nygrath's prisoner, but it couldn't get to him now. For the portals of Loridan were sealed.

~ ~ ~

Jenna had never been so tired. She was beginning to get discouraged. It was a tremendously hard climb. Her knees, fingers and arms were all scratched. She didn't know how long she had climbed up through the heart of the mountain; it had been one steep passage after another. Many were partly vertical, some were completely so. Melchizedek had been right, of course. No adult could have fit through the places she was going.

Suddenly Jenna stopped. Even if she managed to find and free the man she had seen in the crystal, how would he ever get him down from here? Had Melchizedek thought of this?

Jenna wasn _

't sure she could find her own way back either. The Dove had disappeared again; however, she had to admitted to herself that she had not had to choose between passages since his departure. At least there had been no choices she was aware of, for it had become very dark. There were a lot fewer of the veins of crystal running through this part of the mountain.

Finally, she was so tired she decided to stop and rest. This was a mistake for when she wasn't moving she became very aware of how stiff and sore she had become. For the first time since she entered the rock, Jenna wanted the journey to be over. She wanted to be back in Loridan.

A voice whispered to her, sleep.

Jenna shook her head. She felt desperately tired. To sleep within the land of dreams is a very dangerous thing. For once you sleep in that place, there is nothing to wake you up. You might lie down, close your eyes and forever dream.

Jenna did not know any of this, but some inner wisdom made her sure that sleeping would not be a good idea - she had a job to do. With a sigh, she rose and applied herself again to the task of climbing.

~ ~ ~

His brief reconnaissance told Jaomin that the Great Wall was no more. It was simply gone and what had been Cair Galinal was a smoking crater. The discovery filled him with horror. How had these terrible things happened? Who could cause destruction on such a scale? The answer that forced itself upon him filled him with despair. For he knew. There was no doubt at all in his mind: Telliam had destroyed it. How many people had still been in Cair? Jao had no idea at all, but there were probably thousands and thousands.

Telliam had caused this terrible destruction. How, Jaomin couldn't be sure, but he knew there had been an earthquake and it seemed likely his brother had generated the earthquake with his sword. As far as Jaomin could tell he had used the sword to spawn the tornado.

Jaomin landed on a wooded hill two miles from the camp of the army of Grenwilde. He had to have time to think.

With great difficulty, but aided by Sky's crouching, Jaomin dismounted. He was in a state of shock. What could he possibly do? Wincing in pain, he slumped down onto the hill and propped himself against a rock. He left his injured leg extended, while resting his head on his right knee. What on earth could anyone do? There was no way to fight whatever it was that Telliam had become.

Jaomin cried; he had no name for what his brother was. He was a monstrosity, an obscenity. Tears flowed from the young man's eyes. What was to be done? Jaomin had no answer.

He wondered what would happen to Telliam if he should level the sword at him? Would he not simply die? He couldn't kill his own brother. But if he didn't what would stop Telliam from destroying as much of Grenwilde as he pleased? How could anyone or anything else in the world stop him?

Suddenly in agony of spirit, Jaomin screamed aloud. He yelled with all his strength. He spent his anger and frustration in angry screams, and then subsided into anguished prayer.

"Creator," Jaomin cried out. "Have mercy on me! I can't slay my brother. How can I save him?"

It is a curious thing, which often happens when men most stridently cry out to God for answers; their spirits are in such turmoil that they can't hear His answers.

Now in his anguish Jaomin sought the eye of the storm. His inner eye scanned the heaven, seeking admission to peace. He was desperate to reach the Creator. Where are you? His whole being posed the question.

Finally, his clamour subsided. Exhaustion set in. He had been sick for days, driving himself when he should have been resting. He sat completely still unable to think or ask anything. In that moment, the moment of his giving up and resting, the peace he had sought descended upon him.

A Rune came to him. He knew that Joy had brought it to his attention for it was not a verse he had thought of in months or maybe years. Unbidden, now, it came to him.

"The wise man will work upon the root," the utterance came into his soul falling on his troubled heart like a soft rain.

It was a simple phrase yet imbued with meaning, for with that utterance Jaomin realized there was no point in trying to battle the monster that was his brother. He must find the root - the cause - of his brother's affliction and deal with that.

Where, dear Creator, is the root of his difficulty?

"Rise, walk and discover," again the words came completely unbidden. Jaomin opened his eyes and prepared to stand. He now remembered something that had been swallowed up by the excitement of the battles, by the meetings with kings and princes, even by the excitement of flying with Sky. It was to help Telliam that he had come. It was Telliam in anguish that Jaomin had seen in the Caylene's crystal. Suddenly he was clear in his mind on one thing: someone had inflicted this anguish on his brother. It was this one that Jaomin must find.

The Creator had heard and answered his child, but while he wrestled someone else had heard Jaomin's screams as well. A pair of dark, dangerous eyes peered out from the woods. And while the owner of these eyes meant to do the boy a mischief, he inadvertently brought him the answer to the lad's prayer.

~ ~ ~

For more than a week, Nagara Diserac had lurked in the shadows of the woods along the Western Hills. He knew that humans were able to smell desigarg, so he stayed up wind and out of sight. While Diserac had vowed to himself that he would capture the king quickly, he could find so few desigarg that no assault was possible. Consequently, he had searched out a cave to conceal himself and - using this as a base - he then began to scour the woods for desigarg.

In four days he had come across only three gargs.

Vygrack was an extraordinarily vicious and resourceful garg, one-third wolverine. He would come in handy. Bulgyle would not be nearly as useful. He was almost fifty percent bear, slow and stupid. But he was as strong as any creature needs to be.

The garg known as Geep he had almost killed in disgust. Why did the Prince of Night create such useless freaks! The thing was only three feet high and, judging by its muzzle and whiskers, was evidently a cross between man and mouse.

If Vygrack had not been with Diserac when he found the unfortunate creature, it would have certainly died on the spot and been used as food. Vygrack pointed out that the small creature would make a rather useful spy.

Besides, there was no shortage of food. The woods abounded with small creatures and Diserac was a deadly aim with his dagger. Vygrack was so fast he could catch rabbits with his bare hands.

On the day that the Virikrians arrived things seemed quite hopeless to Diserac. Not only had they been keeping an unrewarded vigil for six days, but also the number of humans in the hills had just swollen ten fold! Yet when Diserac saw where the recently arrived army set up its camp, a stratagem suggested itself to him. Why not make Geep lie in wait between the two camps? If he was caught and killed they would only have lost a meal or two.

It had turned out to be a good idea. For on the eighth day following the defeat of the Horde, Geep had crept back to their cave; he told Diserac that he had seen the king - accompanied by only one man - walk to the camp of the Virikrians.

If Geep had waited at little longer before making his report, he would have known that two other men had travelled between the camps as well. And even though he would not have recognized the two sons of Jessef, the gargs might have trapped three prizes at a single venture. As it was, Diserac, Bulgyle and Vygrack had lain in wait for Akinwrath. When he tried to return to his own camp they had successfully ambushed him.

After sending Vygrack to the toad with the captive king, Diserac had decided it would be best to desert the cave they had been using, since the king's disappearance would certainly lead to an all out search. The cave was within a hundred yards of where the king had been taken and could hardly have been missed. In fact, Ganarth accompanied by a troop of twenty men had found it - by smell - within two hours of the discovery of Torba's body.

By then Diserac had removed himself and his two remaining gargs to a forested area some two miles from the camp of his enemy. What was his surprise, when an hour later his winged adversary had landed within an easy dagger throw of Diserac's place of concealment!

~ ~ ~

Hector stood looking at the frozen image of Taril. There are those who might argue that Hector could have prayed for Taril without walking through the lands of death, and coming to the place of his petrified imprisonment. Yet those who would intercede must stand in the place of the one they pray for; Hector had walked through death for Taril. Yet his motive was simple not grand: Hector had to speak in order to think, touch in order to count and see in order to pray. Let those who would criticize such childish faculties learn to pray as Hector did, and they will then have a right to demand our attention.

Now Hector had found Taril; he could see him and so he could pray for him.

"Why you not move, Talil?"

There was no answer, so that Hector walked closer to the crystal and examined it carefully. He pressed his hand up against the glowing amber crystal. He could not understand why Taril didn't answer. Meda and Jaffar had answered. Suddenly, vibrating out of the depths of the stone came a heart-wrenching wail. It was a sound that could only be torn from a soul in exquisite torment.

Now Hector had lived in Loridan for many ages, and in all the time he had been there he had known nothing of tears or fear. But the sound that erupted from the stone terrified him to the roots of his being. His tiny soul recognized the anguish of his friend.

Slowly, Hector sunk down to his knees and then covered his eyes to shut out the terrible sight. But Hector could not pray like this. He must choose between taking refuge from this fearsome sight and opening his eyes and praying.

He gathered his courage, opened his eyes, saw the full horror of what he was praying about.

Then, very quietly but firmly he called, "Oh, Ma'sty, help Talil!"

~ ~ ~

What was that! In his lair the Prince of Night urgently turned his head towards the shelf on which he kept his most cherished prize.

There was a disturbance in life of the crystal. His own life was bound up in that heart. What was this disturbance, for he felt life stirring within the Mother Crystal?

He looked closely at the figurine on his shelf. No, it wasn't possible! What vast power could accomplish this! The knight in the crystal was moving! No! It simply couldn't be; he wouldn't be cheated, he wouldn't be!

Yet he knew his protests were futile. It had been his attempts to cling to a lost victory that had worked his destruction in the past. Now, before his eyes, the Knight of Loridan was coming to life. Like a slow-motion swimmer, the miniature form of Taril was beginning to walk through crystal.

In a raging fury the Demiurge realized his own peril. If the Knight should succeed in leaving the crystal he would come bodily into the Demiurge's lair - he would emerge not as a miniature, but as a full scale and holy terror of righteousness.

There was not a moment to be lost, the Demiurge seized the Cloak of Annihilation from around his own neck and hurled it at the crystal.

On the instant, the knight of Loridan was released into death, and the prisoners of his action were set free.

~ ~ ~

Jaffar and Meda suddenly were no longer walking in darkness, but had each re-entered Loridan at their wonted portals. Joy sang within them.

Immediately, Jaffar - seeing Noma still on the crest of the portal - began to climb.

Meda would have done the same; but that she was interrupted by a voice she would know anywhere.

"Meda," he said. She turned - coming from the east, up from the banks of the Crystal River - she saw her King.

~ ~ ~

When you spend hours, days, months or even years walking in darkness you believe that it will never end. All remembered moments of happiness seem like cheats. The pathways of agony are your haunts, and you shun thoughts of happiness as painful reminders of what you cannot taste. Life becomes a dry pulse, a shadow and caricature of what it is intended to be.

Then, like a slowly breaking dawn, which is at first but a grey line along the horizon. Joy bursts forth in dazzling colours, and when it does, sorrow is like a dream that is laid aside. Like a mist dissolving before the Lord of Day. It can't be remembered; it is swallowed by his majestic brightness.

The old woman was cradled in Nalitha's arms like a baby. There she had fallen asleep. The Mother of Loridan had led her out of her confusion to that place of peace that is only found in trusting Joy. After the moment of her inner release, the old woman had simply laid down on Nalitha's lap and slept. There she awaited the second release of the resurrection.

For what had seemed like hours and possibly days, Nalitha quietly sang and prayed. All at once, a miracle occurred. The fog around the hill began to dissipate. The sky around and above her took on the fabulous hues of the rainbow. The pleasure of the King rose upon her and her prayers.

Day dawned from on high.

Nalitha was sitting upon the Hill of the Portals, sitting, in fact, on top of the High Portal. She was so joyful at being home, that she didn't notice the enormous angel sitting, gaping open-mouthed at her.

Surprise was becoming commonplace to Noma. He had seen more marvels in the last several days by this portal then he had seen in hundreds of years.

"Nalitha Mother?" Noma gasped, looking at the matriarch of Loridan sitting on top of the perfectly restored High Portal.

Nalitha turned, and smiled gently, "Peace to you, Noma."

On her lap, the golden-haired head of a very pretty young woman lay sound asleep. Gently, Nalitha shifted the woman's head to the portal stone and rose to salute the King of the Promise Sky, for even now he was walking up from the portal of the east, terrible as an army with banners. At his sides, were Meda the Knight of the Healing hands and little John, trotting happily along clutching his King's hand.

She would not wake the woman; that was the task and privilege of her Lord, King Joy. Noma rose also, to honour his King.

~ ~ ~

"Oh, thank." said little Hector as his friend stepped out of the crystal and through the Western Portal.

"How we're here?" Said Hector in amazement. He opened his mouth very wide and looked all around him at the shimmering glory of Loridan.

Where had death gone?

It had slunk away, like a tiny shadow of darkness fleeing from the mighty sun of Hector's faith.

Taril, heedless of his surroundings, fell upon his knees and gathered the tiny giant into his arms and squeezed him tightly. The knight's whole body shook. He must take relief.

He put Hector down and took into his hands a blossom of the blood red flower. Deeply he inhaled from the King's Heart. Instantly, all the works of darkness broke from his mind like cobwebs parting at the stroke of a hand. He was free!

"Oh, thank you, my little prince!" Taril cried aloud. "And thank you, Joy!" he shouted.

"How we hyome now, Talil?"

"Hector, we are home because of you. Because of you, my small prince," he repeated with emphasis. "Thank you and thank Joy for you!"

Hector held up his arms, raised one leg and flapped his fingers, "I want up!"

"Right away, Hector. Stay as long as you like, forever if you please." Taril threw Hector onto his shoulders and turned to look up the hill.

"King Joy!" Taril called out, seeing his Lord standing at the High Portal.

Immediately, Hector cheered and Taril began the ascent.

~ ~ ~

As Nagara Diserac peered out from his hiding place his shock grew. He could not see the rider, for the boy's back was turned and he was propped up against a rock. But that horse, surely it was the same horse he had slain! It couldn't be, of course, for he knew that horse to be indisputably dead. He had helped eat him; this one - Diserac had to admit - looked as if he and death were permanent strangers. The wings it bore told him that he owed this horse a stroke with his axe. Diserac would never forget the blow its hooves had given him!

I think I'll make you and death better acquainted, Diserac muttered maliciously to himself, first you and then the boy. He laid the dagger beside him on the ground and raised his battle-axe over his head.

From a distance of less than twenty feet, the powerful giant hurled his lethal double-edged weapon at the horse. Directly and malignantly he threw it, with all of his terrific force. It struck Sky-rider flush on the side of the neck. He had used the same technique dozens of times; he had used it on this very horse - though, of course, he didn't know it. As a method of attack, it always worked and was, moreover, very quick.

What! Diserac couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The axe, having worked no more damage than a piece of straw might have done, fell harmlessly to the ground. But it did get Sky-rider's attention. Slowly, like the finger of a compass might turn to its wonted direction, the horse turned and stared straight into the eyes of Nagara Diserac. A flame rose up within the horse, clearly visible through his eyes. With anger knotting his every sinew Sky stalked towards the desigarg giant.