Episode 7: The Crossing

The Sojourner strode out of the pearl-white house, with a renewed vision. As he departed the warmth of the grand portico and made his way back onto the narrow Way, his steps carried a marked difference, a sense of deliberateness, no less than any princely quality. As he caried on in his journey, he noticed that the sky was still furnished by stars and moonlight. Yet, they no longer seemed to be the daggers that his tired mind had contrived but brilliant signposts, members of the heavenly orchestra that played the tune of his adventure. He realised that perhaps no time had passed at all during his stay at the house of wisdom. The thought of his earlier beastly encounter still loomed at the back of his head, yet it threatened him not for his hand was steadfast upon the Lion and the Lamb; the grip of his sword hilt served that assurance. He turned to behold with one final glance the superceding light of the House of Wisdom, yet strangely enough, it shunned him. "What could this be?" he thought. He had barely covered a few yards down the narrow Way so the house should still be visible in the immediate distance. Yet it was as if it wan't there at all! How strange it was indeed! Had the traveller been imagining it all along? Perhaps the bite of the wolf upon his right hand had carried some potent manner of sweet venom that messed with your senses. His hand was still upon the sword hilt, and it was as solid as the sting upon his hand was painful. The House of Wisdom did exist! But with every step, the residual glow of his experience all the more seemed like an elusive dream. No matter. The sojourner decided to stop by the brook that runs alongside the Way for a drink. It sharpened his eyes in the moonlight and cleared his senses.

He had barely made some progress in the coolness of the evening when he has discerned a rushing pack not afar off. They moved with speed and stealth, taking care not to be noticed. Yet the Aletheian due sharpened his ears as he drank that not only were the sounds of the advancing troop clearly audible but also sharp enough for the traveller to make out their distance from him. And the were getting closer. At this, the uncanny warior advanced. He advanced with a mock pace that rocketed into a dance before charging a full sprint. He did this not because he was afraid but because he caught the Aletheian breeze of adventure directly upon his countenance. And it propelled him with that childlike virtue that was confident enough to deal with so rugged a pack. They followed his pace and advanced but his legs, strengthened by Aletheian dew, carried him faster than how all their fours could carry them. And they didnt even have an ancient broadsword and a haversack as an added weight.

The warrior traveller was gaining ground, even more than his ardent pursuers. Yet he stopped. He stopped deliberately and swung himself around, preparing to meet his adversaries in the face. Soon, all five of the wolves marched up to the scene of confrontation, his injured foe coming in last armed with festers, sores and all. They grit their teeth at him and all he could do was smile at them. The Lion and the Lamb at the hilt still felt as solid as the fight was real. With one quick swing, he brandished Rhema from its sheath. In doing so, he had released a most sharp and startling melody... almost as if the sword itself was singing. And it was a song of victory and a song that not even a hundred nightingales could better. It was the sound of voices, music and running water at the same time, bearing a force beyond eternity. At the same sound, the wolves stepped back a few paces, not knowing what manner of power had the traveller now unleashed. The sword glowed with the same pearl-white light, most pronounced in the dimness of the night.

Three of the wolves charged him all at once. He managed to hold them off by a series of jumps and dodges, the smile on his face never even breaking once. All he did was move bounce after bounce holding his sword in hand; he had not even begun to use it yet. His nimbleness was evident as he kept them at a steady rhythm. It was a manner of fighting that resembled some raw aspects of a dance. Yet it wasn't only a dance, it was also a taunt, for he kept at it in such coolness of spirit and ease of movement that soon, the wolves themselves began to tire. At this, the other two wolves joined in and the traveller wondered why they hadn't done so earlier. Yet he kept up his jig. He bounced from thronbush to thornbush, from oak to oak, from terebinth to willow and that certainly made the wolves look foolish. Now that all five of them had joined the frenzy, the traveller now thought it fair to furnish his advantage to better adequacy. With the same dance-like rhythm, he started to use his sword, not perhaps as you would suppose how a knight-in-training should clumsily swing and jab a broadsword, hoping to hit some vague manner of a target. Instead, even the sword took part in the dance. The traveller fancied not the luxury of making jabs and slashes. Instead, in a graceful yet courtly manner, he used the flat side of his sword to suffer the nasty wolves a good beating. And it was well-placed as it was elegant, hitting the broad part of their behinds right above the tail. And each was as forceful as it was well-placed, yielding quite a few howls and no less than a whimper. Conversely, neither dog nor camel who would have seen the entire thing would have yielded any less than a guffaw or a chuckle.

The wolves were unrelenting as ever. Any being who knew anything about honour, man or beast, would have given up at the humiliation. Yet, since the wolves were incapable of understanding honour, they carried on persistently. One would have thought that the more beating they suffered, the greater their indignation was to return the same, yet even dogs or camels would know how to be humiliated honourably than to suffer even more humiliation. Finally, the traveller was getting tired of the little game, not physically tired but perhaps more like bored.Yet instead of stopping the dance, he obliged the wolves even more. And this time he took the lead, for before, he was fighting and beating defensively. Now, he decided to beat them aggressively. He did not do this out of spite or anger but merely to quicken to the pace of the dance that it might perhaps alleviate his faint but growing hint of boredom. And the rhythm became faster and faster and faster. The wolves, not knowing how to quit, kept on their lunges. He kept on his bounces, beating them. And he maintained his lead and quickened his pace and the dance kept faster and faster and faster until several things happened.

First of all, the injured wolf, tired from the same dance had missed a step in the rhythm that as it lunged forward to attack the traveller, it missed its aim and instead, in that moment of the traveller's bouncing, lodged itself right into his blade after which it met its sure and quick end. Then, the traveller was not used to the sudden weight of the impaled creature upon his blade, because of the sting on his right arm, that he was compelled to release his grip. At that very same moment in his bounce, a wolf found himself right under the great weight of the broadsword hilt (the traveller did not mind it for the water had strengthened him) and it descended with great force upon his skull, piling the carcass of his fallen comrade on top of him. This was the same moment when another wolf, enraged at the felling of his two comrades, gave an earnest, forceful pounce upon the traveller without thinking. The young man, in his final bounce, flung himself away as his four-legged assailant met face to face with the bark of the great terebinth behind him.. and it was with no small force for the wolf had now found that his razor fangs had been lodged thick within the bark and as any quariped would know who had been in the same situation, it brought the wolf unimaginable pain to be hanging by the jaw... with no possible way of dislodging itself.

All this would have seemed very funny if not for the tenseness of the situation and the cold thickness of a northern fog that was brewing upon the Aletheian landscape. The other two wolves had fled, obviously outmatched by the boy and the Lion and the Lamb. The boy drew his sword from the pile of fur, not bothering to drive it in further, and after having washed it with some water from the book, placed it reverently back into its sheath. He did not care if the wolf underneath the slain one was dead or not, all he knew was that it was defeated. Neither did he care for the one most undignifiedly stuck on the tree. He did not think it great an honour to finish it off in that manner and yet, he also thought it no transgression to his honour that he should leave it stuck as it was. This he did, he being nonetheless a boy after all and he progressed on his journey.

After a safe distance, he lodged himself atop a nearby redwood (for there was an abundance of it in Aletheia), well above the approaching fog. He saw the moon clearly and breathed in the fresh Aletheian air and prepared himself to rest till sunrise. In the far distance, as the fog loomed below him, he could make a faint distinction of what he thought were blackbirds coming from the far vicinity of Carnalin. The flock, surprisingly enough, moved silently and flowed in a most unsual pattern of direction which was indeed in no seemingly specific direction at all.
He did not think it much and soon thought no further for his eyes had shut so determinedly to apprehend his well-deserved rest after all that dancing.

When daylight seeped in, the traveller awoke to a beautiful Aletheian sunrise. He had almost forgotten that he was atop a Redwood and almost momentarily lost his balance, being taken in by a strong gust. Nevertheless he steadied himself and dutifully made his way down for the sun again beckoned westwards. He made good progress throughout the day and his heart swelled with delight at the thought of the previous night's victory. "How I wish Farmer Mandy and the rest could have seen that!" he muttered to himself. Travelling alone on the road, he dispensed with proper decorum as he mimicked and replayed to himself the blows and dodges he had given the night before, as really would a young knight trying to show off. Yet there was no stately woman to remind him otherwise.

At about noon, he stopped to rest, drinking some water from the brook. Suddenly he caught hold of a faint whiff of a cold strange smell and he presently became aware of a black-feathered bird heading his direction. It circled above him once before landing right in front. It said "Good morning, O most noble, valiant and brave warrior!"

Momentarily, he was taken aback by the greeting for he had not heard an animal talk to him since Sunflower Valley. "Oh you mean me?? Why I'm no... oh in fact I am!" he said most assuredly, beaming down at the golden hilt by his side. "How did you know that I'm indeed such a noble, brave and impeccably great of a warrior?" he asked, brushing his hand against his hair and fully expecting the most obvious answer.

"I was privy to your battle last night with the wolves, kind sire" it said with distinct sharpness in its voice and a gleam upon its eyes. "I remained hidden for I did not want to startle you or distract you from your most noble claim to honour!"

The traveller was momentarily suspicious but then reasoned that no hostile creature he had encountered so far had spoken with him, let alone in such rich, generous words and keen observation. "What brings you here, dear bird?"

"I am a servant of the great King" it said "and i've come to bring you a message." He continued "The King can wait no longer and he request your most urgent presence at the Palace of Lights. You're to follow me straight there."

The traveller still had his suspicions, especially after remembering the flock of blackbirds he saw from a distance. "Kind bird, please tell me your name."

"Oh my name does not matter at all, sire, for I am only the king's servant. I do not suppose that you'd have much use for it anyway in these parts" said the bird with a nervous attempt at an assuring laughter "but come with me and you'll indeed see that I bear no ill intent at the end of our journey."

"Noble bird, I am already at my way to the Palace of Light can't you see. All I need to do is travel the remaining stretch of this road till I reach it. Rest assured that I am not taking my own time but applying great diligence in this endeavor so that very soon, I will reach our common end. Meanwhile, kind bird, I pray thee to return to your Master and tell him of my well-being and my soon arrival. After all i could handle a pack of wolves myself."

"But you don't understand, noble one, that's precisely why I've been sent to you!" said the bird with a wet, velvet voice. "Please know that my Master has seen your quick progress from afar and desires to deliver you to your goal earlier than expected. He has seen your aptitude and readiness for battle as well as your ability to learn quickly and wishes to affirm it with haste."

A wide smile broke out on the traveller's face as he steadied his chest, looking foolish in his trying too hard to look dignified. "Even if that were true, dear bird, we will get into the Palace of Light by no other means than this very same road which I am on and in the end, it wouldn't have made a difference."

"Ahhhhh" began the bird, "It is true that His Majesty wishes to commend you but it is another matter of truth about getting there."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of a shortcut?"

"Indeed you don't mean there is a shortcut to the Palace of Light? I've been told by the gardener, Mandy and the Lady of Light to stay on this path to my destination" the traveller replied. "In all sincerity, I charge thee, do you mean to mislead me from my destination?"

"By no means kind sire!" said the bird looking straight into his eyes. "The route that you were furnished with is commonplace. It is for those who have gone before you and who would go after, not bearing the same strength of nobilty and character nor judgment thereof. Why would you risk disobeying him who sent me? He has already conveyed his approval by bequeathing you the honour of... a... a shortcut."

The travller pondered for a while and it came upon him that the noble bird did make so much sense! "And where might you say this shortcut is?"

"Carnalin, sire. We have to cut through to Carnalin." he said without flinching.

"Carnalin, you say? Isn't that a dangerous place?"

"Perhaps, but not by my description, sire. And even if it was, be assured that it is the very place the King desires you to pass through for thus far, your valiantness has stood you well and what better test of it than by going through deeper danger? You have nothing to fear, sire, but much to gain for proof of your honour!"

"Kind bird, the King could not have sent a better companion than you! Lead the way!" At this, he picked himself up and started with a saunter.

"You're most too kind sire" said the bird immovably, with a crackled hint of a cheer down his throat.

The traveller was well pleased that day. It couldn't have gone any better. He was immovably convinced that his newfound companion was indeed sent by the Aletheian royal house. After all, if the noble bird were from Carnalin, would it be able to talk as it did? The bird led him through some thickets before they came to a great, raging river. Of course, the bird had no problem crossing it but the traveller had to think of how to get accross without a bridge. He decided that he'll have to fell some logs which would lodge themselves against some nearby rocks on the stream and it will have to do for him.

He drew Rhema and stuck down two trees against the water's edge. Felling trees with a broadsword was no easy task and it took him a great many number of blows and a great deal of time. How wild and uncourtly he looked in doing so but he didn't care for that. Strangely enough, with each blow of the broadsword to the tree, he felt his heart thump, almost as if somehow he heard a cry and that it had pricked a part of himself in so doing. With every blow, it deepened till somehow he couldn't ignore the sensation. He paused a while and examined the situation... and then he reasoned to himself that that great "thump" inside of him was caused by how the metal of the sword reverberated with each blow and that after a while, he should be fine. So he carried on, ignoring the sensation and fell both trees that he had intended to. By now, it was near sunset and the dying light was joined by a faint song. It was a sad song. He did not know where it was from or what manner of Aletheian mystery had caried it. He did not care. All the desired was to get accross the water.

The job of cutting done, he took Rhema back to its sheath and he noticed, with a marked disappointment that the felling had damaged its magnificent silver bade. No longer did it carry its shine. It also bore quite the bit of roughness on its edges, no doubt blunted by the blows. The sword was not meant for cutting down trees. By now, it was an understatement to say that the traveller was the least bit irritated. His "perfect" day did not end as brightly as he had hoped. He was exhausted from the felling, his precious blade dishonoured and a deep inexplicable burden weighed him down. His friend, the blackbird could not help and did not help, neither did it try except for a shout or two of "Are you done yet? We better be heading quickly you know." after which it parked itself comfortably to rest upon a tree on the opposite bank.

His job was not yet done. He positioned the two trunks against the rocks in the water that it made an awkward excuse for a bridge. Slowly but carefully, he crawled and as he crawled, he became aware that the flow of the river intensified, as well as the cold strange fowl smell he had been sensing. By the time he was at the middle of the river, he had already gotten used to the smell which did not bother him as much. But the river was another problem. It seemed to have a life of its own and as he continued to cross it, the greater the waters ran down, almost forbidding him to cross. His stubborn heart persisted slowly yet surely amidst the raging rapids as he made the last step of his curious, awkward crawl. At the very same moment, the trees which he had used to make the makeshift bridge had been swept away by the great alarming current. In fact, the waters were so loud that it had woken the blackbird from its little snooze and well it did for the both of them set off deeper into the forest of the opposite bank to find a resting place for the night.

That night, the traveller could not sleep. He stared at the stars through the canopy of trees and they gave a wild, foreboding look. The air itself was not as friendly, if it was even air at all. What lingered in the traveller's senses was a smell so strong and so frightfully sweet that it was unpleasant and intoxicating. The traveller was wild and restless. Though he felt a motherly voice, very much like Lady Wisdom, that seemed to call out to his better sense in the far distance, he did not want to bother and presently turned on his side at his attempt at a better sleeping position. The bird had the comfort of the canopy of course while he managed with some dead twigs and dried leaves which left him cold and damp. In the restlessness of the night, he though he had heard a howl or two but his senses were far from clear so as to discern whether it was reality or his imagination. And in that state of being neither here nor there, he remembered the soothing Aletheian water... and the brook from which it came from... the same that ran alongside the Way, far from present access. And then in that timeless, restless instant a queer revelation had dawned on him. The river that he tried to cross that very same day was the very same brook, except that it had grown into wild torrents... and stangely so since there was no rain all that day.