Episode 8: The Forest of a Thousand Temptations

That very night the traveller broke out in cold sweat. He tossed and turned amidst the dead leaves and branches. Having no sense of time or how long it was before dawn came, he shut his eyes to try to force some manner of rest upon himself. He eagerly waited for sunrise but the more he lied awake, the more convinced he became that dawn would never come. His attempts to sleep were marred by a melody in the distance.. no it was an elegy, sad and yet inviting. Reasoning that he eventually had nothing to lose, he decided to get up and ascertain its source.

Knowing fully well the existence of unknown dangers, he slung Rhema right beside him as he treaded along the forest floor. With each step, Rhema seemed to grow heavier and he had no inkling of whether it was some manner of force exerted by the transcendent blade itself or whether it was by virtue of his growing tiredness and weariness, amplified by the hot and heavy mist that descended amongst the very canopy of withered green. The mist seemed to have flung itself at him and played with him and caressed him as a vulture would his carrion. Clarity and soundness eluded him and the only certain thing he became aware of was the frightful elegy in the far distace, an elegy that was gilded with an intoxicating sense of lure. It sang of pleasures that lay once man was free of better judgment. It sang of surrender to man's primordial fears and insticts and the lusts thereof. It called the enchanted to touch the hidden bait through transgressing.. or rather, transcending sound conscience... a delightfully whitewashed fantasy.

The grip of the mist upon the traveller was strengthened as he moved in agreement with each step and the next towards the unearthly sound. The deeper he went, the darker it became. By now, he was so deep in the forest that not even the stars with their sad eyes could peer through the thickness of the canopy, nor would they desire to behold the unfolding scene beneath them. The trees that towered over the traveller stood as proud, resolute sentinels. Each one seemed to watch him, ready to bar every attempt of escape. Each one seemed to remind him in dark, ominous tones that he was their prisoner. The thicker the mist became, the more gruesome he perceived their eerie smiling faces beneath the shadows. Clawed branches lingered over him, twisted roots slithered beneath him. Yet each step seemed nauseatingly sweeter than the last.

He came to the very heart of the present darkness. A faint light shone ahead of him and he drew nearer. It was unlike any manner of light he had seen in Aletheia. It was a dingy kind of light. It was a light void of life. It was a light that drew every breath and movement from the traveller, leaving just enough for him to be awake but certainly not alert. And that very same light took a form and presently, he came to behold a strikingly beautiful girl- the source of the elegy. Her hair was as black as a velvet whip. Her lips exuded a faint smile of dead vermillion, painted against her frosted ivory face. Her cold and piercing eyes ran straight through him, carrying an otherworldly deepness in the black centre. Yet to the traveller, her beauty was only superceded by the billowing tides of her desire.

She flung herself deeper into the forest, the traveller swiftly behind her. Clearly something so valuable was worth its pursuit. Though she treaded away from him, the call of her voice and luminescent glow seemed to beckon him to follow. Her enchanted song echoed deeper into his soul as it did deeper into the forest. By now it was hard to tell whether it was day or night due to the denseness of the darkness. He pursued her through the labyrinth of wood, every step seemingly eluding the course of time. And after what seemed like days or a mere moment, she stopped.

There stood a lone well in the midst of a perculiarly-placed clearing. Yet even there, the sky still eluded the canopy and both strangers were swallowed in darkness. She sat by the well, her eyes transfixed on the traveler. She smiled, wetting her lips with her tongue. With a glint of murder in her eyes, she beckoned him to come. The traveller marched. She began to pace about him, eyeing him with provocative intent. The traveller, oblivious to her deeper nature, met her eyes in constancy with a deep sense of longing.. Her pace quickened, furnished with a series of twists and beckoning gestures and contortions. It was a dance. Yet it was not merely targeted at him. It seemed to call upon some manner of higher power, a company of unseen beings who were to be guests at the unfolding gathering. The dance escalated in pace until the lady picked up a ceremonial vessel... a pail of sorts. She danced about with it until her movements climaxed to a sudden drop of the vessel into the well. At this the traveller stared deep into the chasm. He thought he heard a muffled groan. He could see no bottom, neither did the light or lack thereof permitted him to.

Then her lips began to move. She began to chant a series of sounds, neither lawful to be heard nor spoken. And all at once, the vessel arose from the deep without being drawn. Within it were waters that smelled of a deathly ale. Just about dead to his senses, the traveller willingly received it from the lady. She continued with her elegy...

"Drrrriiink..." she said, in a low melodious voice. The traveller placed the edge of the vessel by his lips. And then-

"AAAHHHHHCHOOOOO!!!"

For a moment the traveller snapped out of his enchantment. Immediately, he dropped the vessel, the vile liquid upon the ground.

"Ouch!" declared a voice.

Stunned by the series of exclamations, the traveller instinctively drew Rhema out of its sheath... The sound it made against its scabbard induced a greater sense of alertness in him. Its silver blade released some true manner of light into the heart of the darkness. The lady snarled. Now at the very least illumiated by its light, the sword revealed the true manner of the lady- beyond her whitewashed facade stood a thousand-year complexion, her skin shriveled up as fallen summer figs. And she had a face to match, that would make any flower wilt upon its acquaintance. Having her enchantment momentarily interrupted, her rage found a channel through her lips...

She began uttering a series of syllables again, in some manner of ancient wildly wicked form of language... Neither moved. Both stood in confrontation. At this, the traveller became aware of another dimension.. the glow of the sword lifted a cosmic veil and illuminated what once eluded his eyes. He was surrounded by a multitude of disembodied beings, dwelling in another realm. Their breath smelled of wickedness, their movement, of blood. And he knew that they had come for him.

Her chanting grew louder. Yet the spirits made no move. He then became aware of a tiny pair of rounded objects approaching him from the distance. The pair glowed ominously with a terrific yellow sting. And then more came... in pairs.. whatever they were, they were surely not good. And they came closer. And they came by the droves. And they became clearer... until their true nature was revealed. Each pair was a pair of eyes.. attached to a living elongated mass, which some cultures would call a snake. The traveller's frenzied thoughts were broken temporarily... not that he knew what to do anyway.

"Help" a shout. The traveller surveyed the ground

"HELP!" cried the bucket. The traveller peered into it.

"Well don't just stand there!" "RRRRUUUUNNNN!!!"

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.

Episode 6: House of Wisdom

As he treaded the darkness, each passing step taken in his fearful self seemed to magnify that very same horrific attribute. It seemed as if the darkness was getting darker. His heart raced faster than how his footsteps could carry him. The echoes of the howling winds seized him, as they bore the breath of four dagger-teethed beasts he had no strength to fight. Darkness began to dance around him, as how a beast would play with its prey. Every step in agreement with that very same fear strengthened its grip on him. And how potent it was, almost driving his confused mind to a point of despising Aletheia and its wondrous, glorious mysteries that he had already begun to partake of. How heinously deceitful was that wretched darkness...


He carried on in that state but kept moving, his inner light refusing to concede the journey until it had met with a house that bore the same substance. The light of hope in the forgotten distance, once only etched in the traveller's fading memory had now begotten form in the far side of the narrow Way. The light that it released, sought the traveller and zealously retrieved his soul from the possessing darkness, carrying him closer and closer as would a mother. It bore him near until it overtook and vanquished the poison within and he had come to grasp and undertand the reality that the light was far greater than the darkness. He surrendered to that very same truth and came to rest.

He stood before a grand stately mansion that welcomed him. The brightness that the house exuded was far greater than what he had perceived from a distance. He still remembered that it was night time but standing before the house, he noticed that the house itself and all within its grand vicinity experienced such an eager blessedness of a perpetual day. He knew no wolf could draw near. He made his way up the grand portico and helped himself through the front door. He did not need to knock for the house had invited him in. The stateliness of the structure did not diminish its warmth. He knew he was at home.


He stepped into the main hall and beheld the beauty and grand design of its intricate furnishings, almost as if everything within the house was alive and alight. Surely none in all Aletheia could surpass the glories of the house but for the Palace of the King Himself. He surveyed the structure and its seven stately pillars that held the house high in grace and dignity. The seven pillars glowed with seven virtues, distinctively etched on their sacred form: purity, peaceableness, gentleness, submissiveness, full of mercy and good fruits, impatiality and sincerity. As he examined their grace and form, they seem to flood his eyes with light and understanding. He passed each of them with silent awe until he was received by an arched doorway, leading into the living space.

At once he was face to face with a figure of immense stature, of insufferable dignity and royalty. She was a being of light, intense and yet welcoming. Her countenance seemed to exude those seven very same virtues etched upon the grand pillars. He knew that those pillars were what she stood for, a mark of her sure service to the Aletheian royal house. His heart raced, this time with joy and all the fond memories of Aletheia. The brilliant smile on her face dismantled his initial disease at his lowly bearing and discourtesy. He knew she wouldn't condemn him. Yet though her being conveyed the presence and joy of family, there was a fearsomeness to her brilliance. He knew that she wasn't human.


"Welcome, my son." said Lady Sophia.


Stunned, the traveller raced amidst his multitude of questions and finally picked the most reasonable one. "You mean.. you're my mother?"


She laughed. "Yes, I am your mother, as well as to those that travel that path to the City of Truth." Her voice was as sweet as it was unrelenting.


The traveller was still brimming with questions but Lady Sophia urged him still and led him upstairs to rest. She furnished him with fresh garments; a white pleated top shirt and a pair of dark blue trousers. They were light and appropriately suited for his journey. She also furnished him with a jacket for such a moment that he should resume his westward journey. The fine and intricate quality of the garments made him share in his mother's stateliness and grand bearing. He took a hot bath and comitted his tired self to rest atop soft silken matresses.

Time passed by slowly, if it did at all. But at the House of Wisdom, there was no sense of time. Everything seemed to transcend into eternity, a realm beyond realms, and yet tangible to the average traveller. After he woke up from his restful sleep, he had no sense of bearing of how long it had lasted. Refreshed, he left his quarters in search of the lady of light. And he did it with such a purpose as he became so inwardly aware of something she should convey to him. That awareness turned into desire and that desire turned into hunger, and since there was no time, it could have happened all at once or forever... He came upon the corridor in the house and beheld many doors.. He took a peek through one of them and saw many more. His heart raced as he searched out for his host, admittedly his mother. Yet, he knew was in search of one whose race was other than his own, one whose race seemed rare even in Aletheia. The burning impression of her simple yet brilliant countenance had not yet diminished from his mind.

The house was much larger on the insde than how it appeared on the outside. Used to Aletheian mysteries, he applied himself diligently on his search. Guided by only his heart and inner vision, he came past one door into a place with many more. And when he treaded past that, he came to a place with many more, and yet still not a few beyond that. Yet his heart and inner light was quickened to seek her. Yet with each door came many more. And many different kinds too. There were big doors and small doors, and grand doors and simple doors. There were great bejewelled ones and ones made of gold and silver... There were also tall, high ones and large wide ones that nearly stretched across entire wall panels. Each door was unique, true to its own design and pleasantly crafted. Yet even the grandest ones yielded no person of light beyond it.

And finally, when his search for Lady Sophia had seemed fruitless enough door past door, he came to one that caught his attention. It was the least of all doors, made of simple dark oak wood. It had no beauty in it that it should attract a searching traveller to what lied beyond it. Yet it exuded no small amount of grace and dignity, that intangible quality that superceded its natural attractiveness or lack thereof . It called out to him and he drew near. He tried to go in but it was too small. He had to bend lower, yet when he did, it seemed such that the door itself grew smaller and he had to bend lower still. And it beckoned to him to bow low and lower still until his face was upon the dust and he had to deny himself his very breath to crawl through the humble portway... when he finally got through, he knew it was another mystery for there was nothing in him that could get him through such an opening. Humble though it was, it revealed the end of his search, the heart of the House of Wisdom...

Lining rows upon rows of this giant concentric space were books in place of books. It filled the entire room, at least what was visible of it, for the books seemed to stretch into an infinite distance. At the centre of the hall was the Book of all Books. All else gathered around it, almost as if in reverent expectation... almost as if in humble submission... almost as if in... worship. It carried such a light that from where the traveller stood, it answered the mystery of the house's perpetual day. He approached the Sacred Book and beheld her who stood alongside it, born of the same light. Lady Sophia stood there, smiling...

"You need humility to get into this place" she said, getting straight to the point. He knew that everything was laid bare before her and that he didn't have to say anything. His search from door after door had yielded nothing and when he was at the end of himself, then the least of doors appeared before him. And even then, he had to bring himself to the uttermost of submission that he may enter that very sacred space. His thoughts then returned to the Book of Books, curious as he was to catch a glimpse of its sacred pages.

"One day you will read this.. and even some of the other books contained herein" continued Lady Sophia... "but for now..." She opened the book and its brilliant rays begot a sharp two-edged sword. She brandished it from within the illuminated pages and respectfully handed it over to the traveller. As he surveyed it, he became aware of its exquisite craftsmanship. He beheld his own eyes through the lighted blade and saw that the same glow that permeated the pages of the Sacred Book emanated from the ardent metal. He gazed at the golden hilt and crafted upon it was the graven figure of a lion on one end and a lamb on the other, one as fearsome as the other was determined. At the centre of the hilt was a most unusual crest bearing a lion, an ox, the face of a man and an eagle. They were positioned around a cross and set upon purple, red, white and blue gemstones. Inwardly, the traveller was aware that the sword bore the crest of the royal house of Aletheia, to whom Lady Sophia was also in service.

She smiled at him and gazed at him lovingly through her piercing eyes. "My son, this is Rhema. It shall serve you well for your journey. Treasure it well."

The traveller was undone for what maner of princely stature could only the sword convey upon its bearer? Beyond that, the honour was even more augmented by stateliness of the one who handed him the very same, the lady of light. As the bearer of such a fine instrument, he, too, shared in its intricate qualities. It was happening all too quickly, all his experiences at the House of Wisdom; Lady Sophia, the library and the sacred book, Rhema... like doors beyond doors were enigmas after enigmas. It was almost like a dream but it all seemed more real than reality, whatever reality even was... and before he could ask another question, or even choose which to ask next, Lady Sophia raced ahead of him.

"My son, you must carry on with your journey. There will be a time for you to know more but not now... You are called to move till you reach the city of rest.. like my other children, you are called to a journey and to finish it." "Many seek to move you from it but stay steadfast on the Way. Always remember to walk in humility and if you should hear my voice, heed it!" she said with both kindness and severity. "And if all else fails and you should come to the end of yourself, remember to call upon the Name of the King, wherever you are, in any circumstance. This too, is high wisdom."

The sojourner was at a loss for words. Yet in a place of submission, he had come to surrender his questions and just live on the reality of the present truth.

And with a deep voice that resonated into eternity, she charged him, "Overcome!"

At once he was at the grand hallway, before the seven pillars, ready and fully equipped with Rhema sheathed by his side. He stood before the pillars of wisdom, almost as if they comissioned him to carry their very same virtue wherever the way would take him. Yet his eyes fell one last time at his mother. Surely she had seen many embark on this journey, as proud as she was of them passing the test of humility and as she beheld the traveller, she was sure that no wolf could extinguish his hope. Yet, she knew that despite her work at the house of wisdom, a greater commissioning would await those who do eventually reach the City of Truth and behold the King. She had seen the army that the King was raising up and with one last embrace, she looked at the traveller in the eye and gave a dignified whisper. "The King awaits."

Episode 5: Pools of Contemplation

As he journeyed on, he came past lush green meadows and verdant hills. Having stood atop the last of them, he saw in the far distance a pearl-white house that exuded a brilliant glow even in the midst of sunshine. It beckoned to him. He thought about his journey since he left Sunflower Valley and how he had danced with the sun and sung with the stars. He had been living off bread and Aletheian silver berries that occassionally grew by the brook. As the house called out to him, it bade him rest and company, a welcome change for the price of traversing the Way to the City of Truth.

Past the last hill, he came to a field with pools of water that displayed a glimmering tinge of orange-pink under the setting sun and restful sunset clouds. The scene looked like manifold puddles covered with copious dewdrops, though it was obvious that it had not rained at all. They were a natural feature of the majestic Aletheian landscape, their stately presence bearing a tale of the One who goverened them. In their midst was a large bright lake. Though the waters were still, they were not stale. They conveyed the same freshness as the brook, perhaps indicating that the lake served as a summer inlet for the living stream. The beauty of the pools caused the traveller's heart to observe a sacred silence. He drew a breath, contemplating yet another grand sight. He decided to camp by the pools since it was getting late. The stillness of the waters urged him to partake of that same rest. The visit to the pearl-white house could wait.

Stopping at a pool near the lake, he laid down his haversack. Sitting at the edge of the waters, he gazed deep into the pool. As the wind blew upon the surface of the water, they seemed to change colour and glow, almost as if they danced with the wind. They, too told a story. While the restful sensation came over him, he became aware of the message of the pool. He drew his eyes closer towards the golden-blue waters and observed the silent ripples made by the cool evening breeze. As he sat there with his heart open, he suddenly became aware of a boy within the waters. It was not as if the boy was actually inside the pool but rather, the careful silent glow of the pool revealed the boy's figure, almost like a moving painting, upon the silver surface of the water. He felt a certain sense of affinity with the young lad, as if he had known him somewhere before. The deeper he rested, the deeper he saw. The deeper he saw, the more vivid the child became. The picture seemed to move as one with his heartbeat. As the excitement of this new mystery unfolded before him, his heart paced faster towards clearer strokes of the boy's motion. As both of them ran together, the crescendo of the silent waves told a story.

He saw the boy riding a most interesting contraption. It was a machine with two great wheels that characterised it's unique frame and feature. Both the wheels were of very unusual form; the middle was formed by a scorefold or so company of silver arrow-shafts linked onto a semi-malleable black outer rim. As if this wasn't enough of an enigma, both wheels were joined together by what seemed to be an unusual variant of dark iron fetters. He looked at the boy more intently and saw the delight upon him, as the wind met his fragile face as he sped through roads by means of his contraption. Before the traveller could ponder how unusual the road surface was, his attention was diverted to the unusual ecstasy of his experience gazing at the figure in the pool. Part of him wanted to remain gazing at the scene lest it should vanish, while another wanted to peer through the other surrounding pools to see if they should likewise yield a similar experience. His curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to gaze through another pool.

He came to one shimmering in sunset and lilac... and he stilled himself to behold. His eyes met expectedly with the same boy. But the boy was not riding his contraption anymore. This time, he was in an awkwardly, almost ridiculous, greenish outfit... and with a number of other like-apparelled boys and girls his age. They were all looking to him expectantly, as if he was about to do something majestic with another unusual contraption. As the traveller beheld it, it begot the form of an unusually curved golden pipe, with inconsistent diametrical bearings and a number of golden buttons of various sizes along its surface. It seemed to have some kind of a labial function and-

"Aaaarrrrrgghhhhhh!!!!!" the traveller cried as a wolf sank its teeth into his arm. His scream shattered the evening silence.

He spun around, caught unaware by his antagonist. He attempted to regain his bearing after the sharp, stinging pain had overtaken his poolside reverie. The wolf, having released its grip, marched a few steps backwards, maintaining its steady gaze upon the traveller's agitated eyes. By now, it was dark and the silver moonlight leapt off the edges of the wolf's spear-shaped fangs. It surveyed the traveller, having stalked him for days, awaiting an opportune time for yet another confrontation.

The traveller receognised it from his rescue trip with Farmer Mandy. By now, its slingshot wound had festered. The wolf, having brooded over the wound and dwelt on its sweltering pain was now ready to repay him. He noted that his rod was with his belongings by the other pool and he knew that before he could make a run for the weapon, chances are he would have been arrested by the creature. The stillness of the night was being pierced by a very deafening silence- each party eagerly anticipating the other. Suddenly, the wolf lunged at him. It had narrowly been almost successful but now the traveller dashed his way to retrieve the cudgel. The wolf cunningly retreated into the evening shadows.

The travller surveyed the scene, sure that the wolf had not yet left. Sure enough, he was met by another pounce, which he narrowly dodged. He took his stick and attempted to fend it off. Though he managed to strike a few blows, the wolf remained resolute despite its festering sores. It still had strength nonetheless. Meanwhile the traveller grew weary with every swing of the cane, the sting upon his right arm greatly weakening his ability to wield the weapon. He spun the stick southwards but the wolf dodged it. The wolf then came upon him in awesome force, even more than what the wolf had intended. Instantly, its fangs nearly met with the traveller's face, if not for the fact that the sheer force of the lunge attack sent the both of them plunging into the deep centre lake, descending into the darkness of the night.

The traveller was exhausted, his foe momentarily... elsewhere. The water soon overtook him and entered his system. It all happened so fast in the darkness. He struggled to maintain his buoyancy, and even more so, his senses, but it seemed that the more he struggled, the deeper he sank, until he was overtaken by a greater black than the moonlit night... his eyes, tightly shut.

He found himself in a world between worlds, where reality and reverie seemed to meld together. As he progressed within that world, his eyes shot open and revealed a realm which was not Aletheia. It all seemed familiar to him, and yet strange at the same time. He knew it was real but it seemed that Aletheia more real than where he was. In it, he was in a bed with white linen... He was in white linen.. There were flowers by the side and he heard a distict pulsating sound.. though he did not know where it was coming from.. within the scene was scattering of unusual mechanisms not found in Aletheia. At the opposite end of the room, he could make out six figures. Five of them seemed very familiar to him... almost as if he had known them all his life. The sixth was a tall and lanky figure, almost as enigmatic as that entire scene. And though he didn't seem to fit, he seemed to have known him too somehow... from somewhere in his younger days... As his consciousness stirred in the linen bed, the six became aware of his movements. Very soon, there was a light but distinctively positive commotion. Two more people came into the scene and made their way towards him. As they approached, his eyes started becoming heavy. He barely noticed that they were two ladies, dressed in white, crowned with what seemed like white diadems of fabric upon their heads. He did not see their faces for he felt an unusual rest coming upon him, coupled with the familiar scent of lilies carried by the cool evening breeze. His eyes met with a deep sensation of slumber. Aletheia called back to him. Very soon, he was at the world between worlds, the white linen bed almost like a forgotten imprint etched in the darkness, a faint echo from a distant tune...

His head re-emerged from the surface of the lake, as if by an invisible hand. His frame had been drawn upwards and kept afloat until he had, as presently, laid hold of the edge of the embankment and pulled his well-marinated body onto dry ground. He then remembered the earlier brawl. His opponent nowhere in sight, he made haste for his haversack and pushed his exhausted self once again upon the path, towards the pearl-white house. It was still dark and the knowledge that wolves travelled in packs propelled him forward. Though his adversary seemed to have been momentarily dealt with, he knew the others were close by. He picked up his steps and rushed towards the safety of the house.

Though he found temporary relief, he was still uneasy. He was tense yet his mind found the means to wander and contemplate the scenes which he saw... the boy and his unusual contraptions... the white linen bed... He seemed to have a language for what he saw but he could not access it. It seemed part of another, different lexica of another, different world. It was then that he suddenly recalled the dream that he had previously at Sunflower Valley. It likewise placed him at the heart of that very same mystery.

There was more to the land than he thought.

Episode 4: Learning to Listen

Back at Sunflower Valley, everyone was exhausted. Pigdor and Sheepvin retired to their yard. At the farmhouse, Mandy lit a candle. She then proceeded to carry a basin of Aletheian water and washed the traveller's wounded hand. It produced such a cool sensation, easing the traveller's forgotten pain. Mandy then headed for the topmost cabinet on her kitchen shelf and reached for a small bottle. She brought it out and opened the vial before him. Immediately, the room was flooded with an awesome fragrance of fond memories and sunshine. The scent settled into a waft of myrrh, aloes and cassia. It was easy to lose oneself amidst that fragrance.. almost as if it brought you to a different place and time. Before the traveller could react to yet another wonderful enigma, Mandy poured a few drops of its golden living liquid upon his wounds and immediately they were restored; his skin became like that of a young child, without blemish.

"This is the Balm of Gilead, made by the King himself. It carries His tears and His joy... the very essence of who He is. And anything that this oil touches will be restored full because it carries the sureness of the King's desires and goodness within it." explained Mandy

The traveller now noticed that the King of Aletheia was always at the centre of every wonderful mystery. He pondered to himself what the King might then have in store for him. He wondered again what He was like. His eyes returned to the exquisite bottle.

"There is none like it in all of Aletheia. Many who have heard about the balm and its transcendent properties would come to Aletheia to seek it but they would not go to the King or seek Him because they are afraid of Him... and their search for the balm would be in vain... and many return fruitless."

"Why should anyone be afraid of the King?" the traveller asked puzzled. Until then, he had not heard anyone mention such a thing of Him.


"Because He shows you who you truly are" said Mandy. "And many are afraid because their lives are full of darkness. They cannot stand in the Palace of Light. Their hearts that have waxen fat and greedy covet to make a good profit of the balm. But it is so precious that no one can put a price on it. The King only gives it to His trusted servants... and to those whose hearts are pure when they search for it."

The traveller examined himself, wondering if he had any cause to be afraid.

Sensing his thoughts, Mandy assured him, "Do not worry. He calls to you and you must meet Him."

"You must be one of the king's trusted servants.." began the traveller. "... for Him to trust you with such a priceless treasure."

Knowing where he was going, Mandy straightened up and smiled. "I have not forgotten my promise. I will tell you my story."

The traveller inclined his ears and drew nearer.

"I spent many years growing up in the palace" she began. "I spent my days in the King's court serving Him together with the rest of the maidens and courtiers. We were all very close. I also used to train under the New Wine Warrior's Guild within the palace grounds. I really enjoyed it there... the King's delightful presence, His company as well as the fellowship of all our friends..."

The traveller swallowed his saliva and drew closer.


"Then one day, we were preparing to celebrate the Festival of the Spring Rains. There was a rumour in the palace that some of us in the New Wine Warrior's Guild would get promoted and get commissioned with assignments from the King. We were very excited as each of us looked forward to serving the King in a new way. Perhaps He was going to send me to a faraway land, at the head of caravans laden with gold and fragrant spices. Or perhaps He would have had me on board one of his cedar galleons, bearing the Aletheian crest upon realms across the sea. I didn't know what I was in for. I approached the day with much anticipation, yet also much ignorance..."

"The Festival day came and we were summoned into court. Sure enough, the King had promotions and assignments for us but it wasn't like what we had expected. Honestly, i didn't expect mine to be so... ordinary. When it was my turn, the King commissioned me to take care of some animals here at Sunflower Valley and to care for passing travellers and guide them in their quest for the City of Truth."

"I guess it was difficult for you to move out here in the countryside after having been so used to life in the palace" added the traveller.

"I loved the King and i had pledged not just my allegiance to Him... but also my life in service. I didn't even think twice about whether to accept that commission" said Mandy with fervent resolution. "But I have been here many years and life here is not a dance in the breeze. I often get very lonely with only the animals as my companions. Through it all, i learned to love them. Yet, I long to see the King again in His palace. I also long to fellowship with my friends there again. And when travellers do come, they stay only a short while... and though i know Him who I serve, there is a part of me that longs to see even the end of their journey.. what is eventually made of them. Sometimes, i wonder whether they actually reach the City of Truth or whether they wander off or become eventual prey to the wolves and lords of Carnalin..." She gazed out the window into the darkness of the evening sky, far beyond the nearby mountain range.

Tears were welling up her eyes. The traveller perceived her weariness, even amidst her strong disposition. And it was all new to him to see Mandy become so... human.

"I've been tempted to leave this place, even seek the King to send me to another outpost. Yet, I remember His face and recall His charge to me on that very day I recieved my commission. He said it with such love, such trust and such belief in me and in the task at hand. And I knew then from His heart of hearts it was a task of great importance. His voice still resonates within, even as fresh as it does now and its strength beckons to me, imbuing me with the same virtue. As I toiled in the fields, there would be times when i would feel the sun's heat beating down upon my back, I would look up, fully expecting a harsh countenance... But instead, i would see His smile beaming upon me and i know that He is with me through it all. I know my purpose full well. I know that His love carries me through and each day, and i would take a moment to hear Him and speak with Him. Though He may seem far, He and I are separated by no distance."

The glow on her face silenced the dim candle light.

"I and the King are one."

The deep gaze of her fiery eyes can be met with no response. The traveller felt so dim upon the profound greatness of such an utterance. It seems to him that the more he sought for answers, the greater the mysteries became. He reasoned to himself that he would ask no more for it was beyond what he could bear. At least perhaps until some rest coupled with fresh Aletheian dew would permit him greater understanding. He gave a polite smile, excused himself and retired for the night. Yet silently as he laid on his bed by the window, gazing at the tapestry of silver stars dancing upon the depths of the clear Aletheian sky, he could not help but ponder her story. A gentle breeze whispered into his bedroom. He knew that there was more to be said between the both of them.

The next morning, Mandy received him with freshly baked bread and wild silver berries, native only to Aletheia. "Eat your fill" she smiled. "Today you must resume your journey."

It was all too fast for the traveller. Certainly each day had enough mysteries of its own and he was just getting more acquainted with Farmer Mandy and the other characters at Sunflower Valley. Farmer Mandy brought him outside where Sheepvin greeted him.

"Good morning!" he cheered as he grinned sheepishly from ear to ear. Though he belonged to a generation of time past, he was certainly not boring. If he were indeed that old, he sure did not behave it. There was something light and contagious about his presence. There was something that made his company so... addictive.

"I want you to teach him" said Mandy.

Sheepvin replied with a wink, which by the way was hardly perceptible, considering how fine his eyes were. In full confidence, Mandy retreated back to the house. Apparently, Pigdor took some extra time to sleep that morning so she wasn't present with the company. Sheepvin addressed the traveller. "In your journey, one of the things that is of the foremost importance is for you to see and hear clearly. You need to perceive and to listen, not just with your eyes and ears but also your heart."

The traveller replied confidently "But I do see and I do hear. And if i do need any help, I'd just drink some water." His smugness was evident and though he valued Sheepvin's delightful company, the idea of an old talking sheep training him did not really sit well with him.

This, Sheepvin knew very well. So he looked to a point in the far distance. "Now what do you see?"

The traveller looked at the same direction and saw nothing.

Sheepvin smiled. The traveller drank some water from the nearby brook and looked. Still he saw nothing.

Sheepvin's smile grew to a smirk. "There you go young lad. Lesson 1... the water will only work if your heart is right. Now lose some of that attitude young man and concentrate."

The traveller was embarrassed. Having stood corrected, he paused for a while to acknowledge his moment of folly, determined to transcend it. He remembered Sheepvin's steadfast character and Pigdor's valiance during the battle the day before amidst the woven quilt of other intricate mysteries he had encountered thus far and stood humbled.

"Now drrriinnkkk" instructed Sheepvin, not different from the way Mandy would have said it. He drank and gazed towards the point where Sheepvin found his bearing. As the inconspicuous fog cleared from his eyes, he became aware of a tall mountain in the distance. He squinted his eyes to examine if he was actually seeing things. As he looked again, he became so acquainted with the mountain's prominence so much so that he could hardly believe that anyone could miss it, let alone him!

Sheepvin was taking in the moment with silent amusement.

"What is that?"

"That is Watchman's Peak" said Sheepvin. "It lies on the border of Aletheia and Carnalin."

Though far, the mountain exuded its presence. Sheepvin moved on and the traveller followed. Taking one last glance at the mountain, his eyes caught a sight of a bird scaling the horizon in the far distance. As he proceeded, however, his mind still dwelt on the fact that Sheepvin's almond eyes could see so far! And that plus the fact that he was old... it was certainly a puzzle to the young traveller, yet another mystery...

They came to the brook beside the Way. Sheepvin knelt by the waters and instructed the traveller to do the same. "Do you hear it?... The song of the stream..."

The traveller scooped up some water and drank. He listened quietly and then he heard the still small voice.

"Heed it" said the sheep. "Everything in Aletheia speaks and everything will point you to the King... Even more so the river. The source of the river is His throne itself, right within the Palace of Light. If you listen, the King can speak directly to you and the river will carry His voice through the waters. Everything speaks and you must always listen, but do not follow any voice that would lead you from the Way."

The traveller remained silent, listening to his words of wisdom. He was also becoming more aware of the song of the stream and in his heart, the stream seemed to beckon towards the farmhouse... its song reaching towards Mandy. Sheepvin knew this and followed the flow. Both of them gazed back at the farmhouse where they could see Mandy's silhouette seated by the window. "What do you see?" asked Sheepvin.

The traveller's eyes shot straight at Mandy and in that eternal instant, he became aware of her hidden life and the things she treasured in her heart. And then those beautiful yet sad eyes became clear to him. "You weren't the only one, were you?" he asked the sheep.

Seeing the same thing, he explained. "Yes, Mandy's heart is torn. There were many sheep that were taken by the wolves and there were not many that Mandy got back."

The traveller continued, "Yes but it wasn't her fault. Many of the other sheep chose to leave for Carnalin. And there was nothing she could do to win them back. Now her heart weeps for them."

"You are not wrong, young lad." said Sheepvin with an unusual sombre air. "There were fowl winds from Carnalin that enticed them and deceived them... winds that promised a more exciting, adventurous, sensual life. Sadly, many loved Carnalin more than Aletheia... more than the King."

A teardrop flowed from the traveller's cheeks and became one with the river.

"Go on" said the sheep, knowing the river moved him. "You have a message for her."

He stooped down and he drank and he drank and he drank until all his belly was full of the water, the very same water that carried the words of the King. And a boldness came over him, not like his earlier display of vain confidence. He felt that he was alive, as if the life and the words of the King Himself were flowing through him, and now the song of the river itself was bubbling from deep within his belly. And then he knew the words of life searched for an outlet. Ready, he walked into the farmhouse, Sheepvin observing closely behind. Mandy's smile greeted him.

Then it flowed. "Though the sorrow may last for the night but My joy comes with the morning. Don't despise yourself. Don't despise the day of small beginnings. Though you may not see the work of your hands in full bloom, yet your labour has not been in vain. One day, you shall yet see the Valiant Ones. Be strong, noble one. I have seen your deeds and have not forgotten you and great shall be your reward."

"Thank you for being faithful with the work to which I have called you. Though it may be simple, you have come to know that there is glory in small and simple things... if you are willing to listen and honour them. Do not let your soul be wearied by the foul songs of the filthy winds that mock you in the night. Do not grieve and condemn yourself for that which was lost for I am Sovereign and I can work despite and even through their disobedience that they may again be found in the City of Truth."

"Yes, Master" she replied and bowed in silence, submitting herself to what was spoken. By the time the traveller was done, there were tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew those words from the river brought not mere relief but healing. They were not his words but that of the King Himself, for the traveller knew that he possessed neither such eloquence nor authority nor understanding. By now, he was learning to flow with the intricacies of the land. It was not like as if he was traversing through it as much as it seemed to be dancing with him.

Mandy straightened herself and smiled. This time, the glow of her countenance was far greater than before. Her eyes exuded a light from deep within and deep within, she knew she had rest. She looked at the traveller straight in the eyes. "Thank you. Your time here is complete."

The Sojourner resounded the same in his heart. Time passed by very quickly and he had really enjoyed himself at Sunflower Valley, getting acquainted with its residents and the manifold mysteries of the land. A part of him wanted to stay but the unfolding of the day and of his own mystery beckoned to him. "The King awaits" he whispered to himself.

It was midday. By now, Pigdor was somewhat awake and she had joined the rest in preparing the traveller to set off again. Mandy equipped him with a wooden rod that would prove useful. She also packed him a haversack laden with some bread and biscuits that would supply him for a while. He also kept with him the slingshot Mandy gave him earlier just in case he should encounter the wolves again. They then said their goodbyes even as the traveller encouraged Mandy one final time to continue being faithful in keeping charge of her fold. Having said goodbye to the other animals in the farm, he started on the westward way again. He was overtaken by their final well-wishes:

"Never depart from the Way!" reminded Mandy.

"Take care, lad!" said Sheepvin

"Next time you drop by, bring along some cheese!" hollered Pigdor.

He turned and bade them a final wave. Then he saw the weathered house, rugged yet strong and stable... and he finally understood its message; the story of the life of her who dwelt within, leaning on unseen pillars of faith upon the One who called her. He traversed past by the sunflower meadows which greeted him. Their faces fixed upon the sun, they, like him awaited an unveiling of a new mystery. The light that they exuded from within, which even casted a shadow on the other side of the surrounding mountains told of one whose hope and gaze was in the King... who knew how to see and listen, who were bearers of that same light and virtue and who knew how to stand strong against formidable giants. Though the flowers were small, they were not defeated. Such was the glory of small things. And such was the mystery of Sunflower Valley.

The traveller looked above, the sun travelling westwards towards the same city. It ran with him, even as the King called him ever-onwards on his journey.

Episode 3: Farmer's Interlude

Mandy drew herself erect, well acquainted with her unlikely comrade's unique warning system. She shuffled her feet with such grace and agility almost as if it was a dance.. a warrior's dance. The traveller kept his keen eyes on Mandy, attempting to decipher the mystery of her person. It was obvious that she had gone on several such expeditions before. Drawing closer to their targets, Mandy's breath paced itself with steady control, unmoved by the uncertainty of the impending comfrontation.

Picking their pace, the trio brushed past a cluster of Acacias, disguised in robes of ferns and ivys. Instantly, Mandy flung her rod and thrusted it into a shrub. Her keen senses and reflexes sent a wolf howling... and bleeding. The traveller attempted to follow the scuffle that ensued but his lack of experience was evident.

The pack of five, upon seeing their comrade wounded shifted swiftly to surround the trio... their amber eyes lit... their silver teeth grit. Mandy's eyes, and perceivably her heart, were fixed upon her stolen charge, flanked by two of the beasts. The Sojourner stared into his eyes and saw a distinct confidence even within the churning moment. He addressed the beasts and attempted to reason, "We'll be on our way once you give him back to us."

All he heard were growls in reply. And he understood that no Aletheian water would have been sufficient.

"There shall be no compromise with the enemy" instructed Pigdor. "You cannot reason with them. You must fight them." The traveller glanced at both Pigdor and Mandy with the swiftness that the intensity of the moment would permit him. He noticed Mandy's concurrence with Pigdor written on her steady gaze. She meant to maintain her offensive.

The next moment, she was above three of the wolves, descending with awesome force. The other two, perceiving the inexperience of the lad, pounced on him. One bit his hand but was knocked over when Pigdor gave him such an awesome force of a headbutt. She repeated her charge upon the other who, for a moment remained silent with his claws upon the traveller's face. But Pigdor gave such a terrific outcry that for a moment, the wolf actually doubted the fact that she was indeed a pig. This was enough for Mandy to pass him with a good blow between the ears after which Pigdor eventually sent him flying. Mandy resumed to take on the other three. Pigdor secured the hostage while the traveller recovered. Fumbling with his slingshot, he attempted to aid Mandy who obviously needed none. His shots narrowly missed her elbow.

"Drrriiinnnkk!" cried Mandy.

Remembering the flask, he drank. His eyes were sharpened. Clarity returned to his senses as he replaced his wounded hand upon the slingshot, quick enough to injure the other two returning wolves and sending them to flight. Having returned their favour, he proceeded to help Mandy once again, only to see the other three in retreat, having received a good, sufficient beating. Pigdor was a few metres beyond the next undergrowth, safe with the sheep, and the traveller proceeded to join them.

He turned around towards Farmer Mandy. She observed a moment on her knees, with her rod laid down in front of her, while uttering something towards the King of Aletheia- a gesture the Sojourner did not understand. She then got up and joined the rest.

"I tried to run away..." explained the sheep "but it seems that I'm getting old..."

"I'm just glad that you're back with us now" replied Mandy. Her voice carried such care and warmth amidst her steadfast gaze. It was obvious that she truly loved her animals and knew each one well. She was genuinely relieved, but her fresh bruises brought her eyes again to a distant time. "It's getting late" she smiled. The four of them headed back to the farm.

On the way back, the traveller was formally introduced to Sheepvin, the sheep. The four of them laughed together as the wise elder one recounted stories of when he was still in his prime and how his wool-style had changed over the years to keep up with the trends in Aletheia. What amused the traveller the most was the story of Sheepvin attempting to sneak up behind a comrade during a trip to the village market to pull a surprise. Having lost himself in the moment, he had failed to discern the intricate subtleties enabling one to distinguish one sheep from another, and in so doing, he ended up giving another old sheep a nasty shock.

The traveller was entertained by Sheepvin's lighthearted antics but was even more impressed with his capacity to simply stride on without much thought to his just-ended ordeal. Amidst that light-heartedness stood a strong resilient heart, bruised by neither circumstance nor affliction; one whose confidence was beyond himself. Such a bold bearing to move forward was beyond many men, as was Pigdor's display of courage. The traveller acknowledged within himself that he was in the presence of greatness, bundled in small packages.

The traveller pondered all this and enjoyed the delightful company. However, Mandy's mystery was still fresh in his mind... She was unlike any farmer. The strength of her character was almost as if she was also a warrior general. And then there were those distant eyes... He wondered if she would remember to tell him her story. To him, she certainly had a hidden life... yet its strength certainly exudes from within her heart, even such that her charges were bearers of the same attributes. And his flow directed his thoughts to himself. Why should the King have chosen one such as Mandy to get him started on his journey? What, then, should that journey be?

Episode 2: Pigdor's Tale

"Ohmyword!" a distinguished alarm rose early in the farmhouse. The traveller stirred from his bed, attempting to make some sense of bearing. He had somewhat perceived Farmer Mandy's voice ring out but trailing off in the distance. But in that state of being half poised to return to slumber, his thoughts were still on the vague flashes of images that he seemed to have dreamt the night before. He recalled being elsewhere, on a bed full of white linen. And there were flashes of some flowers too, metal bars and he recalled a distinct pulsating sound. He would have dismissed them as another one of the mysteries of the land but there was a feeling that was just so... real. It was, however, just as elusive and he decided to give it no further thought. After all, his mind was already occupied with his enigmatic journey to the City of Truth.

He caught a most delightful scent of roasted fruit and dough, carried by the energising presence of the cool Alethiam air that catapulted him to a state of alertness. His stomach was suddenly aware of its need and desire for nourishment. He hastily groomed himself before leaving his quarters. In the kitchen, the kind familiar face smiled, expecting him. "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" he replied back but being the lad he was, his eyes were transfixed upon the piping-hot pie that was at the centre of the table. And then those words- "Help yourself!"

All he could do was smile at Farmer Mandy and sit in gratitude upon her generous hospitality. His eagerness to devour the pastry and the satisfaction which followed were enough to convey not just his word of thanks but the highest complements that was ever due a skilled artist. Attempting to make some conversation, he asked "Where did you learn how to cook?"

"Learned it from my mother." she smiled back. He noticed that whenever Farmer Mandy spoke, her words were almost sang out, as if they proceeded from her heart with a pre-ordained tune. It was as if her person complemented the beauty and mystery of the land.

"I heard a cry ring out earlier. Is there anything wrong?" the traveller asked. He perceived the enigma of her countenance- her bright yet sad eyes framed by a weather-beaten face.

She wasted no time in explaining. "One of my sheep has been taken." She said with a sudden seriousness. Now the traveller shared in her alarm but before he could choose which question to ask next, she continued. "The wolves have taken him. They are not from Aletheia. They come from the land of Carnalin just beyond the range of mountains."

"Carnalin?"

"It is a dark land, ruled by cruel dark lords, enemies of the Palace of Light. The wolves of Carnalin steal into Aletheia in the cloak of the night and take from us."

By this time, the traveller had finished his meal and didn't know how to reply her. He wanted to offer her some consolation, a word of assurance or encouragement but he didn't know how to express it. Farmer Mandy, knowing her charge full well perceived this in the traveller and smiled, knowing his kind intentions. And the traveller smiled back, knowing his encouragement had been fully conveyed. He took a generous glass of clear Aletheian water. Amidst the sad revelation, he perceived in Mandy's countenance a dignified determination, a resolute and confident indignation and as their eyes met, the traveller shared in the same resolution as they became united in purpose. Without a word spoken, they knew in their hearts that they would get the lost sheep back.

"Follow me." Farmer Mandy beckoned. They went outside of the house to farmyard where the traveller surveyed the assortment of animals under Mandy's care. Then he noticed a most unusual sight. Farmer Mandy was talking to one of the animals. He recognised the snorts and it drew his attention to a most unusual pig. He recognised it as the one whom he heard in conversation with Farmer Mandy earlier in the morning!

He drew closer to examine the pig. It was small but it carried a tremendous presence. It held itself high on its trotters with such enigmatic yet graceful poise. It was unlike any other pig that the traveller ever saw. For one, it wasn't dirty at all! As Mandy and the pig noticed the traveller's curiosity, they met him. And as they walked together side by side, he perceived that they walked as if they knew each other well, almost as if they could be best friends! It was as if the pig shared in Mandy's graceful dignity. As they met, the traveller stooped down to inspect the pig better. It had such a very clean and healthy coat of skin that it almost seemed to give a pinkish glow-a most magnificent and most majestic pig indeed! He looked at it face to face and paused for an eternal moment.

"Curious young lad, isn't he?" said the pig.

The traveller jumped back and drew himself straight, obviously startled by the unusual phenomenon. Farmer Mandy and the pig giggled spontaneously and in such a like manner that they could almost be sisters.

"The Aletheian water must be taking its full effect" said Mandy. "I told you always keep drinking." The traveller understood though still reeling from the shock of the incident. It must have been the clear Aletheian water from the brook that cleared his senses. And now, he was able to listen, even understand the sound of the animals. "This is Pigdor. She is one of my closest companions. She will help us to track the wolves."

Pigdor snorted and smiled. She said in a surprisingly sweet voice, "Quick, there isn't much time to lose if we're going to catch them." She didn't give him time to recover from the shock. Mandy then instructed the Sojourner to bring a flsk of Aletheian water with him as she proceeded to equip him with a slingshot. Mandy herself weilded a rod. Its sturdiness, despite its apparent agedness conveyed the faithfulness of the equipment. They set off promptly and trekked through the nearby woods just beyond the valley, Pigdor leading the way.

During the journey, the Sojourner attempted to overcome his still confounded state and began a conversation with Pigdor. "I... i notice that you're very clean." he said awkwardly.

Pigdor smiled and related her story. "I was once from the land of Carnalin too. I dwelt among the swamps and muddy wastelands feeding on whatever scraps of food i can find. Somehow, there was something in me that felt like there was more to life than all that. Deep down, i was convinced that there was something far better. But i had gotten so used to it that i didn't want to venture anywhere else beyond the swamps. Until one night, a ball of light appeared outside my camp. It was so beautiful and unlike anything i had ever seen. It started moving and i followed it.. i had my eyes fixed on it all the time and before long, it led me into Aletheia... to the Palace of Lights."

"You've been there before?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes." Pigdor continued. "As I was outside the Palace, the door opened inwards and i was received by the King of Aletheia. He was expecting me. And He personally took me and cleaned me from all that miry clay that i was covered with. I've never felt so clean.. and so free! Ever since then, i developed such an innate disgust for mud that i never wanted to get myself near it again."

The Sojourner remained silent. He pondered all that Pigdor said and concealed his hidden amazement at Pigdor's newfound dignity and the grace that she spoke with. He pondered her awesome journey and imagined what she must have gone through, though it was obvious to him that Pigdor told him the shorter version of the story. And when she spoke of the King, her voice carried such a respect... and more than that, a sense of adoration and delight. He thought about the King of Aletheia, what He was like, how He might look like. And even concerning himself and his own mystery and personal journey. His mind trailed off in the distance but was brought back to the present reality when he heard Pigdor give three exquisite but violent sneezes.

Recovering from the last sneeze, she said with an air of seriousness, "The wolves are close by."