Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  “Behold, oh sylphid! This is Horeb, whom we venerate here,” said the priest, pointing to the statue with his staff. “Surely you must be familiar with him.”

  Nod paused to observe the effigy’s face. Yea, she knew him well. So she lingered not long on the sculpture’s gaze, but turned her eyes to admire the architecture, as simple as it was. Only then did she notice that Malvizio had seated his tired bones at one of the benches flanking the altar.

  “Oh, a thousand apologies, good priest. I was perplexed by the beauty of thy temple, wandering vainly whilst some evil afflicteth thine heart and beggeth for my succour! Forgive my thoughtlessness! Rest thou assured, my ears hearken to thy plea!”

  Malvizio was pleased with the sylphid’s tenderness. Pointing up with his staff, he said:

  “See these censers here? They be oracles. Garizim and Ebal, they represent: the spirits which rest upon Horeb’s shoulders. They advise the Judge of the Stars. Garizim favourably proclaims all that is good, whereas Ebal accuses all that is wicked…”

  “Thou dost not need to tell me about Garizim and Ebal, for I know their stories by heart,” Nod sighed, with some dullness clouding her eyes.

  “Indeed, my apologies,” the priest felt like a rider whose horse had suddenly halted and thrown him out of the saddle.

  “Tell me about thy troubles,” Nod hurried to say, to cover for Malvizio’s embarrassment.

  “Right, right. As for my trouble… you see, for centuries the Oracle of Garizim has been singing praises to Thebel, for giants and sylphs have lived in peace for millennia. Not so anymore it seems. Since a few nights ago, I am afflicted with the whispers issuing from the Oracle of Ebal, whereas Garizim remains silent. Nevertheless, as much as those whispers torment my heart, and shudder my entrails, my head cannot grasp their meaning.”

  Malvizio stopped talking for a moment, as if the mere remembrance of those whispers made his mind recoil, or as if this was his last attempt to interpret them by himself. But soon he proceeded:

  “Yet you are a star. You have lived closer to the heavens than any being made of flesh. You have seen Horeb, and heard Garizim, and Ebal as well. Surely, you can interpret these oracles for us. Surely they must be connected with your prophecy. Surely… surely they can shed some clarity on all this obscurity.”

  Now, it was Nod who remained silent for a while, immersed in her thoughts. She looked upon Horeb, and then Ebal, and then Malvizio, and then—closing her eyes—upon herself. When at last she bestirred herself, she had an answer:

  “I can see thou sufferest a great ill. A spiritual ill, to be precise. Thou shalt not find cure in these oracles, though. Thou hast hearkened my message: ‘Tis a message of calamity upon the logizkal race. For ye are accursed, as fragile beings made of flesh, of being victims upon the altar of heavenly discord. Verily, Ebal speaks truthfully, when he proclaimeth the great evils that are to come. Yet thou canst not rely on oracles at the moment, for the celestial courts are in disarray and even the twins Garizim and Ebal have severed their brotherhood, fighting as they are in opposing sides.”

  “If it be so, oh star, who can be saved?”

  “Be thou at peace, for I am here to aid you. Now that I have seen your lands, and your settlements, and your faces, I feel compelled in my heart to provide you with succour. But ‘twould be good for thy soul to leave this chapel, and lock away the whispers haunting thee. Go and live with thy fellow giants down below, at Bar-Kain, away from these accursed thuribles, ‘til peace on high hath been restored.”

  Malvizio found this proposition very strange, but he durst not gainsay the counsel of an ethereal sylphid. The priest drew himself to his feet—slowly, either because of uncertainty, or because of his ancient joints. But one could see, when he did stand, that his keys were in his hands, ready to close the chapel:

  “I shall do it at once, Your Radiance. Let me put out the fires in the oracles and altar.”

  “Do so. But do not obey me at once, moving to Bar-Kain. Thou hast a home in Bar-Iared, and thou still dost not have an interpretation of my message to give to Enoch. Thy brethren thirst for such an interpretation at this temple’s doorstep. Let us move to thine house instead. There I will give thee instructions on how to prepare for the hard times to come. I will impart all of my divine knowledge upon thee, so that thy priesthood will guide these folk through the perilous paths ahead. And ye will learn to steer safely through the squalls of these heavenly disputes.”

  So they did. And after Malvizio locked away the doors of the chapel, he locked the doors of his house also, with him and Nod inside. They kept away from prying eyes and ears, even though there were some amongst the enochin who tried peering through the window slits, or eavesdropping through the door. But the old giant and the sylphid were too deep in the basement, where Malvizio introduced Nod to his obscure books, and she in turn used their contents to tutour him in her arts. Six days were they enclosed in Malvizio’s house.

  ***

  On the morn of the seventh day, the new pontiff was elected, and the Council adjourned. A guide and a hippogriff were provided to Talizima for his safe return home. On the dusk of the seventh day, Talizima arrived at Enoch, his hometown, and discovered his son safe to his heart’s relief. At nightfall of the seventh day, Skillotz told his father about everything that had come to pass during his absence. At midnight of the same day, Nod and Malvizio unlocked the door at last and came out to meet the village.

  “The star has instructed me about the chaos reigning in the heavens, and how it spells calamity for us here below. But what exactly these calamities will entail, or when they will come, the star could not yet determine. Instead, she has taught me how we may avert further ills in the days to come.”

  “This goes beyond our abilities,” Talizima proclaimed. “It is not incumbent on Enoch alone to bear the weight of this responsibility, nor would it be fair to the rest of the logizkal-loiffol. The Council must hear the sylphid and decide accordingly.”

  Talizima went to the herald of Melchy-Zedek who had guided him during his flight back. He had asked him to stay his hippogriff’s wings for a few hours, as soon as he heard of the sylphid’s presence amongst the mortals. And the herald, taken by curiosity, readily obeyed. There he stood, his hands firm on the hippogriff’s reins, till he received further instructions from Talizima: to fly back to Melchy-Zedek and deliver a message to the new pontiff, relaying everything that had happened at Enoch and asking for the Council to be reconvened with the presence of Nod, the falling star.

  So he did. And as the herald soared away northward, Skillotz went to Nod and said:

  “Now, I must fulfill a promise I made to you. When the sun rises, you will come with me.”

  Chapter

  5

  Ophir

  Skillotz went to sleep, as did Enoch. But stars do not sleep—at least not during the nighttime when they shine the brightest. So Nod spent her hours meandering through the narrow streets of the village, wider now as they were empty of giants. And as she wandered, she seemed lost, lost in her mind. She heard the song of the crickets and the song of the owls. More loudly, she heard the crystal song of the sparkling stars above. And she was much afraid of it, and always steered away from the starlight, walking through the shadier part of the streets.

  When the dark of the night was finally broken, so was the silence. Nod knew not which had come first: the bright, kaleidoscopic colours on the eastern horizon, or Skillotz’s greeting. But they both came, and very early at dawn:

  “Hail, Nod, morning star. How was your night? How do you feel on this beautiful morn, beautiful even as yourself?”

  “Thou flatterest me, my lord. My night was spent as a star spendeth the night. And I feel well, such as a star feeleth at dawn.”

  “I see you have been meandering through Enoch. Do you like what you see?”

  “Oh yea, very much. Such a cozy and lovely town. I particularly enjoy how the temple on the hill’s peak seemeth to…”

  “Yea, verily
,” interrupted Skillotz. “Cozy and lovely it may be. But none of this, I assure you, can even compare with Ophir, which you did see a week ago. So why do you roam through these here parts, and not the magnificent gilded streets of Ophir?”

  “My lord, surely because thou livest here, and hither hast thou brought me.”

  “Rest assured, my dear sylphid, I shall forthwith correct this blunder. Moruzio will meet us here shortly. We depart as soon as he arrives.”

  Nod’s eyes glowed, even more than the glow of the star herself. And as her eyes, so glowed her immense smile, from the yearning in her heart. This was the first time any mortal eyes had seen her shine so brightly.

  “Oh, I thank thee dearly, my lord. Let me bid farewell to Malvizio the priest, and Talizima the councilor, and we will be on our way.”

  “Better not, dear Nod. Yesterday, when I proposed to my father this journey, he was not very keen. He wanted you here, lest the Council summon you.”

  “Oh my,” said Nod, her eyes dimming. “Then what did change the good councilor’s mind?”

  “Well, his disagreements were very loud yesterday, but not today. Truly, today he is very silent, apart from an occasional snore here and there. He who is silent gives consent, and this morn I have heard nothing but silence from Talizima on this particular matter. And behold: There is Moruzio coming. Let us leave, before my father changes his mind once more.”

  ***

  As they journeyed, Skillotz often strayed from the path to pick up something off the ground: a leaf, or an acorn, or a flower. Then he would bring it to Nod and say:

  “Do you see this, Nod? The walls of Ophir are all engraved like so, but in gold! Are there gardens and flowers where you come from? But not as the golden gardens of Ophir, I am sure!”

  And Nod heard, and nodded, and smiled, while Skillotz would fetch something else and again praise Ophir’s beauty with it. The sylphid never showed annoyance with Skillotz’s constant pestering, though neither did she show much passion for it. Moruzio lost his patience sooner than the star:

  “Master Skillotz, please cease this at once! Why fill the sylphid’s ears with so much inanity? Leave something for her eyes to savour!”

  But the young giant did not heed the woodsman’s words. Ophir was worthy of being beheld: Showing a city such as this to someone who had never been there would engender zeal in the coldest of bloods. How much his blood burned with the task assigned to him: to bring a sylphid from the stars—a sylphid!—to visit Ophir—Ophir!—for the first time. He could only think of the glory raining upon him when Ophir itself would say: “This sylphid comes from Enoch, and it was Skillotz who brought her hither.”

  “Dearest Moruzio,” answered he, “as far as savouring goes, there is more to it than you comprehend. A good cook prepares not only his dish with good flavour, but also prepares his customer for the experience. Before the flavour reaches the tongue, the eyes see the dish on the table, and before that the nostrils detect the scent coming from the kitchen. Thus the meal tastes even better!”

  “Fooltalk. For me, such overselling means only that the dish has no merit in itself. It would seem we are not before a cook, but a traveling merchant.”

  Now, it was Skillotz whose patience grew thin. He would not leave the woodsman without a retort:

  “Implying Ophir does not have merit in itself?”

  “Far from me to suggest such a thing. And yet…”

  “Yet? Yet?! You have seen Ophir! Who dares to say there is anything comparable in the whole land?”

  Moruzio was a rugged hunter, accustomed to the heat of the fight. Skillotz seemed to have the advantage of common sense, but the woodsman would not back down:

  “You spake well. There is certainly nothing in the whole land which can compare to Ophir. But Nod does not hail from anywhere in the land, does she? As magnificent as Ophir is, it is the work of mortal hands. And Nod comes from the People of the Stars! Surely there be more wondrous wonders up above, to which Ophir can never compare! Could the crizia’s palace be compared to the mansions where the Higher Sylphs dwell, when they weave the fates of the cosmos? Could the gold of Ophir overshadow Carmel’s crown? Can the Sym-Bolon compare with the Mountain Most High? Or Ophir’s domes to the celestial sphere? Did not the Higher Sylphs see the face of Aigonz himself during the age before all ages? What are the heavens themselves compared with the Blessed Lands, where Aigonz does reside? Yea, are not those Blessed Lands above the heavens as much as the heavens are above Ophir? How then do you presume to show the star something which might impress her?”

  Where before there was zeal burning in Skillotz’s limbs, now there was fury: fury because Moruzio had shattered his dreams of bringing glory to Enoch and himself, but also fury for the humiliation of not knowing how to respond. Nod, though, perceived the course of the conversation, and sought to direct it back to good harbour:

  “Friends, my dearest friends!” she intervened, standing between them, her smile faded for the first time since they met her. “What are ye doing? Such a beautiful day, such a meaningful day, for you as well as I, and ye are sullying it with senseless bickering? My good Moruzio, do not fret, for Skillotz is not pestering me in the least. Oh good Skillotz, please do not sulk, I am so eager to travel to Ophir; I would like to do so with a light heart. As for your dispute, ye are both right in a sense. ‘Tis true: Such awesome marvels inhabit the heavens, and they cannot even be apprehended by mortal senses, as a puddle in the beach may not be filled with the water of the whole sea. Yet why rush to judgment, when I have not even set foot in that place? Full of surprises is this world, of that I assure you. And even if Ophir doth not overshadow the heavens, why not admire it still as it is?”

  Thus she spake, eloquently but in vain. No matter how many words she spent, she changed not their incensed countenances. Skillotz did not digest rancours easily, the more so when he considered that his future depended on the good success of this journey. As for the woodsman, his roughness did not make it easy for him to utter apologies, or to endure polite talk. Furthermore, Moruzio felt some pleasure in finding Skillotz finally silent, even if pouting.

  Nod, however, was not pleased at all. The sylphid felt herself pressed between two cold walls of flesh, and crushed by a heavy cloud of dark mood. She mused inside her thoughts, as she usually did, and finally lit up her glow. An idea had struck her mind:

  “Well then, why not solve this dispute in a more productive way? What say ye of a wager?”

  “A wager?!” they clamoured both in unison. So curious they were, they almost forgot their wrath.

  “Yea, a wager. Moruzio saith nothing in Ophir can compare to the heavens. Skillotz saith Ophir is so peerless, it overshadoweth anything. Let ye wager on it, then.”

  “Seems fine by me,” said Skillotz, for he was confident in his victory. “And what shall we wager then, good Moruzio?”

  “If I may…” Nod’s smile had returned, now blushed with a shade of shrewdness. “Since I seem to be the reason for your dispute, let me be the one to set the prize. And offer it as well. What say ye of a kiss? A kiss on the cheek? Certainly, a sylphid’s kiss is a laudable treasure, worthy of being waged upon.”

  “By Mamreh, you are right!” answered Skillotz, without a thought. “I cannot wait to receive such a prize. On my end, a wager it is.”

  As for Moruzio, he did not say a word. A blushness of his cheeks was more eloquent than any word the woodsman could muster. This prize caused him great embarrassment. Still, it attracted him a lot, as the mermaid attracts the sailour, even the sailour who has been advised against mermaids. After a brief moment of uncertainty, Moruzio faced Skillotz and both looked each other deep in the eyes. Then, they stretched hands and shook them, sealing their wager. And Nod, coming closer, placed her own soft, snow-white hands over the rugged fingers of the giants. The wager had begun.

  ***

  For two days they journeyed, and Ophir’s outer walls appeared in the horizon. These stood seventy human feet high, and wind
ed as a giant serpent, as far as the eyes could see. They were also made of a kind of rock which was not seen anywhere else in Thebel.

  “What a peculiar stone this be,” said Nod, glancing at the walls. “Whence did ye logizkal mine this kind of rock?”

  “The old sages say,” replied Skillotz, “that this stone was baked by a fire which fell from heaven. The flame of it dug a deep hollow, miles across, by blowing the stone away, and heaping it in a ring-shaped mountain range all around. From this range the giants, at a later date, carved the walls of a stronghold. This is what you now see.” As he spake, the young giant widened his eyes and turned to the sylphid. A sudden realization had just lit upon his mind. “A fire from heaven… could it have been a fallen star as you, Nod? Maybe if we come back to the site where you fell, we can find bizarre rocks such as these!”

  “Who can say, my lord?” Nod shrugged. “Only by returning thither would we know.”

  Moruzio interrupted, grumbling:

  “Can we move on? Nod came to visit Ophir, not walls! And nothing here can help you win the wager, for there is nothing here for the star to gaze upon but towers and ramparts!”

  Skillotz moaned with irritation, but conceded Moruzio’s point.

  “Come, star,” pointed the woodsman. “The gate stands right this way.”

  Nod obeyed, but soon noticed there was more than walls and battlements. Atop the bulwark, between the merlons, sentinels could be espied, patrolling the ramparts. Logizkal they were: as giant as the others, but all as robust as Moruzio. They wore a leather cuirass around their breasts and backs. Their scalps, temples, and noses were shielded by a domed, bronze helmet, with openings for their faces and fore-eyes. In their right hands, they bore long spears with sharpened flint-heads.

  “Who are those?” the sylphid inquired.

  “The Crizian Guard. Giants assigned to protect the princess. Most are recruited from the north.”