Solem

by Clive S. Johnson

  She stared at them both for a short while, before suggesting, “Why don’t you sit down, Craith, and enjoy your drink?” then opened the tome onto her lap.

  When he had, she absently stroked its pages, until quietly saying, “I was telling you about our diminished numbers. We have long reckoned it has had a bearing on why we no longer understand the nature of these seemingly important figures from our past.”

  “Eh?” Craith said as he put his beaker down on the table. “This summat to do wi’ those on your list, with their bewitching?”

  “More than just that, my dear Craith. All demons can bewitch. It’s what their innate wonder engenders, but these,” and again she stroked the page, “these were ones who could, let’s say, bewitch bears and wolves; extremely rare demons—and there’s the problem.”

  “The Problem?” Janeen said.

  “The fewer of anything, the rarer its rare things become, until, as with our own world’s small numbers, those rarities almost never occur—almost never.”

  In a small voice, Janeen asked, “What is it about those on your list that makes them so rare, then? It can’t just be that they bewitched wild animals.”

  “These?” the Hartsghul said, looking down at the page. “If only we really knew, and upon which I had hoped you’d bring some illumination yourself, Janeen. You see, we know so little; only tantalising glimpses, oblique references, strange descriptions. We know, for example, that a man called Muhammad was filled with the words of Allah, that Lopamudra conversed with Shiva and Vishnu, Jesus with God the Creator, that Nakayama Miki communed with Tenri-L-no-Mikoto…and the list goes on.”

  “So,” Craith said, “who were Allah and God the Creator, and…and all the others?”

  “Not who but what, for they certainly weren’t people, not from the little we know.”

  Craith noticed Janeen’s hands were now tightly clenched, but then it struck him: “God the Creator? But the creator of what?”

  “Of everything,” Janeen quietly said, lifting her face to the sky. “All different names for the same thing.”

  “And that is?” the Hartsghul hardly breathed, intent only on Janeen’s upturned face.

  “For Solem, of course.”

  “Solem? No, no, that can’t be. You’ve seen what Solem is. My daughter showed you this morning. How could a library fill anyone with its voice? Talk with anyone?” which drew Janeen to face her.

  “The Wisdom of Solem is just that,” she told the Hartsghul, “just guidance on how we should live our lives, a record of Solem’s desire that we survive. And you were right when you said is wasn’t perfect.”

  “But, my dear, you make it sound like Solem’s a person. You can’t really mean that.”

  “She’s as real and alive as you or me, Hartsghul, but far mightier than us all, for…for all of life is but a part of her…a part of Solem.” Janeen seemed to cock her ear. “And Solem demands communion with all life that’s hers, with every beast, every bird and tree and blade of grass, but most importantly, with mankind—not just those who, like us, wonder, but with us all, with every man, woman and child.”

  The Hartsghul stared wide-eyed at Janeen, but then scoffed, forcefully. “This is madness,” and she tossed her head back. “So where is this Solem you speak of, this supreme being we somehow can’t see, despite her clearly being so vast? Well?” and she laughed as she looked about, until Janeen shot to her feet.

  “I know I was born a demon, and maybe a rare one—who knows—but when I was brought here to The Espousal, I thought I’d suffered an unfair affliction. I felt I’d been robbed of my sight. But I was wrong. I’d been blessed with new sight, one that can only see what lives—and only what lives.”

  She stepped forward, inadvertently knocking the table over, the plate of meat loaves, the jug and beakers all smashing to the ground, then she turned on the Hartsghul.

  “I learnt to recognise mosses and lichens and mould and rot, to see the grass beneath my feet, the boles of trees and their canopies, the people and the beasts and birds that roam through it all. To see life upon our world, but…but above it all, I could also see the Sun: Solem’s beating heart. I saw its radiant sunbeams, its waves of energy far flung beyond our world, beyond all worlds that weave their intricate dance through the Sun’s most vibrant body—through Solem’s own living body.”

  “You only thought you did, Janeen. You’re young and inexperienced. You felt the Sun’s warmth on your face, maybe, and so convinced yourself—”

  “No,” Craith insisted. “No. She saw it all right; for real. Janeen guided us here through the gloom of the forest by those very same sunbeams. I can vouch for that.”

  “And I’ve spoken with her all my life,” Janeen quietly added. “Been taken up by her; felt her presence as though her body and limbs were mine; seen the stars and galaxies through her own eyes; thought the same empty thoughts she’s long suffered alone, yearning her own yearn for what she’d lost.”

  The Hartsghul looked stunned at first, then confused as she stared unseeingly at the mess of the overturned table. Her lips quivered, then she shot Janeen a piercing look.

  “Communion, eh? So your Solem, like Allah and Brahman, wants to fill us all with her voice, does she? And not just us demons here in the Fintweg, but the people of The Green, it would seem. And how, pray tell me, does Solem intend achieving this…this unlikely feat?”

  In a level and quiet voice, Janeen simply said, “Through me, her daughter.”

  “Through… But you’re stuck here in the Fintweg,” and the Hartsghul laughed, but nervously. “Hardly the best place from which to reach out to the world on behalf of your…your mother, now is it?”

  “Which is why…why the Gryffwilleal must be torn down, the Fintweg freed of its demons, so they can spill out and spread through The Green, opening minds to wonder, and so to the voice of Solem.”

  The Hartsghul shot to her feet. “That’s enough; enough of this folly. Do you seriously think I’d even consider such a thing, that I’d destroy what’s kept this world of ours so perfect for more than two millions years? Well, do you?” she yelled. “You must be mad, raving mad. Enough!” and she raised her hand.

  Craith felt an arm slip around his neck, another pulling him from the bench, his own painfully wrenched up his back. As he was dragged back, struggling, he saw two burly men rush from the bushes and grab Janeen, one at each arm.

  By the time Craith had screamed “NO!”, the men already had her pressed hard against the parapet. The Hartsghul strode forward to stand before her, the old woman’s voice low and menacing, the more so behind its edge of regret.

  “It’s my duty to protect the Fintweg, and by it preserve our world—preserve it for everyone, for all time. I’ve no doubt at all that you could bewitch our demons, could easily turn their minds to believing any nonsense you may hold true. And that would be enough in itself, enough to consider you a threat, but this foolishness about Solem, this demand to throw down the Gryffwilleal, well… I’m afraid, my dear, you truly leave me with no other option.”

  She stepped away, her head defiantly held high, and nodded curtly at the two men holding Janeen.

  They stiffened their grips, clearly about to lift her, but rage flooded through Craith and he dragged his own captors with him as he staggered towards Janeen, obscenities flying. The men holding her darted a look at Craith and briefly faltered, enough for Janeen to jerk an arm free, to twist against the one still held. In the ensuing tussle, her pain-guard flew from her face, bounced across the parapet rail and fell from sight.

  She arched her back, mouth agape, the two smooth hollows of her face now exposed and aimed directly at the Sun. Then she screamed, her piercing wail startling them all, turning the two men at her arms to face her eyeless countenance. In shock, they let go and staggered back, staring, open-mouthed.

  “Don’t let her bewitch you,” the Hartsghul growled. “Grab her!” but they seemed frozen, gripped by Janeen’s now anguish ridden face.

 
; “Pain!” she wailed, pressing back harder against the parapet rail. “Pain…but the pain of…the pain of …of ecstasy,” and her face now truly shone, a glow welling from behind the hollows where her eyes had been, and where slits appeared, bleeding across them.

  The Hartsghul had plainly been about to lunge, but the sight clearly took her strength away, and she fell to her knees.

  Craith’s arms came free and he lurched forward, towards his beloved, but he too found himself kneeling, as they all soon were. They stared up, transfixed, into Janeen’s now radiant face.

  The two widening slits had become fringed with long dark lashes, the blood washed to crimson tears upon her cheeks. Glinting from between her lashes, Janeen’s reborn eyes reflected the sunlight streaming down from Solem’s blazing heart.

  The very air hummed, reverberated, caressed Craith’s ears, finally carrying upon it a disembodied voice, one that echoed deeply within his reeling mind. It was the face, though, when he cast his gaze to the heavens, that brought affirmation.

  Vast eyes burst wide as they stared down, straight into his heart. And there Solem truly lodged, as he knew she had in the Hartsghul’s own heart, for he could hear her whispered answers drift past upon the garden-scented air of a world he knew was itself about to blossom anew.

  50 Overseer of Works

  “This…this must be,” the Hartsghul murmured to herself, from close beside Craith, “what they meant by a miracle.”

  Only clouds now filled the sky where Solem’s face had been, and Craith’s gaze came free to turn to the old woman. She stared at Janeen, who was standing tall before the parapet, faced tipped heavenwards, arms held out, a silence about her.

  In that silence, the men who’d been charged to cast her from the Hartsghul’s tower now knelt silently around her, heads lowered, hands clasped before them. To Craith, the arrangement looked strangely uplifting.

  The Hartsghul took a step nearer.

  Craith tensed, ready to spring, but the Hartsghul only stood before Janeen, her head to one side, her mouth open.

  The face of Solem’s daughter slowly lowered until her gaze held the Hartsghul’s own. A smile spread across Janeen’s face, its light framing the glint in her eyes.

  “Do you now see,” she quietly asked the Hartsghul, “why I could not deny my heavenly mother?”

  Craith felt it an answer to his own question of earlier, and the Hartsghul silently nodded then lowered her gaze.

  “Your mother asks too much of me,” the Hartsghul barely breathed. “Even if I could bring myself to renege on my oath to the Wisdom of Solem, how could we possibly cast down the Gryffwilleal? It is impregnable.”

  Janeen’s expression softened, a warmth clearly going out to the Hartsghul, a confident gleam now in her reborn eyes. “But Solem has provided for your every question, my dear Hartsghul. Open your eyes and see, for you have her wisdom and guidance, and know well how to seek its truth. Go within her words and find those pathways that lead to a just and rightful answer.”

  She gently but firmly placed her hand on the old woman’s shoulder, leaning in nearer before affirming, “And consider this, Hartsghul: your oath to her wisdom is an oath to her, to Solem herself. She has spoken to you today, has she not? Told you of her need, one your oath binds you to answer.”

  “But one I know the Wisdom of Solem cannot deliver, Janeen. It cannot. Its purpose, and so that of its demons, is to keep our world unchanging.”

  “But,” Craith said, “it’s not necessarily the Gryffwilleal’s own purpose.”

  “The Gryffwilleal’s?” the Hartsghul frowned back.

  “Well, strikes me they just do the Fintweg’s bidding, whatever it might be. All you need do is issue a command through the eynputna: that the demon entrance be made to work both ways. I’m sure they could eventually sort it out. After all, they have spent the past two whatever-you-said-before years looking after the place, and there’s plenty of canny labour out there in The Espousal. Can’t be beyond their combined wit, surely.”

  They both stared at him, until the Hartsghul looked down at the now embarrassing presence of the still supplicant men at Janeen’s feet. It took all the Hartsghul’s authority to rouse and dismiss them, Craith knowing that by it the story of Janeen would soon be abroad.

  Once they’d gone, the Hartsghul smiled at Craith. “It seems, my dear boy, that you have again become useful, just when I was beginning to worry you were no longer needed, now Janeen can see again.”

  “Eh?”

  “You’re clearly of a practical mind—a rarity amongst demons—so, I now declare you the Fintweg’s very first Overseer of Works.”

  “Eh?”

  He flashed Janeen a lost look and found a ready smile, an outstretched hand, and soon an encouraging kiss.

  “Er, what ‘ave I just let messen in for, Janeen?” but she only laughed, draining the tension from the air about them.

  It even brought a grin to the Hartsghul, but didn’t hide the strange new pride in her eyes, her gaze thereafter rarely leaving Janeen’s serenely glowing face.

  51 The Good Word Spreads

  In the subdued emerald light of the forest, the log-built home before Craith looked small, almost hidden amongst the towering trees. A thin plume of smoke drifted from its chimney, towards the Summer, sunlit canopy.

  “Do you think she’s all right? She’s been in there a long time,” Dwelgefa Fulmer said, from where he sat by Craith’s side.

  Craith reminded himself it had been “Brother Fulmer” for well over a year now, but old habits always die hard. He took a deep breath, filling his senses with the dry aromas of the fern and bracken that hemmed in Janeen’s childhood home.

  “Her mother’s been constantly on her mind,” Craith confided. “I’ve often woken in the middle of the night to see the glint of her eyes in the moonlight, to watch her gaze being held by the ceiling’s darkness. I just hope her dad can wash away at least some of the guilt she feels.”

  “She wasn’t to blame, though.”

  “No. We know that, but…”

  The tramp of feet on the path behind turned Craith, and he nodded at the approaching man. “Finally got everyone across have you, Sharman?” who raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “You know, I’m going to have to build a bigger boat,” and he dropped to the soft earth beside them. “I keep saying it, I know, but six bloody journeys to get everyone across today. I’m knackered.”

  “Digga do well?”

  “Aye, your brother’s a fine lad. Knows his stuff. Doesn’t forget anything, and Duncan clearly respects him.” Craith noticed the gentle censure in Sharman’s voice.

  “I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Fulmer said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Heard her at Melligan, but there’s supposed to be a lot more coming to this one. They’ve been travelling in from the villages all round, I hear.”

  “Yes, word’s spreading,” Craith acknowledged.

  “By the way,” Sharman asked, “how’s the old Hartsghul doing? I’ve heard she’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, she has. I don’t think she’s long for this world. So much has changed this past year; I think it’s been too much for her. But she’s had a good long life, one that’s brought her an answer to an ancient riddle she never thought would be solved; something that’s given her a great deal of comfort.”

  “Well, let’s hope her daughter lives as long. They say she has the makings of a damned fine Hartsghul, something we’re certainly going to need now. Job for a young woman, if you ask me.”

  The front door to the house opened and Craith saw Janeen stand in the doorway for a moment, before turning and embracing a man behind her. Then they both came out, arm in arm, down the short path to the three waiting men, who all got to their feet. Janeen’s eyes were red but her face glowed, her lips soft and drawn to a smile.

  “Dad, this is Craith,” and she reached for his arm, drawing him towards them.

&nb
sp; “Welcome to Delph, young man; or should I call you ‘my son’?”

  Craith returned the man’s broad smile. “‘Craith’ normally does well enough, but I’m proud to be able to call you Father,” and he extended his hand, which Bardwyn took with ease, clasping it beneath his other.

  “I’ve heard at least a bit about you this morning—all glowing, I’m pleased to say,” and Craith felt his face redden. “So, I look forward to learning more, in time.” He gazed at Craith for a moment. “We always wanted a boy child as a brother for Janeen,” he said, distantly, “but, well, what with the restrictions back then…” He clearly now saw only memories, but then smiled, warmly. “Marita, Janeen’s mother,” and he hugged Janeen to his side, “would have approved of you, Craith, my son; I know she would. I know it in my heart.”

  He drew Janeen and Craith together and embraced them, patting and stroking their backs for a short while, until he pushed himself back and beamed at them both.

  “You’ve an important gathering to get to,” he said, pride filling his eyes as he looked at Janeen, “so I’d best let you get on. I’ll be along in a short while. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time now; ever since I heard you were coming into The Green,” and his jaw quivered as he blinked back the threat of tears.

  Delph’s small clearing heaved with folk, mostly crammed in to the borders between its plots, but some spilling over onto the beds. Craith recognised a bud-house, midway along the sunbathed side, its opening jammed wide by a length of wood. Fulmer led them towards it, the hubbub that had greeted them quickly subsiding, heads soon bobbing from side to side to get a better look.

  Craith still couldn’t get used to the attention, only glad it was Janeen who really drew their expectant gazes. She, he thought, seemed far more at ease now, still the pause for a deep breath before climbing the bud-house ladder, but this time she smiled as she stepped up and turned to the crowd. From within the opening she beamed across their heads, squinting up at the Sun for a moment.