by Jason Tesar
“Maybe they want to give you some time alone with your family.”
Enoch shrugged his shoulders.
“We’re making progress,” Zacol assured him.
Enoch looked down and rubbed the scars on his wrists, permanent reminders of what he’d endured over the years; how far he’d come. “And now I’m leaving.”
Zacol’s head dropped. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “When you come back, we’ll just have to start over.”
Enoch quickly placed his hands on Zacol’s shoulders. “I will come back. And we will start over.”
Zacol looked up again and her red-rimmed eyes were starting to well up. All she could do was nod her head.
Enoch shifted the weight of his bag and looked over to his son, Methushelak, who was hunched over in the grass nearby. The boy was always fascinated by the creatures crawling through the soil.4
“You still haven’t told me where you’re going.”
Enoch grinned and looked back to his wife. “You still haven’t asked.”
Now it was Zacol who smiled, and tilted her head. “Where are you going?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he continued, enjoying the brief moment of humor amid the heavy circumstances.
Zacol waited with raised eyebrows.
“In my dream, I was above the land, like a bird of the sky. In the distance, I saw a tall mountain. And I could see the land between here and there, and where the water was situated. The mountain was the one I’ve heard described by people who’ve passed through the land of Nowd.”2
“Nowd? Why would He send you to those murderers?” she asked, looking more worried than before.
“Their father was a murderer,” he corrected. “That doesn’t mean all of them are.”
Zacol’s face softened. It was obvious that she didn’t want to spend their last minutes together in confrontation.
“And besides,” Enoch continued. “My message is not for them.”
Zacol’s eyes narrowed. “Who is it for, then?”
Enoch looked up to the sky. The mist was keeping low to the plains this day, and the deep blue overhead was unusually clear.5 “I saw the stars fall from the sky. I saw the Children of Heaven abandon their home and come to ours. And I felt His heart breaking…” he replied, trailing off as he remembered the waters of the abyss rushing across the land.
Zacol’s eyebrows rose quickly. “Has this already happened?”
Enoch was silent for a moment. “Some of it has happened and some is yet to come.”
Zacol turned away and shook her head. “And what are you supposed to do about it? Tell the Children of Heaven to go back? Warn the Haragam? Can any of it be changed anyway?”
Enoch cringed at his wife’s use of the derogatory term for the Kahyin tribe. Even though their patriarch had murdered his brother, Enoch refused to believe that any person or tribe was above another. The Kahyin were simply lost, prevented from knowing the Holy One by the guilt of their father. And as much as his own tribe would hate to admit it, every human was descended from the same father and mother.
“I will tell the Children of Heaven what the Holy One has shown me. I don’t know if I can prevent anything. He asks only for my obedience in following His voice.”
Zacol’s eyebrows smoothed until she wore a blank expression.
It was difficult for Enoch to make others understand what he had been learning his whole life, and what he was only now starting to comprehend. It had always been this way. Ever since he was a child, people treated him differently because he could hear the voice of the Holy One. Many thought he was crazy. Others said he was a liar. Some even wanted so much to deny the presence of the Holy One, that they resorted to violence to keep Enoch from speaking the truth. Zacol was the only one who listened; the only one who truly believed.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked softly.
Her beauty was radiant this morning. Her black, straight hair moved slightly in the breeze. Her dark brown eyes, normally intense, were softened by her emotional brokenness.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. With resignation, he added, “As long as it takes.”
“Ahva, ahva,” came a small voice at his leg.
Enoch looked down to his son who was holding something up for his father to see.
“What is it?” Enoch asked, bending down.
“I found a rock,” the boy answered.
“Methu,” Enoch started, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re going to be a strong man someday. But the most important thing is, if the Holy One speaks to you, you listen to Him. Do you understand?”
“Uh huh. See, it’s from the moving waters, but I found it in the grass.”
Enoch smiled and stood up.
Zacol’s eyes were filled with tears again. “We’ll miss you. Please come back as soon as you can.”
Enoch slowly wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close until her head was laid against his chest. He tried to savor a moment that certainly would not come again for a long while. “I will, my love,” he whispered into Zacol’s ear.
* * * *
LAENINGAR
Why did I say that?
Sariel still had his hand outstretched in the direction Sheyir had run. The branches and leaves still swayed from her passage, but she was gone. He slowly curled his fingers inward and lowered his arm.
I just came here to escape. To regroup. Didn’t I?
But his words to Sheyir still hung in the air, revealing a deeper motive that he himself wasn’t aware of until the moment it took the form of words.
I’ve come a long way to see you.
Sariel lowered his gaze to the ground beside him while he searched his memory for confirmation or denial of what he’d just spoken. Laeningar had become a place of refuge for him in recent times. In the Eternal Realm, there was a sharp contrast between it and the territory of the Evil One. Even among the luminescent terrain of his own territory, the Valley of Healing stood out as a special place. It had drawn his attention at first sight, but what succeeded in capturing his fascination was the realization that it had all been created by a human woman. Never before had such a thing occurred. Humans, as a species, hadn’t yet learned the art of song. But it was there waiting for them, because it pleased the Holy One to create such things, even ideas, for humans to discover. And the humans were His most cherished creation.
When Sariel had first seen her, he had known why. She had been the most beautiful thing he’d ever encountered. Her tiny frame—half the size of Sariel’s—appeared as an intricate tapestry of sparkling, multi-colored threads, shifting from one family of hues to another with each emotion. Over the years, he watched her grow from a child into a woman. She always had songs in her heart, even before she could speak. And when she discovered them, and gave them voice, she sang as though she were a gifted Shaper who had been taught the deepest knowledge of Songs from the Holy One. Without knowing what she was doing, she created healing, and established peace. But Sariel knew what she was doing. He could see it. He could see the effect of her melodies, how they drifted to the ground and took root. In this place where he now stood, he could still hear the lingering songs from years past, blending with the harmonies that she had sung only days before. In his spirit, Sariel could feel the way her songs calmed the storms of his troubled mind.
I didn’t come here to escape the demons. I didn’t even come to think about my next course of action. It was instinct. I didn’t want to die because there’s still something worth living for.
And it wasn’t the Valley of Healing that still held worth in his eyes; it was the one who had created it, the one who sang it into existence.
I love her, he admitted to himself.
I’ve always loved her.
But could he be with Sheyir? Could he live in her world, as a human? Was he ready to do what was forbidden? Was he ready to risk ruining what was perfect in his mind? Would she love him in return? Or would this last beautiful idea die l
ike everything else in his life?
~
The stream flowing from Laeningar wound through wide grasslands and dense forests. Mist rose from the earth, clinging heavily to the thick vegetation where the air was still. In other places, where a slight breeze had cleared away the moisture, bright sunlight came down in great, silver columns, warming the earth. Surrounded by the buzzing of insects and a seemingly infinite variety of chirps and whistles from brightly-colored birds, Sariel waded through the shallows of the stream. He was in no hurry. Once he’d come to understand his true motivation for entering the Temporal Realm, and had made peace with it, he found himself thoroughly enjoying his new home. The feel of the cool water between his toes. The alternating stone and sand terrain beneath his feet. The way each step brought swirling plumes of silt off the bottom, to be swept downstream by the mild current.
The Temporal Realm shared many similarities with the Eternal, though the differences were fascinating. Colors were duller, but shapes seemed more defined. Sounds didn’t linger into eternity, but were more crisp and vibrant. Sariel inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers that bloomed everywhere, smiling at the lack of subtlety. Existence, it seemed, was more real in this place; perhaps intensified by the loss of immortality.
And to think, all of creation was once a combination of both attributes.
When his thoughts returned to Sheyir, he shook his head at his own stupidity. He hadn’t ever planned on revealing himself to her in bodily form, but now that he had, he regretted the way it happened. The form he’d maintained during his recent age as a soldier was nothing like any person or animal she would ever have come in contact with. In the blindness of the moment, he came into her realm and took on the nearest temporal equivalent to an Iryllur. Only when he saw the terror on her face did he realize his mistake. And then she ran.
So, what do I do now? She seemed less afraid after I shaped into a human, but she still left.
Sariel thought about her tribe and what he’d observed over the years. Even though he had watched her almost exclusively, he had unconsciously gathered other information along the way, including learning her language.
As he went back through his memory, he saw something hidden beneath her reaction to his human form, something he’d missed until just this moment.
A hint of intrigue mingled with her uncertainty?
Among the Chatsiyram, women were responsible for gathering and preparing food, tending to the men, and performing nearly every physical task required to maintain the village, with the exception of building shelters. They weren’t physically abused, but they were ignored and disproportionately burdened. When the work for the day was finished, most of the women tended to gather together to share stories, eat, and talk about other women. Sometimes, when they talked about each other’s husbands, the conversation turned ugly. The women could be just as unfriendly as the men of the tribe. This was why Sheyir spent most of her free time alone.
And then, after years of isolating yourself from women—ignored by men; never pursued or even engaged in conversation—a man tells you that he’s come a long way to see you. Yes. She’s intrigued. She must be!
Seeing now the mixture of emotions in her reaction, a strategy began to form in Sariel’s mind—one that occupied his thoughts for the remainder of his journey.
~
Rounding a bend, the stream widened into a shallow pool with a sandy bottom. Several small children waded in the water. Some were splashing; others were poking sticks into the sand and watching the silt billow toward the surface.
“Hello, children.”
The small, dark faces looked up. The girls stood motionless with curiosity. The boys instantly smiled and began to make their way over.
Sariel kept moving slowly forward. “Are you playing a game?”
“Why do you look strange?” one of the boys asked, without a hint of embarrassment.
Sariel smiled. Even wearing a human form, his pale features still marked him as a stranger. “Everyone in my tribe looks like me. But my tribe is very far away.”
“You’re tall,” one boy observed.
Another boy came close and touched Sariel’s arm, as if checking to see that he was real.
“Can I play your game too?” he asked the children.
“No,” an older girl answered quickly.
“Yes, you can play with us,” a boy corrected.
“Thank you. And what are you playing?”
The girl answered again. “The boys are looking for fish.”
“And you are splashing?” Sariel asked.
“No,” the girl corrected. “We are trying to catch the fish when they find one.”
“Oh, I see,” Sariel replied.
One of the boys put a stick onto Sariel’s hand and pushed his fingers closed.
“No, he doesn’t want to look for fish,” the girl corrected.
Sariel looked down at the boy whose eyes seemed a bit larger than before. “What if I was the fish?” he said, suddenly sitting down in the water.
All the children laughed, even the oldest girl.
Sariel laughed too, knowing he must look ridiculous to them. He could see the excitement in their faces and knew that none of them had ever played with an adult. Adults didn’t play with children in the Chatsiyr tribe and the little ones learned quickly to keep to themselves if they wanted to have any fun.
At the most, they might have a caretaker watching them.
As soon as the thought came to him, Sariel began to scan the nearby trees. It took only a moment to locate a terror-stricken female face, peering at him through the leaves. And then the face was gone.
Sariel stood up. “Do your parents live nearby?”
The oldest girl nodded.
“Can you take me to see them?”
The boy who had put the stick in Sariel’s hand now grabbed two of his fingers and began to pull him toward the shore. He looked up at Sariel and squinted in bright sunlight reflecting from the water. “Can we play after you talk to them?”
Sariel smiled again. “I would like that very much.” Though I doubt I’ll get the opportunity.
The children led him away from the stream and into the trees, seeming to follow a memorized path, though none of the vegetation was worn away or gave any indication of regular travel. Minutes later, the grass gave way to bare soil and a village appeared almost out of nothing. Several large grass huts were roughly arranged between the trees, around what appeared to be a central meeting area. The huts had thatch roofs, but no walls, and were supported by thick wooden poles set into the ground. A ring of stones lay at the center of the meeting area, seating for the men of the tribe during the evening meal.
Several adult women could be seen in the distance, but Sariel’s attention was immediately drawn to a commotion on his right. The woman who’d seen him by the stream was now talking to a man and pointing in his direction. Within seconds, two more males appeared, each carrying a khafar—a crude digging instrument that could function as a short spear in times of necessity.
“Children,” he said, letting go of the boy’s hand. “I think this is as far as I should go. Thank you for playing with me. I had fun.”
The children looked across the meeting area at the approaching men and instinctively backed away.
Sariel held his hands out to either side and waited, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
“Shulek! Shulek!” one young man shouted, approaching at a brisk pace. He looked much like a male version of Sheyir, with short, black hair and earthen skin. His thin frame was covered at the waist with a dull, brown loincloth. His eyes had the intense look of a frightened animal, as he commanded Sariel to be gone.
“I mean you no harm,” Sariel offered.
“You are not welcome here. Shulek!” said another, louder than the first. Three young men now stood in front of Sariel, khafars held at their sides.
Sariel noted that they weren’t yet holding their building implements in a two-handed g
rip, indicating that, although they were wary, the situation hadn’t yet escalated to the point of violence. The Chatsiyram were a peaceful people by upbringing, abhorring aggression in every circumstance except defense of their homes or families. The short spears were actually little more than arm-length sticks with a flattened spade end for digging. They looked much more innocent than the weapons Sariel usually faced, but he kept an eye on them anyway.
“Why have you come?” they persisted.
Sariel looked past them, scanning the gathering crowd for Sheyir’s face, but he didn’t see her. Neither did he see her father. “I’ve come on a journey from far away.”
One of the men grabbed his spear with both hands and tightened his grip.
There aren’t enough of them. This isn’t going to work. It needs to be bigger.
Seeing his strategy beginning to disintegrate, Sariel took a step backward, still keeping his hands out and visible.
“You are not welcome here!” one of the men repeated.
Sariel nodded and continued to step backward. When the men lowered their weapons, he turned his back to them and walked away.
CHAPTER 4
NORTH OF SEDEKIYR
From his home city of Sedekiyr, Enoch had traveled due north. Somewhere beyond the eastern horizon lay the mountains of Nagah, but Enoch kept the shores of Da-Mayim visible on his western side as he picked his way carefully through the grassy plains. Traveling at a pace that he knew would be sustainable for quite some time, he moved only by the light of day, continuing on a straight route for three weeks until he reached a body of water that spread to the north, east, and west as far as his eye could see. Turning westward, he kept the shoreline on his right side for another three days until the land narrowed between it and another body of water to the west. Across this strip of land, which he named Ad-Banyim*, he traveled with relative ease until the shorelines on either side began to widen and the terrain began to slope upward. In his mind, he could still see clearly the path that had been laid out before him. And with confidence, he kept to the right-hand shoreline as it gradually swung north, then east again, over the course of the following week. The land here sloped sharply from the mountains to the water, and passage was difficult and slow across the rocky terrain.11 Having long ago used up his provisions, he was now grazing as he moved, collecting fruit and anything else edible along the way.