They were both surprised by the question, but finally Trinian answered. “It is up to you, my lady. But if you want my opinion, I suggest we light a fire and go to sleep.”
She nodded, and together they descended to make camp at the foot of the spire.
3
Deep into the Border Wood
Knowledge was singing a song of praise to the Golden King, hoping he could hear it winging to him across the vast expanse between the High Heavens of Minecerva, and the farthest Heavens of His Eternal Abode. It was there on the balcony that Fate found her, and smiling quietly to himself, waited until she finished.
“The Messenger from the Golden King say you are to sing a song to a mortal.”
She turned from her perch and her eyes shone with eagerness. “Is this in preparation for His coming?” she asked eagerly.
He only smiled richly at her, and she sighed.
“What is the point of knowing everything if you do not tell anyone?”
“You should know, Knowledge,” he answered pointedly.
“But I told them everything I knew! I told them all about Truth at the beginning of time.”
“But you do not tell them how to make sense of it.”
She shrugged delicately, “That is different. I gave them the resources – it is their choice if they want to make sense of it or not.”
“How very impartial of you.”
Her blue eyes sparkled at him, and she ignored the irony of his tone. Moving with an airy grace, she leaned against the palace wall. “You and I are alike that way.”
“I do not interfere with mortals, god, or any creatures – not without the command of the Golden King.”
“Well? Then why should I not be impartial too?”
His face grew solemn, and he studied her gravely. “I do not interfere with mortals because if I moved among them, they would lose their free will, and I cannot do that to them.”
She snorted delicately. “You owe them neither compassion nor sorrow. You have given them a gift, and it is their choice whether to accept it.”
He sighed a mighty sigh that could have shaken the earth. “But they are so confused, you know. More than ourselves.”
“Well, I do not show partiality, either. My knowledge is given them to use as they like – unless of course,” she caught herself, “the Golden King commands something else of me. What does he ask?”
The smile returned to his ageless face, and his whole person lit with an inner beauty. “There is a young soldier traveling with the future stewardess of Drian. You are to give him directions.”
She giggled with the absurdity of the errand. “Directions? I possess the essence of truth, and am merely asked to give directions? Very well, this must be a very important man. I will keep my eye on him.”
Before leaping from the parapet, she turned back to look at her oldest brother. “But only an eye – I will not interfere.”
He merely looked at her with an enigmatic expression that disconcerted her, and, attempting to shake free of his gaze, she leapt to the earth – her incorporeal form a whisper on the wind, a rainbow flashing delicately in the sky. She drifted above the ruins of Dirrah and breathed a map into the mind of the sleeping soldier on the ground: Trinian, the son of a humble farmer, a man trying to prove himself, the best that Drian had to offer, and now an object of interest to the gods. “Go to the Wizard, young man,” she whispered, infiltrating his dreams like a seed planted by a traveling wind. “Find the Wizard of the Wood.”
* * *
In the morning, Adrea arose early and banked the fire, her heart heavy and unsure. She was pulling out her dried meat and fruit for breakfast when Trinian stirred and sat up suddenly, gazing confusedly in the direction of South Drian. The soldier leapt urgently to his feet, looking about as if expecting to see someone, and abruptly climbed to the Pinnacle of Dirrah to look across the great expanse of land below. When, at last, he returned to the ground, Lady Adrea demanded an explanation and he told her about his strange dream.
“I saw the way so clearly. There is a wizard in the border wood between Drian and South Drian. I think, well, I think we should try to find him,” he explained sheepishly. “I know the way.”
Adrea frowned at him. “A dream? You had a dream about where to find a wizard?”
He tilted his head. “So? You said we would find an answer in the morning.”
“But we do not want a wizard, we want a Healer.” Wizards were strange beings, gifted with uncanny insights. Some could see into the future, others delve into the hearts of men, and still others could communicate with animals… each wizard was different, and the people of Drian feared them, unsure if they were human or immortal. But she had never heard of one with the ability to heal.
“Perhaps this wizard will lead us to a Healer. Maybe he will know something about it.” The soldier’s hopefulness surprised her into a smile, but she quickly suppressed it and nodded. A dream was a flimsy excuse to go somewhere, but they had not yet explored the border wood. It was as good a place to go as any.
“Very well. We will see.”
They set out, traveling southeast toward the ancient woods, and as they went, the summer sun shone blithely upon them, and the birds in the trees sang brightly. The energy lifted their spirits, and both man and woman were filled with fresh hope. Trinian had never considered himself a prophet: he had no reason to think he might dream an answer to Drian’s dilemma. Yet the dream was not from himself: it had seemed separate, an entity all its own. As if from someone – something – else, and that gave him hope. His faith, zealous and energetic in its vivacity, was contagious, especially to a young lady so fully engrossed in the fear that the world lay on her shoulders. It was a balm for her to have someone else, a fellow companion, shoulder that load with her, and her weary heart was glad to borrow strength from Trinian’s.
A tall hill rose before them at midmorning and Trinian said he remembered it from his dream. When they reached the top, they saw spread before them a great, dark forest, surrounded on three sides by tall hills, and warily, they urged their horses down the incline. They threaded into the dense trunks and immediately a shadow blocked the sun: all sounds were hushed.
As they progressed, the quiet crept into their souls. Adrea’s guarded, lonely heart surged suddenly in fear. She felt like it was gutted wide into a destitute world, and her breath caught in her throat, her arms tingled, and her ears flushed. She was caged, silent but crying out from her depths, trapped in a fear she did not understand. She tried desperately not to let the soldier beside her see her terror, but he was walled up in his own mind.
“There’s magic here,” said Adrea softly after a moment. Though she had never felt magic before, she recognized its effect.
Trinian nodded. “I think we are close,” he whispered, his voice quivering with excitement.
Presently, they came on an open clearing deep within the forest. It was fifty yards wide with only six or seven trees scattered about. In the very center, flanked by two large, low, crimson Sweetgum trees, a thatched stone house seemed to grow from the ground. Behind it nestled a shed or stable of the same make, and right before them, leading up to the wooden door, was a path of deeply embedded stones.
Then Adrea laughed and Trinian looked at her in surprise, her eyes reflecting the soaring of her heart. “It’s wonderful,” she cried, released at last from her awful, undirected fear.
Cautiously, curiously, they approached the low door. Dismounting, Trinian went to knock on it for her but, to their astonishment, it swung inward on its own hinges before he touched it. Adrea gasped and they stepped inside.
The room was large and full. The entire wall on the inside was lined with shelves bursting with great, ancient, and beautiful books. On the wall adjoining it there were two closed doors, and between them another set of shelves, filled with jars and boxes of all makes, shapes, and colors. The long wall facing them had a scenic window with a wide seat, and near that a deep, satin upholstered armchair a
nd an old rocking chair. On the same wall was a kitchen with cabinets and drawers, a long counter, and large washing tubs each stacked inside the next. A wooden door with a round window in it led to the back yard. The final wall housed the stove, and beside it, a deep recess, just large enough for one person to enter, which was filled with spices and roots, vegetables and cheeses, salted meats and breads, fruits and berries, and canned goods. The last item in the room was a round table that stood at the center, with four chairs around it.
There was no one inside, but suddenly, the backdoor opened (again of its own accord), and an old man entered. Wrinkled and gnarled and amiable looking, he was carrying a basket of eggs under one arm and clothing draped across the other.
Catching sight of the strangers standing in his house, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he spoke to them in a voice that was gravelly and grave. “Well, well, you are most welcome here.”
“Forgive us, father,” said Trinian. “We did not mean to intrude – the door was open.”
Adrea stood stolidly, her head high and proud as ever, her brief moment of gaiety flown in the face of a stranger, but the wizard smiled and when he did, his old eyes shone like stars in a black sky. “Yes, yes. For surely you could not have got in otherwise. Now, now, let me put down these eggs here, and then I can greet you properly.” After he had set down the basket, he turned to them, brought his hands together, and bowed. He seemed to forget about the clothes, and they fluttered in a rainbow of colors from his arm. The robe he wore was bright red, and from the selection on his arm, it was clear he liked bright colors. “Welcome, friends, to the home of Gladier, the wizard of the Sacrawood and keen observer of distant places.”
They in turn bowed back and gave their own names, and Adrea stepped forward. “My father, we come to beg your assistance. The kingdom of Drian is overwhelmed by sickness and plague, and we are seeking out a Healer who can cure the city and bring peace back to us.”
The Wizard looked at her in surprise. “There are no more Healers,” he said. “Don’t you know?”
His words were like a slap in the face, and Adrea cried out so suddenly that Trinian and the hermit started in surprise, but she could no longer rein in her emotions. For too long, she had retained ever-tightening control, and when it seemed as though, finally, they would find an answer, she had been pulled to the breaking point. Now, disappointed in their discovery, her feelings overflowed in tumultuous disappointment. “Oh, they said so, my father’s advisors.” Her voice was savage. “But I hoped against hope that they might have only been lost, and maybe we could find them again.”
“No,” answered Gladier, a depth of sadness in his voice beyond even Adrea’s. “No more exist in all this world.”
“Then our search is in vain.” She dropped into one of the chairs beside the table and there was a long silence.
“Do not despair,” said Gladier finally. “All will come right in the end. Listen, children, I have to cook supper. You are weary from your travels. Please sit down,” he gestured to Trinian, “while I prepare a meal.”
His aged form stepped lightly to the counter, and he began to move briskly, defying his old age, removing food and dishes from the cabinets.
“Our horses, sir?” asked the soldier.
“Already in the stable, I am sure. They are noble beasts and can look out for themselves.” The soldier blinked in surprise, but only sat obediently at the table.
“You will, of course, stay the night.” It was not a request, as things said in such a way often are. It was a command.
“Please sir,” said Adrea watching him, “if you know about the Healers, then surely you can tell us what happened to them?” She stood up restlessly and walked over to him.
“Let us wait till the meal, my child. That is the time to tell stories.” He raised one of his old, grizzly eyebrows at her.
“Of course.” Her foot tapped the floor.
“You have no skill in cooking,” he told her, his back to them as he briskly sliced potatoes.
“Well, no, I have never learned…but, what does that…?”
“I will teach you now. When your mind will not be still, it is good to find activity for the body. Yet another time, perhaps, I shall teach you to sit quietly in peace.” With a sparkle in his old eye, he set her the task of slicing onions as he pulled down sausages from the nook in the wall.
4
Once a Healer, Always a Wizard
“Do you know,” said Gladier, when they had sat down to their meal, “my doors, the front and back, are strong, very strong, and open only of their own accord. In the span of one hundred years, they have opened to none except myself and one other.” He smiled at them. “That is why I was so startled to find you here. Yet trusting, for they have never admitted my enemies.”
“How curious,” said Trinian after a pause during which Adrea did not respond.
“They would remain locked if someone came to rob or harm me. To get in, my invaders would have to chop down the frame.”
Trinian asked. “Did you construct them yourself?”
“Oh, no! I have some magic, yes, but very little, and nothing as strong as that. That would be a story to tell!” He was about to leave the matter there, but with a glance at Adrea, thought better of it. “A hundred years ago, you see, the natural god of this realm was killed in a feud with a natural god of Drian. Natural gods will get into such catastrophic disputes now and then, for they get ambitious, and want to own more than they were given; a river rises up to drown the land beside it, or a forest spreads from valley to vale, eager to rule all it finds. Few of the divinities are content to abide where they are and rule their own stretch of land. So it was that the natural god that once ruled the valleys of western Drian killed the god of this forest and tried to burn the trees into dust; but he failed, and was soon killed himself by another god, and the plains of western Drian have been barren, dead, and deserted ever since. But this forest was hardier than the plain, and the trees refused to die or the grasses to wither, and when it remained rooted where it was, full of brave trees and magical creatures, Fate took pity upon it. He came to me, for I was, at the time, a lonely, lost soul, and Fate picked me up and placed me here in the center of the wood. He told me to guard it, though I was not a god. I had little else to do in Minecerva – I had just lost my community and all I cared for in life – and I was happy to live here in isolation. I have found meaning here, for over the years, many odd creatures have joined me and found refuge, away from the drama that was, at the time, unfolding across the wilderness; for the king was recently missing from Drian and the god of Karaka had since turned quite destructive and warlike, so that creatures with magic were being driven from the world. Dragons, garanx birds, unicorns, and stags; Dryads, nyads, mermen and women, and many others – but, you look at me as if you have never heard this before…”
“We know little of the gods,” said Trinian, for whom this was indeed new and amazing information, and he felt as if ancient myths were becoming real before his eyes, and he was sitting forward to hear more. But Lady Adrea, shaking herself from her silence, startled them both by suddenly demanding, “There are other things I would like to ask you about, father.” He raised an old eyebrow at her, and patiently waited. “I want to ask you about the Healers,” she said at last, speaking around her anger and burying it in her heart.
“Ah, yes, of course. What do you want to know?”
“What has happened to them? The texts I read told of ancient Healers who mended sickness throughout Minecerva. What happened? Why did they fail to pass on what they knew?”
“Ah, there you strike the point: for the qualities of the Healers were not so much an art, as an inheritance. The Healing Priesthood, as it was called, was passed on, generation to generation, and no age was ever without its Healers. Then, the Blessing of the Healer was gone, and they were no more.”
Adrea shook her head. “But why? Why could they not pass on the blessing?”
Gladier looked a
t her quietly a moment. “You are the daughter of the keeper of Drian, are you not?”
“Yes, I am his only child.”
“And yet you know so little of your past,” his voice was full of mourning. “Are the people of Drian no longer instructed in their history? Do they not remember the kings of long ago or the prophecies that were foretold?”
“Yes,” she answered him slowly, “some. But much of our history was buried and burned in a great fire, four hundred years ago. Some things have passed down through word of mouth, but we wonder what is truth and what is myth.”
“Then you have no knowledge of your history? Do you not know when and how the line ended?”
“We know this: in the year six hundred, King Ronarge died of old age, leaving no heir. In that same year, enemies of Drian took advantage of the empty throne and attacked the kingdom. They seized Drian and ruled for fifty years. When my ancestors, the first Stewards of Drian, drove them out, they could find no relation to the king in the city. So the Stewards vowed to rein over Drian until the day the king returned.”
Gladier shook his head at her description, saddened over the period of darkness that had driven the long memory of Drian’s precious past into oblivion, and wishing the guardians of the city had kept better care of their history. He leaned forward now to remedy their education.
“Now listen carefully, children, for this concerns you directly.
“In the beginning, over nine hundred years ago, when the world was still quite young, the first king oversaw all the nations. He was King Adalam. On the day of his coronation he swore a covenant, saying that he would never break faith with his people or his god; that he would rule justly and kindly, with no thought to his own gain or selfish desires. That if he, or any of his descendants, ever broke faith with the covenant, they would cease to rule.
“So began the monarchy and it progressed in peace and plenty. All the world was blessed with joy, prosperity, learning, and wisdom. Beauty and culture flourished! It was a blessed age.
Trinian Page 3