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King Pallan awakened the next night, sweating. He made a weak look around him; his tent was all still. Fatigued from the prior day’s labours, for he himself had begun to assist his followers in the final preparations for their departure to Vadaal, and the Castle of Tears, he shortly fell back asleep. As he slept, he dreamed of a dark lake at the edge of the wilderness, of all wildernesses. Standing on the other side of the caliginous body of water, to his amazement and stunned joy, was Lydia dressed in a white gown. She gestured to him to come to her. ‘Lydia, is that you? It cannot be … I watched you die on the eve, as it were, of our joining.’
Lydia, or the appearance of her, King Pallan’s former lover and fiancé, began to walk around the lake, at times looking back at a stunned King Pallan, at the other side of the ominous pool. She would smile and gesture to him to follow her. In many instances, however, she made no attempt to look back at him, but continued walking around the lake’s sandy shore.
‘This cannot be; this cannot be happening.’ King Pallan began to glance all around him. ‘Incredible, as if I am standing here somewhere. This lake, it is so very dark … hmm, in places giving the impression of thriving water. But in others, it seems like a liquid sepulchre, a lens to another unknown—a world beyond this one.’ He began to follow Lydia, who was now quite some distance away. She soon disappeared around a tree and its branches, which leaned from the shoreline over the lake. King Pallan’s chest swelled a degree to call to her, but he relented.
The area around the lake appeared as any other. There was a narrow shoreline of gritty sand, composed of large, semi translucent crystals of white, amber, and pink. In other areas around the lake, there was no shoreline, the mountains themselves sloping directly into it. There was a singular tranquillity to the whole scene, as if there, in the faintest degrees, no more hurt or want—sickness and death—could be perceived. As if the former, negative things of life had vanished and a new and stranger life, an existence somehow beyond this one, had usurped the weaker and inferior. But all this could only just be felt, for the background to all this, as an all-consuming web, spoke of mortality and tribulation in a stronger degree than its bastard children.
For a while, it seemed, King Pallan attempted to travel around the lake, to the place where his beloved had taken herself from sight. Eventually coming to that place, somewhat exhausted, he began to vent, ‘Cursed place! Where have you taken my love? I shall find her straightaway, and we shall be together forever more. The heat of day will not strike her, nor the moon beam down on her the impermanence of day’s yawning, of night’s cruel suggestions of light’s permanent dismissal. We shall be one, once more. Oh, Lydia, how I longed all these days to see and hear you again, to touch your fine hair and look into your glacier-hued eyes. I’ve been a fool … I sacrificed everything for you. I have lost my kingdom … I have lost my way.’
He came to the overhanging tree. Running his hand across its leaves, across its rough branches, he then stepped around the drooping tree, and came to the other side; a long beach, with a shoreline like the one he had been on, presented itself immediately. ‘There appears to be no end to this. Where is Lydia, my love? Lydia! Lydia! Where have you gone to?’ He started down the new stretch of shoreline. The lake’s surface now began to take on new hues, some dark, others less severe. To his astonishment, a shimmering of white and faint blue, of a greater brightness, strangely, than ordinary light, weaved across the lake in the shape of a flattened cloud. As he began to remark it in wonder, he saw the shadow of a figure from the corner of his left eye.
King Pallan swung around, for the time ignoring the high strangeness of the lake; before him was a hooded figure. He put out his hands submissively as his mouth broke open and his eyes became as tall moons. ‘No!’
The figure, holding a sickle, came for him with an incredible rush of speed.
King Pallan cried out, “No! No!” His soldiers were alerted to his cries.
A guard came to the entrance of his tent. “My Lord—are you alright?”
‘No-no-no!’ The phantom took its sickle and sliced at King Pallan’s side. The intimations of pain and tingling rippled through his innards, as if he had been struck, but the pain, inexplicably, had been lessened to a point where there were only the merest indications of discomfort, and that he could have or ought to have been segmented in two. “No!” He awoke, out of breath, nearly.
The guard broke past his hesitancy and entered his lord’s tent. “Sire, sire; are you alright? We heard you cry out. Is anything the matter?”
King Pallan blinked in apparent disbelief. He sat up a bit from his blanket, resting on his elbows. “No … I do not. Nothing is the matter, Jarred. I am alright …”
The alarmed soldier acquiesced by degrees. “Yes, My Lord. If you should require anything, Kenneth and I are just outside.”
King Pallan’s breathing returned, largely, to normal. “Yes, yes, quite so, Jarred. Thank you. I shall let you and Kenneth know if I need anything.”
“Yes, My Lord.” He bowed his head and made a motion to leave.
King Pallan made an attempt to say something but remained silent.
A look of puzzlement came over Jarred. He mumbled, “My Lord?”
“I am alright; you may go.”
Jarred made a more formal bow of his head, and then turned and left his king’s tent, taking up his position across from Kenneth.
King Pallan succumbed, slowly, to slumber. He passed the rest of the night without incident.
The following morning, Jaegar came to the threshold of King Pallan’s tent, and stopping before it, he announced, “My Lord, it is Jaegar. Are you disposed?”
King Pallan was neatly folding his evening attire, which was to be sent to a servant for washing in the nearby brook. “Quite disposed, Jaegar …” He finished what he was doing and faced him. “What brings you to my tent this day?”
Jaegar put his head down for a second and snapped his tongue in his mouth. With an audible, steady inhalation through his half-split teeth, he indicated, with moderate annoyance, “We shall need a day or two more to prepare for the journey.”
King Pallan revealed the weakest sign of disappointment. “I see.”
Jaegar sighed briskly. “It has taken more time to get the people ready for the quest; we have been doing our best, My Lord, to anticipate any contingency. Food stores, presently, are ample for a many day’s journey. The weapons have all been inspected, repaired, and polished, along with our armour. We have sufficient bolts to drive off even the most determined harasser, I should think—or at least a regiment or two.”
King Pallan came forward a little. “Good—then what is the hold up?”
Jaegar dropped his head again for a moment, then raised it. “Some of the more advanced in years among our people have proven to be …”
King Pallan smiled. “Challenging?”
Jaegar’s expression displayed relief. “Yes, My Lord. Challenging—and the young ones.”
King Pallan nodded several times. “Then, we shall go when they are all ready.”
“Not all news I bring to you this day, is poor. Thralax has recovered; after many weeks. His recovery being a long and unusual one. He has suffered much but is now among us.” He had a moment’s hesitation. “But he is, in many ways, not the same man. His injuries, some of them, proving permanent.”
King Pallan ceased what he was doing for he had been listening intently to his lead soldier. “Noted. This is good news … I have a crossbowman.” He then remarked after a brief time, “Do not we all; have permanent injuries.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Jaegar was about to leave. “My Lord.”
King Pallan had turned his back to Jaegar to unfold a linen towel. Turning around, he asked, “Yes, Jaegar?”
“Have you a track for us to follow, for the course?”
“For the journey?” He became silent for several moments. “We shall consult the maps prior to leaving, to find the best course to Vadaal. Even if tha
t should mean we have to scale mountains …”
“Yes, My Lord, straightaway.” He banged his breastplate and left.
That evening, King Pallan sat up in his tent, fighting off sleep. Becoming incoherent, with a last grasp at the memory of day, trembling by degrees, he lied down gradually in his cot at about the second watch of the night. A cold wind broke through the flap of his tent and blew past him, a shivering-inducing breeze; he slept soundly. Sometime afterward, as consciousness had relinquished domain over the mind to the unconscious, he found himself on a path. Birds chirped in the trees as a warm spring sun burst through the foliage—a breeze, balmy and inviting, livening his skin. ‘Paladia? Am I in—Paladia?’ He made a look around him, his eyes thinning in incredulity. ‘This can’t be; how can I be back—’
A woman appeared at the end of the path, at first unfamiliar. She was filled with joy and great happiness. In moments, she beckoned to the astonished Paladian royal.
King Pallan peered hard at the strange woman, dressed very similarly to Lydia—in the dream and the day of her fall. He strained to see. ‘Lydia … is that you?’
The woman, of great beauty and grace, skipped down the path, laughing as she motioned, intermittently, for him to follow.
‘Lydia? Lydia? Lydia—wait.’ King Pallan began chasing after her. As he came to the end of the path, the narrow country lane seemed to disappear, and a moment later, he was standing in a small clearing. ‘Lydia?’ Making several looks around, he shouted, ‘Lydia.’ There was no sign of her. ‘How can she just disappear? This does not make sense. None of this does!’
As he walked from the clearing for a thicket, the path reappeared suddenly, as if it had been there the entire time, and only his eyes were ignorant to it. To his great amazement, Lydia was in full view at the start of the footpath. ‘Lydia? How did you … get there?’
Lydia smiled so gently at him, turned, and started down the path.
‘Wait! Please—do not go! Lydia! I need to speak with you; there are so many things I want to tell you. About my life.’
Within seconds, Lydia had once more vanished among the foliage.
King Pallan tore after her, shouting, ‘Lydia! Wait!’ Coming a long way down the path, he was stunned to find that she was nowhere to be seen. Coming to an abrupt stop, struggling to catch his breath, he stammered with mighty frustration, ‘I had her—and she is gone. I don’t understand. She was just here.’ As his breathing steadied, and as his eyes swung from the dusty ground to the trees and the horizon, Lydia stood some distance off, smiling very gently at him.
She was much calmer now, almost despondent. Giving the floored Paladian monarch one last look, Lydia turned, but before doing so, she gestured to him to follow her once again, with a maniacally continuous curl and stiffening of her finger.
‘You want me to follow you?’ He hesitated for some seconds. ‘I will follow you.’
King Pallan kept a distance from her, Lydia walking so purposefully down the path. In time the footpath began to widen, the trees thinning into nothing as the sky became a black vault. The air grew very chilly, but to the amazement of the king, his breath made no clouds.
Lydia came to the end of the garden walkway. She turned to him, and with a grin from ear to ear, she directed his attention to a large pool of blackened water with her left arm.
All colour left King Pallan’s complexion. The path slipped from view. Before him was the lake once again, the lake he had seen the night previous, Lydia pointing to it, it seemed, with immeasurable pride. ‘No … it cannot be. The lake—get away from it, Lydia. There is something very wrong with it. It is evil.’
Lydia began pleading with him to enter the lake.
‘No; get away from it, Lydia! No, I will not join you. What is the matter? No! Get away from it!’
Lydia stopped beckoning to him. She entered the lake after traversing the narrow shoreline.
‘No, Lydia! Why are you doing this? There is something wrong with it—get away from it. Go! At once!’
Lydia’s clothes—her white robe—gave no impression of dampening. With evident composure, she continued farther into the lake, until, eventually, the gloomy water enveloped her.
King Pallan was greatly astonished at the sight of her disappearance beneath the blackened film of the foreboding body of water. ‘Lydia … where have you gone to? Why? Why did you enter the lake?’ He became very frightened, and with a set of looks all around, in moments, began backing away from the lake, but the lake began to draw him to it. ‘No! I will not enter!’ He struggled monumentally against the pull of the lake; whose power seemed irresistible. ‘How is this possible?’ he vented. ‘The lake does not touch me, yet is able to draw me to it, with astonishing force.’
King Pallan tried with all his might to break free from the lake’s invisible tentacles. But it was to no avail, for the mysterious accumulation of dark water had a power quite beyond his feeble strength; only his strength of will could resist it. ‘I shall surmount you!’ He groaned and gritted his teeth, at times clamping down on his bruised lip.
The lake pulled him into it.
‘The water—it is so freezing! It is so freezing! No! I cannot swim!’
King Pallan woke abruptly, his arms and legs flailing. Subduing his motions, he started to catch glimpses of his tent’s interior. Settling more, he began to realize that he was seated firmly on the ground; he had fallen from his cot. “What is this?! I am on the floor of my tent!” He dusted his hands off as Jarred entered his tent.
“My Lord?”
King Pallan sighed loudly. “I am alright. I seemed to have fallen from my bed.”
Jarred helped him up.
“Quite alright. Thank you. Bless you, lad. I’ve got it now, Jarred.” King Pallan steadied his balance; and peered around.
“Yes, My Lord. Are you sure you are alright?”
“Yes, quite so, I should think.”
“Is there anything else, My Lord, I may help you with?”
“No, no, thank you.” He smiled, playfully shooing Jarred away.
“Right, My Lord, right. I shall be outside, if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” King Pallan watched him slip back into the night. After rearranging his bed, wearied from the unsettling, vision-like dream, he slipped back into bed and, for nearly an hour, sat up scanning his tent anxiously. His eyelids became heavier and heavier, until not even Gedarek could have held them up. In short seconds, he began snoring lightly. The strange dreams returned but with less intensity, and though frightened, King Pallan wrestled with them mightily, the visions fleeting after a time.
A shaft of yellow-orange light penetrated the stilled silence of the tent, striking, by fine degrees, an unconscious King Pallan. The exhausted king cracked open an eye, which was momentarily entranced by an orb of blinding light, as if the sun itself had parked inches before him. He groaned and opened his other eye. A voice called to him.
“My Lord …”
King Pallan leaned up somewhat in his bed and squinted hard. “Is that you, Jardarah?”
Jardarah seemed puzzled by the question; he made a half-turn behind him and then faced his king once more. “Yes, My Lord. It is I, Jardarah. I am sorry to have intruded upon your rest …”
King Pallan smacked his lips a few times, leaned back for a moment or two with his weight on his right elbow, and then shot up, saying, “I was about to get up; not really.” He grinned as he rose from his cot. He stretched once or twice. “What is it?” He smacked his lips several times more. “Afraid I am quite parched, this morning.”
“Um, right, My Lord. I can fetch you some water, if you like.”
King Pallan looked at him. “That would be quite the remedy, I should think.”
Jardarah nodded to him, briskly. “Straightaway, My Lord.” He turned and commanded, “Jarred, fetch our lord a pitcher of cool water.”
Jarred responded, “Straightaway, commander.”
King Pallan arched his back as he breathed in lou
dly through his teeth. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me …”
Jardarah dipped his head again to him, in a flash. “Sire, Jaegar and I have determined, along with the council, of course, that we shall be ready to depart on the morrow. We have doubled, nay, tripled our efforts to bring the deadline closer; we will be ready, as a group, to depart from the new campsite by early tomorrow.”
King Pallan gave him a blank look for a second; he then seemed slightly rattled. “Good, good, Jardarah, this is welcome news. I shall have my belongings packed and ready by tonight.”
“Yes, My Lord. I will send for Arynd.”
“No need, Jardarah. I shall pack myself. Arynd is busy enough, I am sure.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
King Pallan looked off to the side for a moment, as if to muse on his options for the accelerating day. “Have Jaegar, Garan, and Genray meet me at the foot of the camp. I should like to take a brief walk through it.”
“Yes, My Lord—should I tell the people to be ready?”
“No. They shall carry on as if I were a mere passerby with a small entourage of soldiers. I do not want to disturb them.”
“As you direct, My Lord. I shall tell them straightaway.”
“Good, good …”
“Have you decided upon a time for your walk through the camp?”
King Pallan winced softly. “Right. Blast; I forgot. A time … have them meet me in two hours. Not sooner. I shall take some breakfast and freshen up before then.”
“As you wish, sire.” Jardarah gave him a slow bow, turned rather swiftly, and made for the threshold of the tent. In an instant he disappeared outside. After some mumbling, doubtless between Jardarah and Jarred and/or Kenneth, the tent fell silent again.
King Pallan got dressed subsequent to a brief bath in the stream—close to the shore, for the memory of the beratoss no doubt weighed heavily on his mind. Replacing his clothes with fresh ones, he made for a bench placed outside his tent full of choice foods. A servant came by to replace a tray of fruit.
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