Dore followed the path for a few minutes, on his guard lest the honeyed words of Love prove treacherous, and the way be strewn with monsters and pitfalls. But he found none, and soon entered another large underground vault. The room was filled on all sides with great chests of polished micha and bronze. Some of the chests were forced open, and by each of these knelt a man. Dore left the path and joined one of them. The man was filthy and unkempt; his hair and beard had grown to a prodigious length as if he had been locked in a foul dungeon for many years. He sat by his chest and sorted an unbelievable treasure: gold plate and jewelry, precious gems cut and uncut, silver in unrefined chunks and stamped into coins. When the man saw Dore he jumped up and began striking our brother. The blows were weak, and soon the man tired and fell to the floor.
"It's mine," whispered the man. "Gold, coins, buy them all. I'll show them."
"Let me help you," said Dore, aware that the love of treasure had held the wretch captive for many years. "You have been on your journey far too long. Your friends must think you dead."
"I have been gone four days," said the man. "Do not trick me. This is mine; find your own." Dore shrugged and left the man to his avarice. Other men in similar condition looked up as he passed, but Dore saw that there was an unlimited supply of unopened chests. He shuddered and continued on his way. He was unaware that the day had passed as he stared at the old man's riches.
The way opened into a third cavern. This one was arranged into compartments furnished with handsome couches and tables, all of different design and construction. The separate rooms were divided by heavy drapes of various pleasing colors and materials. Dore looked into one apartment and saw a woman seated at a round table of polished obsidian. The woman was grossly fat, so large that Dore doubted that she could ever walk away from her feast. Periodically a young man or woman entered and set a new course before her.
The woman waved to Dore. "Come, sit beside me and eat. I'll never be able to finish this myself." Dore had not eaten well in some time, even at the palace of Herodes, and he thanked the woman and joined her. Fantastically elegant dishes appeared and disappeared on the table as the young waiters came in their endless train. Dore enjoyed each course more than the last, as the food grew more and more exotic and sensuous. The woman talked not at all; to Dore she seemed an indefatigable engine of consumption, eating her way through each delicacy only until something else was brought. Soon Dore's desire waned as he watched the woman's relentless progress. He stood regretfully, wishing he could take something with him, but he knew that he could easily fall into bondage to his palate as had the obese woman. She didn't even notice when Dore left. Our brother did not know that he had spent the entire night at her table.
The fourth cavern was dimly lit, with luxurious silks and laces hanging from poles and carelessly draped over cushions on the floor. A soft music was issuing from an indefinable location, and the atmosphere was warm and sultry. One of Love's young pages met Dore on the path.
"Have you come from the salon of viands?" asked the youth.
"Of course," said Dore impatiently. "Is this the way out?"
"Yes, you are making surprisingly good progress. You have time to rest after your meal." Dore looked about him and saw many other travelers taking their ease among the comforts of the room. He decided that a short nap might be refreshing. He followed the page to a fairly unoccupied area. He was soon asleep, but awoke to the strident pleading of another man.
"Won't you please fix this pillow for me?" asked the man, his voice urgent but slow.
"Fix your pillow? You can do it yourself and let me sleep," said Dore irritably.
"Ah, but I would so like it if you would do me this favor. Relaxing here is so . . . relaxing. I could stay here forever."
"Yes, I suppose, but I for one have an errand."
"So do I. So have we all. But the point is, not now. In a while I'll be up and away. Until then will you fix my pillow?"
"All right," said Dore, hoping to quiet the man's demands. As he stood he threw off the soporific influence of the chamber. He plumped the pillow to the other's pleasure and picked his way through the dormant figures to the path. He had slept away the entire second day.
"Seyt," calls Peytheida from the corridor, interrupting my excellent allegory. "Come on, it's important." I tell her that I can't leave my tale.
The fifth cave was the cave of pride, where a bespectacled clerk seated at a large desk skillfully aroused that feeling within our brother's breast, and antagonized Dore into a defensive and vain attitude before allowing him to enter. The cave was filled with others who had received the same treatment, and they contended amongst themselves with boasting and swaggering heroics. Our brother competed mindlessly for some time until one of the others in the noisy chamber mentioned his murder of his parents and usurpation of his father's throne. The very words "father" and "mother" brought Dore back to himself, and he cursed his foolishness. He departed that senseless place as quickly as he could, but he had spent the night of the second day unknowingly.
"Are you going to go through all seven, Seyt?" asks Peytheida. "You'll miss your chance if you don't hurry." In a minute.
Along the path Dore found a couch set out for travelers. Sitting on it was a handsome young man. Dore greeted the man, who invited Dore to rest for a moment and talk. Dore was still angry with himself for falling into the trap of pride, and he thought it best to regain his head before he contended with any more of Love's trials. The man spoke to him pleasantly for a time, asking questions about Dore, our house, and his goals. Soon the questions probed deeper, and Dore began to reveal his most buried desires and frustrations.
"I know exactly what you mean," said the young man at one point. "I always wanted a loving wife and children. Fortunately, I met the most beautiful girl and we're blessed with three wonderful children. I can't wait to get home to see them. I've got pictures. . . ." The man went on, touching on each of Dore's secret wants. Our brother liked the man, but soon his envy colored his thoughts, and he grew dissatisfied and angry. He considered abandoning his quest, which surely could never produce the ends he now knew he craved more than anything. The man talked on, and Dore grew more envious until he was nearly at the point of physical violence.
"Stop!" cried Dore, shaken and despairing.
A note from Tere: "You were doing okay, but Dore's divine, remember? Human temptations are meaningless. It's unrealistic to show him subject to such trivialities as envy. Just a caution, nothing serious. Best, the Kalp."
Of course, I wasn't finished. Dore's inner resources rescued him just in time, and he shook off the mesmeric bonds of the youth's conversation. He wished the young man the best of luck and continued on his way. While he languished in the coils of covetousness, the third day passed.
"We're going without you," says Peytheida. I shake my head in impatience and put down my pen.
What a strange time it was, too. Apparently one of my reckless remarks caused a bit of comment. Aniatrese and Peytheida decided that it had been a long time since they had talked with Dyweyne. Now, although Dyweyne has been shy of us since Dore's departure, we still all think of her with affection. It isn't just I who realized her special virtues. Indeed, even Tere has been moved to send her a valentine, different and more sentimental than those he sends the customers of his Ploutos Corporation. I do not doubt that the intent was political, but it demonstrates Dyweyne's distinction.
Several of us spent this afternoon standing outside her door, singing River carols. We hoped she would enjoy them as she pined in her bare cell. We had brought cookies and milk with us, and had prepared a sort of party. Auel and Lalichë had made paper planes and houses to put on her walls, and Peytheida had written a meandering ode. But we sang four long carols and received no reaction. We knocked on her door but she didn't answer. Finally we went down to the rec room and ate the cookies.
"Maybe you scared her with what you said before," said Lalichë.
"What do you mean?" I asked
. I rarely pay attention to what I write.
"About Dyweyne's becoming a new reality of Our Mother. That's certainly a thankless task. I know I wouldn't want to," said my little sister with a shudder.
"I didn't really mean it that way," I said evasively.
"Tell us, Seyt," said Aniatrese, our Beauty Queen, "how did you mean it?"
I thought for a second or two. "I might have meant that the greater part of a parent's identity is the reflected honor of the children. Certainly the number of children in our family allowed Our Mother a certain bargaining pressure with the lesser families. In our case, of course, that honor means Dore. Perhaps our respect for Our Mother would be less if it were not for him." The subject quickly grew tiresome, and I excused myself and returned to my room. But I continued to think.
On certain dirt days Tere would set up a blackboard near Our Mother's throne. She would ramble in her moist way, and Tere would seize on some of her more intelligible remarks. Afterward there would be a list of key words on the board: harvest, prosperity, peace, plenty, harmony, sharing, refuge. None of us could recall what connection they had with what Our Mother said; but thinking back, it seems certain that she was looking forward with optimism. It would be rank heresy now to contradict that hopefulness; Our Father and Dore's evaporations are shrouded in mystery, but Our Mother's was accessible to us all. It must be through her, then, that any future occult manifestations be channeled. And who is the most likely medium? Dyweyne. Perhaps that is what I meant.
This train of reasoning opens the door to whole new vistas of theological error. Neither Ateichál nor Tere have been too receptive in the past to an allegorical interpretation of the record of our family. Our Parents' life on Earth, their voyage and trials here, and the subsequent founding of our family must be dealt with literally. This is what I've done in this history. But I have felt free to coat Dore's adventures, with which no one else can disagree as they are my own private figments, with a subtle flavoring of metaphor. This is for the instruction of the younger children, who will not swallow straight moral tales unless they appear as parables.
I suppose that Tere and Ateichál are not wholly happy with what I've done, but they both seem content to let me finish and allow the work to be judged on its merits. This is eminently fair, and I'm grateful. And, I guess, they are correct in worrying about misinterpretations of my symbology by less astute critics. Nevertheless, the simple instance of allegory ought not to be dismissed as criminal. And my doctrinal speculations I defend by claiming the immunity of the social commentator in a free culture. I do not wish to drive Dyweyne cringing into her corner, waiting for the soggy spirit of Our Mother to possess her, and I do not wish to provoke our spiritual leaders by making the suggestion. Part of my duty as I see it is to guard against an onset of inflexibility. It is good for us to flex.
The sixth cavern that Dore came to was similar to the den of sloth. The air was warm and spiced with unusual incenses, and the room was provided with many sorts of pleasurable furnishings, most decorated after an erotic theme. Dore was wise enough to understand the purpose and danger of this place, particularly when his suspicions were confirmed by the sight of scores of couples coupling. He intended to pass by without pausing, but he was called by a beautiful young woman, apparently a fellow traveler caught by the ambush of desire. She looked so desperate that Dore decided to help her.
"Come and love me," she said, in a low moaning voice that Dore found peculiarly exciting.
"I'm afraid I can't," said Dore apologetically. "I have to meet someone."
The woman smiled sensuously, and trailed her fingertips up Dore's arm and down across his chest. "Surely it won't take you that long," she said.
Dore was embarrassed, but also strangely aroused. The woman was almost supernaturally beautiful, and her perfect body was not at all concealed by the filmy stuff she wore. Her half-closed eyes, her writhings, and her black lingerie inflamed our brother, but he remembered the trouble he'd had with strange women before. He told the lovely creature that he was sorry, but that he had to go. "If you like, I think it would be best if you left with me," he said.
The woman licked her lips. "If you want me, take me," she said.
"That's not what I mean. If you just give in to your carnal desires, you'll be here forever. You'll never reach your destination."
The young woman looked at Dore curiously. "I work here," she said.
"Oh," said Dore, embarrassed once more. He was not aware of the passage of time, but he spent the third night staring at her. He gathered his thoughts with an effort of will and found the path again.
The last cavern was a sudden change from the lasciviousness of the previous ones. Here the walls of the stone hall were lined with cases of weapons and armor. The floor of the great chamber was crowded with fighting men. Dore tried to pass through unnoticed, but he was accosted by a large bearded man with a short Roman sword. The man spoke in a rough and unpleasant dialect, and Dore understood little. But he did make out that he was being challenged. Our brother tried to ignore it. The man continued, refusing to let Dore pass, and his insults grew fouler. Finally he combined his abuse with a physical attack, and Dore was compelled to defend himself.
Strangely, the bearded man allowed Dore time to find a sword. When Dore had armed himself, his attacker smiled and renewed his assault. Dore was too involved in protecting himself to worry about Glorian, and the fourth day passed as he struggled with the belligerent savage. Dore's arm did not weaken and he fought without tiring, but neither he nor his opponent could win an advantage. At last Dore penetrated the barbarian's guard and cut almost completely through the man's neck. The bearded head teetered for a moment, then settled back in place. The barbarian grunted and felt his neck, showed his rotting teeth in a hostile grin, and began the battle anew.
Dore was disgusted. He threw his sword at the other's feet and turned away. Behind him the man cursed and threatened, but our brother never replied. He located the path and left the last of Love's caverns. As soon as he passed through, the light from behind was extinguished, and Dore was on a rough and dangerous trail. Having abandoned the mystic benefits of Love, his body suddenly informed him that it was weary and hungry after four days abstinence. Dore laid himself on the ground and slept. When he awoke he ate the last of his provisions and stumbled through the darkness of the cave until he reached the exit. He spent most of the fifth day finding his way out, but when darkness came he had emerged on a high, windy cliff. He slept on a narrow ledge that night.
It took Dore all of the sixth day to pick his way down the side of the mountain. In the late afternoon he spied the underground stream that Glorian had described, as it splashed out of the rock like blood from a wound. It fell a great distance, finally forming a large pool at the base of the cliff. A thick cloud of mist hid most of the ground, but Dore could see the island in the middle of the pool, and the castle of Baron Glaub von Glech. Our brother was heartened at sight of his goal, and after the rains he finished his descent by moons' light. He stopped that night in a small grove on the verge of the pool, and the restful forest noises soothed him to sleep.
Dore was awakened by a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on," said a merry voice, "wake up. I'd nearly given up on you."
"Is that you, Glorian?" asked Dore groggily.
"Yes, and your ultimate test is scheduled for this afternoon. Get up and find your scattered wits. We have plans to make."
Dore opened his eyes regretfully. Glorian stood beside him, smiling broadly. Our brother rose and winced at the pain of his sore muscles. "It was a rough trip," said Dore.
"But you made it. I'm proud of you, though I knew you could do it."
"I suppose you intended for me to go through there all along."
Glorian laughed. "You're like a good sword now, hardened by fire and water. You've mastered the theory; now comes the real thing."
Dore made a wry face, wondering if Glorian really believed that all the past perils were just overture. "Wh
at happens now?" he asked.
"Let us find the ferry," said Glorian, "and I will explain the situation." The two men walked slowly, leaving the copse of losperns and following the edge of the water. Glorian said that the crown and jeweled scabbard had been sold and were irretrievable, but that Battlefriend was locked in the Baron's private vault. Dore's sword was necessary symbolically and actually for our brother's success. He couldn't hope to locate Our Father without it, for Our Father had forged it himself from two broken pieces of something.
"Don't forget that Dore's trying to learn about the River, too," says Lalichë. She's right. I was just going to mention that.
The process of initiation is a theme that pleads for development. Every person experiences a time of becoming, not only the heroes who must be properly trained and indoctrinated. The grand unfolding of Dore's initiation into the mysteries can be read as the maturing and assumption of adult life by each of his brothers and sisters. Perhaps that is the universal motive that makes the quest so fascinating; every person leaves the shell of childhood behind, and to do so means accepting and contending with the horrors of maturity. The unknown terrors of self-reliance, the necessity to acknowledge the rights of others, the agonies of sexual awareness are the trials and mission of the general. The Master Bard of Bedford, that anonymous dramatist of superfluous wit, author of A Faust Comedy and the lost Tesselatia, deals with the dichotomy of internal and external pursuits in the Tragedy of Godric of Essex. He is unfortunately unable to make any meaningful statement about their relative importance. He is a frustrating playwright to read, and his is one of the first books I consigned to the River's care.
What Entropy Means to Me Page 18