by Wilson Harp
These dreams were like memories, burned into his mind clear and undiminished. He felt the gentle chastisement for not seeking the man first, but somehow he knew he would have made this trip anyway. As much as he knew the truths of his questions, he still needed to hear them. He needed to have certainty before he spoke to his father again.
He heard movement outside his door and thought of where his spear was. The noise passed by and he opened his eyes. The servants had started their day, soon the roosters would cry out to beg the sun to come up. He wanted to go back to sleep, to find more rest after yesterday’s slog through the mud, but instead he imagined his meeting with the prophet over and over.
He wondered what the holy man would look like. He wondered about the man’s life, even his name. Had he always been the prophet? Was it a title and a position here, or was he unique, a conduit to the gods who was ordained to give wisdom to those who seek it?
Meleus stirred in the dark and Tal heard his oldest friend slip out the door. The privy was outside along the wall of the shrine, and Tal hoped Meleus would return after his visit and find more rest. Though he knew the former servant would find some way to be of help to anyone who would take it.
Tal’s father had taught the lessons of obligation and duty to all of his children, but Tal had never met anyone who lived those qualities as much as Meleus. Soon the rooster cried and Jubaas joined the others in the land of the awake. He lay quietly for several minutes.
“How long have you been awake?” he asked Tal.
“How’d you know? I haven’t moved.”
“Your breathing. You breath different when you’re awake than when you are asleep.”
“I’ll have to learn to feign sleep better, then.”
“If you want time to think in the morning, you should. Especially when you take a wife. She will know better than I when you are awake and asleep. She won’t want to disrupt your dreams, but she won’t allow you to lay in bed while she is doing what is needed for the day.”
Tal grunted a short laugh. “Do you know this first hand? Do you have a wife to get back to?”
“Not yet, but with what you have paid me to lead you here, I plan on asking a girl from Folsit to marry me this summer.”
“I’m glad I could be a part of that.”
“What of you? Do you intend to take a wife?”
“My parents will arrange a marriage which is beneficial to Mestor, and that is likely some time off.”
Tal sat up as the door opened and light invaded the room.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Meleus. “I brought you some fresh bread and some watered wine.”
“Thank you Meleus, I am hungry.”
“I thought you might be, I know I am. I brought enough for all of us.”
“Good man,” said Jubaas. “It’s hungry work coming to this shrine.”
The men ate the still warm bread and drank their wine in silence until there was a quiet knock at the door.
“We’re awake,” said Tal. “Enter.”
Anicus entered, followed by a servant with a tray of food and a pitcher.
“Good morning, Prince Taldirun. One of my servants saw your man bring bread and drink back to your rooms, so I hoped you were awake. You’ll need to prepare for your meeting with the prophet today, and that can take some time.”
“What preparations?”
“You will bathe in the holy spring and then receive the blessings of Balket. Come to the entrance of the shrine itself within the hour and we will start.”
“I will attend.”
Anicus bowed and left the room with the servant. Jubaas left his bed and looked at the tray.
“No meat. I like a little meat in the morning.”
“It’s for the best. I can’t eat meat if I’m to receive the blessings of Balket,” said Tal. “Go and find a scrap in the kitchens when I have gone.”
Jubaas tossed Tal a piece of fruit. “How long do you think your audience will last?”
Tal took a bite of the fruit. It was dry and cold, pulled up from a cellar that very morning he was sure. “I don’t know what to expect. I have the questions in my mind I wish to ask, but I don’t know if I will just go in and ask them.”
“I would assume not,” said Meleus. “No one speaks of the prophet in plain terms, I can’t imagine his rituals are anything but long and intricate.”
“That’s my conclusion as well. I anticipate it will be close to evening before I return.”
“I need to leave tomorrow morning, my lord. The fields are ready for planting after the rains we’ve had. The crops do not wait,” said Jubaas.
“If the meeting goes into the night, then you will need to leave without us tomorrow morning. We can find our way back, I’m sure the trip down will be easier and more clear than the trip up.”
“Are you ready?” Daelcor asked as he opened the door.
“Just having some breakfast. Join us,” said Tal.
Daelcor picked up some bread and took a bite. “One of the priests said you need to be ready soon. Apparently they will need to tend to your wound before you enter the spring, and the cleansing ritual will take some time after.”
“Anicus was here and told me to meet him within the hour. After the cleansing, I will have the blessings of Balket.”
“Yes,” said Daelcor, “but they use an incense made of casus leaf during the blessing.”
“What does that mean?” asked Jubaas.
“It means I won’t be in full control of my tongue when I meet the prophet,” said Tal.
“Just think before you speak,” said Daelcor. “Your tongue will spill secrets, but only if you are talking.”
Tal took a final bite of his fruit. “I need to go. The sooner I start, the less time I will have to worry.”
“Find the answers, Tal. Find the truth,” said Meleus.
“I will.”
Tal turned to leave the guest house but paused just outside the door to his room. Instead of the door outside, he made his way to Siande’s room.
He cracked open the door and looked inside. Siande’s bed was empty and her blankets had been neatly folded.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Tal smiled as he turned toward her.
“I was just going to tell you I’m heading to the prophet.”
“So early? It’s barely light out.”
“There are some ceremonies before I can go see him.”
“Remember to ask him my question.”
“I will, Siande. I will return with an answer for you.”
“Return soon, my prince. I know we will face a severe return, so I will treasure every minute I can spend with you before facing that bitter reckoning.”
She pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. “Return soon.”
Tal smiled as she entered her room and shut the door. His head felt lighter than his feet, and that made him feel as if he were floating. He knew too much wine or some casus leaf would muddle his mind, but he didn’t know a kiss from Siande would have the same effect.
He left the guest house and made his way to the shrine at the center of the complex. It was a large, round high-roofed building made of white, black and red stones. Set on top in the very back a large spire of white rock reached into the sky, symbols of silver and copper climbed the tall edifice like wild vines. The front of the shrine was covered in copper panels with silver images of scenes from Atlantis’ history engraved in intricate detail. The large oak door which led the way into the shrine had images of Balket and Atlas, the father god and his half-human son. While Mestor was one of Atlas’s brothers, all Atlanteans looked to Atlas as their true father. Tal hesitated as he approached the door. Even with his royal lineage, he needed permission to cross into this holy place.
The door opened as he drew near and Anicus stood in the entryway with two acolytes behind him.
“Who approaches the Shrine of Llystam?”
Tal stopped. “Prince Taldirun of Mestor, son of Ki
ng Fa’amuil, son of Mestor, brother of Atlas, son of Balket.”
“For what purpose do you approach this holy site?”
“I seek answers from the gods.”
“And who will commune with the gods for your answers?”
“The prophet of this shrine, if he will.”
Anicus motioned for one of the acolytes and took a pitcher from him.
“Approach Prince Taldirun and let me wash the dust from your head.”
Tal stepped forward and bowed at the waist. This was a common ritual on holy days when he would go to the temple to burn incense and pray.
Anicus poured the water over Tal’s head and stepped back.
“Come and be cleansed in the holy spring. Follow us.”
Tal followed them into the hallway and then to a door on his left. One of the acolytes opened the door and a rush of hot air hit Tal. Stairs led into a large cavern. Tal could see over the years it had been shaped and formed with tools, but the large spring in the center was natural. Candles and oil lamps provided plenty of light to the otherwise empty chamber.
“You will bathe in the spring,” Anicus said. “This is one of the places Balket placed his foot as he showed his son Atlas the land he made for him. Let the waters soothe your body and spirit. We will also tend to your injury.”
Tal took off his clothes and stepped into the hot spring. It was warm, on the edge of hot, and he sank in gladly. The water had a light fragrance which was unpleasant, but he soon closed his eyes as his muscles relaxed. One of the acolytes took the bandages off of his cheek and cleaned out the poultice.
“Will it heal?” Tal asked.
“Yes. Though it’ll leave a scar. That can’t be helped. The cut goes to the bone.”
“Can I approach the prophet so scarred?”
“Yes, he will accept you even with your injury.”
Tal closed his eyes again and let the holy man finish his work. A bell chimed before Tal was ready, and he turned to see Anicus enter the cavern again.
“Do you feel refreshed?”
“I do,” said Tal.
“Then we must go so you may receive the blessing of Balket.”
Tal stood from the spring and was wrapped in a clean cloth. He followed Anicus up the stairs and into the main chamber of the shrine. There he bowed before the altar as Anicus chanted the blessings. When he had smeared the blood from the sacrifice of a bull across Tal’s forehead, he told Tal to stand.
“We will now descend into the chamber of the gods. I will light the incense as you lay face down before the door. When the door opens, you will enter and be with the prophet.”
Tal nodded and Anicus led him to a stout door on the right side of the shrine. It led down as well, but twisted and turned many times. Tal could not be certain, but he believed he was directly below the spire which stood so high above the shrine.
The door to the chamber of the gods was plain and ancient. When Tal entered, he was surprised there was no silver or copper ornamentation. Just several bowls of incense and a single oil lamp. Directly across for him, about ten feet away, was another plain door.
“Lay there with your hands toward the door,” Anicus said. “I will light the incense and leave you to your answers.”
Tal lay on his stomach and imagined what the prophet would look like. The smell of incense filled the room and he heard Anicus leave and shut the door behind him. Tal breathed deep, knowing the smoke would dull his mind. He was ready, though. He knew the questions he must ask, and knew what he must not reveal.
Tal felt the floor shift and he felt like he was sliding backwards. He lifted his head and looked at the door in front of him. It was still just out of reach from his outstretched hands. But it was moving like the waves of the ocean. The incense had affected him, and the longer he lay there, the more it would rob him of his mind.
He considered what he could do to try and stay in control, when the door opened and a rush of cool air cleared his mind for a second.
“Ah, another stray on my doorstep,” said a voice.
Tal looked up to see an old man with a dirty, unkempt beard. His eyes sparkled in the dim light.
“As nice as the incense is, you shouldn’t breathe too much. Come in and we will talk.”
Tal pulled himself to his knees, but grew dizzy. He couldn’t stand, so he crawled into the room of the prophet.
The door closed behind him, and Tal collapsed onto his stomach.
“Take a few deep breaths. It will force the smoke from your lungs.”
Tal took a deep breath and fell into a coughing fit. He rolled onto his side as he coughed and wheezed. He felt his head clear as it subsided and he took another deep breath. This time he exhaled and felt better.
“Sit up. Catch your breath and then tell me your name.”
Tal pushed himself up and looked at the prophet. A wild beard and a long scraggle of fringe circled an almost bald head.
“You’re the prophet?” Tal asked.
“Yes. And who are you?”
“Prince Taldirun of Mestor.”
“I’ve never heard of you. Who is your father?”
“King Fa’amuil of Mestor.”
“I have heard of him, but he has never sought me out.”
Tal looked around at the small room. A small cot with clean bedding was in one corner, a privy bucket sat in another, and three ropes hung down from a man sized hole in the ceiling.
The prophet smiled. “It’s how they bring me things. They aren’t allowed to enter this room, so they lower food and take up my bucket with those ropes.”
“Do you ever leave?” Tal asked.
“No, but that isn’t one of the questions you need an answer to, is it?”
Tal shook his head. “No, I need several answers, but that isn’t one.”
“Come, sit near me. I will answer your questions.”
The prophet sat on the ground and motioned Tal to sit with him.
Tal moved to sit as he was bidden.
“You are greatly troubled, though I do not need the gods to tell me such. No one comes to me unless they cannot find peace without asking their questions. Ask me all of your questions, for you will not come here again.”
“Is it forbidden?”
The prophet smiled. “Everyone asks that question, and so I give them the answer which assures they will not return. I am not immortal, although some think so. I have for many long years been the Prophet, but there was a man before me who was the same and when I am gone, there will be a man who comes after who will be the Prophet.”
His faced twitched and he wrinkled his nose as if he smelt a foul odor. “That can’t be true,” he muttered.
“What can’t be true?”
“Nothing, not of importance. As the Prophet, my whole life is spent here communing with the gods. They reveal to me their knowledge and in return I keep myself separate from the rest of humanity in both body and mind. But I was once just a simple priest. I served in the temple of Ochtur in Atlas. I was chosen for this duty by the gods, and here I will stay until Ochtur summons me to his underworld beneath the ocean.”
The Prophet leaned in close to Tal and smiled. His teeth smelled as rotten as they looked as he laughed. “Here is why you will never return. Do you know what will happen to me when Ochtur summons me? No. Of course you don’t. They will bury me in the sacred spring, like all of the past Prophets. My bones will settle into the stone of the sacred spring and I will forever be a part of this shrine.”
Tal went pale and his stomach convulsed. His skin itched and burned at the thought of bathing in the pool.
“Now, ask me your first question and be quick about it.”
“I was in a battle recently, and something happened. I need to know what really occurred.”
“An arrow was fired at you from a man who loved you. His aim was directed by those who wish you dead.”
“General Praset?”
“Among others. You were not to have lived. Your death was promised by
the gods, but another interfered.”
Tal thought of his father and how he had made special sacrifices for his son’s safety in the battle.
“You have more questions?”
“Yes, there is a girl and I need to know if she is cursed.”
“The girl descended from barbarians. Dark hair and dark eyes, ill omens indeed, but she is not cursed. Not yet. But she will bring forth a mighty curse and she will be blessed for it.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“I speak in truth,” said the Prophet.
He grabbed Tal by the head. “What is in you?” he asked. “Your eyes shone when I said that.”
“When you said what?”
The Prophet released Tal’s head and sat back. “The gods are disturbed. You have more questions and they bid me to be careful.”
“I am concerned with the path before me now. The answers you have given make me question my place in my father’s court and indeed where I will go to escape in all of Atlantis. Should I shun glory and follow truth?”
The Prophet’s eyes widened and he looked as if he were about to shout. Instead he hissed out “Who told you to ask this?”
Tal blinked. His tongue froze to the roof of his mouth, but he felt compelled to speak. Daelcor told him he would only say what he shouldn’t when he spoke, but he felt like he would burst unless he did.
“No one, I ask on my own.”
“For a prince of Atlantis to shun glory is unheard of. Glory is the crown of kings and is the birthright of those with divine bloodlines.”
The Prophet’s face was red and the veins on his temples throbbed.
“Where did you hear this idea?”
“In a forest,” Tal said. He snapped his mouth shut.
“A forest? Are you sure? Was it an orchard? Tell me!”
“It might have been, I don’t know.”
“Trees tall and straight, no sign of it ending. But who was there? The girl? No, she is here in this world.”
Tal held his breath.
“Of course. This world. The forest isn’t in this world, is it? So what do you do there, Prince Taldirun? How often do you go?”