by Brandon Barr
Meluscia found strength in Wiluit’s confidence. She looked at him a moment longer, as if for the first time. His blond hair twisted down over half his brow, his eyes unrelenting but good.
She nodded. “The prophets and I will ride out and meet them.”
“As you wish,” said the head soldier, hiding none of his concern.
Meluscia rode out with the prophets toward the oncoming riders.
“These are woodsmen, friends I believe,” said Meluscia.
“All the same, stay near the boy,” said Wiluit.
The horsemen slowed before Meluscia’s meager party. She glanced back at the Verdlands soldiers. They stood still as pikes, rigid with suspicion.
“It’s Trigon’s daughter,” called out one of the horsemen.
A large mare came toward them. On the horse’s back was a man with a wolf pelt slung over his shoulder, his legs sheathed in leather leggings. He had a serious face rife with dark, sunburnt freckles. Meluscia scanned the other horsemen. She was certain now. These were not soldiers, but woodsmen.
“Do the cowards behind you stay back out of fear?” asked the man in furs.
“No,” said Meluscia. “They have been my escort through the Verdlands. Who are you, and what is the reason for charging out as you did?”
“I am Fywerlite, chief woodcutter of Red Thorn, half a day’s ride west of here. We received a letter from Harcor telling of Verdlands soldiers gathering in the farm fields. We mistook your group for a war party, although, your escorts likely will join the fray if they are not taken prisoner.”
Meluscia remembered the loyalty the men of Tilmar had toward Harcor. Were these men from Red Thorn as endeared to the spy? She saw no other expedient course of action but to tell the truth. Her father’s bedside was where she needed to be. To return to him with his signed treaty, and to be with him in his last moments.
“Harcor has been found a traitor. The letter he sent you was a lie. He means to create bloodshed.”
Fywerlite seemed stunned by the bold accusation.
Meluscia pressed on, before the wolf-clad man could form further questions. “He attacked my mercy sister, Savarah, and killed several soldiers from Tilmar who tried to stop him.
“I too am still reeling from his betrayal,” continued Meluscia. “He was so trusted by my father.”
“This sounds incredible to my ears,” said Fywerlite, frowning. “Who could he possibly be serving in betraying his people? Not the Verdlands, certainly! Is he the tool of one of the Sea kingdoms?”
“No, he is a tool of Isolaug, and blood born of Praelothia.”
The man’s mouth twitched. It was revealing how little anyone suspected the immortal Beast. Perhaps it was natural to suspect men rather than a monster. Men could be fought so much easier.
“Please, Chief Fywerlite, I have urgent business back at the Hold. We must go at once. I suggest you and your men return to Red Thorn. There are no Verdlands armies forming in the farmlands.”
Fywerlite glanced back toward the forest and scowled. “This is a dark day. Would you believe it if I told you Harcor spoke to me only a short moment ago, before we rode out to meet you? He was dressed in a black cloak and told us there were citizens of the Hold being held captive by Verdlands soldiers.”
Meluscia glanced at Wiluit. An almost imperceptible nod tilted his face.
“That explains much,” said Meluscia. “He attempted to take my life only hours ago. If you see him again, do not hesitate to kill him. He is a deadly enemy of my Father. Now, ride north, for I must return to the Hold before my father passes.”
The woodsmen horse riders departed, and Meluscia bid the Verdlands soldiers farewell.
Her company was now shrunk to ten. The five prophets, herself, and her four companions from the Hold. As the trees of the Blue Mountain Realm greeted her, she breathed a sigh of relief. The Hold was but two hard days’ journey away.
She couldn’t arrive soon enough.
CHAPTER 26
MELUSCIA
It was dark before Meluscia relented to Takmuk’s constant complaining, and called for their company to set up camp.
“Young bones with saddle asses,” lamented Takmuk loudly. “Don’t think you won’t be repaid in your old age for passing up comfortable beds at that last village. All this discomfort you’ve heaped upon Seethus and I will come back to haunt you once your red hair fades to white—mark my words!”
A fire was built, and food was quickly unpacked from their bags. All of their supplies had been regained from the horse carcasses left by Harcor. He hadn’t had time to steal the saddle bags off of them, too busy staying a step ahead.
Meluscia drank long from a waterskin. She’d led them past Tilmar and deep into the forests before stopping. Come morning, she would ride nonstop until she reached her father. Even if it took her past midnight.
Her eyes wandered to the book bags at Takmuk and Seethus’s feet. “Might I have a look at some of your books?” asked Meluscia.
Seethus nodded enthusiastically. “Shauwby, my boy, would you bring the future Luminess my bag?”
Shauwby hopped from Seethus’s lap and brought the bag to Meluscia.
“I think your eyes are beautiful,” said Shauwby to Meluscia. He dropped the bag and scurried shyly back to Seethus.
“Thank you, young man,” she called after the boy.
“He’s smitten with you,” said Jauphenna dryly. “He can’t stop talking about how pretty you are.”
Shauwby squirmed on Seethus knees, “You’re the second prettiest, Jauphenna,” said Shauwby, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Second to her? What an honor.” Jauphenna leaned back against a rock, her eyebrows bent down like spears as she fixed her eyes on Meluscia.
Meluscia returned Jauphenna’s piercing gaze with a scowl, yet she felt sympathy for the girl. Clearly she hadn’t been taught decorum and manners as a child, and so a child she remained.
To break the tension, Meluscia said, “There’s a scripture back at the Hold’s Scriptorium that says, ‘Beauty on the outside is far surpassed by goodness on the inside. Goodness is the truest treasure.’ ”
“I think you have both,” said Shauwby unhelpfully.
Meluscia couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t dare look at Jauphenna now.
“What do you think, Wiluit,” said Jauphenna. “Is Meluscia not the perfection of that scripture she just quoted?”
Meluscia felt her cheeks go red with embarrassment.
Wiluit’s head turned slowly to Jauphenna. “As I see it, there are four good and beautiful girls with us tonight,” he said with a lilt in his voice. Then he reached out and took Jauphenna’s hand. “Come with me a moment, would you?”
Meluscia read the starry-eyed look on the girl’s face and suddenly understood. Jauphenna had feelings for Wiluit. It was no wonder the girl had been so antagonistic. She saw Meluscia’s presence in the group as a threat.
Jauphenna and Wiluit walked a short distance away, by the horses but not far from Shauwby.
Earlier Meluscia had seen Wiluit snap at Jauphenna for her sour attitude and pointed remarks, but here, he seemed to be taking a different tact. She wished she could hear what was being said.
Meluscia sighed and cast her eyes on the bag of books laid at her feet. One by one, she pulled them out and read their titles.
There were old manuscripts as well as books with pages no older than herself. She did not read from the newer books. Not if her name was to be found in them. It felt…improper.
Of the old books, of which there were seven, all but two had copies in the Scriptorium. One was the curious account of a devotee of the Makers who lived under the oppression of the Beast during the Third Age. It made Meluscia’s mind wonder of the present age, which would be written in the histories as the Fifth Age, if all went well. Every age came to a close at the defeat of the Beast. Would Savarah’s plan succeed in ushering in the Sixth Age? King Feaor must soon decide, and once she was enthroned as Luminess, s
he would call upon the Sea Queens.
And this movement was based on her sister’s knowledge. It was uncomfortable, following another’s judgment to such a degree, but she trusted Savarah. Even when she was loyal to Isolaug, she had trusted her…and thus far, everything her sister had said was proving true.
Meluscia drew the last book out of the bag. Its binding was falling apart and many of the pages were loose. She opened the book and her eyes widened. Colors! Ornate pictures! Penned in a rainbow of hues stood a vast garden. So detailed was the pen work and coloring that she deemed it instantly to be the original.
In the garden, men, women and children strolled among small houses that sprung up out of the land. All the people wore joyful expressions, and each person had an animal-like creature with them. A small, furry piggish animal walking beside a man, a winged mouse perched on the shoulder of a human, a spotted cat standing on the head of a woman riding a horse. The cat looked almost normal except that it had ten legs and no tail. And there were many more odd looking creatures, none of which seemed to have eyes or faces. At the bottom of the page, written in gorgeous calligraphy, was the title of the book: Amelay’s Garden.
Meluscia turned the page, and another colorful piece of artwork awaited. A beautiful creature with a face not quite human stood surrounded in blackness. She guessed the figure to be an Aeraphim, and beneath it was a man and a dog. The man lay on the ground in weeds and grass, and the dog lay at his side, its head resting on the man’s chest. Unlike the strange creatures in the page before, the dog had a carefully drawn face and there was nothing odd about it. The image of the man and dog conjured up feelings of friendship and peace. But above, the eyes of the beautiful creature seemed disturbed. Meluscia quickly flipped the page—another ornate drawing. She flipped swiftly, again and again, until she reached the book’s end. Every page had a drawing, but there were no words. There was no book like it in the entire collection of the Scriptorium.
“An amazing book,” said Wiluit.
Meluscia glanced up, realizing she’d been lost in the pages and hadn’t seen him and Jauphenna return.
“Seethus has told us the story of that book,” said Wiluit. “The pictures tell the tale of Isolaug’s descent into flesh.”
Meluscia’s fingers seemed to burn where her skin touched the binding. “When was this written?”
“In the Age of Primacy,” said Seethus. “Amelay was a jar maker and a glass weaver. That book is a story in pictures of what took place when Isolaug forsook the Makers and took on animal skin.”
“Sad and depressing, if you ask me,” said Takmuk.
“My favorite,” said Jauphenna with a smirk.
Wiluit glanced at Jauphenna and smiled.
“Tell the story. It’ll be fun,” said Jauphenna. “And Shauwby’s favorite princess can hold up the pictures for her friends to see.”
Wiluit reached out and drew the hood of Jauphenna’s cloak over her head so that it covered her eyes. Then he touched her gently on her shoulder and laughed.
Meluscia saw Jauphenna smile genuinely at Wiluit’s playfulness, lifting the hood enough to peer at him.
“Alright, Shauwby,” said Wiluit, “can you find me the story?”
Shauwby hopped off Seethus’s knees and dug into the bag at Meluscia’s feet. He withdrew one of the new books. A book Meluscia assumed had been written by Seethus himself.
Meluscia laughed. “That book contains the story of Isolaug’s descent? I should not have passed over the newer manuscripts so quickly,” she said with a smile then looked to Seethus. “In what Scriptorium was it copied from?”
“Oh, it is not a copy,” said Seethus. “That very old book in your hands is a children’s picture book. Looking at it alone, it’s not always easy to know what is happening, for when it was crafted, its designer traveled the land, telling children the story behind the pictures. Even before the Age of Primacy, Isolaug’s origins had already become foggy. Over the ages, the story was swallowed away and the knowledge forgotten.”
Meluscia was captivated by this, and yet she waited, for it seemed a huge question remained unanswered, but Seethus only sat there, eyes beaming, mouth shut.
“If it isn’t a copy,” said Meluscia, “how did you come by the story—the one Wiluit is about to read?”
“Oh,” said Seethus. “The Makers revealed it to me. I am a prophet you know. It’s not all future and foresight. Sometimes we prophets look back.
“Of course,” continued Seethus with a scratchy laugh, “the past can speak to the future as much as the present. How many men and women have been inspired to do great things from those long dead? It is a fact that the past is interwoven with the present. Shaping it. Bones lying in ancient burial mounds still sing the song of their lives. Some sing through books. Others have their song echoed through those whom their lives touched along the way. The echo of a life resounds throughout all eternity.”
Meluscia nodded in awe. She was beginning to cherish Seethus. “Your words are true and beautiful. I would hope you are writing them down.”
“He is,” said Wiluit. “It’s all in that bag at your feet.”
“I should like to have copies of them made at the Hold’s Scriptorium. They would be a treasure to us.”
“And so shall it be!” grinned Seethus.
A silence came over the group. Takmuk snored softly, and Jauphenna had drawn back her hood.
“Go on, Wiluit,” said Jauphenna. “It’s not too long and I want to hear it again. The story of how an Aeraphim turned into a Beast.”
Wiluit opened the pages of the book and began to read.
“Dear children,” read Wiluit, “this is a story of creation, of love and of jealousy.”
Meluscia listened, spellbound. Wiluit would nod at her when she should turn the page, and she did so very carefully, so as not to harm the fragile book.
Much of what Wiluit read about the Aeraphim, she’d discovered in the Scriptorium, but Wiluit read of a new creature she’d only heard hints of. The Cherah.
Wiluit nodded, and she turned the page.
“Before humans were made,” read Wiluit, “the Makers created the Aeraphim and the Cherah and the worlds they lived on. The Aeraphim were intelligent and powerful spirit beings, while the spirit creatures called Cherah had minds with the wit of animals, much less intelligent than us or the Aeraphim.
“And so to each world the Makers created, they assigned an Aeraphim and many thousands of Cherah. They also gave to the Aeraphim many thousands of fleshly animal forms as raw material, for the Aeraphim were given the delightful duty to transform their worlds by developing the raw animal forms into an abundance of kinds and sizes and colors.
“Now children, take care. I will soon talk about Cherah, but it is a sad tale, for they are a gift stolen from us by the Beasts.”
Wiluit nodded and she turned the page. Colorful pictures of the strange faceless creatures filled both pages. A silver moon shined down upon them illuminating their forms.
Wiluit read on, “Did you know the Aeraphim were designed to shepherd and rule the Cherah of their world? The spirit animals were laden with gifts for the humans. They were the most wondrous creatures, and they could only be seen on a cloudless night—and then, only in part, for they glowed ever so softly under the stars and moon. There were Cherah that staved off disease, made the elderly young again, brought healing to wounds, or even life to the dead. Gifts of knowledge and wisdom, visions of the Makers, and of a future promise to end all chaos. These spirit animals held humankind together in faith, and made wisdom so abundant that things like fights and quarrels were always reconciled with good counsel. And there was no such thing as war.
“Intimate love within one’s community and without came easily. Borders and money did not exist then. It was like a good marriage. The spirit realm and the world of the flesh were made for one another: the spirit world protecting and shaping the fleshly one, and the fleshly one giving joy and purpose to the spirit world.”
&
nbsp; Wiluit nodded and Meluscia turned the page. The colors were bleak as the stars and moon were replaced by glowing eyes that peered down menacingly upon the world.
“But here is a sad part,” Wiluit continued, “many of the Aeraphim made a terrible choice that would echo forever in time. In their hearts they developed a kindling desire to rule over the fleshly animals just as they ruled the spirit animals. The animals of flesh, whose colors and shapes they had so meticulously woven from the raw forms given them by the Makers, were forbidden them, for the animals of flesh were for humankind to rule, just as the Cherah were for the Aeraphim to rule. Over time, the hearts of many Aeraphim turned away from the joy of what they had, and lingered on the hunger for what they had not. One by one, in a short span of years, nearly all the Aeraphim broke the barrier. Unable to find happiness in ruling the Cherah alone, they entered the lifeblood of fleshly animals, and their hearts were transformed into that of a Beast. Dominance. Competition. These were new concepts to the Aeraphim. They were the natural desires of crocodiles and wolves—but not befitting of intelligent minds. Suddenly, ruling the animals was not enough. The Aeraphim wanted to be the biggest and the strongest. It was then they first yearned to rule the humans.”
Wiluit nodded. The next page showed men and women fallen upon the ground in fear., faces wrinkled. A tall man with a hunched back was on his knees holding a limp figure in his arms.
Wiluit read on. “Before, when the Aeraphim had shepherded a Cherah, they were filled with love for humans. They trained and commanded the spirit animals to make human life a thing of foreverness and joy. But the many Cherah, without the training and oversight of the Aeraphim, became untamed over time. Like dogs who were once faithful and loving companions to their humans, they now ran wild and forgot the warm relations they once knew. The gifts they were capable of bestowing went unused. To this day, the spirit animals live around us, but we can no longer see them, at least, not easily. They love the winds, and the branches of trees. Or the cold fresh waters of lakes and rivers. But they no longer come near us. They are wild now.