* * *
It had been two weeks since the Hickoryan refugees had left Fort Rock along with some Herewardi under the leadership of Ilker, Ilrundel, and Harik, an old friend of Ilker’s from the Taxus Lands. Each day seemed to grow warmer the closer they came to Witan Jewell signaling the beginning of the dog days of summer when the Dog Star rose with the sun. When they reached the Harrow Stone of the Haligryft, Ilker asked the Hickoryans to remove themselves a way off in the secluded forest glade. Ilker decided they would camp there for the night while he went off to the Haligryft and offered up his thanksgiving unto the gods by going through the Forty-Four Perambulations.
“If we really pushed it, we could make Witan Jewell by tomorrow morning,” Ilker explained, “but this is a holy place and I feel the need to fortify my soul before I find out what’s left of my former life.”
As the Hickoryans took their instructions for setting up camp from Bono and Atla, Harik who was a sub commander under Ilrundel said, “I’ll get the fire going, and get some vittles cooked up, if you groom my horse for me Ilrundel. We’ll leave Ilker to his worship this evening.”
“Fair enough,” Ilrundel answered. “I’ll groom your horse as well, Father.”
As Harik went off to gather the fire wood, Ilrundel unsaddled the horses, and took a comb to their tails.
“Father, I notice that you are getting more and more anxious the closer we draw to Witan Jewell. It’s like you’re going into battle. So I’m not really surprised you decided to stop here to collect your thoughts.”
“In a sense, I am facing a battle,” Ilker removed a bag of bee pollen from his bags. “I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what’s mine and what’s thine, so to speak with my wives. I loved every one of my wives and I hate to think some of them may no longer be in a space to feel that connection with me anymore.”
“Well, you at least know Nigh-Mother Swan Ray will be yours, and Mother Pam-El-Ea’s choice was all too clear.”
“Yes, of that I have no doubt. I only wish Pam had chosen to live, for I loved her dearly. She was my first love and my faery-queen, and I will always keep a place for her in my heart. But with the others, I understand that new and stronger bonds may have developed in my absence. It’s human nature. It’s only normal. According to our laws and customs, it is their choice alone whether or not to return to me. Unless they elect to come with me I must dig a grave in my heart for the love I once bore them.” Ilker paused after he removed some candles for the ceremony. “So yes, son, you are right, I am going into battle, not with sword, shield, and arrows this time, but with heart, prayers, and spirit. The worst part of it all is, I expect to walk away from this battle with some parts of myself missing. I wrestle with how I am going to build a new world out of the ruins of an old life.”
“Methinks, you are thinking the only way one can think in such a situation. The odds were all against you being alive. Very few believed you would ever return.”
“That is why I cannot assign blame for my wives choosing to re-marry. I would have done the same. What else were they to do?”
Ilrundel fetched some oats for the horses and then asked, “Whenever the subject of having more than one wife comes up while speaking to my non-Herewardi friends, the question always comes up, are your feelings different for each one of them. Since I only newly come to have one wife. I have never known how to answer them.”
“I can only speak for myself. And yes, the feelings are very different because each wife is different. Since I’m not great with words, the only way I can explain it is that the one thing that is the same is you love each one of them with all your heart. Else why would you have taken them to wife? You will learn as I did, that some wives easily blossom under your touch and others just naturally have more thorns than blossoms and require a more careful tending. Some of my friends tell me they misjudged and after the wedding have sadly taken wives that only produced thorns. I was lucky. Every wife I had blossomed and bore fruit for me and I found all the fruit delicious to the taste and very desirable. This one is a peach. And that one is a pear. And another one is an apple. It will be difficult to part with some of the fruits of my garden. What I do know, is that to each wife, I gave my all. The secret, I am sure, lies in striving to give more joy than you receive.”
Ilrundel finished grooming his horse and began grooming Harik’s. “It sounds like you don’t expect some of your wives to resume their former relationship with you?”
“It is best I have no expectations so I will have less disappointment. I always prepare for the worst outcome before going into battle, so that my heart is completely fortified for any possible loss. It’s the only way I found that I can deal with it.”
Ilrundel bent to brush the underside of the horse’s neck and said, “Well, if they don’t choose you, how can you not feel anger towards them?”
“Hearts can change and they reach for the most sunlight they can get. I don’t know the other men who have taken my wives to wed, but I have known Pyrsyrus for many years. He is a man of extreme giftedness and I remember him being very loving towards his wives and children. And how could any man ever compete with his good looks and riches. If Donya is solidly rooted in his heart by now she may choose to stay with him. If that is the case, it will still require the removal of big roots from my own heart. I would not expect them to grieve their lives away when they thought I was dead.”
* * *
After everyone finished breakfast, at Sur Sceaf’s command they gathered around the altar of unhewn stone which Muryh had hurriedly erected. He held his arms up to the swan square.
“Men of the three tribes, this is a holy place. Nor could a god wish for a greater paradise than this garden. There will be much work, but brethren, we have just found the keystone to building a safe haven for our peoples, free from Pitter, Growling, or Vardropi influence. This is the place from which we can start pushing back against the Pitters. I prophecy it will one day be called the City of the Gods.” Then turning to Elijah, he said, “Brother Elijah, would you offer a dedicatory prayer on behalf of all three tribes, blessing the Mound of Godeselle and the Isle of Ilkchild.”
Sur Sceaf looked to him. “This will symbolize that we three tribes did here agree to be and act as one in making a new land.”
Elijah knelt before the rock altar and raised his arms, placing his thumbs tip to tip and holding his fingers in two pairs on each hand in the omicron sign of Hrus-Syr-Os as the Herewardi oft did when they prayed. As representatives of the three tribes, Ilkchild, Mendaka, and Zrael the Shepherd, each grasped the right wrist of the other over the altar to form a fanisk. Sur Sceaf scanned the faces of the men standing in a silent half circle and was gratified to see the genuine union of hearts in the men he had chosen, but as he had suspected, Fromer was the odd man out. The ferocious frown on his face signified, not just disagreement, but raw hatred. And that frown was directed straight at good-hearted Elijah.
Elijah prayed, “Oh Grand Sires and Grand Matrons, who are one god, the First and the Last, we three tribes of your children come before thee this day in celebration and thanksgiving for all the wonders thou hast laid before us and for the mighty deliverance we have been party to. We are grateful that after the Great Fall of the Evil Generation that thou hast preserved us a remnant in the earth, and hast sent thine angels, elves, and thunder beings to instruct us in the ways of our fathers that were acceptable and adaptable to our cultures.
Thou didst cleanse us of the systems and technologies that oppressed in the time of the Amerikans, because they were not built upon the proper foundation of love, tolerance, self rule, or unpurchasable justice. Thou didst give Nature back her reign over us all, until we can figure out how to be her partner once again in the Green World. We dedicate this Mound of Godeselle as the genesis of this holy confederacy. And from this point on, may the governance of this isle go forth as a light to other lands and peoples.”
A tear rolled down Elijah’s face as he continued, his voice rough wi
th emotion. “We now dedicate this, the Isle of Ilkchild, as a walled island wonderfully defended by Os and Nature as a perfect natural defense system with a mote of the sea and great rock walls about it. Reveal to us the treasures and powers of this land. Should any enemy devise an entry, we pray thou wouldst smite them, and utterly destroy them from off this blessed land.
“We bless this isle that none may come unto it without a charter and that only those who come here legally and lawfully may grow to a mighty and holy people in the midst of the earth, unto thy holy glory forever and ever, Urfyrter Almighty. And may our seed flow over the mainland in a great cleansing wave and restore unto us the lands of our inheritances from which we were so cruelly taken.” His voice trailed off, faltered, and then suddenly rose up into a triumphant cry. “And thy name, oh people, shall from this day forward be called the Syr Folk.”
Stunned, everyone looked to Sur Sceaf, who said, “Brother Elijah, the Ur Fyr confirms that the gods have made their will known through you. This day, I proclaim, our name is the Syr Folk.” He pointed to the scribe. “Long Swan, make it so. Put it into holy print.”
Elijah appeared shaken, “Holy, Holy, Holy!”
All added, “Shape it so!”
Fromer frowned and sulked. “One name means one people. I will not suffer myself to speak that name.”
While the others went about their various tasks in preparation for constructing the hall, Fromer stalked over to Elijah and brandished a finger in front of his face like some overly strict school master. “Where dost thou get the authority from the Holy Scriptures to speak of God in the plural like that? I heard the Heathen spirit thou hast prayed in.”
Elijah stood his ground. “Because we three tribes are come to the day of tolerance, and we must show honor to one another. To honor that which everyone else holds as sacred in no way takes away honor from the god of the Quailor.
Fromer’s chin jutted out as he glared up at Elijah. “But god is one and it is not comely for a Quailor high priest to speak of him as many. The dycons have noted this, Elijah. Methinketh thou art becoming too other-folkish for the office of the Chief High Priest.”
Elijah very calmly stated, “Thou canst take thy narrow attitudes and shove them down thy mule’s throat for all I care, Fromer. From here on I shall speak my heart in all openness before god, angels, our people, and even the heathen.”
Fromer gasped. “I am only being true to god’s word written in his Holy Scripture.”
Hartmut stepped forward to stand beside Elijah and offer his support. “Dost thou not realize that those words hath been shaped and worked over by mere mortals for so long to the point that they now have done nothing but enslave us and blind us to our own best interests and the best interests of all the races of Man. Canst thou not see, thy blind obedience to a flawed book builds enmity the way thou dost present it, not harmony. Thou and the rest of thy dycons can study it till thine eyes go crossed for all I care. It hath become a ball and chain unto me and I’ll have no more of it until someone readeth it aright.”
Fromer’s face went purple-red as he spat out, “Thou hast chust damned thyself with thine own words, Hartmut. Thou shalt be excommunicant. And we shall shun thee when we bring this before our Court of Love.”
Elijah took a step forward causing Fromer to cower. “Hear this, Brother Muckenschnabel, we’ve entered a new age and I’ll not have thee turning over our wagon. It seemeth to me that thou hast always a hanging rope in thy hand and wait for some poor brother to trip, so as to hang him on thy priestcrafts. Besides, the first book clearly states, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, male and female.’ For Christ’s sake, open thine eyes man.”
Sur Sceaf hid a smile and from the looks of the others, he wasn’t the only one enjoying the conflict.
Fromer looked like a tomato ready to pop. “Then thou knowest not the Founding Martyrs. Know ye not that they were prophets, seers, and revelators.”
Hartmut scoffed, “I can believe the early martyrs were prophets, seers, and revelators. For I have read their works and know of their great deeds, but that has all faded into history and now those who call themselves prophets, no longer prophesy. Those who call themselves seers, no longer see. And by God, those who call themselves revelators haven’t had a new revelation in over one hundred years. Even when someone stands up with a revelation or a prophesy they are quickly smothered by thy boring orthodoxy and immediately called ‘apostate,’ by thy Sanhedrin of dycons. Thy soul-crippling doctrines have stagnated us into eating nothing but spiritual pablum for far too long that no one dares express free thinking anymore.”
Sur Sceaf was utterly taken aback. Never had he heard a more concise statement of what was wrong with Quailor society than he here heard from their own lips. He was both speechless and proud of Hartmut’s direct and concise arguments.
Mendaka delivered his usual wise admonition. “Elijah, I am pleased that the prayer consisted of all three tribe’s methods of praying. It is a sign that the joining of hearts is taking root. You named us Syr Folk. It is a goodly name. Sur Sceaf has been seeking for a name we may be called by. Because of you we are born the Syr Folk.”
“More and more, Elijah,” Fromer said, “you do become heathenish. Thou departest too far. Back in Salem, we always had our disagreements, but now I think thou art infected by the very evil spirits of change.”
Zrael made his way forward. “These past months I have watched the Herewardi and Sharaka and I’m convinced if we only become a little less credal in our positions we’d be a far happier people.”
“Who art thou, Zrael, to question the Holy Book but a shepherd and goatherd,” Fromer spit out in his unbridled wrath, Fromer was no longer capable of maintaining his suppressed rage, his face rippled with uncontrollable muscle spasms as his tiny fists drew up in tight little balls, and he gave menacing glares.
“Well, thou canst stay stuck in the ball and chain of that book, Brother Fromer. I personally haven’t seen it used for much good. Only thing I ever see it used for is a club to beat some poor innocent soul over the head for just doing what cometh natural. Or as I see it, it is used for putting thee in the high places of the meeting house where thou dost little more than pat thyself on the back for all thy supposed piety. It seemeth to me thou art unversed in its true meaning and it seemeth to me it was for a people we are not of. When I try to make that book to fit my life or me fit it, it is as if I put on my childhood clothing. They fit not the world we live in anymore.”
Fromer raised his finger accusingly at his Quailor brethren. “The dycon’s have noted thy behavior too, Zrael.” Turning back on the high priest, he railed. “Thou seest where all this mingling hath taken us, Elijah. Thou hast brought brothers Hartmut and Zrael to the edge of apostasy with all thy teachings of tolerance and acceptance. I would not be saying much more if I were thee. Thou art a hair’s breadth from being summoned to a Church Court of Love.”
“There is no such thing as a Court of Love,” Hartmut shot back, “that is but a poor mask thou usest for an inquisition and we’ve all grown way too weary for them anymore. Thy interpretations do not adhere to any thing more than an inquisition and have naught whatsoever to do with love. In fact it is rooted in hate!”
“Oh, I know thee, Hartmut, thou chust wantest to ignore the Courts of Love so as to consort with that Sharaka harlot.”
Hartmut’s face flushed with anger. Sur Sceaf had learned in his boyhood that Hartmut’s temper had a long fuse, but when it reached its end it was explosive. He decided it was time to intervene.
“Gentlemen,” he declared firmly, “Let’s resume our meeting in peace. This is a powerful moment on a powerful day. Long Swan will you please take up your quill and record the events of this day. Please note that all here were in agreement that the Confederation of the Tribes be henceforth called the Syr Folk. Also please note that Brother Fromer dissented fearing that one name would eventually mean one people.”
* * *
Long Swan’s Log: It is the eigh
th day of the Moonth of Weeds, in the year 584 H.S.O. Immediately after the meeting was closed in due and ancient form as handed down by the Elves, the day was spent harvesting timber with the intent that on the morrow after our council fire our main focus will be to build the hall. Herman and Govannon fashioned new tools.
The grass beast flesh was both nourishing and filling with a similar taste to sweet beef or horse flesh. Zrael found dandelion, rocket salad, hot weed, mustard greens, land sponge, and earth berries as a side to the meal. The greens were the most welcome.
Each Herewardi man gave from his own purse of plantain seed to the others as is the sacred custom. Not only that, but each Herewardi gave of an ointment with the smell of white magnolia, which allows the Elves to detect us in the dark as well as in the light and to protect us from the hidden evils and the sinister deeds of the Dark Pale Elves. All but Fromer partook of these as he believed them to be bewitched. Very little mead was left, so we drank sassafras or spearmint tea.
The Lord Sur Sceaf caused there to be four white messenger pigeons released from the altar, that the news of the discovery of a new isle might be carried back to Urford, that it was named the Isle of Ilkchild, and that we three tribes have officially taken upon us the name of the Syr Folk. Even if the message itself is lost in flight, the white pigeons symbolize good news. The Lord Sur Sceaf had me pen that ‘the land is Hunigflowenda,’ or as is spoken in the common tongue, it is flowing with honey. He has declared this Isle of Ilkchild to be like unto ‘The Garden of Idun’.”
* * *
Ilker’s company and the band of Hickoryans came out of the mountains at Glide Garth into the broad Umpqua valley, where they quickly rode the last leg to Hrusburg. There they found the streets of Hrusburg alive, with people lining the road all the way to Witan Jewell, cheering Ilker’s arrival, waving hawthorn branches, and casting magnolia leaves and blossoms in front of him. He rode between Ilrundel and Harik. The fyrd warriors lining the road saluted and waved.
The Isle of Ilkchild (The King of Three Bloods Book 4) Page 21