The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (20 page)

He was about to ask the old man to stop, to let them go, when he heard that familiar screech from inside his head.

Be at peace, Calarmindon. Beauty is calling you
.

He relaxed for a moment, and at the same time Moa exhaled a confirming grunt, so he took in a calming breath and allowed himself to ride in an exhausted peace.

“I’m sorry, Elder John, what did you say Kalein meant?” Cal asked, a bit embarrassed at his inattention to what this benevolent old man had been saying.

“Are you sure you didn’t crash that head of yours against any of those river rocks?” the fisherman playfully asked.

“I wouldn’t doubt it if I did. I hurt just about everywhere else.”

“Well, like I was telling you, Kalein means ‘beauty is calling
’,”
Elder John said with a raise of his eyebrows and a theatrical flair to his voice.

Cal froze, eyes wide with shock as his ears registered the loud screech of the Owele off in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-Three

E
lder
John drove his mule cart westward, hugging the base of the Hilgari Mountains for about five hundred paces from the pool of Eiluned. Cal hoped their journey would not be a long one, for he was not confident that he or Moa could handle much more traveling in their current state.

This part of the country was dim, dimmer now that the tree was nearly consumed, but Cal was still able to take in the new and strange land by the twilight of the distant, amber flames.

The path that the mule cart followed seemed as though it had once been an ancient roadway. Smooth flagstones had been laid along the way with both pattern and precision in mind, markers of an era where the residents of this place must have had the time and consideration to attend to such things. The only jostling and bumping of the cart ride came from where the stones had been broken over the long years that they had sat largely unused and unnoticed.

The fractured road led them steadily up the base line of the mountain. Cal could tell that this had once been a highway meant for royalty, but it now held only traces of its former glory.

He had almost forgotten about his wounds, for his mind was too busy taking in the sight of the long-forgotten highway with its elaborately carved pillars and intricate, albeit cracked, reliefs along the vine-covered mountain wall. From Cal’s vantage point on the back of the mule cart, he could see the high level of ingenuity and artistry that had gone into chiseling out this rock fortress. Kings and queens of realms he knew not must have leveraged great stores of wealth and commissioned thousands of craftsmen to produce such a now-wasted masterpiece.

Cal could not help but wonder how he had never heard of such a place as this. “Why would someone ever want to let a fortress as beautiful as this go to such waste?”

“Well now... that is a very good question, young Cal,” said Elder John.

Cal flushed red, embarrassed that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, though, and so he pressed Elder John with more questions.

“Is… is this what you call Kalein?” he said with wide-eyed amazement. “How long has it been here? Did you build it?”

“No! no, my boy. This was not crafted by our hands, we just happened to stumble upon it,” Elder John began to tell him. “This was once known, many generations ago, as the mighty mountain palace, Petros. I’m sure you can imagine, as I often do, that this was indeed a most magnificently special place.”

The old man looked back over his shoulder at the wide-eyed young groomsman and continued with his account. “This is indeed a waste of beauty, as you said. Only
He
knows how long it sat empty before my friends and I found our way to its chiseled doors. For when we came upon this place, it had been long without the warmth or light of life.”

“He?” Cal asked with a raised brow. “Who is this
He
that you keep referring to?”

Elder John considered his new companion carefully. “Surely you must know … who is it that
you
think brought you all this way?”

Cal weighed the question before giving his response. He didn’t think Elder John would believe his tale about all that had happened with the Oweles. And yet, if someone, somewhere was ever going to believe it, perhaps this would be the kind of man.

“I guess,” he said at last, “that the THREE who is SEVEN may have had a hand in my travels.”

“A hand, indeed,” Elder John responded. “Well
I
guess … that you may be right about that!”

“Tell me then, who made such a place as this? And why would they ever want to leave?” Cal said, still drinking in all the splendor of the once-elaborate ruins.

“This palace once served as home to the kings and queens of Terriah, my boy. But I do not know when it was made,” Elder John told him. “Some say that it is as old as the great Hilgari range itself, but I am not one who is inclined to believe such tales.” He shot Cal a wink.

“I do know that we have been here a long, long time, but not another soul, beyond our small community, has ever seen what I am about to show you.”

“No one?” Cal questioned.

“No one at all,” the old man replied. “It seems to me that once the great pines and oaks had been harvested from these lands, most men had little reason to venture this far west.”

“If you could see what I have seen in the eastern forest, you would probably say that men will have little reason to venture anywhere before too long,” Cal told him.

“Well then … that makes sense now, doesn’t it?” Elder John asked.

“What does?” replied Cal.

“Why it is that you and your large friend here,” he pointed to Moa, “have happened to be the first travelers we have come across in five branches worth of time.”

A sense of some significant knowledge began to play at the back of Cal’s mind. He couldn’t quite place what exactly it was that he had just realized, but he knew there was more to this old fisherman than he had first suspected.

Elder John fixed his humble and hospitable gaze directly into Cal’s eyes, and with a knowing smile he spoke. “You, Cal, do not seek to appease fear or placate the impeding shadow, do you? Something else drives and calls you here, something much greater than any fear, I suspect.”

The old man’s eyes shifted over Cal’s shoulder and caught sight of the large, black Percheron. “A deeper magic is leading you. I can feel it in these old bones of mine. And the mightiest of magic is never sustained by fear, but always by something more like … hope.”

Moa tossed her head, and Elder John smiled that knowing smile again.

“I should say that my friends will indeed want to throw a bit of a party, being that we have such an honored guest here in our midst.”

“Honored guest?” Cal laughed, wishing to break the awkward tension of the moment. “I think you must be either drunk or blind, old man.”

“Well … a guest, regardless,” Elder John chuckled.

The two men continued their way up the ruined highway, posing questions and exchanging incomplete stories of the forgotten histories and the forgotten people who had once called this mountain palace home. The carved road leveled out into a large, rounded slab of mountain rock that had once been crowned with elaborate stone railings. Elder John brought the mule cart to a halt and made his way over to Moa to untie her tether. Cal eased himself down from the back of the cart and stood upon his weary legs to take in the full majesty of this view from the court of the palace entrance.

To the west, not more than a thousand paces from the mountain base, the black, inky waters of the Dark Sea swallowed up the farthest-reaching traces of the amber light from the great tree. To the south and to the east ran plain after barren plain of former forestlands. Their bleak desolation was intermittently dissected by the cold blue of the river Abonris and all her fens and deltas.

“I have never in all my days looked upon the lands of Haven from such a perspective as this,” Cal said with astonished reverence.

“Can you imagine what kind of rich and fertile ground this must have been once?” the old man mused. “The forests would have been teeming with life and wild game, and mushrooms! Just think, young Cal, what measures of delicious bounty this overlook once beheld.”

“It is beautiful even now,” Cal replied. “But it is a sad kind of beauty, isn’t it?”

“Indeed boy, it is. But not all sadness is meant to last, for things that were once made beautiful might yet be remade with the very same intention.”

“What do you mean by remade?” Cal asked, that same feeling of significance washing over his mind once more. There was something about this fisherman that he ought to know, or perhaps maybe he already
did
know.

“Well, that is another story for yet another time,” the old man said to him. “At the present, I would like to welcome you,” he pointed behind him, “to our home.”

Cal and Elder John turned to see that there, chiseled into the face of the Hilgari, were a pair of carved, stone doors that extended past the height of two full-grown men. Three towering pillars still stood strong on each side of the ancient entranceway, supporting the portico of the mountain palace.

“Petros,” Cal said aloud.

“Indeed.” The old man gave an exaggerated bow and gestured beckoningly. “May you find more than just shelter in its ancient halls.”

“I am sure that I will,” Cal said with amazement. “I don’t see how it would be possible to do otherwise.”

The old man smiled a benevolent smile as he gingerly patted the bruised back of his awe-struck friend and said, “Well, come on then, let’s just see what He might have in store for you inside these mountain walls.”

Cal led Moa with his good arm up to the ancient stone doors. With a whisper of indistinguishable words, Elder John compelled the large doors to slowly open before the three of them. Out from underneath the trappings of the doors’ strong hold, a bright, violet light spilled onto the stone walkway before them.

Elder John watched Cal with an intense gaze, evaluating his reaction as the door swung forward.

Cal looked stunned and puzzled at the immensity of such unfamiliar illumination, especially since there had not been a tree worth its timber in two days of traveling that could produce a light even close to this level of brilliance.

“What kind of magic lights the bowels of a mountain with such color as this?” Cal asked, his mind reeling with intrigue.

A look of pure joy and wonder struck the old man’s face so profoundly that Cal was momentarily taken aback. “Elder John?” Cal said as he peered inquisitively at his new acquaintance.

“You see it then? Yes! Yes, of course you do.” Elder John clasped Cal by the shoulders and squeezed them tight. “What kind of magic indeed, my boy? Ha, ha! I think I was right about you. Come, you must meet my friends, at once!” Elder John responded.

“I will, sir, but please, you must tell me more of this
light
!” Cal could hardly contain his amazement.

“Ah, so you like it, do you?” Elder John laughed. “Well … only the strongest kind of magic can make a light like this burn so brightly without timber or flame to fuel its fire.” His eyes sparkled at the mystery he was waiting to reveal.

“Can you teach me this kind of magic?” Cal asked excitedly. “I have never dreamed of such a magic existing in our world.”

“Well, perhaps that is why
He
led you two through the icy waters and over the rocky falls, right into my un-mended nets,” the old man said.

“Perhaps you are right, sir,” Cal said slowly. “What do you call this magic?”

“Oh, did you not guess?” Elder John laughed.

“No, I have never heard of the magic of the purple light,” Cal replied. “Tell me, what kind of wisdom or sorcery has the THREE who is SEVEN let you and your friends in on?”

“But I’ve already told you, haven’t I?” Elder John paused, giving Cal a moment to think.

The young man stared back at him, willing him to divulge his secret.

“Hope, my boy,” he finally said with a fatherly smile. “For He has taught us how to hope, and it is hope that has placed His light in our hearts.”

Cal stood there for a moment, burdened by the weight of all his questions and yet occupied by the growing sense of clarity that was beginning to work its way to the front of his consciousness.

“Come, I have some friends to introduce you to,” Elder John said. “And it appears that you might want to see more of what hope really looks like. Huh?”

With that, they entered through the large, stone doorway into the violet heart of the mountain palace of Petros.

Chapter Twenty-Four

C
al’s
eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar glow as the welcome sounds of life flooded his ears and echoed off the high-chambered walls of the stone palace. Moth-eaten tapestries and timeworn statues shone with an unnatural brilliance in the color of the violet light. Their ruined beauty was not diminished in their disrepair; rather, it had merely been transformed into a different sort of beauty altogether.

Voices and laughter came from across the other side of the great annex. Its walls rose high in an elaborately sculpted arched colonnade. The stone bodies of the columns were made to resemble enormous fruit trees, and along the sides of the exterior walls, green vines of white honeysuckle clung with irreverent juxtaposition to the heavy stone structure. The scent of the flowers was sweet and fresh, and the eerie abandonment of such an impressive chamber could be easily dismissed at the intake of its playful aroma.

The violet light emanated from beyond the old wooden doors at the end of the long annex, shining in from around the edges of the doors in a captivating glow. Elder John grinned from ear to ear with an almost giddy excitement as the three came closer and closer to the ancient doors.

“This way, my friends.” Elder John reached for the old wooden door and opened it to usher in his still-soaked and weary companions. “Welcome,” he gestured with his other hand, “to Kalein.”

The sight was unimaginable to Cal. There, in the large hall of this ancient stone palace, glowed a violet community of life and of light. A large wooden table, big enough to seat fifty men, was dressed and set at the front of the room.

In the very center of the chamber, an enormous hearth glowed with the heat of bright, orange coals. A few tables surrounded the hearth, and there a handful of men and women were at work kneading dough and cutting vegetables, seemingly preparing the evening meal. Three black, heavy, cast-iron kettles hung over the low-burning coals, and their delectable aromas awoke Cal’s long-ignored hunger. Barrels of wine and casks of ale lined the eastern wall of the room, and next to the stacked barrels and casks was a table overflowing with goblets and flagons, plates and bowls, and a heavy heap of cutlery. A few older men were tending to the barreled brew, fitting a small spout on one of the casks and playfully arguing over the proper way one should accomplish the task.

This large hall that was once perhaps a great royal courtroom now functioned as a brewery, kitchen, and dining hall all in one space. Cal considered the cooking hearth carefully, but he realized that the violet light was not coming from the fire. As he glanced inquisitively around the room, he tried to pinpoint the source of the illumination. Finally he determined that it was not coming from any specifically identifiable location; it seemed to just
exist
in the midst of the people who were happily going about their business.

Most of the men and women did not notice Cal and Moa at first, for they were too busy with their meal preparations, making the most delicious smells that Cal had ever stumbled upon.

Elder John cleared his throat in an effort to garner everyone’s attention. “My brothers and sisters, I have great news to share with you all!”

“Did you bring us any fish?” one of the men shouted without so much as raising his eyes from his task of peeling potatoes.

A woman leaned over and spoke in a mock whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why is he always announcing his catch? You would think he is trying to compensate for something, always putting on such a big display.”

The room erupted in good-hearted laughter.

Elder John’s face turned a flushed red of embarrassment as he looked to his new friends and shrugged his shoulders apologetically for the behavior of his old companions.

“I’ll have everyone know that I am not here to brag about my catch!” He paused for a moment. “Although, on second thought, that is exactly why I am here! And no, Marigeld, it is not because I have something to prove.” He grunted a laugh of self-righteous indignation at the suggestion. “It is because I have
someone
I would like to introduce you to!”

With that, all joking and poking of fun ceased. The cooks put down their knives and ladles, and the brewers turned their attention from their barrels. Whispers and meaningful looks were exchanged between those gathered there in the great hall.

“He is, in fact, quite enchanted by the light found here in Kalein.” Elder John’s words dripped with unspoken meaning.

“You … you can see the violet light, son?” an old woman asked tentatively, her face both incredulous and hopeful.

“It’s beautiful,” Cal responded. “I must know how you make it!”

“Well now,” said the short, old man with the pointed beard and unruly hair, rubbing his hands together as he allowed a satisfied look to cross his face. “I am glad that I now seem to have your attention. For I have been eager to make this introduction!”

The men and women left their workstations and excitedly gathered around Elder John and his guests. “My brothers and sisters, may I introduce you to my wounded and river-worn friends, Cal and Moa.”

“How did he find us?” a voice shouted out.

“Are there others like him still to come?” asked another.

“Is this the one we have been told to expect?” asked a round-faced, beardless old man.

“Who told you to expect me?” Cal asked nervously.

The beardless old man, whose name was Clivesis, exchanged a curious glance with Elder John. Without so much as a single word passing between them, a deep understanding was shared.

Clivesis spoke up. “Well, there will be plenty of time to be had for stories and speculations, huh?” He leaned over to one of the women. “Marigeld, could you please see about fetching Meledae from the herd? It would seem as though our new friend Moa could benefit from a healer’s hands.”

“Indeed, brother,” Elder John said with agreement. “Come Cal, I will see to it that you have a dry tunic and maybe a touch or two of Marigeld’s special salves for a few of those open wounds of yours.”

“Thank you, Elder John, but would it be too much trouble to ask for a bowl of whatever it is that is filling this place with that delicious smell?” Cal sheepishly asked.

The room erupted in laughter, and Elder John chuckled in reply. “Just you be patient, young Cal. Let us clean you up first and then …” he patted his own belly, “then we will fill you right up!”

Clivesis chimed in. “Perhaps we can even tap one—or a few—of the Miller’s casks of ale! God knows
he
won’t be drinking any of it! And then perhaps our young traveler can tell us his tale.”

With the excitement over their guest still buzzing in the air, Elder John took Cal from the hearth hall. The two of them made their way through the long corridors, past several ancient passageways and alcoves, before they arrived at the healer’s chamber.

One of the older women brought in a couple pails of steaming hot water, and while Cal was stripping out of his river-sodden clothes, Elder John sprinkled herbs and salts into the piping hot bath.

“There. Perhaps this will relieve some of the swelling and dull a bit of the pain so I might see to resetting that arm of yours,” he told Cal in a grandfatherly tone of voice.

“Are you sure you need to? Reset it, I mean?” Cal nervously asked him while he lowered himself into the steaming tub. “Couldn’t I just wait and see what happens to it?”

“Yes, well … I suppose you could do that, young one. I suppose you could let your wounds try to mend themselves all on their own,” Elder John counseled. “But I suspect, and I am often not wrong in these matters, that doing so would only cause you more pain and frustration later.”

Cal sighed, obviously not looking forward to the further assault on his already weary body.

“It is a good physician who tends to the wound when it is fresh, undaunted by the prospect of unavoidable pain, for healing is his main objective,” the old man told him. “Besides, we do not have time to sit around, ducking and dodging such a small thing as a little momentary pain.” He passed over a sponge for him to clean himself with. “For beauty is calling you, Cal,” he said with a wink.

Cal’s eyes immediately locked onto the old man. “Did you hear what the Owele said?” he greedily asked him. “Do you know what they want with me?”

“Well,” Elder John spoke guardedly, “I cannot know what they have told you, but I am certain of the message that they have brought us concerning you.”

“What message?” Cal demanded.

“I don’t think it is really my place to say,” Elder John said gently. “I have a sneaking suspicion I know who will; but first, let’s see to those wounds of yours, huh?”

Elder John wrapped the open cuts with fresh strips of linen and dressed them in an intoxicatingly pungent juniper and rosemary salve. He then went about the nasty work of resetting Cal’s broken forearm. Cal was woozy from pain and weariness and delirious with hunger, so when he was clean and dry and wrapped with medicines, Elder John led him back to the hearth hall to fill his empty stomach with a proper supper.

The table was set and the room was filled with scores of the residents of Kalein. Cal was given a seat at the center of the long table, and his flagon was filled to overflowing with the cool, amber-colored brew. Overcome with hunger, Cal drained the Miller’s drink in three large gulps.

The room erupted again with cheers and laughs, and from the other side of the room he heard an old man shout out, “Now there is a lad with good taste for the finer things of this mountain! Right?”

“Oh quiet yourself, Miller, we all know your ale is prize worthy!” said Clivesis to the Miller. “When are you going to follow our lead and actually try some of your own creation? Huh?”

“Well now,” the Miller replied, “I wouldn’t want to be accused of being a drunk now, would I?”

The room let out a communal groan, as if this was not the first time this back and forth had gone on between the two old men. Cal was just grateful to have something in his belly, and was feeling a little happier now that this something had started to go to his head.

The clink of a goblet came from the other end of the large table, and an older man stood to address the community. His white hair and bushy eyebrows gave him the most hospitable of appearances, and he spoke with a great warmth to his voice.

“My friends, it would seem that the Maker of light and Giver of violet hope has been busy making good on His promises as of late. For tonight, we have our very first guest at this table with us, and though we might not know what workings we have found ourselves woven into together, we are grateful for our parts, however big or small they might be.”

“Agreed!” Elder John spoke out.

“Agreed!” came a flood of other voices.

The older, white-haired man continued. “Before we feast and before we tell our tales and drink our fill, let us express our gratitude for all that HE has provided us.”

An old woman stood and sang the collective gratitude of this small gathering of residents.

“From out of exile came our home,

Our refuge made from broken stone.

Where we hope and seek and wait to see

Your new light come and darkness flee.”

Cal felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There it was again, the knowledge that this place and these people held a greater weightiness than he fully grasped. He calmed himself, determined that before the evening ended he would understand who these old men and women were and why the Oweles had brought him to their doorstep.

Clivesis stood, holding a flagon of ale in his hand and wearing a serious look upon his face. He said to his seated dinner companions, “And in that same vein, Tolk, we are all also grateful that none of us here were born with one of those damnable stones strapped around our necks either!”

“Agreed!” came a shout from the Miller.

“Agreed!” came the volleyed response of the dinner companions.

With that, gales of laughter and sprays of ale baptized the meal and set the tone for the rest of the evening.