In the morning they set off early, as soon as it is light, for there is no reason to linger in the damp and the cold, and they shall find it easier to stay warm by moving than by staying still. The precipitation has ceased now, though the sky remains heavily overcast, dark with clouds that only dimly allow the light of the sun to filter through and illumine the earth. But at least now they are not fighting with the falling moisture that soaks their clothing and allows the cold air and wind to pierce through to their skin and to permeate as if to the bone. But the path up the mountainside is both steep and slippery, and the going is so difficult that they must pause frequently to catch their breath.
During one of these stops, Tilliana speaks, saying, “Does anyone else feel a sense of…foreboding? Like we are walking toward a place of great danger?” It takes her great courage to voice this question, since it comes from the deep vulnerable space of the dream that she had the night before, the semblance and the feeling of which have continued to cling to her in waking consciousness, almost as if the sense of “presence” she had during sleep has remained to haunt her in the daylight as well as at night. But to her relief (though also her concern), there is little or no surprise on the faces of the others. Eldarien simply nods as if he was expecting the question, and Elmariyë’s face for a moment expresses of great pain before she can conceal it.
Cirien is the first to speak in response, and he says, “Nightmares come unbidden and with greater vehemence the higher we ascend into the mountains. I have dreamed little, very little, for over two decades. And yet every night for the past three days, I have been dreaming, and the dreams have not been pleasant. I know not what force is at work and how it has access to the imaginations of our minds, but it disturbs me greatly.”
“Why did you not speak of this before?” asks Tilliana.
“I did not want to startle you, since I had not yet come to any clarity about what this meant or its import for our journey,” Cirien answers. “I did speak with Eldarien, and we took counsel together. We really do not know if these…feelings come from our location or from another source that seeks to assail us. After all, there are many powers in this world that are bound by neither space nor time. It would matter little where we are if such is the nature of this threat. If things were to continue, or to grow in intensity, we intended to speak with with all of you in a couple days.”
“I wish you would have told me immediately,” retorts Tilliana. “If we travel together, should we not discuss all things together? It is not proper for some to discuss plans to which others are not privy. For if we walk into danger, should we not turn around? All of us have a right to know such things.”
“There is…truth in what you say,” Cirien replies softly. “But… No…” He pauses as if making a resolution within himself. “I will make no further explanation of my actions. Since it is in the open now, let us take this moment to speak freely and to discuss our knowledge and our course of action.”
“Very well,” says Tilliana, and then she adds, “I…too, had a dream last night. And I would not have considered anything about it abnormal but for the sense of an evil presence assailing me and…” She falls silent, unable to bring herself to speak the following words.
Thankfully Cirien offers the words for her, and all she needs to do is nod in agreement, “Pushing you to the edge of despair?”
“I have had no dreams,” says Eldarien.
“Neither have I,” adds Elmariyë. “Not since Ristfand. But the sense of an unwelcome presence has grown with every waking hour.”
Both Cirien and Eldarien turn to Elmariyë in such a way that it is clear that she has not mentioned this to either of them. In response, she says quietly, as if abashed, “I often feel things that are…not normal. I did not think this was anything different, if only a little more intense.”
“Well, I too have felt it,” says Eldarien. “I am still growing into the ‘feeling of the heart,’ and I think this is why I have felt it much less than you, Elmariyë. But it is certainly abnormal, even for the reality that you speak of as ‘bearing’.”
“That would make sense of much,” Cirien begins, running his hands through his hair as he thinks. When the others turn to look at him as if awaiting an explanation, he continues. “It would make sense, I mean, of why neither of you have been troubled by dreams, and also why you feel in waking consciousness what Tilliana and I feel only as a residue from sleep.”
“What do you mean, exactly?” asks Eldarien.
“I mean that you each have a sensitivity of the heart that allows you to feel the waves of both good and evil with a particular clarity and intensity,” replies Cirien. “You know what a gift this is but also what a burden. Yet it is likely that whatever force you feel afflicting you now can also assail the rest of us—and indeed seeks to do so—when we are most susceptible to outside influence and can offer least resistance. In other words, when we sleep.”
“And what about you, Rorlain?” asks Tilliana, turning to the man who has remained silent throughout the conversation.
He does not answer at first but shrugs his shoulders as if uncertain of what to say.
“Nothing?” offers Tilliana by way of suggestion.
“Not nothing…” Rorlain says in reply. “But I have not been pushed to despair. Rather, last night I had a dream that viscerally impressed upon me the feeling that I made the wrong decision in joining your company and should have remained in Ristfand. But I had little or no sense of an ‘unwelcome’ or ‘evil’ presence, as you called it. It was an unpleasant dream, but I was not aware of anything special about it.”
“There could be many reasons for that,” says Cirien. “For one, you alone have not had direct experience of the bearing of the heart that lives within Eldarien and Elmariyë. Tilliana was a direct recipient of a very intense act of compassionate love that saved her from the brink of death. That could not have but changed her down to the very foundations of her spirit and her heart’s awareness. And I, too, have lived in proximity with Elmariyë for a number of years, and even if she does not know it, I have been aware many times of her bearing my pain and my burdens with me and for me. My devotion to the goddess Niraniel has also changed many things within me, or at least I hope that it has. And if this gift has its source in her, then that explains much also in my case.”
“Well, that makes me feel as though I do indeed belong elsewhere than here,” answers Rorlain, grudging the words as they emerge but unable to restrain them.
“Oh, we do not think that at all!” cries Elmariyë. “Really, we see you completely and entirely as one of us.”
“I confirm Elmariyë’s words,” adds Eldarien. “And we know not what the future yet holds, or if what Cirien says is even the cause. Be grateful that you have not had to taste darkness or the proximity of death in such a way that what happened to Tilliana would be necessary also for you. But I also want to say,” he concludes, “that were I able to include you more in the affairs of my heart and of our company than I already am, I would not hesitate to do so.”
“Thank you…for your words,” Rorlain begins, uncertainly at first, “but I suppose I just do not know how to make sense of—or feel comfortable with—this so-called gift and what it means. Why should few be chosen when all wish to fight? Why should the light be given only to some when others would also wish to wield it? And why would this capacity of bearing be the prerogative of some when others have just as much compassion?”
“I think the answers to your questions are precisely what we seek,” Cirien replies, “in the journey that we now undertake.”
“And your questions are valid and true,” says Eldarien, his voice pained but gentle. “I ask them as well. For it is true that compassion is the calling of all of us, of each man or woman who draws breath from the same air and lives in the same world. We are all one, in ways deeper even than we realize. Thus we must care for one another and carry one another. And this carrying is not only an affection of the heart nor only an action manifested in practice; it is something real that lives in the recesses of the spirit. The very experience of compassion deep within, though it remains hidden, does things externally, just like hidden roots support and nourish a plant. This, at least, is what I am coming to understand.” He pauses and looks into the faces of those around him, all of whom are looking at him, listening to his words.
“We all suffer together, and we all fight together,” he continues. “Our calling and vocation is one, for we are all born of the same life and drink of the same mystery of existence. And I think that the goddess, indeed all the gods, watch over us with tender care as if we were little children under their custodianship. And if they relate to us in some way as children, and we address them as guardian, as protector, even perhaps as mother, as father, then there must be some truth to the love that their care manifests. In other words…perhaps…perhaps we are all children born of a single love, and this is the source of our unity, our fellowship, and our shared life. For the same blood, as it were, runs in our veins, hearkening back to its source.”
“I…I will try to understand your words,” replies Rorlain after a moment, “and to find my place in this journey that we share. But please be patient with me. For at present, I feel excluded where I wish to belong, and I feel impotent where I wish to be of assistance.”
“I receive your pain, my friend,” says Eldarien. “I wish that I could say something to communicate to you my compassion, even whatever understanding of your pain that I possess, but I know that anything I say will be less than you need to hear. Only know that I too have felt powerless for many years and still do—utterly weak before the mystery of reality that stands before me. How could I ever measure up to it, ever respond to it as deeply as it deserves? When I anxiously tried to keep my company alive in the blood-drenched forests of Tel-Velfana, I felt powerless; when the ship that bore me back to Telmerion sank and I found myself in icy water, I felt powerless; when I walked into the cave of the eöten to find you at the behest of your father, I felt powerless. To this very day I feel powerless.” He falls silent for a moment and looks at Rorlain with a gentle intensity, and then continues, “But in all of that impotence and fear, I realize that I have been held. I can only wish for the same awareness for you, Rorlain. And I do wish for it, with all of my heart. And as for your belonging among us, I can do no more than say: my heart does not doubt that you are meant to be here with us, and your presence is dear to me. Neither do I doubt that you can be of assistance, though I am glad of your company not for any benefit we may derive from it, but because it is precious in itself. I hope, above all, that you come to understand that.”
In response, Rorlain simply bows his head and remains silent, at a loss for words with which to reply. After a few moments, Cirien speaks, picking up the thread of the previous conversation, “We still have not spoken of the import of these nightmares and these feelings for our journey. It is impossible at present to tell whether what we are experiencing is rooted in our proximity to a place of danger or whether it is a force that assails us without regard for space, seeking perhaps to hinder us in our journey. I, for one, believe that we should continue upon our current course. For to backtrack our steps and to go another way would cost us weeks. Not only should we not expend any more time than necessary, considering the fact that our journey is so pressing, but that would also raise other problems such as rations. Another consideration is that, if there is indeed a force of evil ahead of us, it would behoove us to learn more about it. We may not be able to confront it directly, but clearly it is already aware of our presence. Perhaps all we have to gain by moving forward is important insight regarding our enemy, and the danger is already with us whether we move forward or back. And indeed, it is more likely that it seeks to turn us away from this path than to draw us along it. If anything, this force seeks to dissuade us from moving forward, not to draw us in like insects into a trap.”
“You have a very good point,” says Tilliana. “Such thoughts did not cross my mind. If it were like a spider seeking prey, it would not aim to push us away through doubt or discouragement but to draw us into its web as helpless victims.”
“Does anyone wish to voice an objection against Cirien’s suggestion, or to pose a question?” asks Eldarien. “I myself agree with him, both as this is the shortest path to our goal and also because I believe that wherever we go, we shall pass through danger.”
For a while no one speaks, as all consider within themselves. Then Rorlain says, “I think we should move forward.”
“As do I,” adds Elmariyë.
“Then that would be all of us,” confirms Tilliana. “Though I must admit that I am afraid.”
“We are all afraid,” Eldarien gently says to her, “but we are not alone in that fear.”
† † †
Thus they continue deeper into the embrace of the mountains, with the peaks of the Yjind range rising to all sides but directly behind them, where the land slopes down toward the plains far below, from whence they have come. But as the afternoon wears on, even this disappears from their sight as the trail turns northward and leads them into the folds between the mountains. By the time darkness begins to fall on the land and the sun bids its farewell for the day, the company finds itself, as it were, cradled by mountains on all sides, hidden in a wide valley where the rugged arms of the mountains meet as they descend toward one another. And though they cannot see it, they expect that the dammed lake—or at least the original source of the river—is somewhere nearby, perhaps a day or two further into the mountains at the other side of the basin.
But at present, they stop and prepare to retire for the night. The precipitation has now fled away to the west and left a mostly clear sky above them, already dancing with the glimmer of early stars, and they look forward to a dry night with hope of warmth or at least warmth enough for comfortable and uninterrupted sleep. That is, if the nightmares do not wake them. They situate themselves in the tent that Rorlain and Eldarien set up between two trees and wrap themselves in their fur blankets and cloaks—using the tent not now to avoid the rain or ice but to shield from the cold winds that sweep through the mountains. And as they do this, each person sinks into silent thought, exhausted from the day’s journey but also simply wishing for time to grapple with the situation in which they find themselves. And their responses are as diverse as their personalities, even if unified by their common purpose, vision, and hope, which cradles and carries their uniqueness as it matures it toward the fullness found only in communion and shared belonging.
Rorlain feels discouraged by what he perceives to be his lack of usefulness in the company, though the words of Eldarien and Elmariyë have helped to dispel the doubts that he bore about his welcome and belonging with the other members of the group. After all, he was the first companion of Eldarien, and their paths crossed—or rather their lives were brought together—for a reason that, though Rorlain cannot name it, he feels very vividly and cannot bring himself to doubt. And so he reflects upon Eldarien’s words, turning them over in his mind as one would turn over in one’s hands an object one wished to inspect. For most of the years of his life, Rorlain has walked alone and had few friends or confidants. His family home was warm and intimate and never ceased to be so even into his adulthood and his parents’ old age; indeed, it remained so even after the death of his mother, though something was lost with her passing which he wishes could be regained, though he knows it can never be in this life. But outside of his family, he has never given himself to another, whether in heart or in concrete existence, more than was necessitated by the journey that he walked. Even in the rebellion, he walked on his own, and he realizes only now that this solitude was born of a fear. But a fear of what? He does not know and cannot name it to himself, but he feels the fear nonetheless, present in memory as clearly as if he dwelt in it still.
And this fear has been present with him throughout his life until this very day. Why then was his heart so powerfully and spontaneously drawn to entrust his life to the journey that Eldarien walks and to commit himself to be his companion and protector? That act went deeply against many of his tendencies to self-isolation and protection, as well as against his uncertainty concerning the state of Telmerion and the right approach to the war. Yet when he looks back on the events leading to the present, even with the tragedy of the battle of Ristfand, he does not regret his decision nor wish he could take it back. It is as though the inertia which has clung to him throughout his life, and which only for brief spells of a few months or a few years has he been able to throw off, is now definitively cast aside. He only hopes that it is indeed cast aside and that he does not go back on what he has chosen. All of these thoughts lead him around again to the question that he bore at the beginning—the question concerning his belonging with and usefulness for the company—and suddenly things appear clearer to his interior vision. Eldarien is right: it is not a matter of being useful. It is a matter of being, as it were, called and chosen. He was led to this point beyond his own volition, though whatever drew him awakened and carried his own will and choice such that he was able to accept and do what until this moment he had his entire life failed to do. And so the question now is not whether he can be useful but whether he will be faithful.
Tilliana, for her part, is too tired to think about much of anything and instead finds herself sinking into a state of exhausted half-consciousness that feels more restless than restful. She is afraid to drift off to sleep in the expectation of having another nightmare, and one more visceral and more irresistible than the last. And so without any deliberation, she shakes herself awake even as she is about to fall into sleep. The sleep departs but the exhaustion remains, and she sits up slowly and buries her head between her knees, allowing the back of her head and neck to peek out from the blanket and to be brushed by the cold breeze of early night. She feels her hair stir in this breeze, and it almost tickles and would be pleasant were it not so cold. And then, unbidden, thoughts and feelings come flooding in; and she is too tired to do anything but allow them to wash over her. She feels a gaping hole beside her and within her where Alsenor should be, and where he was until only a short time ago. The longing for him is so strong and so painful that she almost reaches out to see if he is there or to grasp for his presence in that place where neither sight nor touch can reach. And when this longing turns back upon itself in the certainty that he is gone, gone forever beyond the boundary of death, and her only hope of seeing him is if she is granted such a boon after her own death, her heart collapses. Tears spring to her eyes and roll freely down her cheeks, and she is only barely able to keep herself from sobbing.
At this moment, she feels a hand upon her back, laid so softly that she can barely notice its impress, but she knows clearly what it speaks. She does not move but continues to sit with her head buried between her knees and tears springing from her eyes. The hand gently rubs her back in a consoling and tender gesture. And as this caress of kindness and compassion mingles together with her own painful sense of loss and absence—the gaping hole where Alsenor and her children ought to be—she knows without looking whose hand is laid upon her back. After what has happened between them, there is another sight, another vision—that of the heart—which in certain respects sees more deeply than the eyes and feels more deeply than the flesh.
Elmariyë leans back and looks up into the sky, watching as the firmament gradually populates with stars. She traces in her mind the constellations of the Seven—and sends a plea for aid and a sigh of gratitude to each of them. And then the aurora appears, purple and green, streaking across the sky like a length of cloth being drawn through water or a banner unfurled and stretching across the heavens. She recalls that ancient words have said that the aurora is the garment of the one called Dawnbringer, a seamless cloth woven of one piece out of living light itself, and that until he needs to don this garment himself, he weaves it about the earth as a sign of his protection. And in this moment, Elmariyë imagines herself as the earth, bare in her essential humanity, to be clothed about with pure light like a robe of finest silk and warmest wool, the ornament of beauty that does not bedeck with jewels and add rings or fine colors in order to enhance the beauty of the wearer, but rather simply reveals the beauty that is already present, unsealed by light and in light fully revealed. It is with these thoughts that she sinks into profound rest.
Cirien sits up with Eldarien at his right, and the others, Tilliana, Elmariyë, and Rorlain, in a line beyond him; and like this, the two men together keep watch. One night guard would be sufficient, but neither man at present feels the need or capacity for sleep. As age has overtaken him—or rather as he has grown into age and eventually freely donned it as a fitting garb—Cirien has come to need less and less sleep. Now he rests no more than five hours a night, and often closer to three, and he feels energized and alert regardless. Indeed, in the rare circumstance where he sleeps more than his usual amount, he feels more fatigued rather than less. As he thinks of this, he is moved by the realization that living is what gives him the energy for life, and that the flowing current of his existence carrying him forward, with all the desires, struggles, responsibilities, and joys that it bears within it, is now cascading so fast and so freely that it requires little effort for him to continue in the direction that he is being carried. And he offers up thanks that the current that carries him is that of goodness, of virtue acquired after years of humble fidelity to the voice of reality as it issues its invitation, and not any other force, whether of self-interest, sloth, or evil. It is gift and grace, which have harnessed his being gradually over a long time, until by this grace he is permeated and held. He allows himself to feel consolation for this grace that he has received—far beyond his own deserving or capacity—and in this consolation, he leans into the flowing current of life in the desire, hope, and resolve to remain faithful to it unto the end of his life.
After a few minutes pass—or perhaps many more than a few, as he is not paying attention to the precise passage of time—his mind and heart carry him now to more painful thoughts. He reflects upon the horrific events that unfolded in the city of Ristfand and its surroundings, on the thousands of people who lost their lives at the hands of a force so far beyond their reckoning. He thinks of the temple and its members and all that shall be called forth from within them in the coming months and years, and for the first time, he keenly feels the sorrow of his absence. He hopes that he has made the right decision to leave the temple in the charge of Ilmæl, and he hopes also that the resistance in the city, and wherever else it shall stir in the lands of Rhovas, will look first of all to the protection and safety of the people before any thoughts of rebellion against the Empire. Hersir appears to Cirien as a discerning and prudent man, but he also sensed, when in his presence, his anger and impatience, born of fear and a feeling of incapacity. And both of these oft lead a man to do rash and undiscerning things. Or rather, it is the fear of incapacity, the fear of failure, which oft leads a man to grasp out beyond what he is given, to claim control where he is asked instead to trust, and in the process, to harm both himself and others, whereas the path of patience and of faith would have brought both more peace and more benefit than the path of rash action.
From these thoughts, however, Cirien’s mind carries him back to their current situation, and he reflects upon the mysterious “presence” that has been disturbing his sleep and has been oppressing the other members of the company. Of all the things that have crossed his mind or been laid upon his heart this evening, this causes him deep disturbance, and he finds his spirit troubled. He tries to open himself to clarity concerning the nature of this presence—turning away from thoughts about the presence itself and certainly turning away from the presence—and instead seeking to commune with the benevolent presence of the goddess that is always with him, even if intangible. Is this…force of evil nearby and awaiting us, or is it far away and reaching out to us across a distance? How could I even know such an answer unless it were revealed to me? But is it prudent to move forward as we are without knowing the answer? Ah…it is actually more prudent to move forward, as we have no indication either way regarding the location of the presence. All we know is that it has sought to discourage and dissuade us, to break our spirits and weaken our hearts. And if I have learned anything in the years of my life, it is that the voices of evil should be resisted or ignored, even if they seek to appear wise, for they always lead astray. There is only one way of truth, and the voice that marks out that way alone is worthy of our heeding and our obedience.
Finally, Eldarien, as he sits beside Cirien, gently rests his hand upon Tilliana’s back, feeling her anguish and sorrow flow into him as if the pulsing of the heart sending blood through the veins. He welcomes this pain and does not find it difficult to do so. For him it is not difficult in the least. For with the pain comes beauty; or rather, the pain pulses into him as if carried in the arms of beauty, the beauty of Tilliana’s own heart, gentle and kind and humble in itself and ennobled even further by her suffering and loss.
He knows that someday he will need to welcome also the pain and suffering of hearts that are not beautiful but scarred and disfigured by ugliness and evil. How he knows this he cannot say, but it is a deep awareness in his heart, coming to him, or rather awakening within him, as simply part of the gift that allows him to welcome and bear in the first place. But in this moment, he simply rejoices that he is able to welcome a heart as beautiful as Tilliana’s and to hurt for her with whom it is so easy to hurt, hoping that the little compassion that he can offer will facilitate the healing of her heart, so that the beauty that is now heavily oppressed will be set free to be, perhaps even more deeply than it has ever been before, what it has always been meant to be.