We crowded into the very rear of the room, which was circular in shape. An aisle bisected it and was lined on both sides with guards in full armor and bearing both spears and brightly polished shields. Another aisle, also guarded, cut the room crosswise, thus dividing the crowd of people into four quadrants. Where the aisles gave out at the center of the room, under the apex of the star-washed dome, stood the King’s throne. Mounted on a large pedestal, it was a massive construction, all covered in gold and encrusted with precious gems. Six great, deep steps led up to it. On each step, at either side, stood sculptures of various animals. Master Juwain explained to us that each pair symbolized the various spiritual and material forces that man must reconcile within himself.
To climb to his throne, the King had to pass first between a golden lion and a silver ox. These represented the sun and the moon, or the active and passive principles of life. On the next step awaited a lamb and a wolf, symbols of the pure heart and the devouring passions. A hawk and a sparrow framed the third step while on the fourth stood a goat and a great leopard, cast in bronze. The goat, I guessed, embodied the need for self-sacrifice, a calling that a king must never forget. The fifth step held both a falcon and a cock, reminders of obedience to the highest and the opposing gratification of lust. On the last step, across ten feet of a worn red carpet, there perched a golden eagle facing a peacock, cast of silver but completely covered in various gemstones so as to look like brightly colored feathers. The eagle spoke of man’s striving toward transcendence as Elijin and Galadin where the peacock represented the earthbound vanity and pride of the self. Set into the very top of the throne, beneath which the King would sit, was a golden dove, the great symbol of the peace to be attained at the end of this ascension. The final symbol, Master Juwain said, which wasn’t really a symbol at all, was the starlight that fell upon the throne and called everyone to remember that shimmering place from which men had once come and to which they would someday return.
After we had stood pressed back against the wall for a bare few moments, the doors to our left opened, and heralds stationed there blew their trumpets to quiet us. Then the King, accompanied by a tall, handsome woman whom I took to be his wife, strode into the room. King Kiritan was himself a tall man; his golden crown, set with a large emerald on the front point, brought him up to about my height. Although his neatly trimmed beard was reddish-gray, his hair was all of silver and gold, and fell down to the shoulders of a magnificent, white ermine mantle. Beneath this he wore a blue velvet tunic showing the golden caduceus of the royal house. He wore a long sword at his side while in his hand he carried a very real caduceus of power and peace.
He made his way slowly down the aisle toward the throne. Although he walked with a slight limp, there was power yet in his stately gait and not a little pride. His face, cut with an unusual circular scar on his cheek, was as stern and unmoving as a stone; yet the glimpse I caught of his bright, blue eyes revealed a fierce devotion to lofty ideals and a strict moral order. He turned his head neither to the left nor right. His barons and the princes from the island kingdoms stood the nearest to the throne. There Count Dario and other nobles of the House Narmada waited as well for him to mount its six broad steps.
The King, however, paused before the first step while a herald came forward. The Alonians, as I would discover, loved their rituals, especially ancient ones. And the most ancient of all rituals in Tria was reminding the King of his duties and from where his power ultimately came. As the King’s foot fell upon the first step, the herald called out to him, and to us, the first law for kings: ‘You shall not multiply wives to yourself, nor shall you multiply lands, nor silver or gold.’
The next step brought the following injunction from the herald, who would never think to speak to the King so boldly on any other occasion: ‘You shall not suffer your people to live in hunger or want.’
Upon the third step, the herald told him: ‘You shall not suffer any enemy to slay your people or make slaves of them.’
And so it went, step after step, until the King passed between the eagle and the peacock and drew up before his throne. Then, as the King lifted up his eyes toward the great dome, the herald cried out the final law: ‘Know the One before whom you stand!’
Only then did King Kiritan sit upon his throne and prepare himself to act as judge and lord of his people.
‘Welcome,’ he called out to us in a strong, rich voice. He allowed himself a broad smile that hinted of warmth but failed to convey it. ‘We welcome you with open heart and all the hospitality that we can command. As well, we thank you for gracing our house tonight, whether your journeys took you from only across the river or from as far away as the islands of the west or the southernmost steppes of the Wendrush.’
Here he paused to nod at a Sarni chieftain and at the gold-bearded giant standing next to him who proved to be Prince Aryaman of Thalu.
‘Thirty years now,’ King Kiritan said, ‘we have sat upon this throne. And in all that time, there has never been an occasion like this. Truth to tell, Tria hasn’t seen a gathering of such illustrious personages for an entire age. Now, it would be flattering to suppose that you’ve come here tonight to help us celebrate our birthday. That, however, would be more flattery than is good for any king to bear. Still, celebration is the essence of why we are here tonight. What is a birthday but the marking of a soul’s coming into life? And what is this Quest that we’ve called you to answer but the coming of all of Ea into a new age and a new life?’
While the King went on about the great dangers and possibilities of the times in which we lived, I noticed Atara tensing her jaw muscles as she stood next to me watching him. I recalled that the Kurmak and Alonians had often been great enemies, and I sensed in her a great struggle to like or even trust this vain and arrogant king. Kane watched him closely, as well. We stood together with Maram and Master Juwain, pressed almost to the wall by a group of Alonian knights.
‘Now, we must speak of this Quest,’ King Kiritan told us. ‘The Quest for the Cup of Heaven that has been lost for three thousand years.’
His square, handsome face fairly shone in the radiance falling down from the walls. There, set into curved recesses around the room, blazed at least fifty glowstones. These were regarded as only lesser gelstei–though to my mind, they were still marvelous enough. It was said that they drank in the light of the sun, held it, and gave it back at night. Master Juwain whispered to me that these same stones had illuminated this hall for more than three thousand years.
‘Now, if you’re all standing comfortably,’ the King said, ‘we’ll tell you a story. Many of you already know parts of it; much of it is recorded in the Saganom Elu and other books. The whole of it, we suspect, is known to few. To these learned men and women, we beg your indulgence. After all, this is the King’s birthday, and the finest gift we could receive would be all your attention and enthusiasm.’
So saying, he drew in a deep breath and favored us with another calculated smile. And then, as the stars poured down their light through the dome, as he sat on his immense and glittering throne beneath the golden dove of peace, he told us of the whole long and immensely bloody history of the Lightstone.
18
And so we listened and learned of how the golden cup had been made by the Elijin on another world and brought to Ea by the Star People at the beginning of the Lost Ages; and of how Aryu of the Valari tribe fell mad and killed his brother, Elahad, and stole the Lightstone only to lose it in death on an island near Nedu; of how the whole Valari tribe fell mad and set out on a futile mission to recover the Lightstone and avenge Elahad. And then King Kiritan told of the great First Quest, which had ultimately ended in success–though in bitter failure as well.
This happened in the year 2259 of the Age of Swords,’ King Kiritan told us. ‘The story comes from a chronicle that should have been included in the Saganom Elu. But it was recorded in the Damitan Elu. We’ve had our scribe bring it over from the library to read it to you.’
/> He nodded at a pale, balding man standing near his throne. The man approached bearing a huge, leather-bound book in his hand. He opened it to a marked page, cleared his throat and began reading its account of the First Lightstone Quest.
That Quest, as well, had been foretold by an Alonian scryer and called by an Alonian king: Sartag Ars Hastar. Some of the names of the heroes who answered his summons were recorded in the Damitan Elu: Averin, Prince Garain, Iojin, Kalkin the Great, Bramu Rologar and Kalkamesh. And perhaps the greatest of the heroes, whose name was Morjin. For Morjin, before he fell into darkness, was renowned for his trueness of heart and was fair to look upon; he was said to be the finest swordsman of the age. According to the ancient account, he had led his six companions to the great library in Yarkona. There they had found an ancient map once drawn by Aryu’s son, Jolonu, and passed down to his descendants for ages until it had finally found its way to the great library. The map showed the location of the island on which Aryu had died and hidden the Lightstone more than ten thousand years before.
After many adventures, the heroes had at last come to this little island near Nedu, where they found the Lightstone still sitting in a dark cave. The seven heroes then passed it from hand to hand as they beheld the intense radiance streaming out of the golden cup. Six of them it had filled with the splendor of the One. But the seventh, Morjin, was unable to bear its brilliant light. He fell mad, as had Aryu and the Valari; he began a long descent into the black caverns of envy and hate that open inside anyone who covets the infinite powers of creation itself. And so, on the voyage home to Tria, he secretly slew the great Kalkin and pushed him into the sea. One by one, he then murdered Iojin, Prince Garain, Averin and Bramu Rologar, for in touching the Lightstone they had gained immortality even as he had, and he was afraid that one of them would eventually kill him and claim the Lightstone for himself. Only Kalkamesh lived to avenge his companions. The Damitan Elu told that he had escaped by jumping into the shark-infested waters of the islands off the Elyssu. He had swum to safety, vowing to kill Morjin if it took him a thousand years and to reclaim the Lightstone for himself and all of Ea.
Here the scribe finished reading and closed his book. King Kiritan thanked him with a bow of his head. Then he resumed telling the Lightstone’s history, giving a particularly detailed account of how Morjin had reappeared ten years later and had come to power in the Blue Mountains by usurping a duke named Patamon. From this base in the westernmost domain of Alonia, Morjin had founded the Kallimun; he had used the Lightstone to master the other gelstei, even as he used its beautiful light to master men. It took him only twelve years to conquer all of Alonia. And only eight more to crush the Sisters of the Maitriche Telu, conquer the Elyssu and most of Delu. And then he had nearly destroyed the Valari kingdoms as well. Only the fateful arrival of Kalkamesh at the Battle of Tulku Tor, he said, had turned the tide of Morjin’s invasion and saved the Nine Kingdoms.
‘Kalkamesh was a great hero,’ King Kiritan said. ‘Perhaps the greatest ever to arise from our land.’
As the crowds of Alonians rumbled their approval, I traded a quick look with Kane. His black eyes were blazing; so, I thought, were mine. I had been taught that Kalkamesh was Valari and of Mesh – hence his honored name. Kane must have thought this, too. He leaned his head close to me and whispered: ‘Ha, Kalkamesh was no more Alonian than you or I!’
But King Kiritan seemed determined to claim this immortal man as his own, and so he continued his story: ‘The scryer Rohana Lais had foretold that Morjin could be brought down only by a gelstei made of true silver, but no one in all of Ea knew how to fabricate such a stone. Except Kalkamesh. For in the years that Morjin spent on his illegitimate conquests, Kalkamesh had put the illumination gained by his touching the Lightstone to good use. We know that he was the first to forge the silver gelstei. And so he appeared at Tulku Tor wielding a sword made of pure silver gelstei. The Bright Sword, men called it. It was said to cut steel as steel does wood. Kalkamesh used it to cut a swath through Morjin’s army. Thus he saved the battle for Aramesh. And two years later, at the Sarburn, he used this same sword to finally overthrow Morjin.’
King Kiritan paused to look out into the hall; I had a disquieting sense that he was singling out the few Valari present to bear his bitterness and opprobrium.
‘After Morjin was taken,’ he said, ‘Kalkamesh had wanted to kill Morjin, as should have been done. Instead, Aramesh imprisoned him and took the Lightstone for himself. He took it back to the mountains of Mesh where it was selfishly kept in a tumbledown little castle for all the Age of Law.’
Now the burn of my eyes spread to my ears. My father’s castle, I thought, might not be especially large, but it had always been kept in excellent repair.
‘For all the Age of Law!’ King Kiritan’s voice rang out again. ‘For three thousand years, while men learned to forge all the gelstei except the gold and built a civilization worthy of the stars, the Valari kept the greatest of the gelstei from being used. By the time they finally saw their folly and returned the Lightstone to Tria, it was too late.’
The King’s face fell cold and grave with judgment as he went on to tell of the tragedy of Godavanni Hastar. This great man, he said, had been born in Delu at a time when the whole Eaean civilization turned toward the dream of returning to the stars. Three hundred years before, the great Eluli Ashtoreth had united all of Ea – save the Nine Kingdoms – and had sat as High King on the very same throne before us. From Godavanni’s birth, it was prophesied that he would someday become Ea’s High King as well. He had the gift of healing and touching men’s hearts, and many proclaimed him to be the Maitreya foretold for the end of the Age of Law. It was hoped that he would complete the task of healing the earth and lead the Return, as it was called. In the year 2939, Godavanni had become King of Delu. And two years later, upon the death of the High Queen, Morena Eriades (for in that time, there were ruling queens and well as kings), the Council of Twenty had elected Godavanni High King of Ea. And so Godavanni had come to Tria for his coronation and to sit on the Throne of the Golden Dove.
This event was the greatest of the great Age of Law. Kings and queens of Ea’s many lands journeyed to Tria to honor Godavanni. One of these was Julumesh, who had befriended Godavanni and decided that the time had finally come for the Valari to surrender the Lightstone to one who could use it as the Elijin had intended. And so he brought the Lightstone from Silvassu to Tria to give into Godavanni’s hands. As Godavanni took the Lightstone from him, a great light poured out of the cup and through him. He restored sight to old, blind King Durriken and touched many with a healing radiance. Everyone was touched with his compassion. But it was his compassion, and the deeper love from which it flowed, that proved to be his undoing – and Ea’s, as well.
For this King of Kings known as Godavanni the Glorious wanted to show the people that a new age had begun. And so he ordered Morjin freed from the fortress on Damoom and brought to Tria. He believed that he had the power to heal Morjin, thus turning a once-great hero back toward the light, which would have been a great gift for all of Ea.
And perhaps Godavanni, through the Lightstone, did have this power. But there were other powers in the universe, too. Even as Godavanni opened himself completely and turned the radiance of the Lightstone toward Morjin, a window to the stars was opened. In an instant, Angra Mainyu, from his dark and distant world of Damoom, joined minds with Morjin. And with others in the hall, too. One of these – King Craydan of Surrapam – he caused to fall mad. And so King Craydan, who would ever after be known as Craydan the Ghul, sprang forward to give Morjin his sword. Morjin used it to stab Godavanni in the heart. He ripped the golden cup from Godavanni’s hands. And then, with the help of his Kallimun priests who were hidden among the crowds in the hall, he made a daring escape, fleeing Tria and Alonia for the mountain fastness of Sakai.
This great catastrophe stunned the assembled royalty. After they recovered from the shock, everyone wanted to blame everyone else. As t
he light left Godavanni’s eyes, the light seemed to go out of the whole Eaean civilization. In a fit of fury, Julumesh killed King Craydan and then led his Valari guard on a mission to pursue Morjin. But an army of Kallimun priests intercepted them and slew them to the last man. The Delian nobles took Godavanni’s body back to Delu to bury. The Council of Twenty Kings and Queens, now reduced by three, began arguing among themselves as to what should be done.
‘In the coming years,’ King Kiritan told us in a heavy voice, ‘the Council could not agree on a High King or Queen. This was the Breaking of the Twenty Kingdoms. Then came the time of sorrows. The Delians blamed Alonia for letting their greatest king be killed. Everyone blamed Surrapam for the weakness of their king. The Zayak and Marituk tribes of the Sarni tried to invade the White Mountains to regain the Lightstone, but Morjin won them over with gold and promises of forging a great empire. King Yemon of Ishka accused the Meshians of carelessness in losing the Lightstone. And so the Valari fought among themselves, as is their wont, as they have always loved doing at the expense of all else. They fought kingdom against kingdom, even as Morjin’s power grew and the kingdom of Sakai grew stronger. At last, King Dumakan Eriades called upon the Valari to end their futile wars and join him in a crusade against Sakai. He had with him great firestones. But Morjin used the Lightstone to turn the red gelstei against the King and his men. The stones exploded in a terrible fire; it melted steel, and the Alonian army was destroyed, the King and all of his men. Morjin crucified the Valari survivors along the road leading to Argattha. So began the War of the Stones and the Age of the Dragon, when all of Ea should have entered the Age of Light instead.’
The Lightstone: The Ninth Kingdom Page 40
