Lailahel, prince of conception, lived in a far and mystical realm, high above the souls and aspirations of mankind. His home was a wondrous palace, wrought of light and sound, where every room had a mysterious tale to tell and strange aethers roamed the tall, echoing corridors.
Jadalan, the abducted son of the King of Ashbrilim, was very impressed with this new home. Because he was only a child, because he was only half-human and because of the angel’s potent power, the memory of his old life soon began to fade. Away went the vision of green fields stretching beyond the city walls. Away, the sight of rolling forests to the north, skirting the great purple mountains where the night eagles lived. Forgotten too, were the faces of Jadalan’s parents; the witch-boy Jadrin and the king himself. Estranged from the lands of men, Jadalan became more angel than human.
Now, sometimes angels stretch and stretch so far that they release a portion of themselves into new reality. Lailahel had done this once and had formed for himself a son of his own - though son is not really the word for an angel child. As all angelic creatures, they are neither one gender nor the other, but something of both and sometimes nothing of either. Lailahel’s child was named Variel. He was pleased to have a companion, especially one as strange and unethereal as Jadalan. Wherever Jadalan walked in the palace, things came into being as if he called them from the air. Variel could not do that and was delighted when Jadalan made him dogs and jewels and bizarre furniture. ‘It was there all the time,’ Jadalan would say.
‘But no-one can make them real like you can,’ Variel would reply.
They played together in the crystal fields beyond the palace, where ferns the size of houses swayed and sang to them. Jadalan learned all about the spirits that live beyond the senses of a human and how to call them up and speak with them.The air always smelled of jasmin in that place and at night the sky became a deep, rich purple, but there were no stars. Jadalan slept in a bed of sighing mist and ate from bowls of honeyed ambrosia whenever he was hungry. Lailahel, obviously genuinely fond of the boy, taught him many arcane things and would brush out his hair with the sparks that flowed from his fingers. Jadrin’s childhood, therefore, was nothing other than idyllic, but Lailahel was careful to teach the boy about the dark side of existence; misery, loss, privation and pain. The angel knew that if the boy remained ignorant of these things he could only ever exist as a powerless half-creature. However, Jadalan’s journeys through such experiences were always necessarily those of the mind and he would always wake up to the soothing light of his wondrous home and the cries of his nightmares would fade away to mere lessons in his head. Nonetheless, he learned and grew to be a wise yet joyful sixteen year old, with more angel in him than he’d ever have had growing up in the gardens of Ashbrilim.As he grew in wisdom, so he grew in beauty and eventually because of the close proximity in which they existed, Jadalan and Variel fell in love. Neither of them particularly understood what they were feeling because they were very innocent and neither of them had any idea what the strange sensations in their bodies could mean or how they could be satisfied. Lailahel noticed their growing closeness with unease.He knew that if they discovered the pleasures of the flesh, they might want to leave and form their own astral palace. Lailahel would no longer have control of either of them. Caught up in a maelstrom of jealousy, that had more than one cause, Lailahel decided that Jadalan would have to leave the palace of light. Variel was of his essence; the angel could not bear to lose him.
One morning soon after this revelation, Lailahel said to Jadalan, ‘You are nearly a man, or as close to a man as you can get, therefore the time of testing has come. You must undertake a series of tasks, which, if you fail them, will mean you’ll have to return to the world of men.’
Jadalan looked horrified. In many ways, he had lived an idle life.
‘It may sound hard,’ Lailahel said, ‘But believe me, it’s for the best. Beyond the blue fields of the north, you will find a single stone sticking from the ground at the boundary of my lands. It is the last stone of the spire of a buried temple. By sundown tonight, you must have excavated that temple or else be cast out into the world of men, where you will be cold and the light may burn you.’
Miserably, Jadalan trudged down the blue fields until he saw the stone that Lailahel had spoken of. Using a spade, which he’d manifested into being on the way, he tore at the crumbling, fragrant, crystalline soil, but as fast as he dug a hole the crystals fell back into it. The land was too dry, the spade too small. By the time Variel came down the field to bring him a lunch of ambrosia, Jadalan was in despair, clawing at the ground with his bare hands. ‘Oh Variel, tonight I must leave here,’ he cried. ‘As fast as I try to dig up the temple, it is covered again. There’s no hope.’
‘Don’t fret,’ said Variel. ‘Go over to that hill and lie down and rest. You’ll get nowhere if you’re tired. Perhaps I can think of a way to help you.’
Jadalan and Variel went to the hill and sat down together. Jadalan ate his dinner and then collapsed on the short, alien turf, exhausted by his work. As soon as he saw this, Variel got to his feet and went back to stand by the temple stone. He held out his arms and cried out to the sky,
‘All ye beasts of field and stone,
All ye beasts of woodland throne,
Attend me now and dig this earth,
Bring the temple to rebirth.’
And in a great flash of blue light, strange creatures hastened out from the trees of glass and metal, burrowed up through the crystal soil and flowed round Variel’s ankles like a sea of fur and spines and fluff. He directed them to their work and, by the time Jadalan stretched and yawned and sat up on the hill, in the valley there stood a magnificent, gleaming temple.Jadalan knew that Variel had done this for him and ran down the hill to take the angel’s child in his arms. ‘You have saved me,’ he said and kissed Variel on the mouth. It was an impulsive gesture and one they had not thought to try before.
However, Variel was afraid of experimentation. ‘We must return to the palace,’ he said. ‘Lailahel will be pleased that you have passed the first test.’
This, of course, was not altogether true. Lailahel suspected that Jadalan must have had some kind of outside help but it never crossed his mind that Variel might have had anything to do with it.’You will find tomorrow’s task just as simple, I’m sure,’ he said silkily. ‘To the west of the palace is a lake that is seven miles long and seven miles wide. Your next task is to drain it so that I may walk in the ruins of an ancient angelic city that used to stand there.’
Jadalan was again filled with alarm. At daybreak, after a mostly sleepless night, he set out for the great, still lake to the west of the palace. In the weird, morning light, it appeared as a polished, silver tray. Surely, some liquid other than water lay there. Jadalan went to the shore of the lake. White sand of fragrant resin crunched beneath his feet to release a pungent perfume that made his head ache. The lake was absolutely motionless - and vast. He sat down in the sand and rested his chin on his fists to stare helplessly out over the object of his task.He had no magic strong enough to deal with it. By tonight, he was sure, he would once again be treading the rough earth of the world of men, homeless and unwanted.
After a while, Variel came down to the lake, bearing a pitcher of milk for Jadalan’s refreshment. ‘As you can see, I’ve made very little progress in draining the lake,’ Jadalan said scornfully and with a dismal, humourless laugh.
‘Don’t worry,’ Variel replied. ‘Drink this milk and lie down to rest on that bank of wild myrhh-moss over there. Perhaps I can think of some way to help you.’
Gratefully, Jadalan did as he was told. The milk made him sleepy and presently he fell asleep.
Then, Variel went to stand at the edge of the lake and raised his arms to the sky, calling out over the shining surface,
‘Silver beasts of foam and wave,
Attend to me, my friend we’ll save,
Drain the lake and drink it dry,
Reveal the city to t
he sky.’
Immediately, the calm, mirror surface of the lake began to stir. Fish of every shape and size swam up through fissures in the lake-bed from other water-ways, underground rivers, and hidden oceans.Being angelic by nature they swallowed the liquid of the lake and took it with them back to their shadowy aquatic realms, far beneath the ground.And in its place, the ancient city stood revealed, purple weed clinging to its ragged spires, its proud avenues choked with silt and stones.Jadrin awoke and ran to the edge of what was now an enormous crater. ‘Variel, how did you do it?’ he exclaimed.
‘It was done because it had to be done,’ Variel replied.’Let us return to the palace, so we may tell Lailahel.’
‘If first I may kiss you again,’ Jadalan said.
Variel looked surprised.’Well, if you want to, then you may.’
Jadalan put his arms around the angel child, and thought about how slim he was, how fragile. He took a handful of Variel’s silver hair and thought about how fine it was, how pure and fragrant. ‘Variel, you are beautiful,’ he said.’I could never tire of looking at you.’
‘Tire, maybe not. But Lailahel will lock me away if we don’t return home. It is late.’
‘Are you afraid of me in some way, Variel?’
‘Perhaps I am. After all, you are an earthly creature.’
‘Then maybe I should return to the place where I came from!’ Jadalan cried, surprised at the pain those words inspired. He ran away from Variel, up the swaying fields towards the palace.I belong nowhere, he thought. I am neither man nor angel. What am I? Is there anywhere I can truly belong.
Lailahel could not disguise his agitation when Jadalan summoned him to a western window of the palace and showed him the drained lake and the city that lay there instead.
‘I would advise you to wait until the mud has dried before you attempt to walk the streets of that place,’ Jadalan said, trying to be helpful. ‘It looked very deep and smelled most unpleasant.’
‘Don’t presume to lecture me, boy!’ Lailahel snapped. ‘So you completed the task?’
Jadalan looked away. He found it very difficult to lie. ‘The task is completed, yes,’ he said.
At this, Lailahel gripped his arm with talonned fingers. ‘You don’t fool me! By the elements, you surely have the blood of Jadrin in your veins. A minx, a trickster, like him! Who helped you, boy? Who drained the lake for you?’
‘I did it myself!’ Jadalan cried, feeling his face grow hot.
Lailahel appeared to withdraw into an icy tranquillity. His temper sloughed away. ‘Very well. Tomorrow, complete the last task or it’s back to the earth for you!In the centre of my neighbour’s garden is an image of the Tree of Life. I want you to climb it and bring me back a pearl from the crown you will find in a nest at the top of the tree.’
‘Your neighbour’s garden?’ Jadalan repeated in a small voice.
‘Just so,’ replied the angel.
Jadalan went directly to his room, threw himself on the bed and wept. He knew that Lailahel’s neighbour was a crusty demon of truculent and unreasonable nature, who guarded his land with basilisks and cockatrices, who devoured first and asked questions later. Even before he reached the Tree of Life, Jadalan knew his task was doomed. He realised that Lailahel really meant to kill him, and in a flash of insight saw the tasks for what they were. Lailahel had no intention of testing him, he could see that now. ‘He only wants to be rid of me,’ Jadalan thought miserably. ‘It is because I am half human.’ There was no alternative but to leave the land of angels immediately and find his way to the world of men himself. Perhaps there, he could find a secluded corner in which to meditate on his woes until death took the hand of age and left him lifeless. The thought of solitude gave him some comfort. Lailahel had spoken of earth as a crude and uncomfortable place, but Jadalan now remembered the dreams he had once had of green fields and shady glades in creeping forests filled with the bright eyes of woodland beasts. Let the angels keep their stark, beautiful purity; he would go to the land of his fathers. Only the thought of leaving Variel caused any real pang in his breast. As he packed his most treasured belongings, he kept seeing the huge violet eyes of the angel he loved. He saw the smile, the hair, the quickly moving hands. No matter! Hardening his heart, Jadalan crept from his bedroom and tiptoed down the misty corridors of the palace, out into the purple night, where moths the size of dinner plates flickered and glowed among the curling branches of a grove of maiden trees and the road shone white and hard towards the north. Jadalan walked through the night, past the temple he’d been ordered to excavate, past the boundary of Lailahel’s lands. As he walked, he found he was weeping and that his body was aching for a final embrace. But he was alone under a moonless sky and no-one heard him.
In the lilac morning, Variel awoke and hurried down to the gleaming terrace where he, Jadalan and Lailahel were accustomed to break their fast. Only Lailahel was seated at the table sipping a distillation of amber crystals and staring with unreadable expression out towards the mud-limned city where the silver lake had once stood.
‘So where is Jadalan?’ Variel asked. ‘Have you set him another task?’
Lailahel turned a speculative eye towards his son. Maybe there was a note of sarcasm in Variel’s voice that morning that was not usually present. ‘As you ask - yes,’ the angel replied stiffly.
‘What is it this time?’
‘What business is it of yours?’
Variel shrugged. ‘Curiosity only.’
‘Someone has been helping the boy, I’m sure of it. Therefore, I consider it more prudent to keep to myself what I’ve asked him to do this time.’
‘Forgive me,’ Variel said smoothly, ‘but I fail to see why these tests are necessary. Hasn’t Jadalan been as much of a son to you as I am?’
‘A son to me, but what to you?’ the angel raged suddenly.
Variel was taken aback.’A brother,’ he replied, ‘what else. I’m very fond of Jadalan and it upsets him that you should test his loyalty or his suitability to remain here like you’re doing.’
‘Variel, you are blind! I should send you too to the world of men to learn a little common sense. Jadalan desires you. He will violate your mind and body if he remains here. Don’t speak! Just think about my words. He will bring the crudity of humankind to our dreaming land. I won’t have it.’
‘What if he completes the tasks?’ Variel said quickly before Lailahel could silence him.
The Angel of Conception stared long and narrowly at his son who, though small beneath his father’s gaze, stared back bravely. ‘If he completes the tasks?’ Lailahel laughed. ‘If he does that, he can have you. He can have you across my own dinner table if he likes! If he completes the task! Hah!’
And with that, Lailahel drained the rest of his amber liquor and swept back into the palace of light.
Variel sat trembling for a further pleat of light and shadow. Lailahel had left a lot of his rage behind, which lingered over the table like a pungent smoke. Variel was concerned for Jadalan, suspecting that this final task would be the hardest of all. He realised that Jadalan would have no hope of completing it without his help. Sighing, he rose and glided into the palace, gazing at the marvellous things that Jadalan had wrought for them. Climbing the white crystal stairs, he went to Jadalan’s room, hardly daring to hope that he would be there, but perhaps to gain some clue as to where Lailahel might have sent him. The room felt very different to how it usually did. This was because Jadalan had left a fume of grief and despair in the air - alien aromas to the palace of light. It also felt very empty. Variel sat on the bed and absorbed the atmosphere. After a few minutes, he gave a short gasp and shot to his feet. A cursory search confirmed his fears; Jadalan had gone. He had not gone to complete the task either, but just to wander away and find some corner in which to grieve. All this, Variel gleaned from the air of the room, but one thing he could not grasp - what the task had been. He must know! If he could complete it himself then he could find Jadalan and bring him back.
Hadn’t Lailahel himself said that Jadalan could stay if the task were completed? Hadn’t he? Almost in a panic, Variel ran from room to room, trying to glean some clue, some pervading atmosphere, some phantom word or sigh that could tell him what he needed to know. There was nothing. Eventually, he paused in the salon where Jadalan had told Lailahel the lake had been drained. Naturally, the angel had been prudent enough to clean the atmosphere in the place; he wanted to be sure there was no way anyone could discover Jadalan’s final task, but he had forgotten one thing. On the far wall, almost obscured by a heavy curtain, hung a large, oval mirror. This was one of Jadalan’s creations and Lailahel had admired it, which was why it now hung on the wall. Variel passed through the room like a ghost himself and he heard the mirror whispering as it revolved the images it had absorbed over the past few days in its cold, glass soul. Variel paused and stared at the bright surface. Only his own reflection stared back. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Is Jadalan in there? Is he?’
‘Demon tree,’ the mirror whispered. ‘Crown of the tree. A pearl. A pearl...’
‘Demon tree?’
‘The tree of life. Its image.’
‘A pearl from the crown? Is that what he asked for?’ Variel could not believe his ears. Sabbalom, their neighbour, was notoriously solitary. It required aeons of negotiation even to secure a social visit, never mind permission to climb the image of the Tree that hung over his lawns. Variel was not sure whether even he could complete such a task. He sighed. Sure or not, it would have to be done. Why? He kept on staring into the mirror. He had lived for an age in this place before Jadalan came. Why risk danger just to keep him here? Couldn’t life resume its old pattern now? Variel considered. He thought about the barren days that would ensue without Jadalan’s bright company; the absence of his humour, the absence of his beauty. ‘I would rather travel the world of men myself to find him,’ Variel thought. ‘My father’s house is a wasteland without him.’ Thus a decision was made and without further hesitation, Variel transformed himself into a spiralling column of light-shot mist and whirled up and away towards the demon’s garden.
The Thorn Boy Page 16
