by K Schultz
Eideron’s halo of curly white hair framed the weathered ocher of his wrinkled face. Thoughts spun in his head like dust caught in the desert winds outside their protected valley. Eideron felt trapped between darkness and dawn, the burden of leadership heavy on his weary old shoulders this morning. How could he lead the Sokai, when he could not discern the path? Eideron supposed that he exemplified, in miniature, the rest of his beloved people.
The Sokai had lived here protected — isolated from the rest of humankind. In times long past, the Sokai had feared the madness of the Abrhaani and the Eniila might taint them, so they fled to Abalon centuries ago.
Because of their long years of isolation, the Sokai had succumbed to their own peculiar form of madness. The Synod met today, to begin another endless debate. The discussion always centered on what activities and actions comprised purity and sanctity. Eideron hated the internal strife, but couldn’t find a way out of the endless rounds debate and discussion. That perpetual wrangling, led nowhere, except to censure new, useful insights. The Sokai had become fearful of change, any change.
“Maybe we should abandon this valley,” he mumbled, not believing that he ever would. Abalon was his birthplace and it would be his tomb. His wife’s final resting place was here and her bones lay in the crypt atop thirty generations of their forebears. Eideron was too old to travel the barren desert and seek the Abrhaani and Eniila. If he was younger —.
“We have become like insects trapped in amber. Perfectly preserved, and permanently incapacitated, by the instrument of our preservation,” he said.
Eideron smiled. He liked the analogy and might use it in the Synod Council, if the opportunity arose. Eideron was not alone in his restlessness. Several other Synod members had shared similar misgivings, arising from their own dreams or intuitions. Something brewed outside their protected haven, its nature was unclear. Even if those events became known, the Council would still face months of debate and wrangling, before deciding on a response.
Eideron doubted the present Speaker would approve any action, unless she saw the world ending, around her ornamented chair. Amoreya was a good woman, who tried to preserve righteousness and goodness. She was — they all were — trying to maintain purity of thought and deed, and avoid the violent tendencies of the Eniila and Abrhaani. They tried hard, but she and the other Counselors remained rooted in place; too bound to their history to move forward.
Maybe that wasn’t correct. Amoreya and the Synod were shortsighted. None of them looked beyond the time when the Sokai had arrived in this valley. The Sokai had built comfortable lives for their people here. Comfortable lives were an addiction. All they knew and all they wanted was continuing comfort.
The Sokai needed to look farther back in history, beyond the centuries of warfare they had fled and beyond the Sundering. They must understand The Creator’s purpose and destiny for the Sokai. Instead of continuing to exist, as they did now, blind, selfish, and complacent, they needed to grasp their destiny with both hands and become the people their Creator intended. A familiar passion rose within Eideron.
The Creator meant them to be the Seers and Speakers for humankind, and yet for seven hundred years they talked only to themselves. The Sokai had become like doddering old fools muttering into their beards in their own rooms, while nobody listened. Nobody remained to listen, because the Sokai never left their sanctuary, nor did they ever invite anyone in.
They must send someone to investigate the situation outside Abalon. How could he convince the Synod to act? Even if they believed they needed to act — who would they send, how many would they send, and where would they send them? The decades of discussion such a mission would engender caused his head to ache.
A crash in the kitchen interrupted his ruminations. Eideron smiled and called out.
“Simea, is breakfast ready?”
“Yes Master Eideron, I tried to be quiet, but I dropped a plate. I am sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Do not fret youngster. I was awake and shall come out once I am dressed.”
Eideron listened for more sounds of catastrophe in the kitchen. When there weren’t any, he assumed his young apprentice had left. The lad grew half a span every tenday and thumbs had replaced all his fingers. He tripped and stumbled around the place until nothing breakable was safe in his presence.
Simea was a good lad, with an eager mind and a willing heart, and he often perceived what others, including Eideron missed. The lad showed astonishing potential. Even at the cost of shattered crockery, he was worth having.
Eideron finished dressing and entered the kitchen where breakfast and a silent apprentice both waited at the low wooden table.
“Can I do something else Master?”
“No lad, you have done enough damage.”
Eideron smiled at Simea, to soften the sting of his caustic humor. Eideron expected the lad to bow and leave as usual. Instead, the youngster continued to stand at the table, looking like a trapped animal, uncertain of his fate, but powerless to prevent it.
“Don’t worry about the plate Simea, it can be replaced.”
Since he had absolved him for the broken dish, Eideron expected the boy to let him enjoy his breakfast alone, as he settled onto his cushion. Instead of leaving, Simea hovered over his reclining Master, looking more trapped by the second.
Eideron ignored the boy and his discomfort and ate his breakfast, waiting to see if the lad had the nerve to speak. He derived a guilty pleasure from making his apprentices uncomfortable and justified it by saying it built character. His friend, Himish, believed it was a streak of perversity in Eideron’s nature.
Simea was the fifth apprentice the Synod had assigned, the fifth to undergo Eideron’s efforts at character building. The others were characters, before Eideron finished training them. He told anyone headed for service in the Holy Orders they needed a backbone and a good stiff one. Eideron suppressed a smile at the memories of the young men who had served him over the years. Eideron noted with sadness he had outlived two of his former charges.
“Master,” Simea began, tentative as usual.
Eideron pretended not to hear. He continued to scoop up his breakfast and feigned thoughtfulness. Simea opened and closed his mouth while he fidgeted and blushed. He reminded Eideron of a fish. For a moment, Eideron thought Simea would turn and run, but he gained control of himself and began again.
“Excuse me, Master.”
“Well,” Eideron thought, “At least this time he was polite.” He looked up at the boy with a stare calculated to instill panic.
“If you must interrupt my breakfast it had better be important.” He brandished his spoon at Simea like a sword and scowled at the youth.
“Well, out with it! I don’t have all day!” He feigned impatience, knowing his pretended annoyance made it even more difficult for the lad to continue. “Well — spit out whatever is stuck in your craw.”
“Master, I have a question for you, I understand you are busy, but this girl —”
Eideron interrupted, “If you have questions about girls ask one of the other Masters, a younger one, or at least one whose wife has not been dead for many summers.”
Eideron struggled to keep a straight face. “So a girl has Simea tied in knots.” He remembered his own feelings when he first met his wife Fierra, but the boy broke into his reverie, wringing his hands and stammering.
“No sir — it’s — it’s not what you think.” Simea picked up speed as the words came. “It’s my friend Aibhera, who lives below us on our street. Aibhera and I have been playmates since birth. We talk a great deal about things like your work in the Holy Order and the dreams we have had lately,” he paused for breath.
The word dreams caught Eideron’s ear. He listened, suddenly and silently attentive.
“In recent nights we have dreamed the identical dream — both of us,” he paused, waiting for encouragement from the older man.
“Continue.” It came out as a command, although Eideron did not i
ntend it to sound harsh. Simea had caught the older man’s full attention at last.
“At first we dreamed of a dark cloud obscuring the sun, darkening the western sky, moving towards our valley, expanding, and threatening Abalon’s peace. Aibby and I dreamt of death and disaster occurring throughout Aarda. It was heading in our direction, a giant wave of darkness.” Simea paused again.
“Well nightmares are common lad, but they are not dreamed in tandem.”
“I understand that sir, but now we dream of three strangers, in the midst of the darkness. These three stand together. The darkness tries to overcome them, but it has not defeated them yet. These people are riddles we cannot solve..”
“One is young like me, but tall as a tree, and fair as grain at harvest. He has fled his home and found it again elsewhere. He is a fearsome warrior with mighty arms, yet he doubts his own strength. The hand of The Creator is heavy upon him, but he fears and misunderstands his calling. His name is Judgment or Justice.”
“The second man is older, olive skinned, dark, and doubting. He is shorter of stature and weaker in his sinews, but mighty in healing and lore. The older one does not comprehend his full power, nor does he understand the magnitude of his destiny, and he is lonely among friends. He is weak of will, but powerful in compassion, but The Creator is strong upon him. His name is Healing and Truth.”
“The last is old, and yet young. She is jade skinned like the second. She has seen much, and endured much. The woman has remained whole, although she has been broken to pieces. Her insight holds them together now, though she feels frail and foolish. Her name is Wisdom and Compassion.”
“They are seeking something lost long ago. They have attracted the Dark Ones attention. The Nethera have attempted to silence them without success and want to work in secret, but these people are revealing their actions, and their schemes. The Dark Ones are not ready to move openly, but when they are prepared we will be unable withstand them. These three beings are a beacon of truth that the Nethera seek to extinguish.”
“We want to understand what this means. Is it possible our dreams are true?” Simea stopped, waiting for a response from his master and mentor.
Eideron pondered the information, as the nervous boy stood by, shifting from foot to foot until he spoke.
“How long have you had these dreams?”
“Several months ago we dreamed of the approaching darkness, but a few nights ago we dreamed of the three, who stand against it. Aibhera and I felt it best to tell you, as soon as these new dreams occurred.”
“I must meet your friend — Aibhera, was it?”
“Yes Master, I will fetch her straightaway.” He began a frantic dash toward the door.
“Hold! There is no need for haste! If it has waited several months, it can wait a few more hours. I am uncertain how to proceed, and if we want to intervene, it takes a long time to reach them, since we are far into the Eastern Wastes.”
“Have you forgotten? I must attend a Synod meeting this morning.”
“Sorry, Master. When shall I fetch her then?”
“Bring her for the evening meal. We can dine together. Now be off and let me finish my breakfast in peace.”
“Yes Master.” Simea bowed and scurried into the next room. He narrowly avoided breaking a vase filled with crystalline flowers, set near the doorway.
After the boy left, ideas chased one another through Eideron’s head and disturbed his breakfast. The boy had given him food for thought along with his morning meal.
In spite of his inner turmoil, he finished eating and hurried to his meeting, mulling the possibilities that Simea had set before him. Eideron scowled up at the sun, as he realized that he was late.
Eideron usually enjoyed watching the Windriders soar across the caldera as he descended from his home, near the lip of the ancient crater. He had never flown a glider, but imagined the freedom they felt while soaring high above the valley floor. Eideron had no inclination or time this morning for flights either real or imaginary, so he ignored the view.
By the time Eideron arrived in the council chamber, most Synod members had taken their seats on low benches around the room’s perimeter. The Speaker had not convened the assembly so members still chatted together. A few looked up from their conversations, when Eideron entered and acknowledged his presence with a nod. He walked to his usual place and sat beside his oldest friend, Himish.
“What kept you? You are always among the first to arrive,” Himish asked. “Is anything amiss? You look troubled.”
“Simea, my apprentice —” he began, but the sound of the Speaker pounding on the dais with her staff of office called the meeting to order and cut off his explanation.
“We’ll talk later Himish,” he whispered.
The meeting dragged on as Counselors wrangled and debated. Eideron was semi aware of the proceedings because a sense of foreboding preoccupied him. When the session ended, he called Himish off to the side, to explain the source of his distraction.
“Simea has a friend and they are dreaming identical dreams of the Nethera. The Dark Ones are active again. At least that is the way I interpret their dreams.”
“What? Both of them? The same dreams, at the same time?”
“Yes, Himish, but beware of eavesdroppers. I don’t want to stir up a controversy until we understand what is happening.”
“They dream of a great darkness coming our way, and three people who stand against the tide of destruction. Even more important, the three who stand together, are two Abrhaani and one Eniila.”
“Eniila and Abrhaani, working together?” Himish looked solemn.
“Yes, you know what that means,” Eideron said.
“Simea is one of our best, but the girl, Eideron. Who’s apprentice is she?”
“I know nothing of her. No one has mentioned an apprentice by that name. Simea doesn’t talk of his life outside the Order.”
“And when he talks, he stammers,” Himish said. “You ought to be less intimidating to your apprentices.”
“Nonsense. It’s good for them. It builds character, but let’s not debate that again. I want a second opinion. Could you join me for supper?”
“Of course I can. I can always use a good meal.” He patted his small paunch with affection. “That boy cooks far better meals than my wife does. You know that well, old friend.”
“No doubt, about that. She is a saintly woman devout and dedicated —” Eideron began.
“And unable to properly boil water,” Himish interrupted.
“It is one reason I work as hard as I do,” said Eideron. “I keep busy, to avoid her persistent invitations to your house for meals.”
“On the bright side,” Himish countered, “she is prolonging my life by preventing me from overindulging in food, unlike your rotund self,” Himish needled.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Forsooth, you have exposed my inner darkness. Will you report me to the Speaker so they can ostracize me from this august assembly?”
Both men chuckled. Eideron and Himish had been cronies for decades and they did not have many secrets left between them. In private, they often bantered this way. The Speaker would have censured them if she knew, but she didn’t, and they would never tell her. Himish and Eideron’s bond of friendship ran deep, and their trust in each other, was well deserved.
“Come before sundown if you can,” Eideron said as he left the hall.
“Both I and my appetite are looking forward to it; I will walk as fast as my skinny old legs can carry me.”
Chapter 32
“But why can’t I come with you Aibby?” Kyonna pouted.
“Because you aren’t invited, silly.” Aibhera ignored the grimace her younger sister made at her. Kyonna was one summer younger than Aibhera, but in spite of looking similar, they were as different as night and day. Both had the slight builds, dark hair, ocher skin, high cheekbones and chiseled facial features typical of their Sokai ancestors. Aibhera had the edge on her si
ster in height, by a quarter span.
“Simea is my friend too,” she protested, reluctant to accept her older sister’s refusal.
“Master Eideron is the one doing the inviting, not Simea, and I doubt if Eideron even knows you exist. I’m sure he didn’t know I existed until Simea mentioned me to him this morning. Besides, I’m not sure I want to go. Eideron is a little scary.”
“Nonsense, Aibby, he looks like a nice man. If I meet him, I can show him how wonderful I am.”
Kyonna produced her most charming grin, made even more charming by the flash of her indigo eyes. Her smile was enchanting. Rather than detracting from her charm, her slightly crooked teeth added more charisma to it. When Kyonna smiled, she invited you into the secret of the sunrise. With a demure tilt of her head, she curtsied; her black ringlets framed her attractive face and flashing eyes.
Kyonna was as impetuous and audacious, as Aibhera was organized and stolid. Aibhera supposed that her sister’s ability to adapt to changing conditions made Kyonna such a great Windrider. It took daring, and lightening reflexes, to ride the thermals, while carrying messages and light freight, back and forth across their valley. The Synod Council would have assigned her sister a job as a planter by now, if not for Ky’s outstanding ability with the gliders. Aibhera’s organizational abilities saved her from that fate because her talent earned her a job in the library.
“Ky is pure trouble,” Aibhera thought to herself. “If she wasn’t so beguiling and charming, someone would have throttled her long ago.” There were occasional days when she considered choking Ky herself — right now, for example.
“Eideron is not one of your love crazed beaus; Ky. Eideron’s an old man, and a Councilor of the Synod for heaven’s sake. I doubt that your flirting will turn his head. Besides, someone has to stay and help Ma with the young ones, when they get back from the crèche.”
“But if he could just see me.”
Aibhera suspected that Kyonna withheld the real reason she wanted to meet Eideron, but it was dangerous for members of her family to attract the ruling elite’s attention. As long as they escaped notice, they lived life without interference, but once the Synod scrutinized their lives, hell broke loose. Their mother had lost her position and now labored in the fields because of the Council’s scrutiny. Being a nonentity had advantages in their society.
