The next to enter was Patur, the unofficial leader of the group. It was he who most often took it upon himself to inform the Curatak of the Elders’ decisions in matters of public import. He was a most able and influential orator and often led the worship in the temple. He was well-studied in the religion of the vanished Ariga.
“Greetings, my learned friends,” he said, adjusting the robe he had just donned upon entering the chamber. His eyes gleamed in anticipation of the evening’s work, for, whatever it was, it would involve him in close communion with other sharp minds, a thing he dearly loved.
“Greetings, Patur. Thank you for coming along so quickly. We have only to await… ah! Here he comes now.” Yeseph nodded to the curtain and Clemore, the most recent addition to the group upon the death of Asaph, the oldest member, entered, bowing low.
“Good evening, brothers. I pray you are well.” The others nodded, and they all took their places.
Yeseph looked from one to the other of their familiar faces. These were his most trusted friends; yes, Clemore was right, his brothers. He could tell them his dream and they would shoulder its burden, no matter how small or great it would prove in the end. He felt better just being in their presence and wondered if any of them ever felt the same way about him. He supposed they did, as often as they had sought his counsel singly or with the others. Now it was his turn to put a problem before them.
“Good Yeseph, do not keep us in suspense any longer. Tell us what disturbs you, for I see in your eyes that your spirit is distressed by something,” said Patur.
“You speak aright; I am troubled.” He paused as he collected his thoughts and looked at each of them in turn. “This evening I had a dream. Very brief it was, and very strange.”
“You believe it to presage something of significance?” asked Clemore.
“I do.”
“And have you an interpretation for us?”
“No, that is why I have asked you to come here tonight. I thought perhaps together we might seek understanding.”
“Very well,” said Jollen, “tell us your dream as it came to you. We will ask the Most High to enlighten us with its meaning.”
Yeseph nodded slowly and, closing his eyes, began to recite his dream.
“I had just stepped into the courtyard when a great drowsiness came over me, even though I had not eaten. I quickly fell asleep where I sat and began to dream. And the dream was this:
“I saw a river running through the land, and wherever the river touched the land it sprang forth abundantly with green shoots and trees and food for all living things. And the water was clear and good; men came to the river’s edge to drink, and the wild creatures drank and were satisfied.
“But then a dark storm came out of the east and began to blow. The river still ran, but the water began to change, becoming the color of blood. At first just a trace of red clouded the clean water, but it deepened until the water ran black and the river became foul.
“Now no one could drink from the river and live; men who drank of it died, and animals too. And all the trees and grass and flowers which had sprung up along the river’s banks now withered and died. The land became desolate, for all things depended upon the river for their life. The winds came and blew away the dust and dust filled the air in great clouds covering the land, and the river dried up.”
Yeseph paused, drew breath and continued. In the silence of the inner chamber his words sounded like the toll of a bell.
“Darkness fell upon the land, and I heard a voice crying out. It was the voice of a terrified child, saying, ‘Where is my father? I am afraid. Where is my protector?’
“The darkness rolled up in answer to the child. It spoke with the voice of the night and said, ‘Your father’s bones are dust and scattered to the winds. Your protector’s sword is broken. You will live in darkness all your days, for now you are a child of the night.’
“I wept to hear those words. My tears fell like a mighty rain upon the earth. And the rain of tears washed over the land, which had become a bowl to catch the tears and hold them all.
“Another voice, mightier than the first, called out and said, ‘Where are my servants? What has become of those whom I call upon?”
“I answered, saying, ‘I am here and only I-all others have perished.’ I fell on my face in my grief.
“The voice answered me and said, ‘Rise up and take the bowl and pour it out.’ I took the bowl in my hands and poured it out, and it became a sword of living light which flashed in the face of the darkness, and the darkness fled before it. ‘Take the sword!’ the voice commanded.
“I began to tremble all over because I knew I could not take up the sword. ‘I have never touched a sword and do not know how to use it,’ I argued.
“ ‘Then give it to the child,’ the great voice answered. ‘He will use it, and you will guide his hand.’
“But when I looked for the child to give him the shining sword, he was gone. The night had swallowed him up, though I could hear him crying as the darkness carried him further and further away.”
Yeseph opened his eyes once more and looked at his brothers in their council robes. They sat unmoving as they pondered his words. Their eyes were grave, and their faces reflected the concern they all felt at hearing Yeseph’s dream.
“Brothers,” intoned Patur deeply, “this is a most unsettling dream. I hear in it a warning of some urgency. Let us now ask the Most High to guide us in our interpretation, for I believe it is given us this night to oppose the power of darkness bespoken in the dream.”
At that the Elders of Dekra joined hands and began to pray.
FIFTEEN
THE SLEEK black stallion seemed to flow down hills and through valleys like water. Esme had only to press with her knees or move a hand to the right or left and the horse responded, as if to her very thoughts. The animal was remarkably well-trained-so much so that Esme began to fear for its welfare. Riv would run until his heart burst before slackening his pace in disobedience to his rider’s command.
The scene of the ill-fated fight lay far behind her now and still the horse flew on, the lather steaming off his neck and shoulders in flecks whipped away by the wind. Esme saw the dark line of a creek snaking through the lowland valley ahead. Where the creek rounded the grassy base of a hill there rose a stand of young birches, shimmering white in the morning light. That, she thought, would be a good place to rest.
“Whoa, Riv!” she called, leaning forward in the saddle. She pulled the reins back with the lightest touch, and the horse slowed to a canter and then a trot. Esme let him cool down before reaching the quiet stream, knowing that it would not be good to let him drink his fill while still hot from the dune and winded. She would need this horse if she were to reach Askelon.
The birches ringed a shady hollow where long grasses grew, fed by the stream. It was secluded and invisible to any who might come after her. The stony feet of the hill lay exposed at one side of the hollow where the stream formed a shallow pool.
She slid from the saddle and led Riv into the shady grove, walking him slowly. The hollow was cool and silent and full of golden spatters of sunlight and green shadow. Warily she advanced toward the running water heard spilling blithely over a rank of stones set in its course. She heard the call of a meadow bird above her on the hill and the swish of the horse’s legs moving through the grass. That was all, apart from the bubbling water. Yes, she was safe.
Esme led her mount to the edge of the pool and watched as he plunged his nose into the water. He drank deeply and pulled his head out of the stream to shake his gleaming mane in the sunlight. Glistening pearls of water were flung into the air, then splashed back into the crystal pool. She watched as the horse repeated the procedure several more times, and each time she was a little closer to forgetting that she had just barely escaped with her life.