

The Cross and the Cosmos

Issue 16

ISBN: 9781301023349  
Copyright The Cross and the Cosmos 2013

Smashwords edition

Table of Contents----

Introduction

by Glyn Shull

1

Error: Reference source not found, Part III

By Johana Rakkav

3

Error: Reference source not found

By Joel Parisi

21

Error: Reference source not found

by Eric Ortlund

50

Cover Art courtesy of Scott Richard. You can find more of his work at:

 scottrichard.cghub.com/

and

<http://rich35211.deviantart.com/>

#  Introduction

Greetings and well met!

Time at last for another action packed episode of the Cross and the Cosmos! This quarter has been beyond exciting, beyond amazing, beyond anything I could have imagined. We have, dear friends, published two, count 'em, two book currently available from Amazon for print and everywhere else for ebooks. Those books are:

If you have not checked these out yet, then you, my dear readers, are doing yourselves a disservice. What you see before you represents the finest fiction that we have ever produced. I dare say that it is the finest you will ever read(Until we publish again next year). These are authors that you know and love, come back time and again for.

Frank's daring, crisp style and willingness to go where other Christian authors won't has always brought a certain joy to his writing. In Rebirths, he breaks the barriers again, reminding us that we all have valleys in our lives, and we all struggle with our demons, both new and old. Everything Derke has is taken from him: his life, his family, his faith. When offered a chance to keep his family, he makes what seems to be the only decision, but how will it haunt him?

In Catalystica, we follow Ratchen, a man well into his mistakes and plagued by demons as well as memories. Betrayed, this man will stop at nothing to get his revenge on the one he once loved. In order to do so, he must gain access to the fabled Lair of Beasts, but he can't do it alone. This gripping tale will keep you entertained through and through. Never a dull moment, this story will not let you go from page 1 till the end. You'll cry with the characters, laugh with them, and, in the end, be sad to see them go. No worries though, GL assures me that here will be more.

So where can you get your copy? "Rebirths" can be found at:

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/316454>

and

https:/sw.createspace.comitle/4283107

"The Kamanthian Chronicles: Catalystica" can be found at:

https:/sw.createspace.comitle/4118793

and

https:/sw.createspace.comitle/4118793

And for other news, have you followed us on Facebook, yet? This is where you get all the newest TC2 news, insights, and interaction with myself and my authors. Just search "The Cross and the Cosmos" and give it a go!

I've kept you long enough! The stories in this issue more than speak for themselves and I expect that you will enjoy them without me spending an hour telling you how amazing they are. The stories speak for themselves.

God Bless!

Glyn Shull
EMBERS

By Johanan Rakkav

Part Three

Alain heard the near-panic in Autumn's "mental voice" and replied at once.

"I'll explain everything when I get home," he said aloud. "Here and now, I'm in the middle of a very big situation, but I'm all right and among friends. Stand by."

Standing by, love. Come home as soon as you can.

"I will." By now, a crowd of about two hundred Lightchildren of all ages, men and women and teenagers, had gathered around Alain and his companions in a circle, and many of them were genuflecting on one knee.

"Hold it. Hold it!" Alain exclaimed with upraised hands. "Stand, all of you, please, and tell me how it is you know of me. You!" he added as he pointed to a tall and lovely blonde with blue eyes. "You're of the House of Whitestar, aren't you? I recognize the sigil on your ring."

"Yes," said the woman. "I'm Celeste Whitestar, a descendent of Israel Whitestar the brother of Ranger Nathaniel Whitestar."

Alain nodded. Before the Deep Space Fleet was created, special warriors called Ranger Assassins protected mortals and their interests from various hazards on Adami colony worlds. Nathaniel was the first and greatest to be called to the duty. His brother Israel was not a Lightchild, and so carried on the family line. Celeste obviously had been called from the same line in her own time and became a Lightchild herself.

"Incredible," Alain went on. "A hundred millennia have passed and your accent in Adamic hardly differs from mine. Your House should be commended for its efforts in fixing the language."

"We retain the Imprimatur of the Codex," said Celeste, referring to the Book of the Covenants, "and using Codex Adamic for comparison, we keep the profane dialect pure as well. Where have you been, Master Alain? Have you returned from beyond the Portal of Light after so very long?"

"Why do you think I was there?"

"We know that you disappeared suddenly, ages and ages ago. We could only conclude you returned through the Portal from which you came. Yes, the Hooded Man revealed this much upon your disappearance: both you and the Girl Named after the Moon came from the First Realm, and unlike the rest of us, you two weren't native to this Realm."

"I remember," Alain said softly. "I learned at the end of that terrible dream," he added for the sake of the Hegemons, "who I really am—and now I remember who Autumn really is. In actual fact we're both in the New Heavens and New Earth, as I speak. Here in the Metacosmic Tree we're but projections—after a fashion."

Celeste nodded in understanding. "Mistress Autumn couldn't bear her grief at your absence, and she begged leave to depart, if possible, to wherever you were. The Hooded Man granted her passage through the Portal of Light, and so we inferred you were beyond it as well."

"Well, not on my own timeline I wasn't—but what happened to me needn't be told here and now. So, how is it you remember me after all these millennia? I may be a star in the Great Beyond, but I'm far, far from the brightest one."

"But you were the brightest star here: the Locus, the Steward, and the Herald of the Hooded Man. You changed everything and everyone you touched without changing yourself—except for the better. Today is the anniversary of your departure from us, and so we fast in memory of what might have been."

"What might have been?" Exasperation sharpened Alain's voice. "One hundred millennia since my departure and you still mourn for what might have been!"

"'Blessed are those who mourn,' remember?" Celeste lifted her arms in an all-embracing gesture. "Do you think what stands around you and above you, or what your Sentry now knows of elsewhere, is a great thing? Ours are but lesser works of lesser heirs of the Undying Singer and the Girl Named after the Moon. You two were meant to walk among us forever after your normal span as a Lightchild ended, to guide the Archons and their mortal charges in the good and right way, and to inspire your fellow Lightchildren as no one else can save the Undying Song Himself."

"Is this true?" asked Phedali in astonishment.

Alain sighed and nodded. "Yes. In my own timeline, I alone of the Created knew the secret. Autumn didn't know it, nor the other Lightchildren, nor yet the Archons. But you learned the secret, didn't you, in your own timeline?" he added for Celeste's benefit.

"Yes, Master Alain. We learned this after Mistress Autumn's departure." Celeste gathered herself for a moment. "If I may speak freely?"

"Of course. You remind me of a Levani I met named Iranna, only you're gentler," Alain replied. "You're a Fe'ni, aren't you?"

"Yes, you're right. Hear me then in my gentleness. The Hooded Man has always said your hubris was not that of King Uzziah of the Codex, who valued himself too much in the Creator's eyes. No, the truly Metacosmic irony was you became like King Saul, who valued himself too little in the Creator's eyes. Some Ne'fis think they fear the power and persecution of others, when really they fear their power over others and their own fallibility in wielding such power. Perhaps this fallacy was due to the burdens you bore. Only you can say."

Alain said nothing, but fell to his knees without warning, and all the feelings trampled on so heartlessly by the Scorpion for so long a subjective time came welling out of him as he wept shaking with his hands covering his face. Every eye looking upon Alain's straits shared some of his tears, even those owned by the least sentimental among his onlookers.

I have forgiven you for your error, said a Voice aimed for Alain's ears alone, for here you are but a stranger and a sojourner. In the First Realm, I made you holy uncounted ages ago. There you are a Spirit of a Just Man Made Perfect with Power beyond Metacosmic reckoning, and so you need fear nothing in these Realms, not even yourself. I need to know but one thing: will you forgive Aqrav despite himself as I have forgiven you?

He is very nearly beyond redemption, Lord, Alain replied in his thoughts; his tears began to stop as he did so.

Very nearly indeed, but I will give him one more chance. If he fails the test and then crosses your path again, you will kill him and send him to the Realm of Judgment. You shall do likewise with his nymphomaniac Young Archon lover. But will you forgive them for your own part, regardless of what they choose?

Of course I will. How can I refuse the One who took me out of the ash heap so very, very long ago?

Then return to your own time and space and set the Metacosmic Tree in order. And be prepared for some surprises upon your return, pleasant ones.

Silence.

No one spoke as the Lightchild rose to his feet. "I've forgotten something else—my manners," he began. "These are Phedali and Briatynne Arondir: the rightful Hegemons of the world of Aetalnor, the world on which I disappeared so long ago. I've just found and rescued them from their own eternal prison." At his pronouncement, nearly everyone in the audience murmured in amazement. "But this isn't our place in space-time, and we need to return to when and where we belong, where Autumn still is."

"Then," Celeste asked in surprise, "Mistress Autumn isn't beyond the Portal of Light, from your timeline's point of view?"

"No, she isn't. That's one reason this branch of the Tree must be pruned. It shouldn't have grown in the first place."

"How can we do this?" Phedali interrupted. "And what of all the people in the intervening millennia in this timeline? Will we not kill them all, including these people?"

"Worse, husband: will we not we make them as if they never were?" Briatynne added.

Strangely in the eyes of the Archons, Celeste and her many companions seemed not at all disturbed by the prospect. Alain nodded in acknowledgement of their understanding.

"Milord and milady," he began, and his voice grew stronger as he went on, "Aqrav overcame me in part because he caused me to forget what being the Locus really means. It means, subject to our Lord's will, everything and everyone in these Realms is but potential reality. It only becomes actual reality when I choose it to be so. I forgot my connection to the Lord and His White Hand which makes such a choice possible. But now I remember who and what I am, and what I can do. Think of it this way: as much as my dark dreams were illusions, so from a certain perspective this is also an illusion. The difference is it's my illusion, generated by my experience in subjective space-time, and therefore infinitely more powerful than anything Aqrav or any other Illusionist can conjure."

"Are we illusions then?" Phedali asked.

"Circumstances have brought us all together in a way so you all know the truth about who I am and where I came from. And you're all good people, not evil people. Therefore, on some level you're not illusions. You have life not only here and now, but somewhere and somewhen, beyond the Metacosmic Tree. I don't know how and right now, I don't need to know. What matters is us three getting back to where and when we belong, so the rest of the Metacosmos assumes its intended shape."

"Then you can overcome Aqrav when you meet him again?" asked Briatynne.

"Without a doubt." Alain had to admire how quickly both Archons had adapted to what they just learned. "Aqrav used my own Shadow powers against me," and here he touched the Locus' Ring, "in order to overcome me. I believe it was through another ring bearing the Glyph of Functions; quite likely, he captured you two by the same means. But he could only do it to me because I was focused on my Gift of Foresight, which for me is a Shadow power. Doing so left me wide open to an attack from deeper in the Shadow. When I focus on the Gift of Light, though, I can't be overcome by the Glyph of Functions or anything else."

"But surely he must know this," Phedali pointed out. "Whatever else Aqrav is, he is far from stupid."

"Indeed. But if I understand what the Lord revealed to me privately some minutes ago, Aqrav will flee rather than surrender or die, almost certainly. If he fights me when I return, he won't stand a chance of winning, and surrender is improbable. But we'll see."

"Who are you speaking of, Master Alain?" Celeste asked.

"Our jailor: Aqrav the Scorpion, a Hostile Archon who's about to face a day of reckoning. Please grant me a few moments before we go," Alain added. "There's something I must yet do to recover my full strength."

"The Chant of Vowels," Celeste said knowingly.

"Yes. When Yehawweh created the Old Heavens and the Old Earth, and also the Metacosmic Tree, He did so not by a Big Bang but by a Lost Chord—by singing His Oldest Name. Only the sound envelope so formed can imitate the mathematics of creation. Your people still remember this, Hegemons, as through a glass darkly. Their leader called me Song Incarnate because she sensed unknowingly what I can do with the Oldest Name. When I sing the Chant of Vowels, and then the Rhyme of the Undying Singer—the short version, the one honoring the Hooded Man a tad more and me a tad less—then I truly will become as I've ever been."

"You already are in the Great Beyond, Mikha'el ben-Avram," said Celeste reverently, and all the Lightchildren present bowed the knee with her. This time Alain didn't refuse the gesture.

Then for the first time in a very long subjective time, Alain Harper the Undying Singer's lyric tenor voice lifted up in a very special song. The sound seemed to fill the forest around him and all the trees seemed to bend their ears and listen with joy.

Ieaouoaei... ieaouoaei... ieaouaei...

Without prompting, Raphael projected vertical panes which acted as high-fidelity speakers, and a subtle orchestral and choral backup began behind Alain's chant. As he paused in the chant, the choir took it over as normalized in Adamic:

Ye-ha-wweh... Ye-ha-wweh... Ye-ha-wweh...

It took Alain time to overcome his own bittersweet tears—but when he did so, his voice began low and soft and soon soared high and loud in the simple melody accompanying these words:

I walk among the Realms a lonely way

That leads me to the needy and oppressed.

"Defend the innocent" is what I say,

And "be authentic" ever is my quest.

Where tyrants reign, they tremble at my might,

And fawning bow, or else they turn to flee;

Yet in the starry silence of the night,

They calmly sleep who put their trust in me.

My Lord and Savior holds me in His hand,

And nothing can be hidden from His mind;

And when I need His Light at my command,

I ask and seek of Him, and so I find.

As the orchestral accompaniment swelled on the final tonic chord, Alain lifted both hands skyward. His hands became wreathed in white and blue radiance, his clothing turned as white as fresh snow on a clear morning, his hair became like spun gold, and his face shone like the sun overlooking the mountains of Emberland on Aetalnor.

And then in a melodic-verbal clause growing ever louder as it rose in pitch, Alain sung the seven Words of Command, calling forth his penultimate power over the Metacosmic Tree:

Let there be Light! Banish the Darkness!

And as all around him turned into a negative print, the Metacosmos and every Realm in it rang with all the frequencies generated by one note plucked on a perfect string of infinite length.

* * * * * * * * * *

Briatynne blinked. "Where are we?"

"This is the Deep Space Service Courier, the Hind of the Dawn, shortly after Aqrav sealed me away in the Pocket, and we are belowdecks," Alain replied. "Through my wedding ring, I used Autumn's location as a target for our transition. She's on the bridge... and from the sound of it, coming down those spiral stairs as fast as her eager feet can carry her."

In moments, the Undying Singer and the Girl Named after the Moon all but threw themselves into each other's arms.

"We need to talk," said Autumn after another very long moment.

"We need to do more than talk," Alain replied with a grin, "and we need privacy for talking and not-talking."

"You're on—and not-talking first, just for you." And after a command to Raphael, Alain carried a delighted Autumn through the door of his Sentry's closet. A wink of light and the mirrored surface was gone.

"Raphael, bring time dilation to maximum," Alain ordered as soon as they were safely inside. At that setting, a full Standard Day would pass within the closet for every Standard Second outside of it.

How intensely married Lightchildren could love each other was a closely guarded secret. It was the Hooded Man's compensation for, given their special calling, they could never have children. Alain and Autumn enjoyed the intensity for a long time indeed. Even when both were finally ready to talk, they remained thoroughly entangled in each other's embrace, and their variable-gravity bed greatly facilitated their remaining so.

Slowly, carefully, Alain explained everything that had happened to him. Autumn interjected with many questions at first, but after a time she simply listened and nodded, and often she'd caress or kiss him when he recited particularly painful experiences.

"Darling?" Autumn asked at last, looking up at her husband.

"Yes, Fiona?"

"You can remember everything now when you need to, can't you?—even the fact you called me Fiona on Old First Realm Earth."

"Yes—even that your given name was Autumn Harvest Selene right from your birth in the First Realm. Even at your resurrection to glory, it remained your chief Name of Power."

"I remember everything else too, as I need to. How much did you know about our past and when did you know it?"

"The Lord told me the full truth about who we were and where we came from long ago, long before we dealt with Fabian Coldstone, but even then I didn't remember our full past—or anything like it. But now..." Alain sighed. "The Hooded Man was right. Now I can remember everything in my past, and how I spent so much of it with you, and so what Aqrav did to me in my Shadow is immaterial. It's a very bad dream fading from memory, as it should. Soon I won't remember anything of it."

"Do you resent him at all for imposing it on you?"

"No. One doesn't resent a scorpion for being what he is, even if he happens to be one by choice. Nicholas Blackthorn has deceived a lot of people, especially his own offspring. So you avoid a scorpion, chase him away, or else smash him if he continues to be a nuisance."

"Is there any hope he doesn't have to be smashed?"

"Not much—but what happens next depends entirely on him."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Oh, by the Dragon's Seven Beards..."

"What's wrong?" Starling Sky saw her captain and lover go pale as he spoke. She was a tall, long-limbed and long-haired brown-eyed blonde with the classical face, full bust and slender yet muscular frame such as one might've found on many a poster of erotic fantasy art in the Old First Realm. And she was a Se'fi, focused on the here and the now and then on what she valued personally, and so one who usually needed theoretical complications spelled out for her.

"He's free," Aqrav answered grimly.

"Who?"

"You know perfectly well who."

"You just imprisoned him! How do you know he's free?"

"I'm an Illusionist. I could feel the whole fabric of space-time wrap around him when he returned to the here and now from where and when he emerged."

"You mean... he came from the future to the present somehow?"

"Yes. From a very long distance away in space and time. Somehow."

"How long ago did he arrive?"

"Some time in the last fifteen minutes. It's taken time for the continuum to settle down around him, which means he's been making some powerful choices since he got back."

Starling couldn't comprehend the sheer magnitude of such power, but she certainly turned pale in turn while thinking about it. "How could he do this?"

"Well, he didn't escape alone," Aqrav replied with a curse. "The Hegemons of Aetalnor must've freed him, and somehow, they figured out how to get out of the Pocket. Then they came back here and now from where and when they emerged. And here I thought I could, at worst, keep the three of them in mutual forgetfulness for all time. I wanted to make them suffer together, if I couldn't do anything else. Misery loves company, and all that."

"You said you had every contingency covered—"

"I thought I did. I thought I did! Every intelligence report I could find, every eyewitness account of what the Undying Singer can do when he really needs to, even every half-reliable legend about him—I looked them all up in the Confederate data base. There's simply no way he should've been able to leave the Pocket, ever."

"What are you going to do?"

"Sterilize Aetalnor. Every living thing on land dies, Levani, Adami, animal, plant, everything. No conquest by the Freelanders, and no hope for Emberland. And we and the Confederates will all be long, long gone when it happens. Meanwhile, we need to throw that thrice-cursed Lightchild off our scent—fast."

The FSS Tenkiller's Pride broke all its speed records leaving Aetalnor's star system. On Aqrav's orders, the other Confederate ships and personnel followed as soon as they could get aloft.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Captain Shaelon!" Iranna exclaimed, for she was with him on watch outside of Fireside. "Master Alain has returned!"

"And not alone, Iranna," Alain shouted back as he walked toward her from a moderate distance away, resplendent in a cloak now gleaming like the snow. Autumn walked hand-in-hand with him in like hooded and cloaked splendor. "Not alone!"

As Alain and Autumn drew near, hundreds of others appeared out of nowhere all around Shaelon and Iranna: Adami men, Levani women, Enoshi children, and to Shaelon's and Iranna's utter astonishment, two magnificently dressed figures whom, by some miracle of restored memory—or perhaps of Introverted Intuiting, of Foresight—the two Levani watchers recognized at once.

"Fetch the Steward and everyone you can bring with her at once," Shaelon commanded Iranna. "Master Alain," he exclaimed after she departed, "by what magic beyond magic did you find them?"

"It's a rather long story," said Alain, "but it can wait until all are ready to hear."

And so by such grace on that late afternoon, Marildra Aerinifer, weeping in gratitude, knelt before Phedali and Briatynne Arondir and surrendered the Hegemony so long held by her family line. "You will remain as our Steward," said Phedali, "but as you have no heir, you must choose someone who can replace you if need be. We are not yet ready to grant our symbiont to you or your people, as we must replant our totem flower first; and you may die to this Realm before we can grant you dual-plane immortality."

"We will not make the mistake of withholding the boon from your people as we did so long ago," Briatynne added, "but it will take time to keep our mistake from happening again. Who do you choose to replace you at need?"

"This worthy scout, Iranna Mirinifer, will be Steward in my stead should I pass on," Marildra replied.

"I couldn't recommend a better choice myself, milord," said Alain.

The Archon looked at the Lightchild kindly but soberly. "It is we who should call you lord, Master Alain. Now, do not start! You have driven the Usurper away, and you have freed us; and now you have brought even more help, with yet more on the way when your ship arrives. And you are an Adami and a Lightchild, in two ways born to the purple, whether the Archons, the Levanim or anyone else acknowledge it or not. We shall honor you and yours accordingly, once we have settled those who came here with us."

* * * * * * * * * *

The year, and the day, and the hour long planned by Blackthorn's Knights had arrived, and the dawning morning was bright and clear from horizon to horizon. The sun rose over the plain east of Emberland on the day of the summer solstice; and in the early morning, the enemies of the Elves came on from east and west by land, air and sea.

Seven days between my capture by Aqrav and my return to Fireside with all the captured Levanim and their families, Alain mused. Then seven days of feasting and singing and tale-telling, while the Freelanders gather their forces. And finally, seven days of preparation at the borders, while Amethyst and I help place Emberland's defenders and the mechanized Knights advance.

And it's not as if they advance without due warning. Amethyst and I have teleported here and there, warning all who will listen, and the Hegemons warn the Knights as they sleep. But if Blackthorn's Knights don't admit they've been deceived by strong illusion and stronger delusion, then nothing can be done but kill them.

"Raphael," Alain ordered, "display a horizontal pane and give me a topographical map of Emberland. Show our current defenses."

"Acknowledged."

Alain ran his right index finger over the map. He and Raphael were watching from a rock overlooking the South Pass—the very pass Iranna was trying to reach when the Knights had caught up with her. All of the Passes into Emberland from the east were rather misnamed, for the forces which shaped the country's topography had made it more a series of step-like plateaus than a typical mountain range. Rock-shapers had wrought sheltered passageways up those steps long ago, following the natural courses of waterways; and through them, the Levanim had come and gone for millennia. To the east lay grassland, farmland and clumps of forest; and from that direction, the Freelanders were coming with the sun rising at their backs. South Pass now was blocked by thorny thickets of hardwood so dense even a tank could hardly crash through them, but the helicopters would arrive first and drop men behind the lines, unless they were shot down. Then some of the tanks would try to burn through the magic-grown roadblocks with flamethrowers so the infantry could advance.

Amethyst Bellatrix, the Archon Disciple of Quantum Mechanics, was the engineer of the Hind of the Dawn, which had arrived at Aetalnor a week earlier. Presently the Hind's firepower was being held in reserve. Without Confederate starships to defend them, the Freelanders' armed forces hadn't a prayer of withstanding Deep Space Service weaponry, even of a Courier of the Corps. If necessary, Alain, Autumn, or Amethyst could order Amber Bdellium, originally Autumn's Sentry and now the Hind's integrated AI, to bring the forward lasers to bear, coordinating with Raphael as required.

Amethyst was at the East Pass with Autumn; Shaelon, Iranna and the rest of Shaelon's forces guarded the North Pass. The Hegemons were on the west coast, watching as two sophisticated double-hulled aircraft carriers drew near. The Confederates had their hands full training natives of essentially medieval culture to use such high-tech weaponry, but even with their teachers gone, the Freelander junior officers felt confident they could fulfill their mission objective: kill as many of the Emberlanders and their allies as possible.

The Freeland forces are even more numerous than we predicted, Alain thought, but once the Hooded Man grants us Lightchildren sufficient Power at Need, then we and Amethyst alone will do terrific damage to our foes. Two Starblades and two self-renewing diamond sabers will do more to their tanks and helicopters than they can imagine—and the Arondirs should have no trouble sinking those carriers.

So why do I perceive something is very, very wrong?

"Raphael," Alain said abruptly, "call Amethyst."

"Yes?" said Amethyst after a moment; her lovely face, framed with long brunette hair, appeared in a window on the data pane and her voice emerged from a place near the window. Amethyst would be seeing and hearing Alain in like manner on another projected pane.

"Is your Foresight lighting up as mine is?"

"Yes! For Autumn, too! There's a convergence coming, Alain, and it's focused on Emberland."

"Right. Get Autumn back to the Hind immediately, and the Hegemons with her. Don't explain, move."

"Aye, sir!"

"Raphael, do not protect me or anyone from the convergence."

"Acknowledged."

I never like it when this happens, Alain thought. But the Gift of Frameworks focused through the Locus' Ring intimated transitioning to safety wasn't the best tactic for dealing with the threat. The Need of the Hour didn't call for suicide, but for something more subtle, and so the Locus stood his ground.

He never sensed what hit him. Organic nerves simply couldn't react quickly enough. But Raphael recorded every picosecond of the catastrophe before his Bondmate died and he shut down.

On the bridge of the Hind, Autumn, Amethyst and the Hegemons looked on in horror as multiple impacts on Aetalnor created brief flashes of light many times brighter than the sun. The canopy of the bridge automatically dimmed the intensity of the flashes, but they were still almost too bright to look upon.

"Amber, report!" Autumn shouted.

"Analyzing now," said a female voice as lively and precise as Raphael's. "Moments ago, twelve relativistic cruise missiles passed the Hind moving at ninety percent lightspeed. I only detected them when they made course corrections shortly before impact. They must have been running silently after being brought up to speed."

"The Warbird Alain told us about," Amethyst added grimly. "It must've fired every missile it had back at Aetalnor, probably as soon as it got three light-weeks away. The Scorpion had one last sting to deliver."

"Where did those missiles land, Amber?" Autumn demanded. "Show me!"

The bridge's forward HUD obliged with a schematic global map of Aetalnor. "They've carpet-bombed Emberland," Amethyst said as she looked at the map and the accompanying data, "and they took out the naval task force and the original Confederate base. It looks like one of those missiles hit Fireside dead-on. Another hit almost on top of the South Gate. Alain must've died immediately, if Raphael didn't protect him."

"Amber?" Autumn asked.

"Raphael is offline," Amber confirmed.

"That's it then," said Amethyst. "Alain, Marildra, Shaedon, Iranna, the warriors, the refugees and their families—all gone in an instant. And the attacking Knights must all be dead or dying too."

"So will our world be," Briatynne replied, and the sound of her voice was raw. Phedali, too, was all but overwhelmed by the sight of the rising fireballs.

Amethyst shook her head. The shock waves moving through the planet, the ejecta clouds already spreading to bring fire and ruin, the huge tsunamis forming in due time—there were reasons why such weapons as the Warbird had fired were outlawed by every signatory to the Markus IV Treaty. The Locust Plague War had hammered those reasons home brutally.

Autumn was weeping herself, but she knew her Lord and her husband. "Wait for three full Standard Days, Hegemons," she said through her tears. "Then you'll learn at last what being the Undying Singer really means."

Phedali and Briatynne looked at Autumn with amazement mixed with renewed hope. "Then Master Alain isn't dead?"

"Alain and Raphael are asleep," said Amethyst encouragingly as Autumn nodded and wiped her tears. "Wait until they awaken, and you'll see a miracle like none other down there."

And after three Standard Days had passed on Ge, Raphael's otherspace closet opened on the tortured surface of Aetalnor the Goldblossom. Alain stepped out of the closet in ineffable and now invulnerable glory, and as he raised his hands skyward, he uttered the Words of Command to unleash the White Hand Without Measure at Need in all its unstoppable power.

"In the name of Joshua Davidson, the Lord of the Realms: Let there be Light, now and forever!"

When the negative print the Covenant Realm had become faded from the eyes of Autumn and her companions, Aetalnor turned below them as it was in the beginning, and all the works of Aqrav and his Confederate allies upon it had been made as if they had never been.

"Don't you think," said a voice from behind those standing on the bridge of the Hind, "we should kneel and thank our Lord and Maker for what He just wrought?"

Autumn, the Hegemons, and Amethyst turned and saw Alain standing at the rear of the bridge in his usual Adami aspect, and there were tears of joy in his eyes to match the delighted, innocent-childlike smile on his face. But the smile quickly faded when the Hegemons sank to both knees and prostrated themselves before him.

"Don't you dare bow to me," Alain said sharply. "Here and now, I'm as human by nature as any mortal Adami, and I am not worthy of worship. Worship God."

"Better listen to him, fellow Archons," Amethyst added as she helped Briatynne to her feet; Autumn went to help Phedali. "No false modesty in that statement. He means exactly what he says."

"We have a chapel belowdecks," Alain said kindly as he stepped toward the Hegemons. "Shall I take you there in a moment, or shall we take the elevator?"

* * * * * * * * * *

"You'll find," Alain explained to those assembled in the great hall of Fireside, "many people of all species now living will remember the alternate timeline they lived under Aqrav's influence. That includes you Levanim now present, of course. Some of all species are now living who died in the latter part of Aqrav's timeline. But now, you live in a world as it would've been had the worthy Hegemons sitting here been only absent, not usurped and imprisoned. Even the Enoshim now present are here because their parents chose to marry, not because Levani women were captured by force. You Adamim and Enoshim present know this, as well as the Levanim do. And yet not one grain has fallen to earth of all the Enoshim who were alive when I came here."

Six thrones had been placed on the stage of the amphitheatre. Phedali and Briatynne Arondir sat in the middle, with Briatynne on Phedali's right. Alain and Autumn sat on the Hegemon's left, with Autumn on Alain's right, putting Alain on the far stage left. Marildra Aerinifer sat to the right of Briatynne, leaving Iranna Mirinifer on the far stage right in honor as the potential heir of Marildra's office under the Hegemons.

He is the greatest of us all, greater than our Hegemons or even Mistress Autumn, Iranna thought as she watched Alain speak, and yet he takes the lowest position here on stage. But his very speech betrays what he is, for those with ears to hear.

Somewhere beyond our knowledge and even our dreams, Master Alain and Mistress Autumn are righteous sovereigns of indescribable might, and yet here in these Realms they are but wanderers. When their appointed task on Aetalnor is done, they will leave, and we of Emberland will remember the Undying Singer and the Girl Named after the Moon and sing of them.

"Very soon now," Alain went on, "your Hegemons will ask my Lord to make Aetalnor an Annex of the Kingdom of Ariel. Your star system will be protected by a Nodelet and its Field, as the Kingdom is protected by the Node and its Field. You'll never be bothered by the Rim Confederacy or any Hostile Archons again."

"It still will not be easy," Phedali added, "to help heal those Adamim who were influenced by Aqrav and the Confederates in Aqrav's timeline. But they do have in their memories a comparison of their lives in that timeline and their lives in this timeline, and how much better this timeline has been for them. With any grace, the Nodelet Field will preserve them rather than kill them, once it activates. Master Alain, have you learned what happened to the Scorpion?"

Alain sighed sadly. "Amethyst and I together have searched the Ring of Stars for him and have found no trace, not even of his death. We know he wasn't simply erased from the timeline, more's the pity maybe. I assume Aqrav and his girlfriend transferred to the Warbird, fired those missiles, then fled to one of the Pockets and found refuge there. No other tactic would've protected them from the White Hand in this Realm, or even from a Pocket's engine. They might even have gone from the Pocket to the Nulls' home Realm for the sake of Aqrav's crew—assuming the Warbird could survive the trip." Alain shrugged expressively.

"Then our Usurper could return to trouble your counsels again?" Briatynne asked.

"He could indeed," Alain replied soberly. "In fact I'm depending on it. But I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he hears of what the Hooded Man did through me to undo his part in Nicholas Blackthorn's apostasy."

* * * * * * * * * *

Personal Log: Alain Harper/Raphael Goldwing

C.Y. 5,000:001

Security: Red Seal Level Five

Every time I call upon the White Hand Without Measure at Need, timelines change somewhere in the Metacosmos; and those changes center on me sooner or later. It's not because I'm a solipsist, narcissist and egotist combined—although some have accused me of being so! No, as the Locus I move through the Portal of Light from the Metacosmic Tree to the First Realm and back again, when I call on the ultimate Power of the White Hand. But only now in my Fourth Timeline—which started with the restoration of Aetalnor to its intended state—do I remember moving so. This was the one ember in my memory not stirred to life when I finally returned from Aqrav's Pocket.

In the First Realm the former things have passed away and are no longer remembered by the Children of God in Power, yet there will always be angels who ask questions about what might have been had history gone differently. Autumn and I are honored to help give such angels answers. And sometimes our help demands changes in the timeline we experience here.

So in this Fourth Timeline, Autumn Harvest Selene now looks Adami, a blue-eyed, wheat-haired, too-curvy-for-my-good-or-anyone-else's White Tribeswoman—just like the girl I married so very long ago on Old First Realm Earth. But in this timeline, I wasn't born in C.Y. 4,000. Rather, we both stepped through the Portal of Light into the Covenant Realm in that year. We're masculine and feminine in form and personality, but we're no longer truly male and female. This means we've had no marriage, no honeymoon, and no intimate relations such as go with those things—not in these Realms. But we remember our past as mortals and as Children of God in Power in the First Realm. And we walk in these Realms as beings like the Archons and yet greater than they, so angels in the First Realm may learn from our example.

There have been many other changes large and small between the timelines. How I've related to the Glyph of Functions, and to those who wield it, is one of the more telling changes. So are the names and epithets I've collected like some people collect butterflies.

I mustn't neglect the Other Realms, places we've been which are attached to the Metacosmic Tree and yet aren't part of the Tree. No doubt, some old and wise friends there realize what has changed in their relationship with us and what hasn't, but not all could do so. Not even the Chosen Archons here, the few Old Ones who've always known who and what I am and where I come from, perceive the changes that have been wrought around them.

So then, once again, our roles here have changed, and our nature and gifting has altered accordingly. And it can only mean the threats we're ordained to face have changed their configuration too. Considering the degree and kind of Power we have, those threats must be greater than anything we've faced in these Realms before.

But we know we're ready by design for those threats. We're not infallible here, but in the Hooded Man's name, we're always infallibly used despite ourselves if necessary.

* * * * * * * * * *

Johanan Rakkav is the Hebrew pen name (anglicized King James Version-style) of a very busy Ne'fi (ENFP on the Myers-Briggs grid). Besides being a consultant in Christian apologetics, he is the editor and co-publisher of the book THE MUSIC OF THE BIBLE REVEALED by the late Suzanne Haïk-Vantoura (rakkav.com/biblemusic), a singer-songwriter who plays the piano, synthesizer, Celtic harp and ten-stringed Hebrew lyre (kinnor), a lifelong lover of the natural sciences (especially astronomy) and of speculative fiction, an enthusiast of personality type models, and (writing with E.V. Medina as Jack Shepherd) the co-author of the medieval fantasy/allegorical SF book REALMWALKERS (tiaera.blogspot.com). His fictional Metacosmos is now featured at undyingsinger.wordpress.com and rakkav.blogspot.com, as well as at the page TALES OF THE UNDYING SINGER on Facebook.

### Tesara

by

Joel Parisi

Part One

Matan swung his rucksack onto his back and snatched his walking stick from where it rested against the wall. Janae ducked in through the door, barring it behind her, and opened the window of the room.

"The landlord's keeping them distracted for the moment." She was breathing heavily. "Let's move while we have time."

Matan nodded and looked down from the window. The roof of the inn's stable was directly below them. "Follow me closely." He hopped over the sill. Janae had already secured her bag and walking stick, and she jumped out the window after him. Matan led the way to the side of the stable closest to the forest and dropped to the ground.

"Thank El the ground is dry," he muttered.

Janae dropped beside him. "What direction?"

"We'll cut through the forest to the north." He glanced at the sun. "It'll put us out of our way, but it should throw them off the scent."

"Do they know where we're going?"

"I doubt it. No one would expect us to head for Tesara." Except Gram, he thought, but that wasn't worth dwelling on.

They ducked into the forest, and Matan poked around a bit before locating a game trail which meandered in a northerly direction. "Let's follow this for now."

Janae tightened her pack and took her walking stick from the loop which held it, giving Matan a grim nod. "Freedom, here we come."

###

Near sunset three days later, the pair of exhausted and muddy young humans emerged from the thick forest to the west of the town of Tesara.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Matan said.

"Remind me to batter you into unconsciousness the next time you suggest hiking through forest," Janae snapped. "My arm is still burning from falling in the glealin patch."

"It could have been much worse. But I would assume, if I look half as bad as you do, I'm going to need a bath and a change of clothes before going to the school."

"And a full night's sleep?"

"Yes, that would be nice too."

"Gram said the Mark of the Dragon is the best inn. It's on Weaver Street... though he never mentioned where Weaver Street is."

"Why don't we ask the gate guard?" Janae said.

Matan stared at her, then smiled sheepishly. "Right. I forgot we weren't still in Inek."

The gate ahead was not imposing, but it was sturdy, as was the wall surrounding the town. The lone guard at the gate stood from where he'd been lounging and looked them over as they approached. "Who're yeh, then?"

"We're travelers from Inek. We've come to join the school."

"Is tha' so? Well, good luck to ye, then." He waved them through with his pike.

"One moment." Janae gestured toward the town beyond the gate. "Can you point the way to Weaver Street for us?"

"Sure. It be straight down the road, fourth street on the left."

"Thank you."

He nodded and they walked away down the street. Tesara was quiet for a town of its size most of the town's six thousand inhabitants seemed to be indoors, or working in the outlying fields. A few carts rattled by as Matan and Janae passed through the market circle, which was deserted apart from a group of children playing in the fountain.

Janae had been counting the streets, and now pointed. "There's Weaver Street." They followed it until they reached a building under a sign of a dragon holding a mug. Matan pushed open the door and they stepped in.

The dining room was vacant, and the bulky proprietor was setting up chairs and rearranging tables. He glanced at them as they entered, finished shoving a chair into place, and walked over to them.

"Greetings, travelers. I am Teswold. What can I do for you?"

"We'd like a room for the night," Matan said. "What are your prices?"

"Well, that would depend on who you are, wouldn't it?" Teswold studied them closely, grey eyes sharp below his bushy brows. "For instance, by your accents I'd say you're Inekí. By the state of your clothing, I'd say you're fleeing something. And by the similarity of your features, I'd say you are related."

Matan had settled back into a second-form stance, walking stick at a slight angle and ready for him to grab with both hands. Teswold noticed and shook his head.

"I'm not speculating because I want to turn you in, lad. This is Argeliawe get runaways all the time. I'd have to be a stupid man or greedy fool to try breaking the Articles by turning you over to Inekí authorities, and I am neither."

Matan relaxed. "You're right, of course. We are running. Our parents died before they were able to pay back their land debt."

"So, the galleys for you and a brothel for your sister. I'd have fled as well." Teswold glanced out the window, gauging the sunlight. "You're welcome to stay the night," he added. "I only ask you pay for your foodboard is free."

"Thank you, Teswold." Janae ducked her head in a brief, polite nod. "What room may we have?"

"Any room at all. Shall I see you at supper?"

"Yes, you shall indeed," Matan said. "We wouldn't miss it for anything."

###

Matan and Janae were up at dawn the next morning. After breaking their fast, they gathered their belongings and left the city through the east gate. The Tesara school of Istarí was situated on a hill overlooking the city, and the building itself was five stories high. The two approached the bronze double doors with some trepidation.

Matan reached toward the door, then paused. "Do we just...knock?"

Janae eyed the massive metal door, then shrugged. "It couldn't hurt."

Matan raised his hand, but just as it touched the gleaming metal, the doors swung inward on silent pivots. A man dressed in a gray cloak and breeches with a white tunic stood just beyond the doors, and smiled gently at them.

"Welcome to Tesara's school of Istarí, my children."

They both bowed. "Good day to you, Father...?" Matan left the sentence unfinished.

"Father Quinar. Are you seeking shelter for the night, or do you wish to apply to the school?"

"We wish to _join_ the school."

Father Quinar smiled. "Bold. I like that. You think you can pass the entrance examinations?"

"We believe so, Father."

"Good. I like confident students. Come with me."

They followed Father Quinar as he led the way down the hall, and the doors swung shut silently behind them.

"You know, of course, as a school we mostly teach the lore of Ekelek, as well as the history of the First and Second Words and how to apply them to your life, and how to refute Shadow worshipers who may try to convert you. Fighting is not of primary importance to us.

"Now, were we at war, our primary goal would be to train strong fightersand being a warrior is obviously a component of becoming an Istarbut our first goal is to ground you in your faith. That said, your first test will be of your fighting prowess."

Matan and Janae looked surprised. "How is that possible?" asked Janae. "Do you keep shadow beasts tied up to loose on the students?"

Father Quinar chuckled. "No, no, nothing along those lines. You will be sparring with a pair of other students, probably a brother and sister. As soon as we get into the arena, I'll hand you over to Brother Iretus, our fighting master. I'll take your bundles now, if you like, and deposit them in the rooms where you are to stay, and then pick you up after the fight."

"So, we're in, then? Just so quickly?"

"No, but the exams are spaced out over three days to make it easier for you. You will stay here for the duration."

Matan nodded. "Very well." They both handed over their knapsacks.

Father Quinar slipped the packs' straps over one forearm, then gestured at the double doors to their left. "There is the arena. Remember; even if you don't win, you can still gain admittance. I'll see you again shortly." And he left.

"Somehow, I don't think we should be worried about losing," Janae muttered.

Matan smiled. "You never know how much the training here might have improved others' natural talents. Let's not be overconfident." He opened the door and stepped in.

Brother Iretus was sorting weapons into their places on a wall rack, but stopped and hurried over when he saw them.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, pumping their hands. Janae hid a smile. He reminded her of the hummingbirds that fed at their house. "Your names, please?"

"Matan."

"Janae."

"Mmhmm, hmm. Lovely name, young lady. I assume you are here for the entrance exam sparring match?"

"YesFather Quinar sent us."

"Good, good. I see no amulets, but are you Ichtul, perchance?"

Matan glanced at Janae, who shrugged. "Actually, we don't know. No one in our family is, and neither my sister nor I have ever attempted to manipulate elements."

"Fine, just fine. Let's see.... Do you fight best alone or as a team?"

"As a team, definitely," Janae said.

"Complementary powers?"

"Somewhat." Matan exchanged another glance with his sister. "She's faster and more flexible than I am, but I can shield myself better."

"And may I be so bold as to ask why you have come?"

Janae glanced at Matan. He blinked twiceso, story number two. "Our parents say we have abilities with the light that are far beyond the ordinary." She tried to ignore a twinge of guilt for misleading the Brother. What she said was true, except it should have been in the past tense.

"Ah, yes. I love the ones whose parents have sent them. They're usually more confident. Would that be accurate?"

Matan gave a marginal shrug. "I don't know about confident, but we are competitive."

"Well, your competitiveness shall work in your favor. I am putting you against the twins, Alemnar and Ariel. Go choose your weapons." Iretus pointed at the wall rack of weapons, ranging from daggers to poleaxes. "All are blunted."

Janae had a slight sinking feeling. "No ranged weapons?"

"No ranged weapons other than the Light. Hurry, hurry, we haven't all day." He darted out the far doors.

Matan selected an oaken staff, but Janae didn't pick anything, after looking over the weapons one more time. She knew she would be better off unarmed if she couldn't have a bow.

The far doors opened again, and Iretus ushered in their opponents. Janae quickly sized them up. Ariel and Janae looked to be about evenly matched, but Alemnar was a good four inches taller than Matan. Both of the twins were blond haired and blue eyed with freckles. Alemnar chose an oaken staff for his weapon and Ariel chose a pair of daggers.

"We'll need to split them up," Matan murmured.

Janae bit her lip. "You sure?"

"Yes. I can tell they're used to fighting back to back. If we separate them, they lose their advantage."

"Alright."

Brother Iretus had taken his place at the podium which towered over the arena floor, and created about twenty light orbs and sent them floating to the high vaulted ceiling. In the new light, Janae could see there was balcony off to their right, a good ten feet off the ground.

"Welcome to the Tesara Arena, students." Iretus' voice boomed out over the room. "The rules of combat are as followsno lethal weapons allowed. One hit with a weapon to the head, or two to the chest, will be counted as a kill. Once you are killed you are out of the game. No taunting or name calling is allowed. Be good sports, and have fun.

"Now, begin in three...two...one...go!"

Janae shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Ariel ducked and twisted under the flying kick, and Janae hit the ground and leaped again. Ariel followed as Janae create a light platform in midair, hit it, and jumped again, reaching the balcony easily. She twisted away as one of Ariel's daggers shot by her head. Janae responded with a burst of light, which Ariel deflected as she stabbed and slashed at Janae. A quick back-flip kick disarmed Ariel, and a flash of light sent her dagger out of range. Ariel and Janae closed quickly and went at it hand-to-hand.

On the floor below, Alemnar had closed the distance between himself and Matan in three easy strides and attacked with a simple 1-2-3 combination, easy for Matan to counter with his staff. Still, he knew as soon as the larger boy decided to go all-out, he would lose. Matan was mentally preparing a light-shield for the inevitable as Alemnar feinted left, then brought his staff sweeping up toward Matan's head. Matan ignited the shield and the blow glanced off harmlessly. He promptly pressed his advantage, sending Alemnar flying a good six paces.

Janae blocked a chop from Ariel, and dropped down into a sweep kick. Ariel leapt over her legand went flying, struck by a burst of light from Janae's hands. She managed to slow her descent with a burst of light, then grabbed hold of the railing and vaulted over. Janae followed with a quick hop, rolling into a ball as she dropped, and none too soon; a blast of light from Alemnar shot by where her torso would have been. As she unrolled, she saw that Alemnar had forced her brother back a few feet and was attacking hard as Ariel closed from behind.

"Behind you!" she yelled, bouncing off an impromptu platform and hurtling at Alemnar.

Matan whirled and threw the staff at Ariel, following it with two beams of light. Ariel managed to avoid both bursts while snatching the staff out of midair and returning a blast of her own. Matan deflected the blast and charged.

Janae managed to grab the staff out of Alemnar's hand, and tapped him on the side of the head with it.

"Alemnar is out," Iretus boomed.

Janae threw the staff to Matan, who used it to counter a blow from Ariel, who had retrieved one of her daggers. Janae then unleashed a burst of light which slammed Ariel into the far wall, and Matan tapped her on the head.

"Ariel is out. Matan and Janae are victorious!"

Janae sagged with relief, and reached out to help Ariel back to her feet.

"I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"

Ariel gave a wide smile. "Not at all. A good fight on your parts."

"Thanks," said Matan.

The far doors slammed, and Ariel whirled. "Oh, my brother. He's a poor sport at times." Her tone was apologetic. "I'll see you around." She took off after Alemnar at a run.

Father Quinar had entered from the closer door without Janae noticing, and now stood in front of them.

"You fought wonderfully. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to your quarters."

"Sure." Matan put his staff and Alemnar's against the weapons rack again. "Let's go, sis."

###

"Oh, come on, Al. Just lighten up, will you?"

"We should've won. They're not even first-year students." He flopped down on his bed, exasperated.

"So they're better than us. So what? We were better than most when we first came. Just because Janae can create platforms and Matan is better at shielding himself than usual doesn't mean we can't beat them in the future. Besides, they seem really nice."

"Oh, we'll be able to defeat them in the future, for sure," he said darkly.

"Look, you aren't the be-all and end-all of power, OK? The High Father could probably beat both of them with one arm behind his back."

Alemnar stroked his chin thoughtfully. "True...."

"But to tell you the truth, I don't think I would want them beaten. I think these two are really going to be great, and I like them."

That got Al's attention. "Both?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course."

"Hmph. I think they're stuck up."

"And you would, because that's how you've been." She sat down next to him and took his hand. "Look, bro, I love you very much, but your competitiveness gets the better of you a lot of times. And when it does, it's not pretty. So can you just relax?"

He sighed and hugged her. "You're right, sis. I can be friends with them, I think...."

"Good. Now, I don't want to hear another word about this, you hear?"

"Yes, mother." He grinned, then ducked as she slung a pillow at him. "Death to ambushers!" He snatched up the pillow and swung it at Ariel. Within moments, the room was a havoc of flying pillows and socks, interspersed with shrieks of laughter.

###

High Father Jameson leaned back in his seat as Brother Iretus told him, with some excitement, of how well the brother and sister team had fought.

"We haven't had fighters come to us this advanced since...since 352, Yriand's entrance exams! I don't know if there's much more we can teach them in the area of battle."

"Impressive. We'll have to keep a close eye on this pair. They may end up being the next Ynur Istarí."

Brother Iretus' eyes widened. "The nextto think, I have the opportunity to train the next Ynur Istarí! I must begin planning..." He left the office, still chuntering to himself.

The High Father watched him leave, a slight smile on his face. Then he stood and walked to his window, and gazed out at the city below, hands clasped behind his back. He wore nothing to indicate his rank, other than the two silver chains across his chest and the ornate silver housing around the pink amulet at his throat.

He turned abruptly and strode to the wall at his left, where he pressed a hidden switch and a panel in the wall swung inward. Jameson walked through into a sunlit room where two sundials sat. The walls were covered with arcane carvings, and the room was filled with a quiet ticking as the sundials rotated, bring their shadows ever closer.

Jameson headed directly for an alcove in the wall. He drew even with it and looked in at the dark figure hunched in the shadows, observing his motions with red eyes.

"They are more powerful than we anticipated, are they not?" hissed the figure.

"Thus they will be all the more when turned to our side."

"True enoughif turned to our side."

"You are too pessimistic."

"Nay, I am realistic. I know what can happen. If our plans go astray, you must crush them."

"But not until I am assured we have no hope of turning them."

The figure gave a creaking laugh. "Hope is for the Enemy."

The eyes receded into shadow, and the ticking of the sundials filled the room again.

###

Matan and Janae slumped onto their beds in the room where they were to spend the night. Matan twisted from side to side to pop his back as Janae stretched her biceps.

"Ooh, that was some workout," she commented. "I don't think they expected us to fight as well as we did."

"I don't think _I_ expected us to fight as well as we did. I'll be sore for the next few days, that's for sure."

"At least we don't have to do anything else today." Janae turned and began stowing her spare clothes in the set of drawers next to her bed. "When did Father Q say we'd be going to supper?"

"In an hour." Matan was storing his own clothes. When Janae turned back around, she saw he had unrolled a length of cloth and was shaking it out. As he hung it over the curtain rod between their beds, she gasped and took a step back.

"You saved it!"

Matan smiled sheepishly. "I had to work fast, but yes, I got it down from above the mantel before we ran." His smile faded. "There was no reason to leave them with any more of our heritage than we had to."

Janae stepped closer and touched the cloth reverently, then bowed her head. Tears dripped down the bridge of her nose to fall to the dusty floor, and Matan gathered her in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's all gone, isn't it? We're all that's left."

"We are," Matan said reluctantly. "But we won't forget who gave us our freedom and kept us alive." He pointed at the motto, which read _Vertavit on Duch Firthos Est._

"In the way of Firthos is truth." Janae wiped her tears with her palm.

"And in the way of darkness is death." Matan recited the second line of the well-known verse. "We can never forget that. It's by His grace we're still around, so He must have a purpose for us. We know He led us here; let's see what He has to teach us."
Part Two

"...and with Tirenan's foolish choice, the dark dragons were released to ravage the land again."

Brother Paul, the loremaster, sat back in his seat contentedly as Matan finished. "I would say you have proven yourself well-versed. There are few among my first-year students who have even heard of Tirenan's Folly, and fewer still capable of reciting it."

"Thank you, Brother. My knowledge of it comes down through my mother's side of the family, who hold Tirenan to be their progenitor."

"Fascinating. Now, Janae, it's your turn. What can you tell me about the fall of Oiden?"

She shuddered involuntarily at the mention of the accursed island. "Oiden was once a stronghold of the light, as far back as 100 IF. Then, one day, a traveling warlock arrived at the door to the palace...."

The Fall of Oiden

Chuwisar could feel the surging light all around as he knocked at the palace gates in Oiden city. It made him nervous, being in such a hotbed of resistance against the darkness. He knew, however, he was good enough at concealing his power to avoid detection.

The porter's gate opened and the porter poked his head out. "Hello, who goes there?"

"A poor traveling oracle seeking shelter for the night," Chuwisar croaked. He was careful, of course, not to say _whose_ oracle he was.

"Come in then, and welcome."

The gate creaked open, and the warlock came in.

"Unfortunately, all our guest rooms are full. Will you be averse to sleeping in the stables?"

"Not at all. 'Twill seem as a downy bed after the nights I have spent sleeping on rocks."

"This way, then."

Chuwisar closed his eyes and hobbled after the porter, focusing on feeling his way through the currents of light, waiting to touch an unilluminated mind. His body climbed the rungs up to the hayloft automatically and laid down, all while he probed and slid and searched among ribbons and blobs of light.

His eyes snapped open, and he uttered a soft curse in disbelief. He could find no unilluminated minds anywhere nearby. _Everyone_ in the city was, it seemed, serving the light.

So, his path would have to one of careful deception. That was fine with Chuwisar. But to begin, he had to plant seeds of doubt in the king's mind and the minds of those closest to him.

It would be a delicate process to perform in a land so saturated with cursed light of Firthos. But, if he could suitably disguise his intent, he knew the people of lands not openly at war against the Shadow for many years became complacent and didn't look for the more insidious attacks of darkness.

That was his opening, and he would use it.

###

The next morning, Chuwisar was up with the dawn, and looked out to examine his work of the night before. He was pleased with the result. Perhaps this would not take as long as he had feared. A thin grey fog surrounded the castle, inside and outside the outer walls. As thin as it seemed, Chuwisar could see no further than three feet in the mist.

Within a few minutes, a messenger came running to the stables.

"You are the traveling oracle?"

"Yes, that is I."

"The king wishes to see you immediately. Come this way."

Chuwisar followed the messenger obediently through the front gates of the keep. The ascended a spiral staircase, and Chuwisar noted with pleasure some of the fog had even worked its way into the castle, making it rather cold and clammy inside.

"The king awaits you in here," said the messenger, opening a large oaken door. Chuwisar dipped his head in thanks and stepped into the king's chamber.

The king was standing with his back to the door, gazing out the widow at the gloomy view of a fog-shrouded courtyard.

"I have come, your highness."

The king turned. His brown eyes had been bright and merry when Chuwisar had last seen him a week ago, but they were troubled today.

"I would seek what the word of El is concerning this sign."

"The fog, your majesty?"

"Yes, the fog." The king sat heavily on his chair. "Did you perchance hear of El last night concerning this blasted greyness?"

A kernel of truth wrapped in a liethe most effective method.

"And El would say unto you, sire, that this fog is but a symptom of the disease that rapidly consumes your peoplethe disease of lacking passion for Him. 'And behold,' saith El, 'As you have become lukewarm and not accepted the new thing I am doing, I am about to spit you out of my mouth.'"

"What is this new thing? You must know, traveler, I and all my people live only to love El and his son Firthos, and to please him."

"Aye, I know; as does He. It's why He sent you this warningso you may have a second chance."

"Praise be to Him who is merciful to us, sinners as we are!"

"Amen," said Chuwisar quietly. _Oh, the irony of it all._ "The new thing is thisthe shadows are gathering at their Lord's command, their goal to invade and overwhelm this island and make it a haven for the Nameless One." Chuwisar held up the amulet he had concealed beneath the folds of his robe, rose to his full height, and put all his power into his voice, eyes flashing. "These will protect you!"

The king stared at the ivory five-pointed star in a circle with multicolored glass panels filling the open spaces and catching the torchlight in the room. He rose slowly from his seat and hesitantly touched itthen, with sudden decision, he took it and put it around his neck. The black panel in the center glowed faintly, as did Chuwisar's own all-black amulet under his robe.

"Now," he said softly, "we must make amulets such as these for all the people in your kingdom. Only when every true follower of the light wears one can you hope to overcome the darkness."

"Truly, I feel more strength already. I shall send for our best craftsmen immediately."

###

Chuwisar himself oversaw the casting and decoration of the amulets. Few people resisted when the king sent boxes of the amulet about with the royal edict that all light followers must wear them to defeat the impending invasion. Those who did resist were dealt with quickly and quietly.

The greatest warriors were given all-black amulets, thus increasing their susceptibility to the shadow.

Beasts of the shadow did attempt to invade the island, but it was a false attack, and was repulsed easily by the light warriors, all of whom had been trained in the use of the amulets.

Believing the power contained therein had been the thing that dispersed the shadow, the people willingly embraced that power. Thus was the conquest of Oiden by the Nameless One completed, and from its fall, the kingdom never rose again.

Janae's voice dropped to a whisper as she finished the tale.

"Very good," said Brother Paul. "Very good telling indeed. What does it teach us?"

"It shows us how the shadow works in devious and underhanded ways to undermine our faith in Firthos where a frontal attack would not succeed."

"True," said Matan. "And something you emphasize with your students, else I miss my guess, Brother."

"You have guessed right, Matan. Now you must be off before you miss your next test. Brother Raynen will not be in a good temper if you are late, else I miss _my_ guess."

Matan was already on his feet. "You are right, Brother Paul. Have a fine day." He turned to the door, followed by Janae.

"You also, young ones. I shall hope to see you in class in two days."

###

Brother Raynen was not irritated with Matan and Janae, who had had to run to get to his class.

"Two minutes early." Brother Raynen glanced at the clock behind him. "Very good for novices."

"Thank you." Matan bit back a smile, then went on. "What are we to be quizzed on?"

"You will not be quizzed on anything; we will merely be discussing some truths from the Words."

"Such as...?"

"Such as the difference between the power of El and the power of Sheitan. Please, sit."

They sat.

"What can you tell me about power?"

"Well," said Matan, "we have power, through Firthos, to fight the shadow."

"Right, and the shadow has power over those who aren't protected by Firthos' light," Janae added.

"But what _is_ power? Is it the ability to do whatever you want? Is it the ability to protect yourself? To crush others? What is the essence of power?"

Matan glanced at Janae, and they shrugged. "We've never given it much thought," Matan admitted.

"But you must if you want to understand what separates you from the followers of the shadow. Let us turn to the letter to the Ivarians, part six. Here the word 'power' is, in the original language, 'authority.'"

"Ah!" Janae's eyes widened with sudden understanding. "That's what we have through Firthos."

"Exactly. The authority we have is essentially like the authority the first man hadover all creation. You know the verse: 'Through Firthos we are more than conquerors.' Now, if we did an in-depth study, nowhere in the words would we find the word 'authority' connected with the shadow. Sheitan gave up any authority he had when he rebelled against El. He regained a semblance of authority in this world when he deceived the first man and woman, but El has the ultimate power.

"Sheitan fears that fact, and this is why he still struggles against El."

###

"So, you wish for power."

"Yes. I don't understand why we can't be taught everything. I'm a fourth-year student after all."

"True. You must understand the danger involved. If I lead you into the depths, you may drown and die. Or you may learn too fast and destroy yourself. It is not an easy thing to wield the kind of power I do. It is a danger every waking moment.

"There are countless people who have not understood this, and have fallen. You must take carethe path I lead you on is steep and slippery, and if you fall you may never rise again.

"Why do you want this power?"

"So I can put those upstart newcomers in their place."

"Ah, but there is more. I sense a festering jealousy in you. Is your sister attracted to this new fellow Matan?"

"Yes," he said in a whisper.

"I see. And you want to protect her. How noble. Noble indeed. For that, I will teach you. Follow me." Jameson stood, pressed the button in the wall, and led Alemnar into the room beyond. "We must work quickly if you wish to protect your sister. I will work through you to begin. Are you willing?"

"Yes."

###

Matan and Janae were accepted into the school, and busied themselves with with their various studies. So the months went by; and as Matan and Janae learned ever more about the truth, Alemnar went deeper into the darkness.
Part Three

"Uuh." Matan hit the ground hard, and hauled himself back up again to face Brother Iretus.

"Keep your guard up, Matan. There is no sense in letting me have more of an advantage over you."

"Yes, Brother." Matan spoke through teeth gritted against the pain. Then he launched himself forward, flying into another combination with the broadsword, against which Iretus easily defended. That was deliberate, though. Matan abruptly switched patterns, catching Iretus off guard. Well, almost off guard.

CLANG!

Matan grabbed his smarting wrist and stared down at his broadsword, now lying on the arena floor.

"Good move. I didn't see it coming."

"You beat me fast enough." Matan retrieved his sword wearily.

"Years of training, Matan, will allow you to make up for almost any disadvantage in a fight. Still, you did well. That's all for this morning. After all, the school-wide championships are tonight!"

Matan brightened considerably, and went to put his sword back up. He had been looking forward to the championships for quite a while, as an opportunity to prove his prowess with the broadsword. He had picked it up easily, and Brother Iretus said he was a natural sword fighter. Janae was doing equally well with archery and weaponless fighting exercises. Both the brother and sister were ranked high in the upcoming championships.

Ariel was waiting for him at the door. They had made it a habit of meeting together over lunch to discuss their lessons of the day. Although Matan was slow to admit that perhaps they were beginning to be more than friends, Ariel was not. She was convinced they were perfect for each other.

But marriage was a long while in the future, and Matan didn't really want to think about it. Besides, Alemnar was already perpetually irritated with himromancing his sister would definitely be a good way to drive Alemnar into open hatred.

"Hi," said Ariel. "You look kinda beat up."

"Brother Iretus pushed me hard today. He wants to make sure I do well in the championships."

"I'm sure you will. Where's Janae?"

"She's probably in with Brother Paul, working on translating one of his Elvish scripts." Matan smiled. "She has a real flair for the language, you know."

"Yes, I knowmakes me wonder if there is some Elven blood somewhere in your family line."

"I don't know. Some Dwarf, maybemy grandfather is incredibly short and hairy."

Ariel giggled. "That's not exactly a flattering image."

"No, it's not," Matan agreed. "But now I think about it, he does seem to have a great affinity for gold...." Matan grimaced inwardly. Too much information. "Where's your brother?"

Ariel sighed and looked to the ceiling. "Oh, Al is in with the High Father again today. He finally broke down and told me they're working on a project together for the scientific exposition."

"Really? Alemnar doesn't strike me as overly scientific...no offense, of course. I myself am not very good at science. Did he say what it is?"

"Nope, not a word." She shrugged. "He's been really secretive lately."

"Well, I suppose we'll find out his grand project soon enough." They walked along in silence for a few moments, then Matan asked, "Are you competing tonight?"

Ariel made a face. "Yes, I am. I'm probably going to have to fight Janae, which I don't look forward to."

"I'll be sure I'm out of the room for that contestI wouldn't know who to cheer for."

"BOO!" Janae shouted from behind them.

Ariel jumped and whirled, then laughed and gave Janae a hug. Matan didn't even flinch, but grinned at his sister.

"Don't do that!" said Ariel. "You nearly scared me out of a month's growth!"

Matan turned and kept walking, and the girls caught up with him.

"Didn't I surprise you?" Janae asked impudently.

"I know you too well to be surprised," Matan returned dryly. "And Ariel will learn."

"Aw, you're no fun." Janae twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "I wonder which of us will win tonight."

"Let's not talk about it," said Ariel. "Besides, you obviously like surprises...."

They both began laughing and Matan rolled his eyes. "Women." That only made them laugh harder.

"Oh, poor Matan," gasped Janae, "surrounded by women! Most boys would _want_ our attention."

"Yes, we're _veeery_ attractive." Ariel's lips lifted in a sly smile.

They burst into peals of laughter again. One of Matan's friends, Jako, saw the disturbance and grabbed Matan's arm to pull him away as he ran by.

"Oh, there goes the cavalry!" The girls laughed even more as the two friends sped away down the hall.

"Thanks for the rescue." Matan grinned at Jako. "It gets a little crazy sometimes."

"Anything to help. I know what it's likeI have three girl cousins. How about we have a nice, quiet lunch without any giggling girls around, eh?"

"Sounds good, Jako." Matan couldn't keep the vigorous agreement from his voice. "Let's go eat at the sea cliffs."

###

High Father Jameson was to oversee the championships that night, and was thus on his way to the arena with Brother Damon, the archery teacher. They walked in silence for several minutes, then Damon spoke up.

"Father, you seem a bit preoccupied today."

Jameson smiled wearily. "I am a bit tired, Damon; thank you for noticing. I'm more than well enough to oversee the contests tonight, though, so don't worry."

"Very good. After tonight you might want to take a vacation, perhapsget away to your cabin in Ereth Lwain and relax for a while."

"That I may."

They had reached the open doors of the arena now, and Father Jameson headed toward the podium high above the arena floor.

Students were already trickling in through the opposite doors and taking their seats in the three tiers above the arena floor behind the podium. There were currently only about twenty students at the Tesara School of Istarí, and all of them were here tonight. Matan and Janae had come in early and were already seated and watching the other students come in.

Jako sat down next to Matan and spoke in a low tone. "I heard there's going to be a real, active Istar coming to watch us tonight."

"Did you? I haven't heard anything about it."

"It's supposed to be a big secret, but Gath's brother was visiting today, and he told Gath about it."

"Interesting. I wonder" But Matan was cut off by the High Father rapping on the podium with his staff.

"Quiet please," he said. Brother Iretus had come in and closed the far doors. He now stood with Brother Damon while two other teachers closed the near doors.

As soon as the murmuring had quieted, Jameson spoke again. "We are gathered here tonight to watch some of our best students compete in the physical disciplines of archery and sparring. First will be archery. Brother Damon?"

Damon had already hauled out five targets and set them almost against the far doors. "The first round of archers will be William, Janae, Perry, Isien and Olana. Please come down."

The two best from each of the two qualifying rounds of archery advanced till there were four left in the final round: Perry, Janae, Fioreth, and Annabel.

Perry out-shot Annabel, but Janae and Fioreth tied, and so had to go to a tiebreaker round. Janae's first shot hit near dead-center, but Fioreth's hit exactly dead-center. His next shot was an inch wide of the mark, though, while Janae's stayed the same. They tied on the third shot. After a few moments of examining the targets, Damon called out: "First place goes to Janae!"

The stadium erupted in cheers, and Fioreth shook her hand with a sheepish grin. "Darned if I know how you pulled that off. Good shooting, Janae."

"Thanks." She fell in step with the others as they all went back to their seatsthe awards would be given out at the end of the night.

"Next will be sparringone on one. Brother Iretus?"

"Thank you, Father." Iretus stepped forward. "We have four pairs of fighters tonight, in two different groups. The two victors of one group will move on to face the two victors from the next group. There is only first and second place in this discipline.

"The first group is Matan against Renevar and Ariel against Diana.

"You know the rulesno lethal weapons allowed. One hit with a weapon to the head, or two to the chest, will be counted as a kill. Once you are killed, you are out of the game. No taunting or name-calling is allowed. Be good sports, and have fun.

"Matan and Renevar, you are up first."

Matan and Ariel won their group; while in the second group Janae won out over Olana, and Alemnar defeated Perry.

After a short rest period, during which one of the other students recited "The Lay of Erebrithil," Matan and Alemnar took to the floor.

"Begin in three... two... one... go!"

Matan and Alemnar whipped out their swords in unison and began circling each other slowly, each feeling out the other's defenses with occasional thrusts and sweeps.

"I'm stronger now," Alemnar taunted in a whisper.

Matan attacked abruptly, his blade weaving back and forth, but Alemnar always blocked him. Matan fell back a bit, and Alemnar counterattacked. The blows fell fast and thick for a few moments, then with a cry, Matan leapt backward and shielded himself with the light while he stared at his left hand. A collective gasp went up from the seated students as Matan's blood dripped down to the floor. Iretus started forward.

"Stop!"

"Silence, old fool!" Alemnar whirled and Iretus went flying from a burst of shadow that struck him in the chest. He hit the wall headfirst and lay still. As one, the students rose to their feetbut then stopped, as if held by some invisible force. Alemnar glanced up at Jameson, whose amulet was glowing brightly as he channeled his telekinetic power. The High Father nodded slightly, and Alemnar rushed in to the attack.

###

"Greetings, Father Quinar." The white-robed man with a black beard, black hair, and oaken staff stepped in through the front doors of the school.

"Greetings, Narahaim. How go the national politics?"

"As complicated as ever, I'm afraid." The Istar didn't smile but the corners of his eyes crinkled. "You know, I truly look forward to being able to get away for a few days every year to help the students."

"All I can say is I am glad I do not have your job as King's counselor. Shall we go see the championships? I believe they have already started...."

"Indeed. Let us go." The two started walking down the hall. "Now, I have heard tell of some very talented students you have, new this year."

"Ah, yes, Matan and Janae. If I'm not mistaken, we shall be just in time to see the conclusion of Matan's sparring... match...." His voice trailed off as Narahaim stopped and stiffened.

"What" And then Father Quinar sensed it, tooa Shadow at the heart of the building. Narahaim broke into a run. They reached the doors to the arena at about the same time, and the teacher at the doors looked at them apologetically.

"They're jammed, Father. I'm sorry, but I"

Narahaim tapped the doors with his staff. "Oret!" His voice boomed, and the doors quivered, rattled, and exploded inward.

###

Matan was lying on his back on the floor with Alemnar's sword at his throat.

"I told you I was stronger." Alemnar's lip curled in menace. "I told you. Any last words?"

BOOM!

Jameson cried out as his hold on the doors was broken, and Alemnar flinched and whirled. Matan seized the opportunity to scoot backwards, grab his sword, and come up again. The students, freed of Jameson's power, rushed forward as one. Matan slammed his sword against the side of Alemnar's head. The older boy fell with a cry and dropped his sword.

Father Jameson stared at the Istar from his place on the podium.

Narahaim's face went hard and cold as stone. "You made your choice, Jameson. Now face the consequences!" He released a massive burst of light with the swiftness of righteous fury.

But Jameson, with the speed of fear, was faster. He leapt off the podium, and flew straight up. The ceiling broke above him, and he landed in his office.

He strode into the room beyond the secret door and stared down at the sundials. He did a double take and cursed vehemently. The shadows had been aligned that morning, he was sure of it. He turned to the alcove where the being was seated and watching him.

"Your plan failed!" he shrieked.

The being seemed shaken. "I did not expect"

"Now we must give battle. Hear? They are coming."

"No, we shall not give battle. They will win."

"What!" Jameson strode into the alcove. Nothing blocked his wayas the only thing in the alcove was a shadowed mirror, which reflected that which was inside himself. He dropped the white cloak he had worn and turned. _Now they will know fear._

Then something else spoke in his mind.

_No. Your usefulness is over. You have failed. The Great Lord is not pleased_  _he wishes to see you, and see you he shall._

_Wha_ 

He moved, not of his own volition, but controlled by the thing inside him. His arm moved, picked up the dagger that lay between the sundials, and plunged it into his chest.
Epilogue

Matan, Janae, and Ariel stood together before the window in Jameson's office, each rapt in their own thoughts. The sun was setting, bathing the room in red-gold light. Narahaim stepped up beside them.

"Well, I believe you have learned a valuable lesson this daysomething you may not have learned quite so vividly without experience."

"The allure of power." Matan choked on the final word.

"Indeed. That, and also you now, perhaps, can understand what drives your foes. Fear, bitterness, envy; all can drive you toward the shadow. It is why the Words say: 'Do not let the sun go down on your anger.'"

A tear slid down Ariel's cheek. "I wish it hadn't happened this way."

Matan put an arm around her protectively. "I'm sorry." His voice was subdued.

Ariel leaned against him.

"It's not your fault, guys, you know that. It's just...he was my brother, you know? It's hard."

"It is," Narahaim agreed quietly. "But that is the wonder of it allEl, after all, knows our pain. He knows what it is like to lose someone you love, and He is always there to comfort us."

"He knows," repeated Ariel. She drew strength from the thought. After a few more moments, she smiled at Janae and Matan. "Well, I still have a family, at least. You two."

"Family." Matan exchanged a glance with Janae. "And family looks out for each other."

Janae nodded solemnly. "We'll be here for you, Ariel."

Before them, the town of Tesara and the surrounding countryside was afire with the blaze of the sunset. The trees of the forest tossed their leaves in praise of the One who made all things work together for the good of His faithful.

#####

Joel Parisi began writing at the age of twelve, and has never stopped. Over the past four years, he has developed an intricate alternate world of allegory, high fantasy and science fiction with three distinct languages and a history spanning 7,800 years; it is this world in which he most commonly writes. He currently lives in Tucson, Arizona with his family and a large library.

Daughter of Abundance

by

Eric Ortlund

My time has drawn short, my son. The physic who visits me daily only smiles, but I can see it in his eyes.

There was a time when I would have rejoiced to see the kingdom of men burning. But I do not wish that for you, beloved son. Will you listen to an old woman as she tells you why?

I have seen a vision.

***

It was a beautiful spring afternoon the first day I saw your father. I was sitting in our tiny arboretum when my maid Abi burst through the door. "Mistress! Mistress!"

"Abi!" I said. "Why are you back?"

"The king's ship has returned."

"You saw it?"

"I heard, in the marketplace."

"They left only last week."

"It must have been a small battle."

"That does not mean my husband is home." My voice was sharper than I meant it to be.

"The king would not return home from battle without his Thirty."

I shook my head, but a bird fluttered in my stomach.

I could not eat at dinner that night. After the other servants left, Abi leaned close to me and said, "Let mistress bathe on the roof this night. I will re-channel the water to the bath and bring spices . . ."

"Why is he not here, Abi?"

"When he comes, your husband will be desirous of your beauty," Abi tittered. "So let mistress beautify herself."

I nodded and went to the roof in a robe. I sank into the warm water and felt the minerals caress my skin. The sun set and stars appeared like diamonds sown in velvet. Closing my eyes, I remembered the first time the man who would become my husband had kissed me, and how the other suitors had felt the difference between us the next day and left one by one.

The door to the roof banged open. I turned and saw two of the royal guard, robed in red with crackling energy spears, standing at the entrance to the roof. Abi cowered behind them. One of them motioned with his spear. I suddenly felt very cold.

"Let me dress," I stammered. "Wait downstairs."

Neither of their masks moved.

I stood with my back to them and slipped into my robe. I shivered as I followed them down the stairs, through the bedroom I shared with my husband and out into the street where the stone bit my bare feet. I crossed my arms over my breasts and put my head down so I would not have to look at the people staring at me from inside their windows.

Through endless streets, I followed until I was led to a great, silver wall. One guard placed his palm on it and a door opened where I had seen only unbroken metal. We went through a garden of plants I had never seen before (and which I now know do not grow on our world). Then through corridor after corridor, silent and empty.

Finally, the guards stopped at a door. They touched their spears, and in their crackling radiance, a door opened into a dark chamber. One prodded me forward with the butt of his spear. The door closed behind me.

I stood in darkness.

A faint light shone and I saw a large bed. Then I felt his hands on me, pushing me toward the bed, pulling my robe from me, holding me down. I gasped when I saw the face I had seen on so many coins, the face of the man who sometimes spoke to the people from the palace, the face of the man my husband fought for.

I screamed, but the King put his hand over my mouth as he climbed on top of me.

***

Abi did not speak to me as she combed my hair the next evening, or the evening after that. On the third, she said in a low voice, "Mistress should eat something."

I sat in front of my mirror and watched Abi's quick movements and said nothing. When she left, I stared into the mirror at the face many had called beautiful. The face stared back as a tear slid down one cheek. I turned away and called Abi back into the room. She opened the door so quickly that she must have been waiting outside.

"The King has returned from battle," I said.

"Yes, mistress."

"The King would never leave his troops to war and death unless the battle was an easy one. The King would never do such a thing."

"Yes, mistress."

"Then let us prepare for the return of the master of this house."

"Mistress . . . what happened?"

"We begin tomorrow, Abi."

"Yes, mistress." She bowed and shut the door.

I woke the next day before any of the household servants and banged on their doors to rouse them. Abi bought flowers from the market, roses and orchids and the shushanim which commoners call lilies, which are not native to the soil of Eretz. I commanded the spirit of the home to mix the color of the walls so they resembled the red and orange and green of my husband's native world Hati. We restocked the wine cellar, spending more shekels than ever before on fine wine. As days stretched into weeks, I decorated and re-decorated. But still the ships did not return.

One evening, Abi was brushing my hair when I saw her eyes go to the bulge in my belly.

"Mistress should eat," she said.

I got to my feet and closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. Then I went to my desk and placed my palm on the surface. A screen appeared in front of me, and the spirit inside smiled.

"Welcome, Daughter of Abundance," it said.

"Please test for . . . please test . . ." I said, but could not finish. I flipped open the keyboard and typed in the request.

A thin line of light shone from the screen and played over my belly. A picture appeared on the screen of a tiny thing, like the seed of a plant which has just burst its shell.

"Warmest blessings to you and your young one," the spirit in the machine said.

I turned to Abi, who was staring at me, wide-eyed.

"Mistress has"

"You know I would never do such a thing!"

"Then how?"

"The night the guards came . . ." I could not finish.

Abi's eyes grew wider still. "Some courtier?"

I shook my head.

"The inner circle of counselors?" Abi asked.

"No."

"Not the . . ."

I held my face in my hands and nodded.

"What will mistress do?"

I looked at Abi and clenched my fists. "You know servants from the royal palace. That is how you heard the king had returned."

Abi nodded.

"Then let us tell the King his good fortune," I said. "And let us see how the King will receive this wonderful news." I pressed a button on the keyboard and a shimmering hologram of the picture on the screen fell into my hand.

"Give this to your contact in the palace, and make sure it reaches the King."

***

The next night, I was looking through the skylight at the stars, silent and distant. One speck of light fell, growing larger and turning red as it entered the air of Eretz. I watched as the ship landed near the royal palace.

Abi returned from the market the next day with urgent eyes. We hurried to my bedroom without speaking to the other servants.

"The sub-retainer for the keeper of the vestments tells me a single soldier has been recalled from battle," Abi whispered.

I grasped Abi by her shoulders. She nodded, and I embraced her and laughed. "Let us prepare a feast!" I helped the servants that night, and did not mind their strange looks and smiles at their mistress as she worked alongside them. But the door never opened and the food sat on the table until it was cold. Eventually, I waved my hand to the steward, who told the servants to eat. I stared at my plate until the servants finished and left me alone in the room.

The moon rose and shone through the window on my plate. With one finger, I traced paths through my food, blanched white with moonlight. I thought about the paths my husband had traveled across the stars, and why he did not take the shorter one to his own door.

A hard knock at the door sounded a week later. Two guards in red stood in the doorway. One unrolled a scroll which shimmered into life. A scarred face appeared in it and said in a rough voice, "The commander of the King's army regrets to inform the household of Uriah of the planet Hati that Uriah has been killed in the most noble service of the throne. His body could not be recovered. All personal affects will be . . ."

The voice continued, but I did not hear it as the walls spun and the floor slammed against my head. Far away, a woman's voice wailed. Hands lifted me and carried me to my room.

***

The next evening, a knock sounded on my bedroom door and Abi entered without waiting for me to answer. She carried a plate of steaming food. I took one look at her face and mumbled, "Speak your news."

Abi's face looked as if it would crack. "Let mistress eat something."

"Speak."

Abi laid the plate on the desk and sat next to me on the bed and said nothing.

"I am broken, Abi. Your news cannot hurt me."

Abi's said in a hushed voice, "The sub-retainer told me the King gave your husband a feast twice, and twice told him to go to his own house. But your husband slept at the door of the royal palace the first night and among the King's servants the next. And they say your husband spoke harsh words to the King, but the King did not show anger."

I heard my voice say, "It is because my husband knew I was defiled with the seed of another, and he no longer loved me." I turned away from her and closed my eyes. "Tell me, Abi, do you think my husband was glad when the beams of the enemy pierced his chest?"

"Mistress . . ." Abi's voice trembled.

"Go."

"But"

"There is no comfort. Go."

Abi talked a while longer but I lay turned away from her and listened with only half an ear. Eventually, she shut the door behind her. I may have slept that night.

***

The next evening, Abi entered my bedroom with sheepish eyes, carrying the red dress. I think it was the kindest thing she ever did for me. I could tell she was unsure, and I may have smiled as she dressed me.

The dress slid over my skin like the blood it symbolized. Abi applied the rouge and eyeliner which would flicker whenever I moved my head, imitating tears. We walked to our home's shrine. The priest was already waiting for us, but his eyes opened wide when he saw me.

"The Lady of the House should have worn black, for one who lies desolate in the pit."

I walked to the center of the shrine and got on my knees on the stinging stone.

"Your husband was not murdered. He died in the noble service of the crown . . ."

"He wished to die," I said. "I was told he was left in the midst of battle when the line of his companions fell back. How would they have done that to one of the King's Thirty unless he had told them?"

The priest's face became a locked door, and I knew he walked in high circles in the palace. The priest applied the unction to my forehead and eyelids as I knelt. At any other time, I would have gasped at the sight I saw when I opened my eyes. Through the square window, I could see the darkness for the abyss it truly was: the absence of light. In my newfound vision, a great emptiness yawned within me of a world empty and bereft.

"Cruel," I whispered.

The priest handed me a scroll with strange letters which flowed in and out of each other.

"I cannot read this," I said.

"It will read you."

I put the scroll on the ground in front of me and waited as night deepened. After an hour or so, I looked at the scroll and saw shimmering patterns there. Unbidden, words came to my lips: "Man born of woman is short of days and full of trembling."

"Weeping lasts the night, but joy meets the morning," the priest said, and lit a candle. Incense clouded the room.

"Is my strength the strength of stones, or my flesh bronze? There is no help for me, when all resource is driven from me."

"You have changed my mourning to dancing. You have freed me from sackcloth and clothed me with joy."

"Remember that my life is a breath. My eye will not return to see good."

And so on, pausing sometimes when the patterns blurred and waiting for the words to return. The priest walked back and forth behind me, as I Am is said to do sometimes in dreams.

Eventually the sun rose, such a sun as I have never seen, and never wish to see again. Even when I shaded my eyes, I could feel the world of fire that burned in my grief. My dress caught the yellow beams of light and swelled as if filled with wind. I was a bloody flower opening to the dawn.

The priest put his hands on my eyelids and wiped the unguent away. "Words have been given to your grief. Let it continue, in the mercy of I Am, until it leaves you."

I tried to stand and stumbled. Abi helped me to my bedroom as the walls spun. When I lay down, Abi put a raisin cake in my hand. When I dropped it on the ground, Abi mumbled something about the child. I was too weak to refuse her.

When I finished it and had taken some wine, Abi said, "Mistress should grieve."

"What do you think I was doing all night?"

"The priest's anointing brings grief to the surface so it can be released. But your face was stone and your voice dead, even as you spoke what the scroll saw in you."

"The priest knew what had happened. He was not trying to help me grieve. He was trying to silence me. Have you heard any news from the palace? What will the King do for his new son?"

"They say . . . they say a wedding is being prepared."

Cold gripped me. If Abi said anything more, I did not hear her, for the next thing I remember, I was alone. A speeder appeared in front of my home the next day followed by a train of the royal guard on destriers. As Abi and I watched through our front window, I remember thinking at least I would not have to walk to the palace this time. I looked at Abi to tell her, but when I saw the grief on her face, I said nothing.

Abi handed me a satchel with trinkets from my home and other supplies, but I shook my head, and did not turn back to look at Abi as I walked to the speeder, even when I heard her weeping. The tinted door hissed shut and the speeder slid along its path to the palace in silence.

***

I remember little of that week or the fittings and beautifications and ceremonies which filled it. Of the wedding, I remember almost nothing except the tiny scroll I was given with my part to say. I said the words when the time came. The feast afterwards was such as I have never seen, as if all the people were laboring to outdo themselves in pomp and celebration. Servants and courtiers gave me furtive looks from time to time as they ate, but none spoke to me.

As the sun set and the fireworks were beginning, the chief steward led me through a maze of darkened corridors to a single huge door.

"Let her Glory the Queen place her palm on the door. Her bedroom will open only to her touch, and to the King's."

I did so and walked into a darkened room. A light turned on next to a huge bed, and I realized this was the room I had been taken to once before. I felt a rough hand slip into mine and a beard nuzzle my cheek. I let myself be led to the bed and closed my eyes and lay still beneath him and said nothing.

***

Months passed, my son, which I care little to remember. They do not greatly concern what I have to say to you in any case.

I remember the pain of your brother's birth, which I bore proudly, as was my duty as a woman. I remember nursing him for the first time after the nurse cleaned him, and something small opened in me, like a single flower blossoming at midnight. But then they gave my son to the King to hold, and the flower wilted.

One day, an ecstatic, those called the nevi'im by the learned, came to the palace. He was dressed in sackcloth and his beard sprouted like uncut weeds. I was sitting near the front of the hall as the King held court. The ecstatic walked unchallenged in a straight line to the throne, past the guards and the wide-eyed courtiers. Then I saw the fire that burned in the man's eyes. I was suddenly glad the prophet was not walking toward me.

The ecstatic, whose name was Given, stood before the King, leaning on his staff and breathing heavily. Keeping his eyes down, he said, "There was a certain poor man in your city, King, whose sole possession was a kivsah, born on another world and raised here on Eretz. The poor man loved it as a daughter, and taught it to walk upright and speak, and the two lived happily enough. But when a rich man, whose herds numbered many thousands of beasts from this world and others, wanted to entertain a guest, he slaughtered the poor man's only treasure rather than lose one of his own." The ecstatic kept his eyes on the floor, his breath huffing like the wind.

"This is the throne which I Am has established for justice," the King said. "Bring this rich man before me that justice may done upon him."

"And what justice would you do, O most noble King?" the ecstatic asked.

"Death." The king's voice was the thrust of a knife.

The ecstatic looked at me. It seemed to me he looked for a long time, but I have been told by others who witnessed it that it was only a glance. (I will tell you later, O my son, what I saw in his eyes.) Then the prophet looked full upon the King, and although his voice was low, the breath coming from his mouth was like the breath of the four winds of the heavens, and the fire in his eyes the very burning of the sun.

The prophet said, "I Am, who made each star in the cosmos to shine like flowers blooming in a field, who rules over everything he has made, made you King, O Beloved. He spared you the years of herding sheep on the empty mountains and gave you a kingdom. He saved you from the King before you when madness consumed him and he sought your life. He gave you the entire land to rule, because as your name is, so you are, O King. You are Beloved, and so you are called David. And I Am would have added to you much more in his love for you."

The King was sitting very still on his throne.

"You have learned from my cousins who serve in the Tent the nature of I Am's dwelling in the world he has created. I Am, limited by nothing, binds himself in love for his people and dwells in the inner sanctum of his Tent. In a mystery, his might above is undivided; but if you were to walk unshielded into the inner sanctum, you would be undone before his uncreated light. And so the light of I Am shines among his people, and we live in peace. I have seen a little of that divine light, O King. Do you doubt it? It blinds you to all else." I stared at the ecstatic, and saw that, although his eyes glowed, he stared to the King's side, like one blind. "But I see something else in this room. You have brought darkness into the kingdom which I Am gave to you, O King. And so, even though you are still Beloved, darkness will follow you until the day you die. Even now it touches your son."

A cold hand gripped my heart and I stood. Gasps sounded through the royal hall as the king descended to prostrate himself before the ecstatic. I ran from the hall without being dismissed.

I ran to the nursery with my feet tripping in my dress. Nurses were standing around the crib. I pushed past them and looked on my son. His breath was shallow and his skin cold to my touch.

The door to the nursery opened behind me. The head nurse turned and said, "O King, live forever," and bowed. The King must have made some motion because all the nurses left the room. I did not turn.

"Is he . . ." the King asked.

I whirled. The King's face was ashen. He whispered, "He is my son and I love him."

"I am slaughtered," I said. "Each loss I suffer, I think it my last. But then something more is ripped from me."

The King, who normally stood tall, slumped. "You were not the innocent I slaughtered."

Something passed in the air between us, and I felt as if I had been struck. "My Lord the King commands where troops are sent, even from afar? And where soldiers are placed?"

The King said nothing, but his face was answer enough.

"The ecstatic spoke falsely," I choked. "Three innocents you have slaughtered. My husband, myself, and your own son, who will soon die."

I walked past him and up the first stair I found. Minutes later, I had gained one of the higher pinnacles of the palace. The glass in the window slid backwards when I spoke one of the passwords I had been taught. I stepped on the ledge and looked down at the brown and green far below when a voice softly coughed behind me. I turned. One of the stewards, his face a mask, held out a letter for me.

I turned my back on him and took a step forward.

The steward said, "I have a letter from someone who says she is precious to you."

"There is no-one left!" I shrieked.

"It is from a woman named . . . Abi," the steward said, looking at the letter.

Standing by the windowsill, I motioned him forward. It read:

To the royal Bat-Sheva, most illustrious queen over Eretz, the crown of her husband and the joy of her people, greetings.

I, Odilo, write of intelligence which your maid Abi has gained, but is unable to deliver to you, her sickness being very advanced. Abi has spoken with others from the King's servants—always inquiring after your well-being—and has learned of a divergence in the reports concerning your late husband. It seems that some report he spoke harshly to the King, but others say it was not so, and his only concern was for the other troops, and it shamed your husband to enjoy rest when his brothers fought. Abi says this will be important to you, and bids me tell you that your husband loved you till the end.

Your steward in faithful service,

Odilo

I turned to the servant. "A speeder, and two guards. I travel incognito. Now!"

***

I could not see my old streets through the blackened windows, but when the vehicle came to a stop, the door slid open to my old house. I hardly noticed the disrepair around me as I rushed inside. Abi's body had been laid on the table in the house's shrine. I took her lifeless hand in mine, and whispered, "Thank you," into an ear which would never hear again. Then I called to Odilo, who stood outside the door.

Without turning to him, I said, "You are released from my service. Tell the other servants."

"Mistress . . . can we not live here?"

"This place belongs to the crown now."

"But we will be cast out to beg among the poor in the streets."

"Be thankful you do not live in the royal palace. Now call the guards from outside and bring me a sheet from the bedroom."

When they stood before me, I stared long into their red visors. "Wrap this body and bring it with us in the speeder." The bursting radiance from their spears made shadows flicker on Abi's ashen face as they wound the sheet around her and carried her outside.

When we returned to the palace, I ordered the guards to follow me. I ignored the stares of the servants and courtiers and walked to the easternmost corridor of the palace. There are no windows there, but it has many doors leading to many burial plots. Several servants of the house of death were preparing bodies as I entered. One dressed in gray turned to meet me with down-turned eyes.

"She is to be buried in the graveyard of the royal family," I told him.

He motioned for the guards to lay the body on one of the tables and pressed a finger against his palm. A knife slid out from one of his fingers. He cut the sheet and moved to make a small incision on the side of Abi's head, but I put my hand on his. "You will not find the chip you are looking for."

"If this slave is not of the royal palace, then she will be placed with . . ."

I kept my hand on his. "I do not want her in danger of those beasts which hunger for the freshly dead."

"Her burial clothes will be laced with spices which repel them."

"Please. She . . . I never showed honor to her as I should have. If your superior objects, send him to me."

The slave bowed, and I followed as they wheeled her away to a side chamber. Since it is counted as defilement for the royal family to attend the preparation for burial, you have never seen what those preparations involve. I think it improper for me to narrate them for you, but I am glad for their work. They glanced at me from time to time but otherwise did not object as I watched. Hours later, I followed them as they walked outside and lowered her into the ground, the notes of the hastily assembled choir descending with her. They chose a song normally appointed for the upper echelon of royal servants, but it was still poor praise for my Abi. I looked away when I could bear it no more and saw the great memorial at the center of the plot which was already prepared for the king. I wondered then for the first of many times why the king sat on his throne while my one true friend lay in the dust. It felt as if the earth itself were gripping me.

When we were back in the house of death, I waited for an opportune moment and snuck one of the knives they use when the cause of death is unknown and slipped it into my gown. I placed my hand on a nearby screen and asked the spirit after the location of the king.

***

I walked to the nursery, feeling the flat of the blade under my robe, against my hip. As I drew near, I heard a voice weeping, and wondered who among the thousands serving in the palace might be weeping for me. I opened the door and saw the King on his knees, his face pressed into the ground before the crib which held my son. Standing around him were members of the priestly cast. In their shimmering robes of white—robes which the learned claim reflect the deathless Light before which they serve—the priests surrounded the King like stars surrounding a blighted planet.

As he wept, the King repeated, "Let it be me who dies, and not my son, I pray you. Spare my son and do not spare me."

I walked back to my chambers, the King's prayer echoing in my mind.

***

I returned in the depth of night and stood at the entrance of the nursery and heard the King weeping still. I listened as he prayed to the Increate that his filth would be washed and his bloodguilt forgiven. I listened as he prayed for the shalom of the woman whose husband he had murdered.

I stayed outside the door for a long time, listening as the King sobbed and moaned. Then I walked back to my private chamber, shut the door, and slept like one dead myself.

***

I awoke the next morning and called for my maid. She entered my bedchamber with eyes downcast.

"The child has died," I said. Without looking at me, she nodded.

"Where is the King?"

"In his study."

I dismissed her and dressed and slipped the knife into a fold in my robe. I found the King at his desk. When the King saw me, he dismissed his advisors and stood. He was dressed in white linen and his head was anointed, but grief shadowed his eyes.

"The King does not mourn?" I whispered.

"Can I bring him back?" the King asked. "While the child lived, there was hope. But now I will not see him again until I go to him."

"Go where?"

"To him, my son. The priests tell me I Am cares for us, the seed of the Father of Many, and even in death brings us to himself."

"I . . . I will see him again?"

The King nodded.

I turned away and went back to my chambers. I sat before a window and looked down on the city, and the many lives which walked in the streets far below. I thought of I Am as I had never thought of him before, ruling on high and looking down at his creations. I thought of I Am coming to those waiting in the dust. And I thought on what I had seen in the eyes of the ecstatic.

I had seen love and anger in those eyes, my son, anger and love. I do not know which was the fiercer. But I do know the Increate was not angry at me. And regardless of how the King interpreted the parable of the ecstatic, I think the prophet intended I should hear myself in it.

After a while, I leaned out of the window and dropped the knife. It flashed in the sun as it fell into the royal gardens below. I have never found it in any of my walks there.

***

There is much I have yet to tell, my son, but my hand aches and trembles. This, at least, you should know: some time later, the king came to the evening meal haggard. I looked at him as we ate until our eyes met. He sighed and said, "A son of mine by another marriage has taken a daughter by force. The woman's brother has killed the offender and fled. The relatives of both are ready for war." The king rubbed his eyes and sighed again, and so did not see the look on my face. But he did see as I ate nothing else and left as soon as the first courtier was dismissed. I locked my chamber door and told it to admit no-one, but the king knows every password. The door hissed open and he stood before me in the shadows of the evening. I waited for him to speak.

Eventually he said, "This will be death of my kingdom."

I laughed. "Finally, some fortunate news."

"Still you hate me," the King said, as if to himself. "And so you should."

"Did you come here hoping for the comfort of my body because you are losing your throne? Did you think that would endear you to me? Tell me, most illustrious king: why did the Increate choose my son to die, he who had done nothing, and let you keep your life?"

"If I had been taken into the council of the Increate, that would have been my counsel. But he does not ask my opinion."

I turned away and said nothing more until he left. I did not sleep that night. The next morning, at the first meal, I whispered to my server as he leaned over to fill my cup, "I require information. Summon whatever functionary can serve me." The servant said nothing and walked away. At the end of the meal, a knock sounded.

"Enter."

A bald-headed man with wide eyes appeared and bowed. As he did, I saw the blinking circuitry which had been implanted in his skull before birth, as was always done for the slaves of his class. I motioned for him to sit opposite me.

"The woman. The royal daughter, the one who was . . . Where is she?"

He looked down at his clasped hands. "Great Queen, please"

I slammed my hand on the table. "She has been violated! Will you squirrel her away to protect the throne?"

"No, my queen!" The shock on his face was genuine.

"Then why do you not speak?"

His eyes fell again, and in a whisper so low I could barely hear it, he said, "War comes, and sides are being drawn. Let her Glory the Queen tell her servant which side she has chosen, and I will advise. But know that I will say nothing which might weaken the king."

Nothing he could have said would have surprised me more. I stammered, "I only wish to visit the royal daughter."

Something came into his face which I cannot describe, and I knew he was a good man whom I could trust. "I was at your wedding, O Queen," he said. "There was much to do, and my mind was being filled with so many tasks, I could think of little else. But I remember seeing you on the throne. No-one stood by your side that day." He covered his face with his hands so I would not see his shame.

I rose and kneeled by his side and took his hand. Immediately, he dropped to his knees before me, but I pulled him up so I might look into his eyes. "I wish only to visit the royal daughter."

"You mean no harm to the king?"

"No," I said; but a part of me wondered.

"The daughter's name is Palm, and she dwells in the house of her brother, Father's Peace. I will arrange a speeder for you. Now let my Queen give me some trivial task, that none might think I plot against the king."

***

When my speeder stopped in front of the son's palace and the screen rose, I saw a company of royal guards stood at the entrance. I spoke the password to my guards and waited as their visors turned from red to green and their spears grew silent. I walked alone toward the company waiting for me in front of the palace, holding the branch of olive which it is said the dove brought back to Rest as he waited in the tevat. I gave it to the mistress of the palace and the flowers opened for her and breathed their scent. But she regarded me with hooded eyes as she said, "Welcome to her Glory the Queen. I was told you are here to visit the bereaved?"

"Only that," I said, but still they stared at me.

Finally, one of the servants muttered, "The spies of the King will learn nothing from us." The mistress glared at him and I knew he would be beaten as soon as I left.

I leaned close to the mistress and said, "I care nothing for the King and his affairs. I wish only to speak to one who has become my sister." The mistress nodded, but I could feel her eyes on me as we took such a circuitous route that even I, who care nothing for the machinations of the court, knew they were keeping secrets from me. When they finally led me to the woman's cell, I remember hearing faint hammerings and the cries of workers. How those weapons boomed when they used them against the royal palace! But I did not think of that as the door was opened and I turned away from the stench.

"She is a royal daughter, and you treat her like a prisoner?"

"She came here herself, and weeps when we do not lock the door."

"Leave us." When they did not move, I asked, "What role could she possibly play in some plot against Father's Peace?" The door closed behind me and I got on my knees opposite her.

"Palm? I am your Queen, but I wish to be your friend."

She stared at the floor.

"I know what it is to be violated. To carry the defilement of another's sin."

Nothing.

"Will you dishonor your Queen? A word, and you will be in a worse dungeon, and not of your choosing."

She looked at me then, and I whispered, "I only want a friend." But still her face was a mask, and I knew she wandered far, and would not return for me.

As I walked back to my speeder with the mistress and her guards, she muttered to me, "Often it is so with those whose hatred eats at them." I looked at her sharply, but I do not think she meant anything by it. The smell of that small room followed me in the speeder and into my room. My room could not have been more different from Palm's prison, but I wondered if there was a smell in mine, and how I would ever leave it behind.

Not a week later, I heard the alarm sound within the palace. On the horizon, crushing the homes of the smaller villages as they approached, cannons almost half as high as the palace's walls made their slow approach, surrounded by soldiers like ants. Their missiles flashed through the sky and crashed against the power-net surrounding the palace walls. Fliers darted through the openings and dropped canisters which spread screams and death in yellow fog. Shouts and the burst of weapons filled the corridor as I ran back to my room, calling for my maids. I locked my door with my strongest password I knew and we huddled in a corner. The door buckled but held against the weapons they turned on it.

We ate a little that night in the quiet of darkness. Adina said something about rationing food, but I told them the Queen's quarters had special provision which would hold out a long time. I forced myself to stay calm the next day, even when a distant voice spoke to a cheering crowd outside and the music reserved for the day of enthronement sounded. When I dared peek through my widow, I saw a drunken tumult in the palace hardly different from the chaos of the invasion. I even saw a woman forced. No-one helped her.

The next day came, and the next, we waited for the door to be violated and the new king to extinguish all competitors to his throne, or some threat to come to the spirit in the screen which would force us out. But days turned to weeks as we passed the hours chattering and gossiping and playing games. And when the food in our cupboards was found replaced one day—there being long passageways between rooms so that mine is fully stocked without a servant entering my private chambers—I knew Father's Peace intended to ignore us.

One day, when no-one had a story we had not already heard, Zemira asked, "Will we ever be able to leave?"

"I cannot guarantee our safety if we do," I said.

The spirit in the monitor suddenly appeared. "A message for her Glory the Queen," it said, and cut to a dirty face with ragged eyes. A ruined house appeared in the screen behind him. "Bathsheba!" the man said. "You live!"

I went and peered into the screen. "Odilo? Is that you?"

"Can the Queen do nothing to help us?" Odilo asked, turning for a moment to quiet a child at his side whose ribs showed where her rags were torn.

"Help?"

"The people cheered for Father's Peace when he spoke to us from the royal palace the first time, but . . ."

"Why are you living there, Odilo?"

"It is your house, O Queen."

My mouth dropped open. "It is a slum."

"It is now, as is much of the city. The people's suffering is very great. Can you do nothing?" We talked for a while longer while I tried to think of something I might do. Suddenly, a crack sounded off screen. Odilo looked to his left fear and fear twisted his face. "They traced the line. Help us . . ." Static filled the screen.

I waited until everyone was asleep, then went onto my balcony and looked up at the moon. A voice said behind me, "You said it was too dangerous for us to be out here."

I turned. "You never would have spoken to me thus in times before, Abishai."

Her eyes flared. "I . . . I only . . ."

"We have grown close, all of us. I am not angry."

"Why are you sad, mistress?"

"Does my grief surprise you?"

"I heard stories . . ."

"Tell me. Come, you need not fear me. You have all been my own true friends in this palace. I Am knows I have precious few. What stories have you heard?"

"I heard of the frightened woman the king stole for himself. I came into the service of the court after the wedding, but I heard of the shock and fear which was plain on the bride's face. I heard of the arguments, and how none can please her, and how she weeps at night."

"And now you are trapped with her for months." I turned away and looked down on the city, and the tiny fires which flickered like the stars above. "My husband is an evil man, but I Am promised justice would come. I suppose it has." The faint weeping of a woman rose from far below. "And many suffer in the sins of their ruler."

"Is that why you are sad?"

"I am sad because I am trying to tell myself I am glad the King is gone. But it is not true." Abishai gave me a precious smile, full of the sweetness of a young woman who hopes for love and fears her life may turn out like mine; and I embraced her, something I had never done to any of my maids.

The next morning, it was Abishai herself who called us all to the curtains of moving glass which partition the balcony from my room. "A procession, mistress! On the horizon!" We all stood, silent, waiting. I gasped and spoke the curtains open and stood at the edge of the balcony.

"Mistress! You said it was dangerous!"

"Do you see the man at the head of the procession?" I rushed to the back room and placed my palm on one of the walls above the bath. It slid back. "I will return for you all," I said; but when I saw the fear and hope on their faces, I went back and embraced each one, not having words to thank them. I saw to good marriages for each one of them, but only Abishai writes to me of her children.

Then I walked down the dark corridors of which few know, as far to the front gate of the palace as I could. I watched from high above as David, his beard unkempt and shoulders sagging and eyes bright, rode slowly through the crowds. They cheered from time to time, but I saw more than one weep as they welcomed their king. One man bowed before the King's massive destrier and asked forgiveness for cursing him; another hobbled over to say he had not accompanied the king because his servant had lied. I watched as David embraced each one, and I saw the joy on each face as he did.

I waited in that corridor until nightfall, not wanting to return to the questions of my maids. When the sun had set, I asked the spirit in the wall where I could find the king, and took a route by which none would see me. I walked through the corridors of the palace, wondering what I would say.

I entered the hallway which led to his bedchamber and looked toward his room, expecting it to be crowded with servants. It was empty save for the most piteous weeping I have ever heard from man or woman. If your worst enemy wept so, you would go to comfort her. I wondered who else the King had hurt and something fiery and heavy flared within my breast. I clenched my fists and strode down the hall. The smell of Palm's prison returned.

But when I turned the corner, it was the King whom I saw on his knees, sobbing in his grief for the son who had tried to kill him. I stared for a moment and then went and knelt with him and let him sob in my arms.

Another time, I saw one of the great Malakim, who serve above the cosmos before the face of the Increate, standing higher than any building and holding a dripping sword toward the royal city. And I saw the King hurry to buy a plot of land to make sacrifice and cover the wrath of I Am for his act of pride. And I saw the blessing which came on the city after. The people said the Malakim themselves were standing guard at our gates, even though their bodies are too subtle for human eyes. I half believed it.

Years later, when the King was so old he could not stay warm at night, I saw the young thing they brought to sleep with him. I saw her wide, frightened eyes, and although I knew they meant to keep her from me, I went to her and shared clothes with her and tried to be her friend.

And when gray had entered my hair and I walked with a stoop, my maid entered my chamber one day to comb my hair, but her hands shook. I asked her what was wrong.

"The King," she whispered. "He is . . ." And broke into tears. I took my cane and hobbled to his bedchamber and saw him laid on his bed, surrounded by physics. I dismissed them and took his withered hand.

Through labored breaths, the King whispered, "I have not touched her. Abishag, the young woman they brought to me."

"I know," I said.

"Who are you?"

"Bat-Sheva, wife of Uriah your soldier."

"Why are you here?" the King breathed.

"I am thinking of what the prophet said to you."

"That darkness would never leave my reign. He spoke rightly. I Am has punished me less than I deserve."

"No," I said. "That you are beloved still." The King blinked and looked at me, and his eyes seemed to clear. I felt we saw each other for the first time.

The chamber, already dark for the sake of the King, suddenly grew black. The King breathed still, but somehow it seemed his breaths slowed to the pace of years. There was another, standing in the bedchamber with us. Had fear not stolen my voice, I would have called for the guards.

"Daughter of Abundance."

"That is my name, but that is not my truth," I whispered. I did not think I could speak, but his voice summoned mine.

"Why is that?"

"I have no abundance. It was taken long ago." I remembered the faint light next to the bed and felt my robe torn from me once more.

"You once told the King it was good that his kingdom might be destroyed. Do you still think so, Daughter of Abundance?"

"No," I said, and did not know it for the truth until the word left my mouth.

"Why?"

"Because I have seen the good which his rule brings. I have seen how the poor love the King. And I have seen the chaos which contenders to his throne cause, and how they do not care. And . . . and I have seen him. David. I have seen the man, at his best and his worst, and I do not hate him."

It was not light which then shone, my son, nor was it a man. But I have no other words for the being I saw, or his beauty. The man put his hand through my chest, and I felt him touch my heart, and something which had clung to me since the first night I saw the King fell away. I looked up at him, and saw he was weeping. I knew then that uncreated fire which ecstatics long to glimpse.

As I looked, my son, I saw in that man the King which David was meant to be. I knew then how badly David had failed. And I saw what you are intended to be, O my son Peace, and the peace you are meant to bring under the hand of I Am. And behind the man, I saw a great fire raging, and nations burning within it. But whether it was the destruction of the line of David, or its purging, or both, I could not tell.

Then I was alone in the King's bedchamber. I put my hand on David's chest. He had stopped breathing.

***

You know the trouble, O my son Peace, which I have taken to have you crowned. I hope you understand now what trouble it has taken me to rejoice in the reign of David's line. You have excelled higher than any of the other rulers on the surrounding worlds, and none dares attack you, all courting your favor instead. Yet I fear for you, O my son.

I thought to write this as another embassy came to you, that it might remain with you when I lie in the dust. I saw how you watched the serving girls drag their shouting idol into your throne room. You did not care for the wonders which their idol performed, or the promises and veiled threats of their priests and messengers. Did you think your own mother would not see? There is darkness in each one of these embassies. I see it in the cruel curves of their armor and their crackling weapons and the massive, moving statues of their gods. And in their women, different enough from human women for you to be curious.

O my son, let your heart not be ensnared. I have seen what it is for a kingdom to burn. I hope you never do.

I, Bat-Sheva, Daughter of Abundance, former wife to Uriah and queen to King David, do sign this to you, my last letter. Know that you are beloved, as your father was.

