LIBER SECVNDVS
* * *
iam mens praetrepidans avet vagari
iam laeti stvdio pedes vigescvnt.
o dvlces comitvm valete coetvs
longe qvos simvl a domo profectos
diversae varie viae reportant.
*
I
The arias of many birds echoed melodiously in the evening woods where leaves were yellowing with the touch of the first chill fingers of an autumn that probed from the north. Echoing too from bough to bough came whispers of a harp plucked idly, accompanied by the crunch of hooves over the scattering dead leaves. There seemed an early dusk in the woods to the small band of travelers, for a haze hung in the undergrowth punctuated only by the lazy golden raindrops of drifting leaves. A small quail erupted into flight from its hiding place, startling Sir Elisa from his musician’s trance with the jar of a mis-plucked chord. He watched the drab avian pierce the thinning canopy until his lyre’s lingering notes dissolved into bird-song.
A kind of reverie had enveloped them since the disappearance of Yalishamba several days prior, they still were heavy with remembrance and puzzled about the circumstances of his vanishing. Why had he led them to the lonesome damsel? What was the purpose of the strange spherical vessel, and how had it been made? It was due to this confusion that the Sparrow’s words were the first that had been spoken in many miles traversed, and they roused his companions’ ears. Turning around in his saddle to the white-gowned maiden who clung to him, he said, “These light ephemeral hours have passed with none of my notice. I must have spaced-out in my saddle. Are we any nearer to dawn than when we last set out?”
From the other giraffe, Hesaid Isee replied, “Indeed do the trees bestow a double night, yet I sense that the sun has yet to wake.” His purple robe stood out darkly against the forest’s yellow shadows. “By now,” he said, “it must be bulging now from the pregnant earth, ready to be born and inherit the firmament. Yet not until it has risen to full power should we dismount and camp, for not until we vacate this forest shall we come to the Silver Spring, I expect.”
“Then we ride until your word, Hesaid. On the oath of our map, these woods are spread like a wide blanket — I doubt we shall come out of them soon.”
Yet the maiden who rode with him retorted, “Not so!” and pointed off to the left of their narrow trail. There in the near distance it was bright with twilight: an unheralded clearing in the wood.
“O-ho,” cried Hesaid Isee in mirth, “does it seem that the skillful sparrow grasps not the map? Come, let us inspect that place which this fair damsel has spaye! Yalishamba must have had a wise reason for leading us to her!”
When the knight, the mystic, the lady, and the squire rode into the open dark glade, all were confounded by the misty-cloaked shores of an unexpected lake. Under the blushing eye of the dim sky, samite-gowned Sarah spoke again. “It should seem that my new companions fare no better with wandering than my previous escort! This is a landmark sure as would grace any map of our isle! You must be as hopeless as Sir Wander-Gogh,” smirked she at the Sparrow Knight.
Sir Elisa feigned a deep wound in his heart, saying, “My lady, you pierce me to the core! Even if directionless I am, to insinuate that I am as villainous as the one who abandoned you — why that is simply too great a weight to bear!” And with those words, Sir Elisa fell dead from his saddle, landing upon the soft grass.
From her seat behind him, Sarah nimbly leapt down, and removed his heavy helm. “Fret not, silly Sparrow,” she grinned, “for I can make plain to you all the hardships and trials of map-lore.”
As the knight and the lady laughingly jested in the mist, removing the cumbersome plates of his armor, Hesaid Isee dismounted as well and scanned this strange unexpected clearing. A wide lake was within the mist, and at its center seemed to rise a pinnacle of rock and falling water. Hesaid mused that it might have been visible for miles if not for the encompassing forest. The source of the pinnacle’s flowing waterfall was unseen, yet still it somehow spilled, thundering, from the spire into the pool below drenching this clearing in the veil of mist.
Hesaid informed Frontal that they would camp here now in order to study this unfathomably unknown landmark of magical significance, and the squire bowed and set to unpacking. A peeking sun could be seen at the horison’s lip; darkness still dominated the land but would be overcome forthwith. The three giraffes were stripped of armor and allowed to run and graze freely under squire Frontal’s care. Out of their packs Hesaid unslid the map scroll from where it lay inside Yalishamba’s clear glass sphere. The mystic sat on the grass beside Sir Elisa and Sarah Bellum, unrolled the skin and perused it nonchalantly with his finger in the dawning light.
When the Sparrow Knight saw, he pleadingly pointed to the scroll drawing all their attention. Indicating ridges upon the map, he said, “Upon this range of northern mountains is the High Fortress supposed to lie, thus the sleeping Silver Spring must be the woods which encircle it.” He then moved his finger down meager inches and said, “This is where I make us out it be, just below the ‘M’ in ‘Strathmore Forest.’ And yet, look you, there are no gaps nor glades that this map can show. Peruse it with all your magical powers, friend Hesaid, and access your mighty woman’s intuition, Sarah, but there should be no clearing where we are.” Sir Elisa was frustrated, and flush from the uncertainty.
Hesaid Isee reminded them, “The map is not the territory.” Then he brought a hand to his eyebrows and proceeded to smooth them out thoughtfully. “And yet… the truths you speak are most strange. It’s possible that this place is unknown, for these remaining forests are uncommonly travelled — but in ancient days they would not have been avoided. I would have expected a wonder such as this strange mist-shrouded fountain to be known to all the folk of the Merry Land.”
“My lady,” spoke the Sparrow, “it would seem your harsh words now are dulled.”
“Indeed, good Sir Elisa, yet they were never meant to harm you. It is a burden to stay on course with naught but yellow tree and yellow tree and yellow tree to guide by. Even had we become lost I would have faulted you little: the drain of Sir Wander-Gogh’s honor was not in his aimlessness, but in abandoning me! When I awoke that night to find myself alone in the wilderness I cursed his name — but when I heard the steeds of yourself and Hesaid I blessed you. I only wish I had known how to keep his giraffe in my care until you arrove, but it bolted. It was you, my brave Sparrow Knight, who scooped me from despair’s bosom and into the adventure I had sought at the Manta-Ray’s unsteady side. My knightly grandsire’s death has steeled some resolve inside me: I seek to witness your travels as much as I am able.” Sarah’s eyes were like bright wells from which there blossomed rays that the sun himself might envy, and Sir Elisa did not miss that the glance was for him.
But Hesaid broke the mood as he hastily rolled up the map and said, “Indeed, indeed, all is indeed well. Glad am I for the both of you, yet time remains ere the night-mother shall prevent us from inspecting this spectacle. Let us now discover the nature of this mysterious fountain, and by its light perhaps we can discover a truer course this day.” They rose, and the pool slowly emerged into view as they walked under the dimming sky through dense spray churned by the waterfall. It was not a wide pool, yet the currents and turbulence of the surface kept the secrets of its depth. “It seems strange,” continued Hesaid, “that no water is seen running from this mere puddle. A stream must course, invisible to all, below the soil.”
“And likewise no river leads to this pool.” replied Sir Elisa, “The waters seem to spring directly from the earthen spire with no source. A curious sight, this misty monument looped in time and space. I know not what it is, yet somehow its paradox reminds me of the Fissure.”
Sir Elisa peered into that spray as if he could penetrate its mysteries from afar, but Sarah proved less cautious and ran ahead barefoot on the damp grass, swallowed by the immaterial cloud. Of insecure footing, with neither sword nor armor, the Sparrow Knight was reluctant to explore this unknown. Yet when Hesaid Isee’s purple robes followed Sarah’s alabaster gown Sir Elisa was compelled to follow both. Into the thicker spray he stalked, hearing music in the thunderous waterfall’s crash, and at every thin inhale a kind of giddy abandon came over him. He heard the playful giggling of Sarah Bellum some ways ahead, like silver bells, but as of yet could see only dim dancing forms. His anxiety melted away a little more at every encompassing exhale, and soon he found himself rushing forward to join in his companions’ mirth. A fog descended too over all their thoughts in the prismatic mesh of droplets. He found Hesaid lying sprawled upon the ground caressing the blades of grass, while the merry maiden had hiked up her skirts and was wading in the shallows of the water. She skipped on the cusp of the pool in a half-dance, enjoying the coolness on her pale ankles while Sir Elisa watched her, entranced and contented. Breathing the thick mist of the falls, events seemed to take place in a far away land to which he was only connected by a thin thread of vision. He nearly drifted into a kind of standing sleep when —
“O!” cried Sarah, and then “Help!” It took much effort for Sir Elisa to snap his reeling mind back into the present through the haze, but he was brought to his senses at last by a heavy splash: Sarah had fallen into the pool and disapore, sucked down into unknown depths.
At once, Sir Elisa forced his mind to be as alert as ever he had been, and he leapt into the pool to save her. Yet as soon as he entered the water, he felt his own strong will drag him deeper. Far below him, he saw a billowing of pearly skirts pulled by the undertow. The Sparrow forced his brain to vigilance: he swam mightily and rose above the surface just long enough to gasp down a large breath and to hear yet another splash: Hesaid had voluntarily joined them, jovially diving into the mysterious lake with a swimer’s lazy finesse. Sir Elisa tried to cry out a warning, but was compelled by insidious currents back down into the depths of the pool in a hopeless race to rescue the sunken Sarah, and himself.
* * *
Elsewhere, a quartet of questing knights rode upon a meandering grassland while the scarlet blush of morning broke across mountain peaks not so far in the distance. The grasses were long and swam on the great waves of the hilly countryside like drowning hair. A chill breeze, harbinger of autumn, had begun to follow these knights in the days since their departure from the cleansed village of Darnestowne. Abandoning that place to shifting memory, they had wandered at the discretion of the elderly Ram Knight. With the others of their quest swept off to sights unknown, these four were wayward and followed but a shadow of purpose. They sweat beneath their armor and were covered with such grime from the road that the slightest breeze was a boon upon them, yet on and on they had ridden at Sir Palamander’s insistence: over hill and through vale, always on the move, scouring the land for some semblance of their quest. The Lobster, the Frog, and the Whale all performed the exacting biddings of the morale-boosting Ram Knight, yet it seemed that no one knew tales of either a Wreath of Reincarnation or of a Silver Spring. Hopelessness had begun to dawn on them anew at each dawn.
One day, orange-and-azure Sir L’angoustier spotted an oddity upon the lenient slope of one of many northern mountains they rode between. He looked upon the tended incline with a keen eye as he twirled a mustachio with mailed fingers and remarked, “Is it this a vineyard? On Angland? For what is the point of it? O this place is a long gone from days of the happiness. Is old abandonment.”
The deep voice of the flame-bearded Frog Knight said, “It is not the best tended of farms forsooth, yet perhaps the caretakers are merely overworked. It is weary labor, O Lobster, for our remaining farmers must support all the Merry Land. I believe the providers of food are the truest heroes, not we. Your sour judgement is best reserved until it must be passed, thou jestful crustacean.”
“Not you smell decay of fruit and a vine? Nor no neat little rows at all of it! Is the rotted juice without a scent to you? Oui, I am being born upon places as a this but — how is said? — superior of the stock. Finest of vineyards in my France was my home… ah me, those days now dead. I shed a little tear.”
To this, Sir Palamander bleat, “Perhaps there is prudence in exploring here: we are as ignorant as ever of that key said to wake your slumbering Spring. As happenstance is illusory, it cannot be accident that Sir L’angoustier has stumbled upon a foreign homeland. O how the drama of adventure pulls at my once spritely frame! Verily this air seems sweet to me even bearing the stench of grapes, for in days when I was spry all senses I possessed were wracked with remorse at the foul Crusades, and all tasted as ash and nothing, and now I have no senses left with which to taste. Thus are the merits of my age.” And when they approached the vineyards they saw that, verily, the rows were not only out of place but were passing tangled and ancient grapes now grew directionless across the interlaced mountain slope.
Sable-and-ivory Sir Moodye rode with these knights, silent and pondering as was his wont. Being bare-faced in the fields of Beverly was more like to vapor than waking remembrance now, for in his wandering of the world experience had grown about his chin and produced a tangled coil of inky beard. Across the long days of journey he had afforded himself less and less time for reminiscence, focussing only on the driving of his noble steed and poring over the aged Meta-Testament — the golden linings of the pages wore dull from the constant contemplation of his thumbs. Forsooth, he was studying the parable of The Hard Day’s Night when that mention of the Crusade slipped suddenly from the cracked lips of Sir Palamander. Sir Moodye’s memories rose like unfortunate bubbles — such as those one might cry while drowning in a mysterious pool. And yet, the Whale looked on those rising bubbles with new eyes gained by the expanse of his travels and the meticulous study of his sacred tome.
Softly he asked, “I wonder, unless it is a terrible boldness in me that queries, might you impart to me the nature of those wars? For though I was there and forced to fight, and suffered, the true reasons and motivations I never have understood. I was not certain you had ridden in the Crusade, though I understand your unwillingness to speak. It is a lock and chains around my own heart too.”
The elderly Ram said nothing at first, he only luft his visor as they rode up the path of the chaotic vineyard, and he stroked his silver beard. He was considering his reply as if tasting his words to verify their palpability. It was a question not lightly answered, and it was an oath-breaking answer, though each minute spent in thought wrenched Sir Moodye’s anxieties.
Sir L’angoustier had since taken point and was leading them through the tangled vines up the lazy slope. It began to seem that he had indeed spoken true when he proclaimed these lands abandoned, for no soul hereabouts could be seen save that of animal-kind. The vines of the grapes seemed to grow larger and larger the higher the knights clomb. They passed what once had been some massive wooden structure, yet it had fallen into itself and the wood was long rotten. The air was thick and silent but for the noise of the knights’ passage and the low calling of a far off crow.
At last the Knight of the Ram spoke, his gruff voice seeming to have aged many more years. “It is a strange world in which we dwell, Sir Moodye. I knew not that you had been a Crusader, and even if you never were in the thick of battle I understand your trepidation. Our Merry Land is wide and wild, and there is no lack of men you might travel beside. And the world of wisdom is more wide and wild still, indeed it may lack borders. And yet for all the great vastness of the lands we inhabit, there is no question more barbed and dangerous than the one you have asked me, and there is no one capable of answering it in sooth save I. For I was there. Yea: I was there when the Old Order fell to ruinous contention within the fortress of Tralfamadore. I was sworn to silence, and since that day I have spoken to no man of what I saw, except to myself — for I bemoan those events every night that I lay guilt-torn from sleep.”
“You… were there?” asked Sir Sallimaide, incredulously. “When the war began? When the Light Age fell into darkness? Your face then belies your years, I would not have thought you alive since before the Dark Age! I have witnessed many a winter, yet you must have seen at least seven-score more than I!”
“And more even than that.”
“Nay! For five centuries you have clung to life?” And to the Whale, Sir Sallimaide said, “Does he look twice as old as I? You must know, for you are the youngest of all of us — almost as young as my squire!”
But the pretend-knight simply shrugged in embarrassment, and turned his attention back to Sir Palamander. The Ram Knight nodded and bleat, “In those long-ago years that sleep in forgetfulness, long before I painted the portrait of the village of Sendrago, I was but a squire. Though no simple errand boy was I, shuffling about behind the scenes such as jovial Hadely here, I was the squire of Sir Wenlock, the Knight of the Serpent, the youngest who sat at the Dodecahedronic Table. Yet… that is not where this story begins. If I am to break this secret then I must describe it from the very outset.”
The Tale of the Fall of Sir Cambrian
“In early days when the Knighthood was still without religion, we were met with favorable attention by the Church of the Testament, whose monks for thousands of years had endlessly translated and extrapolated upon the mysteriously brief commandments of the Testament. The Church offered to support the Knighthood if in exchange they would be allowed to include their theological training as part of a knight’s duties.
“The Wise Salmon Knight imagined that a training in the ways of the spirit would befit his army of wisdom, and so he viewed this contract in a positive light. But there were those who dissented. Sir Hadeon of No Thing was the loudest of these, saying that religion would merely cloud a knight’s perspective and could be of no constructive value. He told us of the pagan savages who once inhabited this island, he spoke of rituals most barbaric and uncivilized. He told us that a dawn of science and not of superstition was at hand. That unvirtuous No Thing Knight proclaimed that only war lay down the path of religion.
“Sir Cambrian listened long to all that was said, and agreed that teaching only Christian lessons was unwise. The Salmon proposed that a true knight would know of all the religious and spiritual matters of man, including the path of No Thing. That was his offer of fair compromise.”
“And yet,” said Sir Moodye, “if what you suggest is the sooth you claim, than I find it odd then that I know naught of these other religions! We only were instructed in the rote of the Testament.”
“Yea,” said Sir Palamander, “this is the part of the tale that no one knows, that no one is supposed to know about. As I have said, several centuries ago I was sworn to secrecy, an event at the close of this bloodied tale. But now that long ages have passed since then, I believe need has abandoned the secret… perhaps it was never needed.” And to himself, the elderly Ram Knight murmured, “…perhaps that secret was the bloodiest deed of all.”
The dried vines grew more tangled and more plentiful as the knights wound their way up the mountain. They spilled all over and invaded the path so that the task fell to Sir L’angoustier to guide them through. Often was he forced to hack at the vegetation with his curved brand in places where it grew too unkempt. When the sun had reared almost to full noon and the stench of grapes grew under its watchful eye, the Lobster loudly mourned their lack of bread and cheese, saying that these foods were indispensable beside the smell of grapes. “If we had even this meager foods,” he said, “when combined they could become a fittingest banquet for a royal peoples to be enjoying!” Having travelled at his side for so long, the other knights were no novices at ignoring his piteous whinings, but it was Hadely who pointed out that while they had no cheese, there was bread aplenty. And so all were given a small loaf and began thoughtfully to chew upon it with the stench of grapes in the air.
Sir Moodye was content in the silence that followed, but soon hungered for more spiritual fare than bread. Thus when his curiosity had reached its crux he sighed, “Some of that tale was known to me, Sir Palamander, yet I cannot decipher the connection to the culmination of the Crusade.”
A look of solemn remembrance spread across the Ram’s face, and he cleared his throat to continue the tale.
“Shortly after the Church involved themselves, the wise old Salmon went missing. Knowledge of this event was hushed completely, and few know that it led to the ultimate collapse of the Council. It was common in those days for the knights of the Order to wander for years at a time on their various errands, but that was not Sir Cambrian’s wont: he was needed at the Castle Tralfamadore to mediate between the oft incongruous ideals of his fellows. And on the few occasions where his attention was required elsewhere, much of his court rode with him. It was grand, my friends, to be among the traveling troupe of the Order of Knighthood, to see the stretching acres of bright tents when at last they set up camp. But no such quest was afoot at that time: one dreary day he simply was gone.
“O, we did wait, for a time, but with our leader missing it was not long until everything began to slip into chaos. Sir Permian, the Knight of the Crocodile, was the loudest to demand a questing party to go in search of the Salmon, but there were few volunteers. Most were concerned more for the position of temporary leadership and had no desire to sally forth. Yet in the end the Crocodile found three others of equally determined will to set out with him: my own knight Sir Wenlock, Sir Ypressian of the Heron, and also the weird Sir Mesozoic of the Trilobite. The four of them and meager I left London as soon as we could, with all we could carry strapped across our shoulders.”
“You travelled on foot?” interrupted Sir Moodye.
“Indeed,” said Sir Palamander, “For giraffes then hadn’t evolved enough to be ridden. In those days their height exceeded not even a man’s knee. In those days there were no animals suitable to ride, and all journeys hinged upon the power of one’s own legs and stamina.”
Sir L’angoustier laughed aloud, pausing in his trailblazing as autumn sunlight glent on his oiled mustachios. “The age of this Ram-man makes le better tale by far. It is funny how the old he is.” Ignoring the french knight’s snickering, Sir Palamander proceeded solemnly.
“We walked until nightfall that first day, and when it was time to sleep we buried Sir Mesozoic beneath the earth. He was a knight possessed of strange sight, and a mystical power granted him visions of the hidden when he slept below the soil. I remember it well, for the ordeal terrified me, and while he dreamed our path I recall no slumber falling over me. I held for him a little funeral in my boyish insomnia. Yet even that darkest of nights did end, and when the sun rose we unearthed Sir Mesozoic and embraced him, and he led us on our path. He seemed disturbed, however, and he told us that he had seen visions full of worrisome omens.
“He said that his dreams had revealed landmarks that would lead us to our leader’s location: a lost lake where King Washing had drowned himself, known in song as the Pool of Washing. It was a place of much energy — it had been an ancient site of worship even before the Romans arrove. And so we passed beneath the canopy of the great forests, and Sir Mesozoic lead us on the path he had dreamed. For in the days of my youth, despite the deforestation that the Romans had performed, woodland still stretched nearly the breadth of our English isle. We traveled through the wise oaks and ferns for many days, always behind that weird knight whose course we trusted. We began to march alongside a wide winding river that the Knight of the Trilobite noticed as the first of the landmarks he had visited in his dream, and he was disquieted by the sight.
“Now do I wish to tell you about Sir Permian. That honorable Crocodile Knight was both tall and strong, built as if he were made of neither bone nor sinew but instead great rock and root. His towering form fills me still with dread to recall it, though I was a mere boy at the time. And my awe of him was appropriate, being a simple squire, but his grim claymore and mighty beard seemed to intimidate even established knights. His sly reptilian eyes saw Sir Mesozoic’s discomfort with the placid bubbling stream, and against the pressings of that immobile mountain all became told. The Knight of the Trilobite revealed that this same river had apore in his dream, but at sunset when the world had been drowned in bloody amber light. The Trilobite had seen floating in the river the many corpses of snakes and of crocodiles. Sir Wenlock and I were frighted along with Sir Permian — the omen boded ill for both their heraldic beasts — yet options were there none save the way of continued endurance and vigilance. And for a time it seemed as if the dream had been falsely interpreted, for we passed safely beyond the reach of the river.
“Still then, on our voyage, we came to a glade in the forest surrounded by tall rowans with streams of shimmering gold in their bark. In shafts of sunlight sat great pondering stones all over-grown with life: an ancient pagan altar in muted splendor. Sir Mesozoic claimed that he knew this place, and told us all that this ancient glade was visited by him in his dream as well; the second landmark. In the vision, three sticks of incense had been burning upon the altar though there were none burning when we arrove. Thus it was a wise action of Sir Permian who ordered a similar offering of three sticks of our own incense — an item oft kept in those days to appease the island’s forgotten spirits. The great forests were known to be fickle, and making peace with the trees was once of great concern to travelers.
“From the released scents of incense we found good fortune and a short distance to the Pool of Washing. And yet, when we arrove we found no such place: that which was supposed to be placid pool was now a powerful fountain. That place was strong in the magic of Sir Cambrian, for only the Salmon was known to hold such sway over England’s tectonics. Over that pond of much lore — the place where King Washing drowned — now rose a tower of earth from which sprung a torrent with no river to fuel it. A strange sight indeed, and it clouded the clearing with fine mist. That strange Trilobite knight walked alone into the spray, for he saw the enchantment placed upon it and knew that only he could resist its mind-dulling effects. He was not long invisible under the waterfall’s veil when we heard his cry of woe: he had discovered that which we had feared to find. When Sir Mesozoic emerged from the cloud he spoke dread words: that though the cascade beat mercilessly upon the pool, the brilliant armor of Sir Cambrian could be seen glinting the depths.
“I am too old to care if I admit it now, but I wept. I believe Sir Permian may have as well. Our hearts sank into that pool as that wise old Salmon must have done, and my lungs were just as full of water. Many, many years have been born and died again since that day, and still I feel the old wellsprings in my eyes.”
Sir Palamander, as if out of breath, rode on in sorrowful silence. The climbing path had split into a labyrinth of directions that all coursed through the vineyard like veins, confusing and losing the sojourners. Breaking the silence of the pause in the tale, Sir Sallimaide whistled to a passing dove. It lit upon his pauldron, warbling, and the two engaged in a brief duet of bird-song before the dove agreed to lead them onwards. Flying low to the ground she took them along the route of a twisting and over-grown trail until solemn trees began to be seen ahead, standing all in a line with dark faces. The peaceable bird brought them all closer and closer and finally to the very border of the towering forest, where the grape vines grasped pleadingly with the rigid and proud boughs of majestic old pines but were shaken off and did not push any deeper into the woods.
The giant trees tempered the afternoon light as the knights rode between them upon the needle-strewn way. It ran more like a brook than a road of man’s construction, for the path was twisting and narrow. The upright pines closed in on all sides, rising like silent ageless sentinels that guarded the route, and the knights’ passing thankfully did not disturb them. They seemed somehow larger than normal trees; expansive. At last, under their evergreen protection, breathing the crisp autumn air, Sir Palamander felt safe to continue his tale.
“Those were truly troubled times, when the Light Age was transitioning into the Dark Age. That day many spoils were won by woe, and not yet has woe finished his collection. We knights mourned about the lake with the enchanted fountain and saw that no act performed by us could salvage our slain Sir Cambrian, as we could not pull his body ashore without falling under the spray’s enchantment and slipping into the damnable depths ourselves. It was Sir Ypressian who, with his heron’s eyes, spotted a withered glint of hope falling from the storm-clouds of our moods.
“The rest of us were in the midst of our grieving when he started upright and drew his longbow taught. On the horizon, he said, was a figure watching us — and that Heron Knight’s keen eyes were the boon he soothly bore before all other men. He stood watching, as if peering into a river of fish, yet the figure slipped from sight ere a single arrow could be loosed. But this was something. It shook us from our sorrowful acceptance and returned to our minds the great mystery: how had such an event occurred? It must have been Sir Cambrian who raised the fountain, for no others knew the magic of the land as he did, and nature herself would age whole eons in the raising of a spire such as we found in that place. Yet it followed that no knight so well versed could find his end in a simple slip; fortune finds ways to protect the righteous. Challenges she lays upon them, to be sure, but ever are they sainted for their thoughts and acts. That day we labored in thought and by nightfall gained two shimmering gems of knowledge. Sir Ypressian dug an opal from the surrounding land: with his keen eyes he saw that two, not one, had camped here last. And Sir Mesozoic drew an amethyst from the veil of the waterfall: the spell upon the mist caused any who breathed it to enter a hypnogogic state of abandon, ensuring foul footing. It was no spell of Sir Cambrian. When the sun had set, even on our hopes as upon the land, we focussed attentions to our two illuminating jewels and the dark treachery they began to illuminate.”
Sir Palamander sighed, removing his helmet as they rode beneath dappled branches, and ran his mailed fingers through his remaining wisps of silver hair.
“We left the Pool of Washing in dismal spirits, and made our way back to London across the highway, the most direct path. Yet the burden of our news weighed on our shoulders and we were loathe to deliver it unto the Council, so as we passed a castle that was not far from the Tchrelma’Montgomery we decided to call and make there what merry we could. For it was the dwelling place of Lord Basil Ganglia and his eternal feast, to which all were welcome. Where the fortunes of that family have gone I know not and it grieves me, for they were most kind to us and to many of our Tralfamadorian knights. We ate and drank and listened to the poetry of the ancient minstrels, yet it seemed in all these things there was some dim reminder of Sir Cambrian’s fate. All our attempts to dally could only remind us of our haste. And yet that feast was of the highest import to our quest though we knew it not.
“It was not many days before Lord Basil approached our company, saying that he had noticed our merriment was a mere mask upon our faces. He stroked his lordly mustache and told us that never in his feasting hall’s history had any reveler matched our dreariment at his festivities. So it was that long-bearded Sir Permian explained some of our quest and but a little of our failings when the most miraculous thing occurred. Lord Basil Ganglia of the eternal feast, though no knight himself, told us that the name of Sir Cambrian was known to him — indeed, that same knight so dear to us had feasted at this very table in recent memory! And with a flourish of his tongue he presented us our third precious stone: a most tainted sapphire. ‘There travelled with your Sir Cambrian another knight who would not give his name,’ he told us. But knights were not so plentiful in those days, and his description of the stranger knight’s banner was so accurate that we could have hunted this man down and found him… were he not our own brother. Yea,” said Sir Palamander wearily to his companion’s astonished gasps, “the other who had travelled with our lost leader was none other than the Council’s own Sir Silurian. He was the Knight of the Eel, and slimy indeed was his nature. This sapphire completed our trifecta of gem-light and with it we saw clearly — or so we thought. For Sir Silurian had curious powers of persuasion, and wove magics of a most subtle nature. It was plain then to Sir Mesozoic what he had missed before: the enchantment of the mist had been Eel-spun.”
“But wherefore murder?” cried Sir Moodye among the pines. “What could that lone Eel Knight hope to gain, and what became of him?”
“Some is known and some is lost… be at peace, Sir Moodye, and you shall hear the end of the tale. We left those jubilant halls more distraught than when we had entered them, but flooded with purpose. Revenge was at hand, or so we imagined, and that thought gave us the fortitude we needed to continue. I know not what hopes swam within the helmets of Sirs Wenlock, Permian, Ypressian, and Mesozoic, but I know that I imagined there would be a great trial and sentencing for the Eel’s treachery, as there would have been under Sir Cambrian’s rule. No such thing would come to pass, of course. the Eel was not even the true villain — he was dull and no mastermind — but we knew none of it then. We were still far-off from the golden gates of London.
“Nearer and nearer to the capital city we marched, until we found ourselves again on the same stretch of river that Sir Mesozoic had dreamed of. I remember that evening well; the falling sun bled all across the sky. The Heron Knight, gazing unflinchingly into the long distance, at once gave a cry that an other was approaching. His announcement of identity contained both surprise and disgust, as if it was an incarnation of evil who apore. On that long-lost road, none was borne towards us but that most repulsive Eel — Sir Silurian the false-tongued, arms opened to us in repulsive friendship. Yet such as we were we could not strike down a knight unawares, and thus did we meet our downfall. The one enduring grace of that moment was my own fear, for I slipped behind a tree on the edge of the wood, and in the following conflict went unseen. Sir Silurian was all soft noises when he met the knights, saying that he was in such anxiety over us that he was not content to wait at the castle, and had sought us in the wilderness. He was so stuffed with exaggerated sympathies that I taste bile in the remembering. But with harsh judgement stepped forward the Crocodile Knight and revealed what we had found at the Pool of Washing — and he shone the guiding light of our gems into the enemy’s eyes. We had set out to unveil the beast of treachery, and we now thought him cornered. But Sir Silurian the thrice-cursed was a magician with poisoned words, and the spell he wove that day he knew would stop our hearts.
“Gone was the sorrow we felt at the fountain where Sir Cambrian’s passing was most present, and gone was the hatred we bore to his slayer… all replaced with a strange emptiness and awe. Those precious stones we had labored so hard to acquire were shattered, all shattered by the storm-cloud of truth that Sir Silurian revealed to us. It was not he who destroyed the Salmon any more than the hammer razes the wall — all had transpired according to the will of the void, that nothing-knight Sir Hadeon. I clung to that tree with all the strength in my young arms from the terrible voice that rent my soul. He was not wroth. He did not jeer. The slimy Eel merely told the tale of the Knight of No Thing and our minds were held fast.
“Sir Cambrian — said the Eel to us — had brought about the downfall of all knighthood with his embrace of religion. Sir Hadeon had wished only for the enduring of our kind; he guid the scalpel to cleanse the mind of its perceived malignity. The words like worms washed over us until only silence remained. It was Sir Mesozoic who spoke next, and to my horror he knelt in the earth and professed that for all the hardships he had suffered for Sir Silurian’s abhorrent deed, he was willing to forgive all for the greater good. The ‘greater good.’ That is what he called it, as if the murder of any man could right wrongs. Alas for his folly, for his fashion was followed by my own dear knight Sir Wenlock. He was a crafty knight, always quicker, quicker than any knight I’d seen… and so too was he quick to kneel when the time came. Sir Ypressian had not the chance to speak next, for it seemed some glimmer of courage or stubbornness fueled the imperturbable Crocodile who shouted, ‘You are an evil upon the world, and I shall let your tongue spread no more foulness! I shall cut it from you lest it wag again!’ Thus did he bellow as his great claymore scraped from its sheath. Yet before it could slice even the air, the heartstrings of my dear Serpent were wrenched unwillingly: the Eel had run Sir Permian through by controlling Sir Wenlock’s body. Woe was on us that day. Such was the Eel’s tremendous power that he caused Sir Wenlock to commit the highest of ignobilities unwilling. It was only fitting that the Crocodile pierced too my Serpent and both into the rushing river plummeted, never again to be seen in this land as mortal men. That same sorrowful epitaph however is the joyous triumph of Sir Ypressian, for in the commotion he slipped away to stalk into the great forest’s parts unknown.
“Sir Mesozoic was sent to seek the Heron but his skills were not in woodland lore: though he scuttled about like the cockroaches of the underworld, he did not find his quarry. Slippery Sir Silurian then found me hiding, frozen solid in worthless terror. He wasted no powers on me, merely dragged me back to windswept Tralfamadore. And when we arrove there it was indeed as the Eel had said. Sir Hadeon had assumed control, having been wroth at the inclusion of spiritual matters to the scriptures of ‘his’ knights. It was a betrayal, yet none of the Order saw it as such… and I know not if ever they did. Before that man of awesome terror was I thrown, a weak squire before a black hole, and my fate was left to his whim. O never shall I forget his polished black armor! Never shall I forget his visor, like the jaws of hell! Why, I was of no concern to him! I registered as not even a cog that figured into his schemes. Verily he bargained with what he knew I could not refuse. That cursed Knight of No Thing bestowed on me my knighthood in exchange for eternal silence.
“…And that, my fine golden-eared fellows, is the end of an old man’s meandering tale. I suppose my knighthood is forfeit with the telling, but since then I have earned my position in ways other than silence and betrayal.
“Decapitated, the Knightly Order stood but by Sir Hadeon’s word alone — and he had no need of knights. He was alone, just as in the days before all began. He scoffed at the proud ranks of new knights, the righteous and the learned. And his final act was to show us what he deemed the ‘great folly of religion.’ The Knights of the Dodecahedronic Table held an open council: an announcement to all who roamed. When the day came, pavilions of knights stretched all around London clusters of stars. More ears than the ocean has waves heard the maledictions of the Knight of No Thing.
“Sir Hadeon possessed great craft and knew many facts, and when he was moved he could nearly rival the slimy Eel in powers of oration. In his speech to each knight he seemed at first to embrace the religious transformation, heaping vain praise upon vain praise. Blast his ragged bones, he might as well have been an empty suit of armor with no man inside! A cheer was sounded by those in attendance after every cunning phrase. He spoke from his pulpit of how we English Knights now knew better than all others who were less informed, and still there were cheers. All ate from the No Thing Knight’s hollow hands as he benignly lay the keystone of all his conspiracies. Like a great flood can sometimes overflow its dam so did the frenzy of the crowd overflow their judgement: the treacherous Sir Hadeon in his ‘wisdom’ brought to our attention a people who lived far to the east, across the sea from our good Church-heeding lands, and claimed they were so misaligned as to consider their jungle beliefs greater than our own proper virtues. Through his clever tongue and invocations of religious principles meant to confound, he tricked man into waging war upon man. He tricked a generation of honorable knights into sullying themselves and our island. And for years ever after, the precious land of Nahm was torn by the misery he had knowingly sown. Upon one man’s malicious whim all the world that the Salmon’s wisdom had built… collapsed. Thus began the Dark Age from whose vice we have only just awakened.”
On the vineyard mountain ancient imposing pines watched the progress of the knights with stoic expressions. Sir Palamander’s exhausted face was dark, and he swallowed, as if famished for silence.
Sir Moodye was dumbfounded. “And so… everyone went to war?”
“Everyone went to war,” bleat wounded Sir Palamander. “We were fools, we acted as he knew we would! We descended into a chaotic rush to destroy all who did not share our own way of thought. Even if we were fooled into going, we went into war to murder ourselves. The ripe pit of my heart could be coughed up for the words I have spoken, so long were they draped under hateful silence! And now that all is said, I curse the empty armor that harbors no man of flesh — this ‘nothing’ Hadeon, without a soul! If ever I meet that wretched atheistic essence again in this life I shall rend his influence into frivolity, though it should cost the life of me.”
None spoke. There was no noise in the expansive wood save for a crow’s lamenting cough and the crunch of giraffe-hooves on the bed of pine needles. The procession rode on through the grimacing trees, up the mountain and into evening, their passage softened by sweet-smelling sap that the leaves leaked when trod upon.