For three days the nomads camped near a wellspring, while Gerald lay on a soft mat in a tent. He had developed a fever and Anna had tended him. He grew very fond of her. She was quiet and timid, yet there was a strength in everything she did, laced with an unusual beauty that he thought he had never before seen in his life.
He slowly recovered and was eventually well enough to sit up. He had learned from Anna that the man with the wrinkled face, who constantly visited them, was her father. His name was Dersanna. Her mother had died many years ago during a goblin raid. She felt it an honour to her mother to nurse him back to health. This only led his affection towards her to grow all the more. Dersanna had noticed, of course, as a father would. But Gerald was not aware of his keen eye.
He had also learned that the nomads were on their own journey to the Twin Cities to find trade and buy stocks. Battles with goblins were not unusual for them, but the goblin raid that had attacked the Dernium army was an anomaly. Dersanna said they were highly organised, and that this was starting to become a regular occurrence. He was very worried about it. Goblins were not known to be highly calculative or tactical.
It was the fourth night of Gerald's recovery. He awoke, sometime in the night, in a familiar daze. He had grown used to waking up in the night with some feeling of strangeness, for he was still running a fever and recovering from his wounds. But this night was different. There was an unusual stillness about him, a very strange peace. It was beyond the usual stillness of the desert, as if creation was poised, waiting for something to happen. Something in him felt as if the world was shifting – that something around him was moving and reforming. It was not that he could see anything, he just had this sense that destiny had considered him for a moment and everything had shifted to run in a new trajectory.
But he was not alarmed, for this shifting seemed good. He sensed as if a peaceful invasion was occurring, and that something was coming, somehow, and that it shouldn't be feared. He tried to fix his racing thoughts and understand that he was only experiencing feelings, familiar feelings that plague every man – but there, just for a second, all of his life made perfect sense.
He didn't know what it was, but he could sense something – or someone. He came to realise that he couldn't move his arms or legs, as if he was completely paralysed. Was this because of his injuries?
A cool breeze suddenly blew in to the tent, soothing and peaceful. And then, without warning, an exceedingly tall man with white long flowing hair walked in. He was wrapped in a glorious, faint, uncanny light. It shone as if it was telling Gerald a story, a story of who the person was -- not his status or position, but who he actually was. It told a story of how the man was at one time magnificent, or was to become magnificent. The light didn't fade or glimmer but seemed as if it was part of the very make up of the man.
He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, moving swiftly and deliberately, without any noise whatsoever. He stood looking at Gerald for a moment with piercing dark, almost black, eyes, giving Gerald the impression that here was a man of deep wisdom. His face wore no clear expression. He appeared to be wearing a white robe with a glorious golden breastplate of armour, precious stones blinking and dazzling as they were wrapped in the man's glory. A long but thin white beard was tucked around his shoulder.
There was also a familiarity in the man's eyes, as if they both knew each other from somewhere before. Gerald wasn't sure if he was really awake or was still dreaming, but tried to move his arm and found himself still paralysed.
As if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world, the man sat down beside Gerald's mat and looked around for a while, keeping very quiet.
“It is difficult for me to see you,” said the man at length, his voice quiet and confident, but otherwise quite normal sounding. “But we felt it necessary – indeed, I felt it necessary.”
Even though Gerald found himself unable to speak, the words “who are you?” came from his mouth. It was as if he was not permitted to say anything else, and not even those words were from himself. He thought he must be dreaming because he could not control his actions or speech whatsoever.
“I am from the Fourth Movement,” replied the man. “But I am not from here. By this, I mean, I have already passed from here.”
He told Gerald his name but he could not understand it. In fact, it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t understand the language but that he couldn’t even perceive it. The name appeared to be more a breath, or was communicated not through words but through glory; as if, who he was and what he did was what gave him his name.
“You are dead, then?” asked Gerald. “A ghost?”
Once again, this was not his real question but the only question his mouth asked.
“No,” replied the man. “I am alive. You see me now. I am not a ghost. I did not die, I passed from here.”
Gerald did not understand. Was this a god?
“I am Travelling,” the man continued. “I was sent from the Travelling Ones. But not as you would remember me.”
He then peered closer to Gerald, looking over him calmly. “We are entrapped. But it is a web of our own choosing, and it was a sacrifice we felt we should pay. For here we can do more than we ever could. But we cannot do what we could before. It has changed.” He said this with sorrow.
“Yet,” he continued, now with a tinge of elation, “there is always the spark of joy. That is why I came to speak to you. The Empty comes, and as I speak to you we war against it. But see, where you are, it has to be destroyed; where I am, it is to be defeated. Where we have been, a judgement has fallen.”
Gerald did not understand any of this. But the man continued: “Now you will have a son. Two. But the one is not of you, yet will become as you. As the Twins fight, so your purpose is more clear. The Empty moves and the Wealth will return when it is the proper time. You will also have a daughter.”
“What of them?” asked Gerald. Again, that was not the question in his head, but that is what his tongue asked.
“The Wealth. Yes, the Wealth will return with them,” said the man. “She chooses as she wills, and goes where she pleases. She chooses your son first, and your daughter second. But she chooses both. And she might even choose your third, if your third chooses rightly.”
“For what purpose?” asked Gerald.
“That is not the right question,” said the man. But Gerald had no control over his questions!
The man got up, still looking closely at Gerald. “The True Living One has already decided the judgement of the Moncoin. Indeed, his judgement has already fallen, and he burns in the nothingness that he chose, and that he is. The Wealth shall carry out this judgement here; but she will also build from there. That is what is most important.”
There was a lengthy silence. Gerald had a million questions but he was not permitted to ask any of them.
“You would like to know why I know this?” asked the man. Gerald could not answer. “See, here with you the Learned Ones are gone. But the question is where did they go? Such an answer would tell you many things. Do not fear, for the judging of the Moncoin was swift. But first, he will come, and the things hidden will be revealed.”
He then closed his eyes and breathed in heavily. His voice became a whisper, gentle and soothing as a mother's voice to her children. He recited a poem; Gerald was sure that he had heard it somewhere before :
A face of wickedness stood upon a soaring rise,
It spat its iniquity and poisonous lies,
Emptiness. Emptiness is all there is in such malevolent pride.
He paused for a moment, and then recited the rest of the poem.
But then love came.
Joy.
The fires of love will rule again.
Always. Always as they ruled.
Gerald became aware of a quiet, still voice within his soul. Somewhere deep within him there was joy, and it comforted him.
“Trust love,” the man said. “But now it is your choice.”
He lef
t the tent. Suddenly Gerald was able to move. He hastily got up from his mat to run outside and find the man, but he was gone, everything was as if he was never even there.
Was it all a dream? Did he just wake up? Already, the details of what happened and what was said evaded him. He couldn't remember it clearly. It was forming into a haze. He fell to his knees, under a bright spangled canopy of light, the night still and calm. As he looked up and saw the immense beauty of the stars something came to his mind, something he had heard before, something from a distant memory.
Trust love.
He decided he would. He would trust. Then a still quiet in his soul overwhelmed him; the small comforting voice returned, a peace and a joy all wrapped into one.
He realised he was holding his head in his hands and his ears became attuned to his surroundings. His fever was gone, his injuries gone, and he felt as if – for the first time in his life – he was really there. Really on the earth, really a person living and breathing. He felt that he was finally a part of the breath of life, the breathing and dancing of all creation. He was now no longer a stranger to it, but within it at his rightful place.
A gust of wind blew. He lifted his head and looked around. Another gust. The smell of dust filled the air. Yet another gust, and another – they were blowing in closer intervals. Lamps were being lit in the tents of the camp. He could hear shouting and mumbling. The wind blew over him again. Something inside directed him and a sense of knowing came over him.
A storm was coming, and he would need to get to Anna.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE