After Eldarien has finished speaking, Tilliana replies, "Your words are very kind and full of love. And I know from whence they arise, for I feel the same in my heart. You speak of desire, but also of call. The desire I understand. But... But the call I doubt and I fear. No, no...it is actually the opposite. It is not the call that I fear, but the desire. Easier it would be if it were but another task given to you among the many that lie before you, and I could respond simply with an act of obedience. If you were my king and commanded this of me, it would be easier for me to accept, than if you were yourself, Eldarien, and spoke to me of the voice of your own inmost heart. This, this desire scares me. Both yours and mine. For after all that I have been through, I fear to love, to give the gift of my heart and my affection. I fear that I shall never be able to love in this way again, not in a commitment and a gift that would harness my entire life."
"You fear the loss that would eventually follow upon such a gift?" Eldarien asks.
"I...yes, I think that is exactly it," Tilliana replies. "Obedience without affection is different than this, different than something that goes beyond mere service. The gift of the heart opens up a deeper suffering than anything borne by obligation alone."
"But also deeper joy, does it not?" Eldarien asks. "And my heart also asks: How could I ever command you to love? Only the One who also grants love can command it. No earthly king can command the love of his subjects, nor can any husband command the love of his wife. Love must be freely given if it is to be love at all."
"But just because something is commanded does not mean that it is not free," Tilliana remarks softly, and wisely. "There is much that we are commanded which does not constrain us, but rather sets us free. For are not the commands given to us but waypoints to mark our way, or lanterns to mark the path?"
"If such commands are in accord with the truth, yes," agrees Eldarien. "Thus the One who can command love is also all-deserving of love, and gives us the very love by which to love him. But I...I am not deserving of love, and thus could never command it—not of you, and not of another. The One who made us deserves all the love and affection of our hearts, and his beauty itself awakens this love and draws it back to him, liberating our hearts in the process. But I speak to you, Tilliana, in nothing but the poverty and vulnerability of my own heart. I offer to you the only thing that I can offer: a free gesture of welcome and of care. If someday I am to be your king, as king I shall care for you. But I shall always care for you even more deeply as your friend, and as your life's companion in whatever way that you shall desire and accept."
"And I am deeply grateful for that," Tilliana says. "But I need time to think, to pray, to let my heart come to silence and peace within itself. I cannot give you any kind of answer now. Please forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. I have heard the word of your heart, and I shall cherish it," Eldarien says. "For now, let us only wait and see what the future has in store for us. We do not know what awaits us in coming days, nor do we know where your heart shall be in such a time."
"Very well," whispers Tilliana, with a gentle nod of her head. And then looking into Eldarien's eyes once more, she adds, "And...thank you. Thank you for accepting me and loving me with such delicacy and tenderness."
"And thank you for allowing yourself to be loved," replies Eldarien, and then, with a gesture of his hand, "Shall we return to the inn for now? The afternoon should be drawing to a close soon, and our time to return to the citadel."
And so they walk together through the city shrouded in the white of snow both fallen and falling. In the inn of the Whistling Willow their friends are just awakening and gathering their belongings for the trek to the upper parts of the city. A general sense of anxiety and fear before the unknown that awaits them that night—rooted in the evil that they have known and confronted in the past, but whose depths they can only imagine—begins to grow as the time passes and the hour of twilight draws near. They are shown to a handful of private rooms in a side wing of the citadel, though there is little time for them to accustom themselves to such rooms or to spend time alone, for they depart almost immediately to return to the city. The sun is just hiding his face below the horizon in the west, in a sky that is now clear and free of falling snow, when the five companions step together into the courtyard before the citadel. Here they agree to meet in two hours' time—marked by the bell of one of the temples which rings at intervals, even, as far as they can tell from their time in the city, until midnight.
"How shall we know what to consider suspicious activity, and what not?" Elmariyë asks. "It may be obvious, but then again it may not."
"We can only hope, if the members of the cult are active again tonight, that their presence should be obvious," answers Cirien. "Look for any symbols similar to those we saw this morning, or any figures moving about in the darkness. Though this snow shall greatly inconvenience us, it shall be an aid to us in other respects, for I doubt anyone else shall willingly be out in this cold and in a city covered in white."
"That is true," Elmariyë remarks.
"But it shall be a bright night, because of it," says Eldarien. "Therefore please, all of you, try to remain unseen." They all nod in response. "Then let us return here in two hours' time."
And so they depart, each toward a different region of the city. Eldarien was right about the brightness of the night, for with the departure of the falling snow the clouds too begin to dissipate and reveal the open sky. As complete night embraces the land, above them spreads a wide expanse glistening with countless stars; the moon also rises far in the east and her face shines off the snow such that the entire city and the landscape around it glows in a radiant half-light.
The air is bitter cold and the prospect of being out in this temperature for the coming two hours—or even for the entirety of the night—is an unpleasant one, and would even be deadly were it not for the way that they had prepared beforehand by dressing in their warmest attire. Large braziers of fire are also kept alight throughout the city and along the walls for the use of the nocturnal guards, and these, if only in passing, shall provide a warmth to combat the chill. Even deeper than the assault of the cold, however, is their anxiety and fear concerning the activities of the cult and the expected coming of the dragon.
An eerie silence falls upon the city like a cloak of fear thrown about the shoulders, or rather like shackles bound around hands and feet. There is not even a whisper of wind in the air and the heavy accumulation of snow on all surfaces only deepens the sense of muffledness that engulfs Onylandun and its inhabitants. But they walk nonetheless and search throughout the city for their elusive goal. The two hours pass, however, without any incident, good or ill, and the five companions return to the courtyard before the citadel with cold bodies and stiffened limbs, and with anxious and burdened hearts. Together they step into the citadel and stand by a burning hearth in the entryway, the curious gazes of the guards turned upon them. Rorlain steps away from the group for a moment and explains to the guards their situation and their motivations, and they seem satisfied with his explanation. When he returns they begin to discuss the path forward from where they now find themselves.
"It is as I feared," Eldarien says, "though I had hoped we would find some sign at the beginning of the night. If the cult summons the dragon again, I suspect that it will be in the heart of the night rather than at its beginning. But I am loathe to invite all of you to remain in the bitter cold for any longer than you already have."
"What if we were to make rounds about the city at intervals?" Rorlain asks. "It may not be wise to remain out for the entire duration of the night, but it is feasible that we could walk about the city every hour or two, right?"
"It takes over an hour to walk the circuit of the city," says Cirien, "so do you suggest an hour walking and an hour resting? I understand the recovery of warmth that such would allow, and yet it sounds incredibly tedious, particularly when walking through snow that in places is two or three feet deep."
"Not all of us need do so," answers Rorlain. "As for myself, I think I can do it without too much difficulty, but—"
"But for me it is quite hard," Cirien concludes for him. "I understand, and accept the limitations that come with my age. How about this? I shall patrol at such intervals the upper part of the city near the citadel. That is more within my power."
"That is a good idea, though please set whatever interval your strength allows," says Eldarien. "Rorlain and myself shall take the most arduous paths, as I believe that we can bear it." Then he turns to look upon the two women and asks, "And what about you, Elmariyë and Tilliana? I do not ask anything of you. Please rest, if you desire. It is truly not necessary that all of us are at vigil for the entirety of the night."
"During our travels the nights were easier to bear, for we slept wrapped in fur, and beside a campfire," Tilliana says in response. "But walking about in this kind of weather...I find my strength already spent. I want to help however I may, but at this rate, I don't know what more I have to give."
"Then rest, please," Eldarien says. "Not only do I not wish for you to harm yourself this night, but I also want you to be safe should anything happen. If and when the dragon comes, there is little or nothing you could do against it. Your place is different, so do not think for a moment that your limitation is a failure."
"Very well, Eldarien, I shall do as you say," replies Tilliana, lowering her eyes.
Elmariyë steps to her side and wraps an arm around her shoulders, saying, "I shall remain here with Tilliana, and we shall rest as much as our worry for the three of you may allow us."
Nodding knowingly, Eldarien says, "I understand."
† † †
And so the hours of the night progress. Eldarien and Rorlain trudge through the snowy streets on opposite sides of the lower city, while Cirien keeps watch over the smaller area of the upper city. Despite the communal decision to return at intervals to the citadel seeking both warmth and rest, Eldarien finds that he cannot bring himself to return, and instead, when he feels exhaustion overtake him, he takes refuge in the guardhouse on the foremost part of the wall separating Onylandun from the plains. Here the guards—after hearing his explanation about the reason for his vigil—allow him to lean his back against the wall beside a warm fire. They promise to wake him in an hour, which also happens to be the time of the changing of the guard at four o'clock, when they depart to return to their rooms and are replaced by the morning guard.
But Eldarien is awakened a few minutes before by shouts directed, not to wake him, but to bring warning. He stirs and quickly rises to his feet, trying to make out the words in the voices muffled by distance and by the walls that surround him. Stepping outside onto the battlements, he finds himself standing behind the guards whose shift is coming to a close, and he watches with them as another member of the guard—perhaps from the morning watch—runs toward them, shouting. At last he can make out the sound of his voice, "They are asking for the one who wields the light. I was told he was in the lower city, but I cannot find him. He was the leader of the company that came to the citadel yesterday morning and spoke with the council. Have you seen him?"
"Aye, he is here with us," answers one of the guards near to Eldarien, turning back to look at him for a moment and then moving aside so he can step forward.
"I am the one whom you seek," says Eldarien. "Who is asking for me, and what news do you bring?"
"The old man from the order of Niraniel, your companion, has sent for you," the man says, stopping in front of Eldarien and trying to catch his breath. "But Bryma is also there. He learned of your efforts, and though I won't say that he was at first pleased, it seems that you have proven him wrong."
"Proven him wrong? What do you mean?"
"Perhaps it is better to make haste there yourself. You have found those whom you wished to find, and have intercepted their ceremony. That's all that I can tell you."
"That is all I need to know. Thank you." And with this Eldarien sets off at a run across the top of the wall and then through the streets of the city, the icy morning air biting at his exposed face and burning in his lungs. When he arrives at the courtyard outside the citadel he sees a group of people standing in the firelight—or rather two groups of people, one composed of Rorlain, Cirien, Bryma, and a few of the citadel guards, and the other composed of six persons clothed in black garments from head to toe. The outlines of the latter are highlighted vividly against the snow that, even in the darkness of pre-dawn, still glows grayish white, though tinted with the orange of the firelight. These figures are also now bound, with cords fixing their hands behind their backs at the wrist.
As Eldarien approaches, Rorlain nods to him knowingly and gestures for him to stand at his side. But there is no time for further talk, as one of the men in black, clearly the leader of the rest by the red symbol emblazoned on his chest—not unlike the symbol they had found the day before written in blood upon the earth—steps forward and speaks. Even though he is in bonds, his voice and his presence are commanding.
"We summon the dragon, and more than the dragon," he says. "With this act, long prepared and consistently desired, we usher in the movement that shall break the cycle and set many free."
"What are you talking about?" Bryma asks, stepping forward to stand directly before the man. "What are you summoning?"
"I will say only this: What happened in Ristfand shall be as nothing compared with what awaits you here," he answers. "I suggest that you yield to your fate, embracing it with resolve and the serenity of surrender."
"Please, stop. Why do you do this?"
"It is difficult for the uninitiated to understand."
"Then enlighten me."
But before the cult leader is able to answer, Cirien steps forward and lays a hand on Bryma's shoulder. "It is better not to…" he begins, but then the leader turns away, and speaks as if only to himself.
He says, "Many desire their sacrifice to be remembered. They wish to live on in the grateful minds of others. But we do not wish for this. We wish our sacrifice to be forgotten, and to bring forgetfulness." Then, raising his eyes to the sky, in which the first rays of dawn are beginning to show, his face in a kind of ecstasy of elation, he delivers an oration in a loud voice that none can interrupt. "The world is its own poison and its own medicine. And what petty poison and what mediocre medicine! The answer then is to escape, and to bring the world with us in this escape. For nothing lies beyond the cycle of death and rebirth, of destruction and restructuring, except escape, escape from the cycle itself into the nothing that is all and the all that is nothing. Good and evil, light and darkness, they are but two complementary sides of the universe, the duality of all things over which we have no control, but which is continually causing us pain and suffering. That is all that is of importance to us: that in the face of these arbitrary cosmic forces, we suffer. And man tires of the ceaseless cycle, of the pain in which he suffers for his prior lives, and by the fleeting joys that will dissolve with the coming of future pain, whether in this life or another. We only seek, therefore, to get beyond the trap in which we find ourselves, to at last escape once and for all. Indeed, what we seek is altruistic. For in freeing ourselves from ourselves and returning to the onas, melding again into that about which we cannot distinguish whether it is everything or it is nothing, we also seek to free this wretched universe. We wish to carry everything, once and for all, beyond the cycle and into the bliss of nihilism, into the place where all is nothing and nothing is all, in the escape of forgetfulness."
And then all of the members of the cult begin to chant in an unintelligible language, their words rising louder and louder with each passing syllable, and the guards surrounding them step back spontaneously, as if to distance themselves from this mysterious ritual.
And it takes only a moment or two.
A rush as of wind sounds above them, and in an instant there is a blur of reddish black and a burst of flame. The dragon swoops down directly above them, visible in the combination of firelight and early dawn light, and he belches forth from his mouth a torrent of flame before which the braziers of the courtyard pale in comparison. And this torrent is directed at the six cult members dressed in their black garments, drenching them in fire until they become as pillars of fire from head to toe. Those who surround them leap back to avoid the impact of the flames. But the cult members continue to chant even in the flames, as the dragon itself, with a rush of wings, disappears anew into the sky.
And in a very short time the chanting voices fall silent, and the men once garmented in black now sink to the earth, hardly more than burned embers, blacker still, unmoving and lifeless against the snow.
"Let us get out of the open, right now!" cries Bryma. "The dragon could come back for another round."
"Yes, into the citadel immediately," echoes Cirien.
After they have all stepped into the entryway to the citadel, Eldarien and Rorlain turn back, looking through the doorway into the courtyard as the last lingering flames consuming the bodies dwindle to nothing against the snow. Then Rorlain closes the heavy doors but for a fraction, enough for them to look out and watch for the return of the dragon.
"What was that?" Elmariyë asks, behind them.
"It was a summoning, I am afraid," replies Cirien in a sober voice.
"Worse than Ristfand…" breathes Tilliana. "They summoned the druadach and the other creatures of darkness, did they not?"
"I cannot imagine any other explanation than that," agrees Cirien. Then he turns to the hæras and adds, "Bryma, I know not how long it shall take for them to arrive, whether days or weeks, but all preparations must be made."
"I understand," Bryma answers, his face lined with worry, but also with anger. "But why this? And why now? I find it incredible, truly incredible… How can one embrace such darkness and such absurdity?"
"I think rather that they were trying to rebel against absurdity, to escape from it," answers Cirien quietly. "But they could not find a way out except the one to which their leader tried to give voice. And yet...and yet you are right: they not only fled from the pain of the world, but in the process came to worship the darkness and to yield to its destructiveness."
"The words that he spoke...they are terrifying," Tilliana says. "What kind of answer can one give to such absurdity, to such frustrated longing? For it is like he was trying to express a longing for eternity, a longing for life, but knew of no path except that of escape."
"You have in your very words expressed a path toward an answer, Tilliana," Cirien says in reply. "Whenever the awareness of a personal deity is lost, then the conflict between good and evil becomes unintelligible, and the hope for enduring life a fiction." He sighs and shakes his head sorrowfully. "But perhaps that is as far as a person can go without the revelation of the One, the All-Father, in history. Without the unveiling of his face and his love, how could we ever come to the confident assurance of more than mere escape from the duality of life and death, joy and suffering? When the very ground of all being disappears from sight—and unless he is revealed to us anew—all our hopes and aspirations remain only tentative and uncertain."
"How terribly painful is this cry of the human heart, a cry that is but the wish to be free from the apparent absurdity of life, and from the narrowness of a world in which the one Creator is no longer seen and known!" cries Elmariyë. "Even though they turned to the very powers of darkness in order to be free from the darkness that they hated, and I should perhaps be angry at this, I feel for them only pity and compassion. And I know that there are many, too many, in a similar situation, even if they do not go to the same lengths in their search for freedom and liberation. How I wish that all could know the truth that has been revealed unto us. For the truth for each one of us is that I can never truly die, for I am seen, known, and loved by the One who is beyond death, the One who is life itself. He is the beyond that is both transcendent and near, both here and there, and it is inconceivable that a being who exists in ceaseless relationship with him could ever cease to be, sustained as it is on the unbreakable cord of his enduring love." She pauses for a moment and turns to look at Eldarien, her face lined with emotion. He turns his whole body to face her and looks into her eyes. She then says to him, "Eldarien, if it is granted to you to become king, do all that you can to bring the light that has been revealed to us and entrusted to us to those who walk in the darkness, crying out for a light they can no longer see or believe."
Eldarien answers simply, with a nod of his head, "There is nothing I desire more than that."
† † †
As the sun gradually rises over the mountains in the east, painting the sky in hues of pink and purple and casting light glimmering off the snow that cloaks the entire face of the earth as far as the eye can see, the five companions gather up the remains of the burnt bodies of the cult members and bury them in the main graveyard of the city. The prayers that Cirien offers over their unmarked graves are sorrowful ones, filled with lament and grieving, though because they are prayers they are filled with hope, the hope that, along with faith and love, is the lifeblood of prayer even when all is cast into darkness.
After they have departed from the cemetery and stand again in the streets of the city, they pause for a moment, their bodies huddled together for warmth and their limbs exhausted nearly to the point of collapse, both from their nocturnal vigil and from the struggle of digging graves in frozen soil covered in a thick layer of snow. "Well, we have done what needed to be done," Rorlain remarks, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso in the effort to maintain body warmth. "It seems that the dragon had its victims for the night, though I am surprised that it did not come back for another round. Regardless, I think we all need to sleep."
"Yes, you are right," says Cirien. "We can concern ourselves with the import of last night's events once we have all had some rest."
"Wait," Tilliana interjects, "but did not Bryma invite us to dine with him this day, and to continue our discussion?"
"Ah, that he did," Cirien replies, "but before we left the citadel for the burial, he said we should postpone it for another day. Our 'unannounced night,' as he called it, was a good enough excuse to reschedule. So he said."
"And I am grateful that he did," Tilliana concludes.
On the following day they join Bryma and two other council members, Jatildë and Vindal, for the midday meal. Concern is evident in the eyes of all and in the tenor of their voice as they discuss the import of the words of the cult leader. Despite the grave threat, one solace that they do have is that the dragon did not even make an appearance the previous night. Perhaps the activities of the cult were indeed restricted to these few members who offered themselves as blood sacrifice to summon forces of darkness upon the city. If this is the case, then at least the conflict shall be only with those forces that approach them from without, and not a danger and a poison also from within the city itself. Or perhaps the cult is only biding its time and preparing in the shadows for yet further activities. Those who defend the city can only hope and lean forward in trust, using this time as best they can to prepare for whatever may come.
Cirien and Rûmdil agree together to spend the coming days—and longer if necessary—searching for any remaining presence and activity of the cult within the city. Eldarien and Rorlain, on the other hand, offer to work with the guards and warriors of Onylandun in preparing for any coming assault, and to stand with them whenever such an attack may come, placing the light that they have received at the service of the people and for their protection. Tilliana and Elmariyë, being untrained in the arts of war and unacquainted as yet with the nature of such cults, plan to aid in whatever other matters may be of assistance to the people of the city, whether that be cooking and preparing fortifications or, should it come to it, tending to the wounded and burying the fallen. Oh, but how they wish that such grief would pass the people by, and that no more would there be massive graveyards of men, women, and even children slain in the chaos of battle and siege. If only the land remained one of peace, or could discover this peace again, such that every man or woman, every person however young or however old, could have hope of walking the journey of life from its beginning to its natural end without fearing the violence of others.
But is such a hope of peace even possible whenever the battles of nations among themselves is but one expression of a conflict that is cosmic in its proportions, in the war of light and of darkness, of good and of evil, of the radiant beauty of being and of all that militates against it and would drag it into nothingness and absurdity? Perhaps indeed that is the only true source of hope in the longing for peace after all, rather than the cause for despair. If it is up to the leaders of nations alone to safeguard peace, how can there ever be true confidence in enduring harmony and concord? For in the world in its present state, marred by the fall of humankind, the weak suffer while the powerful triumph, the good are afflicted while the evil seem to stand victorious and free, enjoying what they have so unjustly appropriated for themselves. But if there are other forces at work greater than the heart of man, a law of being deeper than merely the conflict of strength and weakness, then hope there can yet be, however elusive and mysterious it may at times appear.
And as they leave the meeting and return to their rooms, precisely this conflict and this struggle for hope occupies Eldarien's heart and attention. Depending on the amount of time until the coming of the attack, and the nature of their enemy, there is little possibility to rely upon reinforcements from other cities. And even if the people of Onylandun are able to repel the attack—and hopefully more thoroughly than did the unfortunate people of Ristfand and than the suffering towns all over Rhovas—this does not solve the fundamental problem or eradicate the threat at its root. Regarding this, Eldarien cannot help but feel an immense weight upon his heart, an intermingling of desire and fear, of reaching out even as his spirit quavers with uncertainty. For it has fallen unto him, as the one called Lightborn, as the chosen king, to confront the powers of darkness at their very origin and to break their stranglehold on the people of Telmerion. But how? And where? He does not even know where to start, nor what to do.
Silion had said that they should travel to Onylandun and there trust that their way would become clear before them, but the waiting is difficult. For as important as the light that he wields shall be in deflecting the forces of darkness that come to assail the city, he yearns rather to seek out this darkness in its very habitation, there to confront it once and for all. For even if against men of flesh and blood a tactic of offense is inappropriate—for life is to be safeguarded at all costs, not forfeit—it is altogether different when confronting the impersonal, diabolical forces of evil that lie at the root of the cosmic struggle. And to his own surprise, Eldarien notices that in addition to his fear and his hesitation, he also bears in himself a spark of boldness kindling into flame, which he has never known before. For a moment he realizes that it is no longer necessary to be passive before the circumstances of life, to be merely resigned to the lot that falls unto him, and to accept the evil that afflicts his brethren who are so dear to him. Even if at times there is no path to walk but that which leads through suffering and loss, nonetheless a freedom lies here—in his heart and in his action, in his hope and in his longing—far deeper and far surer than he has previously either known or imagined. Even if only for a moment, as if a flash of lightning in a cloudy and dark night, he feels the spark leap up into flame and draw him onward, onward to the confrontation that, so far beyond his own abilities or efforts, provides hope of victory yet, since it lies in powers greater than his own and yet in which he is granted, in all of his littleness and frailty, to participate.