Esme’s jaw dropped. “How did you know it was me?”
Biorkis’s eyes narrowed. “I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you. I said to myself, ‘This one wears the cloak of vision.’“
“You can see it?”
“These old eyes have lost none of their sharpness; in fact, they have gained some into the bargain. The veil between this world and the one beyond grows ever more transparent. Indeed, lately I have difficulty contenting myself with only looking at this world.
“But yes, I saw the aura of your dream still clinging to you when you entered the garden. A most powerful dream it must have been. A vision!”
“Do you think so?” Esme pondered this and then said, “It is true I have seldom had such an unusual and forceful dream. Perhaps it was a vision.” She seemed taken with this notion.
“Why not tell me and we shall see?” prodded Biorkis gently. The others looked on quietly as Esme gathered her thoughts, closing her eyes and entering once again into the dream that had so frightened her.
As she began to speak she saw again the vivid events of the vision, taking place once more even as she spoke, only this time there was no sleep, only the images playing out before her as before. The garden and those around her faded from mind as she recounted her dream of the high and lonely place where men labored in vain to light the soggy pyre; of the tower built on a crumbling foundation that would not support it; of the bone thrown down in the market square which became a banner of the King…
“I see,” said Biorkis softly as Esme opened her eyes. All was silent in the garden, save for the faint buzz of insects among the flowers. How long had she been under the spell of the dream? she wondered.
She read the anxious expressions on the faces of her friends and knew that her dream had disturbed them as much as it had unsettled her. “Do you think it means anything-anything important?”
“Oh, aye. Undoubtedly! It is a dream of power, as I have already said. It carries within it seeds of truth…” He hesitated, then said quietly, “But what that truth is, I am not now able to say.” He frowned. “No, I must have time to think about this and discover its meaning.”
“But surely it is most apparent,” said Esme, and shocked herself with her own boldness. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no disrespect.”
Biorkis cocked an eye at her. “Speak, my Lady. The god may have revealed its meaning to you already.”
Esme licked her lips. “The dark land must surely be our own, where men wander aimlessly without true light to guide them.”
“Yes, so I would say. I agree.”
“The beacon cannot be kindled without proper fuel-the flame will not take hold-”
“The flame of true faith cannot be kindled on the fuel of the old religion-I ought to know,” said Biorkis. “But continue, please. You are doing wonderfully.”
Esme wrinkled her brow. “This next is a most difficult part. I don’t know what it can mean: the tower that cannot stand.”
“Oh, but that is the easiest part,” explained the former priest. “The god often presents the same message in different ways.”
Esme frowned, so he explained by saying, “The tower of the new god will not be built on the foundation of the old ways, the old religion. One cannot build something new without clearing away the old.”
“I see,” said Esme, “but I still do not understand what the last part can mean.”
“It is plain enough,” replied Biorkis.
“How so?” asked Bria, who had remained very quiet since Esme had told her dream.
“Ah, I think you already know, my Lady. Yes, you would,” said Biorkis. “Do you not see? This part of the dream means exactly what it says! Esme saved me from looking at it too closely; I would have spent all night pondering it and missed the meaning completely! As it is, I think we need look no further than what has already been revealed.”
“You mean that this part of the dream says its own meaning?” asked Esme.
“I believe so, yes. It wears its meaning in the events it describes: the bone of contention thrown down by a man in priest’s robes-”
“The butcher?”
“You said the man dressed in dark robes-a priest, then, or one who hides behind priestly garb to do his work.”
“The bone became a royal banner,” said Alinea. “The dogs tore it to shreds!”
“The kingdom!” gasped Bria. “It is being rent asunder! Can anything be done?” Her green eyes pleaded for an answer.
“Oh, yes. Yes. It must be hoped above all hope that the events foretold in Lady Esme’s vision can be turned aside.” He raised a finger in the air. “No doubt it was for this reason the vision was given.”
“Then we must return to warn the King at once,” said Bria.
“Yes,” agreed Alinea. “But tell me, you mentioned nothing of the Prince in your dream. I wonder why?”
“I cannot say,” replied Esme, a puzzled expression on her face. “Unless…”-she glanced at Biorkis, who nodded encouragement to her-“unless the welfare of Gerin is not in doubt.”
“Very good!” exclaimed the old priest. “I could not have said it better myself. My Lady, you show a fine talent for interpreting dreams. We must talk more about this before you leave.”
“We will go now,” suggested Morwenna. “If Esme’s vision is true, the Elders will want to hear of it immediately.”
“Yes, yes, go at once,” said Biorkis. “You must speak to them. No doubt they will discover something we have missed entirely. I was about to suggest it myself.”
Bria stood, saying, “With your leave, good Biorkis, we will go. But I hope we may see you again before we must return to Askelon.”
“Come back if you have time, but do not worry if you cannot. I understand completely. Go, all of you. It is time for my midday nap. Shoo!” Grinning, the old man folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes.
Bria bent over him and kissed his bald head, and they all crept away quietly, leaving the garden to its lone occupant, and him to his rest.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“WE ‘UNS’LL reach the castle by nightfall, Tipper. Yes-leastways not long after. Still a fer road, though. Almost too fer on two legs in a day. But I don’t mind, Tip, I don’t.” The tinker patted his dog and ruffled the fur behind her ears as they sat on a hickory stump beside the King’s Road.
The afternoon sun slid lower in the west over fields of ripening grain. They had left Felgrin behind and upon emerging from the shaded wood, sat down for a few minutes to rest in the warmth of the day. The sword leaned against the stump for the moment; the weight of it had caused the thin cord to dig into its bearer’s shoulder.
“Ah, what a day, Tip. Eh? Lookee yonder to that cloud o’ dust rising. Some’uns coming and coming quick by the look of it. Not one only, maybe two or three or more. We’uns’d best stay put right here out of the way. They’ll pass right by us so we’uns’ll see who ‘tis.” Pym watched the dusty ochre cloud rising from the road beyond the next hill. In a moment he heard the drum of hooves on the earthen track, sounding a dull rumble, then saw the riders themselves as they crested the hill and came on toward him.
Soon Pym could see the bearing of the men in the saddle and their fine clothing and knew that they must be knights or lords. He could hear the clink-chink of the steeds’ tack as they trotted along.
The foremost riders-two men riding abreast-drew near where he sat on his rough hickory stump. Eyes straight ahead, looking neither right nor left, they passed him in a flash. Three more dashed by in an instant, and one of these raised a gloved hand in greeting, while one of his companions glanced at the tinker and nodded as he galloped by. Pym got to his feet and took up the sword. He stepped into the road and was in the act of hoisting the sword onto his shoulder once more, his eyes on the backs of the retreating horsemen, when a sixth rider approached.