“And you, Biorkis, what do you say?”
“I believe all are right. Some part of every guess will be shown in the truth.”
“When may that truth be evident?”
“Who can say? Much that is foretold does not come to pass. Our best divinations are only the mumblings of blind men.” Biorkis turned his face away. “Nothing is certain,” he said softly. “Nothing is certain.”
Quentin stood, went to the old priest and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Old man, come with us. You have lived long enough to see the gods for what they are. Let us show you a god worthy of your devotion, the Most High, Lord of All. In him you will find the peace you seek. You told me once that you sought a brighter light.”
Biorkis looked at him wearily. “You remember that?”
“Yes, and more. I remember you were my only friend in the temple. Come with us now and let us show you the light you have been seeking for so long.”
Biorkis sighed, and it seemed as if all the earth groaned with a great exhaustion. “I’m old-too old to change. Yes, these eyes have searched for the truth, but it has been denied them. I know the hollowness of serving these petty gods, but I am High Priest. I cannot go with you now. Maybe once I could have turned away-as Durwin did, as you have-but not now. It is too late for me.”
Quentin looked sadly down on his old friend. “I am sorry.”
Toli had risen and was moving away. Quentin turned and looked back at Biorkis who still remained perched upon a rock, looking out into the peaceful valley. “It is not too late. You have only to turn aside and he will meet you. The decision is yours.”
Quentin and Toli walked down the sinuous trail side by side without speaking. When they reached the meadow and the dimly glowing embers of their fire Quentin said, “You knew the star to be an evil sign, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I considered it so.”
“But you suggested we go to the temple. Why?”
“I wanted to hear what other learned men might say. For all their spiritual uncertainties, the priests are still men of great knowledge.”
“And did Biorkis confirm your worst fears?”
“Biorkis spoke what may be, not what will be. Only the God Most High can say what will be. His hand is ever outstretched to those who serve him.”
“Weil, if Biorkis is right in his speculations, then we will have need of that strong hand before long, I fear.”
FIVE
“THE EARTH moves through stages, epochs. The ancient legends tell of previous earth ages-four at least. We are living in the fifth age of man. Each age runs its allotted course and then gives birth to a new age.” Durwin spread his hands out on the table. Quentin, his dun in his hands, stared at the holy hermit in rapt attention. Around them in Durwin’s chambers, candles flickered and filled the room with a hazy yellow glow.
“These ages may run a thousand years or ten thousand. Of course, there is no way to tell how long it may last, but the ancients believed that before the end of each age the world is thrown into turmoil. Great migrations of people commence; great wars are fought as nation rises against nation; the heavens are filled with signs and wonders. Then comes the deluge: all the earth is flooded, or covered with ice. Then fire burns the earth and erases all signs of the preceding age. It is a time of chaos and darkness, great cataclysms and death. But out of it comes a new age, both finer and higher than the one before.”
As Durwin spoke, an eerie sense of dreadful fascination crept over Quentin. He shrugged it off and asked, “But must the earth be destroyed completely for a new age to be born?”
Durwin mused on this question, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Toli answered, “Among my people there are many stories of the times before this one. It is said that the Jher came into being in the third age, when the world was still very young and men talked with the animals and lived in peace with one another.
“These stories are very old; they have been with us longer than the art of our oldest storytellers to remember. But it is said that the destruction of the world may be averted by some great deed-though what it is that may be done is not known.
“Tilgal, the Star Maker’s son, is said to have saved the world in the second age by hitching his horses to his father’s chariot and carrying off Morhesh, the Great Evil One, after wounding him with a spear made of a single shaft of light. He threw Morhesh into the Pit of the Night, and Morhesh’s star was extinguished so the earth did not burn.”
Durwin nodded readily. “So it is! As I was about to say, it is believed that not every age must end in calamity. The destruction may be lessened or turned aside completely-usually by some act of heroism, some supreme sacrifice or the coming of a mighty leader to lead mankind into the new age.”
“Do you believe this?” Quentin asked.
“I believe that what has happened in the past beyond men’s remembering did happen. Those who witnessed it explained it as well as they could with the words and ideas they had available to them. Certainly, much remains unexplained; but it seems strange that each race has somewhere in its past memories of this sort.”
Quentin leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. “I meant, do you believe that the star in the sky betokens the end of the age?”
Durwin pulled on his chin and scratched his jaw. He looked at Quentin with quick, black eyes and smiled suddenly. “I believe a new age is coming, yes. Such as the world has never known. A time of mighty upheaval and change. And I believe change does not take place without struggle, without pain. So it is!”
“It all seems very grim to me,” admitted Quentin.
“You should not think of the pain involved,” responded Toli “Think instead of the greater glory of the new age.”
Toli and Quentin had ridden from Narramoor to Durwin’s cottage in Pelgrin Forest. They made good time and arrived late in the afternoon, just as the sun slipped into the treetops.
“Durwin is not here,” said Toli as they approached the cottage. They looked around before Quentin went inside. He returned without a clue to where the hermit might be.
“He may be away only for a short while, perhaps tending someone nearby. Maybe he will return by nightfall, but I think not. His cloak is gone and his pouch, though his bag of medicines is inside.”
They had then decided to ride through the night and reached Askelon’s mighty gates as the moon set in the west. Not wishing to disturb the servants or awaken the King and Queen, they went instead to the chambers kept for Durwin when he was in residence at the castle. There, to their surprise and pleasure, they found the hermit slumped in his chair with a scroll rolled up on his lap. He was sound asleep and snoring.
Upon their entrance, despite their attempts to be quiet, Durwin awakened and greeted them warmly. “You have ridden all night! You are hungry; I will fetch you some food from the kitchen.”
He hurried away with a candle in his hand, while Quentin and Toli pulled off their cloaks, dipped their hands in the basin and attempted to wash away their fatigue. They then settled themselves, exhausted, into chairs and dozed until Durwin returned with bread and cheese and fruit he had filched from the pantry.
“Here, sit at this table and eat while I tell you what I have been doing since last we met.” Durwin told them of his studies and his healing work among the peasants, and at last Quentin told him about their audience with Biorkis and their discussion about the star which nightly grew brighter.
They had talked long and late. At last they rose from the table and turned to curl themselves in their chairs to sleep. Just then a barely audible knock sounded on Durwin’s door. Quentin said, “Durwin, you have a visitor, I believe. Do you entertain so late at night?”