Fair Semblances: An Allegorical Fantasy (Chapter 18)

All that night, Mishael kept the Eye of the Eagle, which is what men call the northernmost star in the sky, around which all the constellations revolve, on his right hand; and with so sure a guide joyfully sparkling in the unclouded heavens, and the words of Ariel burning in his heart, he continued to the West, where he hoped again, with the fervent expectation that had so suddenly revived from the ashes of his earlier longings, to gaze upon the true beauty of Lebben-Or, and see the High King face-to-face. His soul was awash in a mixture of deep, strange emotions, not the least of which were utter amazement at how quickly he had been deceived by the lying pleasures of Lusk, and acute shame at the memory of the last six weeks. But oddly, this shame and regret seemed almost hopeful and healthy to him, as if it were the first and most difficult step toward a glowing destination; and as deep as his remorse truly was, it could not restrain the glad incursion of the joy and hope that seemed to breathe in the air all around him, and force themselves into his inmost being. At times he caught himself softly singing some old, pleasant tune, and coming to himself, he would chuckle with a sort of abashed amusement, and wonder anew at how good it felt to be free from Lusk, free from the empty charade, free from himself.

For some hours he continued along in this way, until eventually all the roads which led to Lusk had turned aside, most to the south and a few to the north; but nothing daunted, Mishael continued beneath the approving gaze of the Eye of the Eagle, jumping over fences, squirming through high hedges, and making his way across the fields and pasturelands that lay between him and the West. After awhile, in the deepest part of the night, he grew suddenly very sleepy, and sat down beside a hedge to rest for a few moments. His elbows were resting upon his knees, and his head, covered with the hood of the simple gray cloak he was wearing, sank ever lower, until it was almost between his legs. Thus doubled over, and perfectly still, he looked like nothing so much as just another projection in the uneven hedge by which he was resting.

Mishael sat resting for a few moments, and was just about to drift off to sleep, when a sudden chill passed over him, and glancing up from beneath his hooded cloak, he saw the stars overhead black out and then flash again into light. He immediately felt an inexplicable terror, and for some reason the memory of his first trip into the Impenetrable Thicket at once burst upon his consciousness. Now he was wide awake, and with a very slow, restrained motion, he turned his head sideways, until he could survey the heavens with one eye, which just barely peeked out from beneath his hood.

Soon, he saw a barely discernible form, which was obviously quite huge, darkening the stars above once again; only this time, he caught the smell of burning sulfur, and knew at once that it was the same smell he had encountered on the ridge above Fair Semblances, where a fortuitous accident had preserved his life from the searing breath of an infuriated wyrm. He did not dare to make the slightest motion, for some time afterward; and as he was sitting there, with one eye on the skies, he saw several other shadowy forms flying by, always to the East. Finally, after a moment’s silence, he stirred up the courage to fling himself down to the ground and crawl into the midst of the hedge, where there was a hollow space just large enough to accommodate him. From there, he scanned the horizon with a fearful expectancy.

It was not long at all before he saw the eastern horizon flare up with so brilliant a light that it might have been dawn; and in the flash, he could make out the silhouette of the high walls of Lusk, scarcely visible from so far away. For the next half-hour or so, the horizon was constantly bursting into an intense light and plunging again into darkness, much as a thunder cloud in the midst of an active lightning storm. Before long, the silhouette of Lusk was even visible in the intermittences of darkness, being softly illuminated by an orange glow, which seemed to be produced by a great fire in the city. The full force of what was occurring finally struck Mishael with so stunning a blow that he began to tremble all over, and had to place the crook of his elbow over his mouth to prevent himself from crying out. If he were still in the city of Lusk, where he had lived these past six weeks, he would doubtless be smoldering beneath the fiery breath of a dozen wyrms, which had almost certainly been sent from Vrak to seek out and destroy him above all. The seriousness of the struggle that he had entered into so unwittingly a few months before struck him anew; and as he thought of the luxurious royal palace smoldering and giving off a sulfuric stench, the lush gardens buried in ash, the proud and beautiful people scratching in the dirt for cover, all dignity lost in the horror of the attack, he felt his cheeks wet with tears of regret, pity, and a sense of unworthiness that he alone, who perhaps most deserved to be consumed by the rage of the Enemy, and for whom the attack had most likely been planned, had been singled out in mercy, spared from the great destruction.

The first light of dawn was beginning to overwhelm the fainter light of the fires ravaging Lusk before Mishael again dared to move; and even then he only traveled a few hundred yards, looking for a better hiding place, which he finally found in a thick copse of small trees and high brush, filling a slight declivity in the mostly level terrain all around him. Crawling beneath the overhanging branches of a low, drooping willow, which swept the ground all around with the tips of its boughs, he dropped off into an exhausted sleep, and did not stir again until late afternoon.

* * * * * * * *

For the next two days Mishael traveled westward in this fashion, walking by night and sleeping in the daytime. During his three days of travel the terrain had grown increasingly rich and fruitful, and by the time he finished his third night’s walk he was in a well-watered, verdant plain that even rivaled the choicest gardens of Lusk. He had been in such an agitated state when he left the city that he had not thought to take any provisions with him, so the temptation to sample the delicious variety of fruits and vegetables that were just then ripening proved too great to resist; and he found everything he tasted exceptionally delightful even to a palate that had been spoiled by the sumptuous fares of Luskian high society, as his had been for the past six weeks. The healthy simplicity of his foraged diet seemed a vast improvement to the dainty fares of his enviable life before.

The further westward he progressed, the more confident and at ease he felt, until finally, waking up strangely refreshed after just a few hours’ sleep, he made up his mind to knock at the door of the nearest settlement, and ask if he were getting near to Lebben-Or. It was about noon when he awoke, and you can imagine how he must have looked, after sleeping on the ground in the same old clothes for three days in a row; but he felt lighthearted and unabashed, and it was actually a relief not to have to worry about his appearance, and wonder what sort of impression his clothes might be making upon everyone around him.

Very soon after he began walking, Mishael came across a farmstead occupying a little valley before him. In the middle of the valley was a building, or rather a complex of buildings all joined together so as to form a rectangular enclosure in the midst, which apparently functioned as a sort of courtyard, or central meeting place. In the valley all around it were several large gardens and vineyards, sporting all sorts of luscious produce; and behind it, in a triangular space where the valley narrowed to a mere ravine, was an orchard of some sort of fruit-bearing trees. Off to the right of the main complex of buildings, at the edge of the valley, was a barn and a fenced off area in which chickens, horses, and a few goats were mingling; and behind the barn, up above the valley, was a large pasture, bounded by hedges, where a flock of sheep was grazing in the middle, with a few horses lolling in the shade of the hedge on the south side of the pasture, with the valley sloping down beneath them.

Mishael followed a well-worn footpath into the valley, and in a few minutes he was drawing up just before the rectangular complex of buildings in its center. The two long buildings running east and west, and forming the northern and southern boundaries of the courtyard, were each about sixty feet long, and perhaps twenty-five feet wide. There was about fifty feet of distance in between them, so that the courtyard was not quite square, being just a little deeper than it was wide. All the buildings were supported by rough-hewn timbers, one planted firmly in the ground every ten feet or so along the wall; and in between the timbers, the walls were plastered over with a white mud. The roofs were shingled with overlapping strips of wood, which had all turned gray from the sun and rain, but seemed to give a watertight covering nonetheless. There were two smaller buildings extending inward from the foremost corners of each of these long buildings running north and south, both constructed in the same fashion, and having dimensions of about twenty feet by twenty feet, so as to leave a gap of about ten feet in the center, through which the footpath passed.

After pausing hesitantly for a moment, Mishael finally mustered up the courage to pass through the entrance into the central courtyard. In the middle was a well with a surrounding stone wall, and a bucket suspended above it by a rope that was attached to a pulley; and all around the well were watering troughs and hitching posts, which at the time were occupied by three horses and a tall, long-eared mule. Behind the well there was just a simple structure built to form the western boundary of the inner courtyard; only this building was not fully enclosed, as the others, but rather consisted of just a back wall with a roof about twenty feet wide, which was supported by a few square timbers in front. This three-sided enclosure appeared to house a blacksmith shop and a few other little workshops of a similar nature.

Our young wanderer was just looking around and trying to decide which door seemed to be the most-used, and the likeliest to open to a knock, when a door on the long, southernmost building came swinging open of its own accord, and a spritely, rosy-cheeked girl with blonde hair and laughing gray eyes, not more than eleven or twelve years of age, came tripping out with a bucket in her hand, and went skipping straight ahead to the well, swinging the bucket gaily beside her. Seeing Mishael, she stopped and stared for a moment, then, forgetting all about her mission to draw water, she came up to him curiously and said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Where are you from? Are you bringing your harvest to Lebben-Or? How come you don’t have a horse or a mule or a cart or anything? Do you want to see my dad? He’s eating right now, but you can go see him if you want.”

Mishael couldn’t help but smiling at this sociable little creature, and her friendliness began to put him quite at ease. “Yes, I guess I would like to see your father if he’s not too busy,” he responded to the little farm girl. “I’m not from around here and I’m afraid I’m a little lost. I was just hoping to get to Lebben-Or, and I was wondering if someone could give me some directions. I got separated from my companions some time ago, and I think they’ll be waiting for me there. I’m Mishael, by the way,” he added. “What’s your name?”.

“I’m Claribel,” the charming girl replied, and then, without skipping a beat, she continued, “Are you the Mishael that escaped from Fair Semblances and walked clear across the Desert of Salt with Gilead and Ariel, and got lost or captured by slave traders or something? Everyone’s been looking for you, you know, and my dad says they’re about to send out a search party. My brother Dathan wants to go but my mom says it’s too dangerous. They thought you might be in Lusk, but it’s too dangerous to go to Lusk, and besides there are way too many slaves, they could never find you anyway – that’s what my mom says. Come on!”, she cried out enthusiastically, “they’ll want to see you, and Dathan will be so mad that I found you first before he could go out with the search party – did you know that he was thinking about sneaking out at night if mom wouldn’t let him go? I overheard him talking with Elihu – that’s our friend from another farm – but I didn’t say anything, he would have been mad at me forever! Come on, come on!”, she continued, grabbing his hand and pulling him along toward the door. “Hey, everyone, guess who I found!” she cried out again, jumping up and down in her excitement. “I bet you can’t wait to see him!”. Soon, she was half directing, half pulling him through the wooden door in the middle of the southern building. The bucket with which she had intended to get water was lying on the ground where she had first seen Mishael, long since forgotten in the excitement of the moment.

Mishael soon found himself in the middle of a great dining room with a massive wooden table in the center, surrounded by a laughing crowd of some twelve or fourteen persons, who were all feasting on an enticing but simple selection of aromatic dishes. Little Claribel was soon introducing him to everyone in order, and at such a speed that he hadn’t the slightest hope of keeping up with her, let alone remembering everyone’s name. The company seemed to consist of her father and mother, about six or seven brothers and sisters, all older than she, and a few servants or hired hands. Finally, concluding with the head of the table, she said proudly, “And that’s my dad. He’ll take you to Lebben-Or, won’t you daddy? This is the Mishael that escaped from Fair Semblances,” she gushed out with glee; “and I’m the one who found him,” she continued excitedly, this time directing her gaze at a young man about Mishael’s age, whom he suspected was Dathan, but he didn’t know for sure, as he had gotten hopelessly lost in the introductions. The little girl was about to continue, but as the man whom she had introduced as “my dad” cleared his throat in an obvious sign that he was about to speak, she ceased talking and looked to him with her eyes simply dancing in excitement.

“I am Demetrius,” the tall, imposing man said in a gruff but not a hostile tone, which seemed to hint at the presence of a very warm and tender soul beneath the rough exterior. “You have already been introduced to my wife Dinah, and our children and farmhands,” he continued, directing a stern glance at his youngest daughter, which was stripped of all its admonishing intention by the laughing affection in his eyes, which were a dead match for hers, gray and friendly. “And are you indeed Mishael of Fair Semblances?”

“Yes, I am,” Mishael admitted, flushing to the roots of his hair, and casting his eyes down to the floor. Suddenly the shamefulness of the past few weeks, even when Dathan and others like him were planning to risk their lives in order to rescue him, flamed up within him again, and the sound of his name sounded to him like a damning indictment. “I’ve not always made the best decisions on my journey, but I still hope to get to Lebben-Or, and have a fresh start, if you think the High King will still have me.”

“Well, if you manage to get to Lebben-Or, it is precisely because the High King will have you,” the family patriarch responded in the same gruff tone. “And if you have made it this far, I suppose you shall make it to Lebben-Or after all. But sit down and have a bite to eat first. The journey will be several hours, and we might as well begin with full bellies. You should be safe enough here; I very highly doubt that Vrak would dare to venture this close to the Beautiful City, even if he knew you were here.”

So Mishael sat down at the old man’s bidding and enjoyed one of the finest meals he could ever remember having eaten. Little Claribel sat next to him and entertained him with a ceaseless flow of commentary on the people all around him, occasionally asking him questions which she very rarely gave him enough time to answer, until her mother frowningly chided her loquacity, reminding her that her food would never be eaten as long as her mouth was so busy talking. And then, dutifully, she began to work on her plate’s generous contents, only occasionally whispering something to her newly discovered friend under her breath.

About an hour later, when it was still early in the afternoon, Demetrius and Dathan, Claribel’s oldest brother (although he had two sisters older than he, as Mishael had managed to learn), went to work hitching up a team of horses to a little wagon, which they proceeded to fill up with ripened fruit. (It seemed that the practical old farmer was too judicious not to make some profitable use out of his unexpected trip to Lebben-Or.) Just a few moments after that, the wagon was pulling out of the courtyard, with Demetrius the farmer in the driver’s seat and Mishael the prodigal sitting next to him, surveying the rich fields and pastures round about, and struggling to cope with the conflicting emotions of fearful regret and an impatient desire to see Lebben-Or after so long a journey, and to renew his acquaintance with Gilead and Ariel, and all the rest of the company. Demetrius seemed to understand his nervous agitation, and so he allowed him to ride along in silence, as the two made their way to the Beautiful City, which Mishael had been wanting to see for so long a while.

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