Fair Semblances: An Allegorical Fantasy (Chapter 35)

For two days the Eschatoi, who had just become the last tribe to escape from the cruel slavery of Vrak and his taskmasters, continued their march at an exhausting pace. Times of rest were infrequent and brief, and furthermore, there were no satisfactory places to find any sort of real refreshment, even when the tribesmen managed to drop off into an exhausted sleep. Everywhere, there was nothing but mud, muck, and gruel-moss; dry plots of ground to stretch out on were rare indeed, and it was gray, gloomy, and just a little too cool for comfort, especially given the sadly under-clothed state of the people. But still, encouraged by the joint influence of the little group of seekers and Benaiah, the chief of the Eschatoi, the tribe managed to press on, and to remain hopeful of a joyful and triumphant end.

The trip itself, while grueling and unpleasant in every way, was largely uneventful, at least. There were still occasional rumblings in the ground, reminding the people that the terrible earthquake was still not over, and the tribe did run into a few of the taskmasters in charge of the slaves at work in the gruel-marshes. But these either fled away or were easily despatched, and the company of seekers managed to obtain three horses from the taskmasters who did not escape, which Tobiah immediately commandeered for the purpose of reconnoitering. Along the way, the ranks of the Eschatoi were swelled by the slaves at work in the marshes, none of whom were Eschatoi themselves, but all of them had been captured by Vrak from virtually every tribe under heaven, and varied considerably in height, build, hair color, skin color, and so on.

Finally, after two full days, the Draconian Mountains were in sight, quite near in fact, within a half day’s journey at most. The tribe was exhausted, and Mishael and Gilead, after conferring with Benaiah, had decided to stop for a few hours to let the people get whatever rest they could. Tobiah, in the meantime, had taken the swiftest horse and gone back west to look for any sign of Vrak’s soldiers, and the company was awaiting word from him.

They did not have to wait for long: within a few minutes of the decision to stop, he came thundering up to the head of the tribe, and without even dismounting, shouted out,

“We must keep going! Your rest will have to wait a few more hours! Quickly, quickly, we have no time to spare!”

There were some grumblings and discontented stirrings from within the camp, and for a few moments, the tribesmen seemed on the verge of revolt. But Benaiah pleaded and reasoned with them to be strong and heed Tobiah’s warning, and finally, with much murmuring and complaining, the weary tribe headed out again.

By this time, the rumblings in the earth were becoming more pronounced.

After the tribe was again under way, Tobiah dismounted, and walking along at the head of the people with Benaiah and the seekers, he gave them his report.

“Vrak already has a vast army following us, not half a day’s march behind. If we continue at an unabated pace for another day, we might make it well into the mountains before they overtake us; but I think it’s almost certain that we’ll have to rely upon some help from the tribe of Pelites that you encountered on your way over here. Is their hidden valley spacious enough to accommodate the whole tribe?”

“Well,” Mishael responded, “they would all fit in the valley, I suppose, but only just. I strongly doubt that they could spend any amount of time there at all without utterly overwhelming the Pelites’ meager resources. I think, if they stayed at all, it could only be for a night, maybe two. But if Vrak is following us so closely, I also think they would not be so welcoming of us. They told us to return only if Vrak is not following, lest they be discovered and destroyed.”

“Then we shall have to presume upon their mercy, and in exchange offer them accommodations in Lebben-Or,” Tobiah replied. “If we return to them now, Vrak will certainly find them, and they will not be able to remain in their valley; but perhaps this is by design, perhaps this is the time for them to make their pilgrimage from their ancient home to the plains of Lebben-Or. Great things are astir, epoch-making things, and soon no one will be safe at all except in Lebben-Or itself. Desperate times require otherwise unthinkable decisions.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mishael said. “And yet, when I think about it, I feel that something else is yet to happen, something unfavorable, that will change the whole situation. But regardless, we must just press on for now, and make decisions according to the extent of our certain knowledge.”

“You know what else worries me,” Tobiah said abruptly, without giving Mishael’s presentiment a moment’s pause, “is the matter of Vrak’s wyrms. I’m surprised that we’ve seen none thus far – we must have been fortunate, and escaped at a time when they were all engaged in some battle in the far regions of the Struggle; but Vrak will certainly have relayed a message to them by now, and they will certainly be on their way here at their utmost speed. Every moment that passes is another moment in which they might appear over the horizon; and then, I’m not sure what we will do. Lebbaeus and his torch are gone, and we are defenseless before a wyrm-attack. This also makes the need for haste of paramount importance.”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering about that too,” Mishael confessed. “But we can only march as fast as we can march, and whatever circumstances are beyond our control will not be changed by our worrying anyway.”

Mishael’s concluding observation was technically correct, of course; but nevertheless, an almost tangible feeling of anxiety, even despair, was already spreading throughout the whole camp. As the tribe continued their march, the nerves of every man, woman, and child were increasingly set on edge, as if Mishael’s premonition of something ominous about to happen had passed over to the people at large. The children were becoming unbearably fussy and stubborn, the women watching over them were sharp and impatient, and the men were all scowling and barking out unfeeling and impossible commands and rhetorical questions to their families, questions such as, “Can’t you shut that child up?” and many other such unhelpful things. But in the meantime, at least, the pace of the march was quickening almost involuntarily, as the people put their nervous energy to use in hastening their flight onward.

At the same time, however, the rumblings in the ground were picking up at an alarming rate, and this was only increasing the nervous energy of the crowd.

Within a few hours, the tribe was right at the edge of the mountains. But then, the portentous and disastrous event that Mishael had anticipated did indeed occur; and it was adverse enough a stroke of fortune to plunge the tribe immediately into the utter despair of an impossible and hopeless situation.

Just as the seven seekers and the Eschatoi people were approaching the edge of the Draconian Mountains, the earthquake that had been stirring and building up for days already unleashed its fury in full force. The brunt of it was concentrated in the mountains themselves, and as the people looked up, they saw the whole range convulsing in spasms. Mountain peaks were toppling, whole hillsides of solid stone were flowing down as the rushing rivers in the early Spring, it looked as if the great Dragon for whom the mountains were named had come alive and were shaking himself off with a terrible fury. In a few moments, the spasms had reached the plains where the tribe was standing, and wave after wave swept under their feet, until the vast gruel-marshes of Dolos took on the appearance of the ocean in a terrific gale. An uncontrollable panic spread throughout the tribe, and before long, they were all running around aimlessly in circles, just as they had done when the wall fell down two days before.

After a few moments, there was a sound as of mighty thunderings, or as of a giant, plunging waterfall, and the whole earth opened up just before the tribe. And there before them, when the shaking of the earth began to die down, was a vast, impassable canyon, stretching to the north and the south as far as anyone could see, and preventing any further progress toward the mountains.

The mountain-dragon had vented all his fury, and with just a few more shudders sank back into his eternal, stony sleep. But the damage was done, and the path was utterly and hopelessly blocked before them.

Before they had even had the chance to assess this new obstacle to their journey, some men in the rearmost parts of the tribe cried out in terror: they had seen the dust of an innumerable host behind them, and they knew instinctively who had stirred up the dust. From somewhere in the midst of the people, an angry voice shouted out, “Let’s throw Benaiah and these seekers into the pit they’ve led us to! You see where they’ve brought us!” There was a murmur throughout the crowd, and it was impossible to tell how much of it was dissenting and how much in agreement with this suggestion.

Then, as Tobiah had forewarned, there appeared a few tiny specks on the horizon above the southern edge of the Draconian mountains, and they quickly grew, and took on the form of wyrms. The people were surrounded by Vrak’s army on one side and the wyrms on the other; and an impassable obstacle had just opened up before them.

* * * * * * * *

“People of Eschatoi,” Gilead cried out at the top of his lungs, “You will accomplish nothing profitable by an act of senseless vengeance! We are in this together, we ourselves are only here because of our desire to help you escape, and now that our journey has taken this turn, we will remain here with you still! Whatever we face, we will face together with you!”

For a few long moments, the agitated crowd was abuzz with discussion and arguments, and for awhile it was not clear whether those who wished to cast the seekers into the chasm or those who thought it better to await their end together would prevail. But finally, the latter voice won the day, and the vengeful anger of the people turned into a lethargic, inactive depression. The end had come, and accustomed as they were to submitting to the grossest oppression, they determined once again to give themselves up to the wrath of Vrak. Within a few more minutes, the soldiers on the western horizon had grown until they were individually discernible, and the wyrms in the southeast had taken on definite shape. Just a few minutes longer, and all would be lost.

No one could later remember who first noticed it, or when precisely an awareness was awakened. It grew by gradual degrees, much as the dawn of an overcast day, when the sun is never visible, and yet its light is somehow slowly diffused throughout the sky, so that the pitch black of night mysteriously becomes the subdued light of a cloudy day. But before long, all the people were staring in wonder to the east, where a light on the horizon was growing and becoming ever more brilliant and pronounced. Eventually, they had to avert their eyes, for its luminescence was too dazzling, too intense.

By this time, the wyrms were within a few hundred yards of the tribe, almost close enough to let out a scorching volley from their fiery nostrils; but before they were quite within range, the light grew too strong for them, and they wheeled about abruptly, and began circling around, off to the edge of the piercing rays of the rapidly rising dawn.

The approaching army, too, soon became uncomfortable, and at first began to shield their eyes with their hands, then to slacken their pace and turn their faces away from the light’s overwhelming source. Finally, an irrational panic spread among them, and they began to flee, turning and scattering in every direction.

The light grew whiter and more intense, but to the huddled tribe it also became softer and pleasanter, and their eyes grew stronger, until they were able to gaze steadfastly into its blazing source. Soon, they could see from whence it had arisen: old Lebbaeus, with his torch held high, was speeding toward them on the back of a mighty phosphor, and no less than a score of other phosphors were surrounding him, escorting him onwards. The radiance emanating from this hitherto unrivaled convocation of the impressive winged creatures of light was as nothing that Dolos had ever seen before. But as terrible and unbearable as it was to Vrak’s dark servants, it was pleasant and strengthening to the seekers and the Eschatoi.

The squadron of phosphors hovered over the pitiful camp for a moment, then simultaneously they sounded upon their trumpets. A shrill blast rang out, and an immense burst of light sprang forth from their midst, like all the lightnings of a thousand years gathered together at one place and moment; and the blast of the trumpet and flash of white light shook the mountains to their roots. Slowly, a great mountain peak before the tribe fell to the ground with a thunderous roar, and its debris filled the intervening chasm, forming a bridge to the Draconian mountain passes. The tribe began streaming over this newly-formed bridge, and peals of laughter and shouts of victory could be heard rising up from all around.

The phosphor set Lebbaeus down on the other side of the chasm; and then the whole squadron left the tribe, in pursuit of the wyrms who, outnumbered and overpowered, were now fleeing back to the dark fastness of Dolos; and soon, the whole company of seekers was once again gathered around their cherished leader, whom they had never thought to see alive again. The reunion was sweeter than anything Mishael had experienced thus far on his strange and epic quest. For a moment, all the seekers who had been through the terrible day when Tahath had betrayed them and Ethan had sacrificed himself for their escape were calling out at once, “We thought you were dead! We saw the wyrms overwhelm you! How did you escape?”. And Lebbaeus, softly chuckling, merely responded by saying,

“Sometimes help arrives at the most opportune of times, not just for you, but for me as well. Have you not seen that today?”

And then, gracefully but unquestionably assuming his old role as the leader of the company, he called for their silence and spoke to them urgently:

“We have escaped one enemy, but another will destroy us as quickly if we do not act soon. Already it is snowing among the highest peaks, and the passes will soon be cut off entirely. If we do not cross the range immediately, the mountain winter will kill us all. Now is not yet the time to celebrate our victory, we must continue on at an unslackened pace. And I think it would be wise,” he added after a brief pause, “to seek the help of our friends, the Pelites, especially as we are no longer being pursued by Vrak. Gilead! you must now guide us, as Tobiah has never followed the trails of the Pelites, and your skills in the mountains are unsurpassed except by his own.”

Thus cursorily and with no wasted time, the beloved leader of the company set off again at the head of the seekers; and not just they, but also the whole tribe behind them were filled anew with fresh strength and courage, and they hoped steadfastly for the joy of triumph at the journey’s end.

Gilead’s task proved to be a most difficult one, as the great earthquake had rearranged the topography of the mountain range, so that the hidden trails, which before had been difficult to find, now in many cases became impossible. But still, he picked a way through the mountain peaks as best as he could, and kept an eye continually open for any sign of the paths of the Pelites. But although he said nothing, he was becoming increasingly discouraged, and beginning to realize the near impossibility of the task.

The whole tribe, as well, was quickly losing its momentary burst of optimism. They really were more weary than they had ever been before, the darkness was already falling, and it was becoming insufferably cold. Just before the night became totally black, a few of the tribesmen noticed something they had never seen before: cold, white flakes of precipitation falling from the skies; the snows had come, and the mountain passes would soon be closed up. And in their woeful condition, Gilead knew of a surety that, not only would they not make it across the mountains, most of them would not even survive the night. Eventually, his pessimism became even greater than it had been before the timely arrival of Lebbaeus with his phosphors.

Finally, well after dark, Gilead drew up and called Lebbaeus to his side.

“I’m lost,” he said frankly. “The trails I’ve been looking for are nowhere to be seen, and unless we find them soon, our journey could end in disaster. What should we do?”

Before the ancient leader had a chance to respond, however, a faint light appeared on a hilltop before them. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lebbaeus cried out,

“We are seekers, soldiers of the High King! Are you friend or foe?”

And a few moments later, a welcome woman’s voice, in the Common Tongue but with a heavy accent, cried out in response, “I am Mariah! You will come with me.”

A smile of relief swept across Gilead’s tense features, and with renewed hope he cried out to the the tribe behind him,

“We are nearly to a stopping place! Be strong and follow me just a little further!”

Without complaint, the sore, weary, and half-frozen tribe continued to trudge through the cold mountain passes, following Gilead, and in front of him, the Pelite princess, Mariah.

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