NewJerseyMan
07-19-2009, 01:23 PM
The setting sun threw a crimson light upon Taran-Morh, the pink clouds streaking across the sky like giant, motionless birds hovering in midair. A blanket of quiet covered the town, the fishing boats rocking silently next to the docks, the fields empty, the evening wind blowing across the plain and stirring the grass into a gentle dance.
Kyaran, exhausted from a week of travelling, glanced up at the curiously silent village, squinting from the glare of the setting sun. Why, he wondered, was Taran-Morh so quiet? He had been told that a great festival had been planned for this day, that all the villagers, young and old, would be celebrating the victory of Heiram The Valiant over the Gorlachs a thousand years back. But he saw no signs of life; the stables were empty, and the town square was deserted. What, he wondered, had happened?
He continued up the path leading to the village, casting suspicious glances about him with every step. As he climbed over the last hill, the village rose before him - marble spires of a cathedral, the watchtowers encircling the village, ever-wakeful guardians of stone rising into the sky, and countless dwellings of farmers, craftsmen, and artisans. As he approached the edge of the village, he began to hear faint chanting emanating from the cathedral; he drew his sword and raced toward the building, his heart pounding.
Kyaran threw open the door of the cathedral. What must have been at least two hundred people were gathered in a circle, wearing white robes and chanting in a strange tongue. They had not even noticed his arrival. Kyaran, fearing the worst, silently padded over toward the shadows, and watched the ceremony, fearing for his life. What kind of foul magic were these acolytes invoking?
An elderly man dressed in a purple robe walked to the center of the circle and cradled a shining object in his palms. It shined so fiercely that Kyaran could not see what is was; however, the other acolytes did not so much as blink. The old man began to sing a haunting melody, and the light grew brighter.
The white-robed acolytes began to sing in a voice so low that it sounded completely inhuman; Kyaran could feel his own body, and the walls to which he was clinging, vibrate with every note of the song. The ritual lasted several minutes, the chorus growing louder and louder, until it ended abruptly and the shining object ascended into the air and began to coruscate with multi-colored light - gold, silver, white, and pale blue. In a flash of light, the object disappeared, and the acolytes bowed their heads and prayed in silence. Kyaran found the courage to come out of the shadows and approach them, trying to look as unthreatening as he could. He needed to know what had just transpired here. Was it some foul sorcery, or merely a traditional religious rite? Or was it something else entirely?
The man in the purple robe walked toward Kyaran with a gentle gait. His eyes seemed to convey some kind of unearthly kindness, a kind of softness he had seldom witnessed in the eyes of any man or woman.
"I do apologize if we frightened you. I assure you, that wasn't our intention." The man coughed and chuckled. "I'm Galandor..." He extended his hand with a friendly smile. Kyaran shook his hand and squeezed gently. "I know what you just witnessed must have seemed very strange indeed..." He coughed again, hacking and wheezing. "...we were praying to our God that the harvest be plentiful, that the winter be mild, and that the world might know peace."
Kyaran replied, "Ah...I see. Forgive me if I was alarmed. I was told that this day was a day of celebration and festival for your town...I was at a loss for what to think when I heard your chanting and saw that light. If I might ask - what was that light?"
The purple-robed man smiled sheepishly. "Oh, that...ahem...that was an offering of goodwill for our God. The light you saw was not created by us; no, that light came from the grace of God, in response to our prayers. To be truthful, this is the first time I've seen such a light. I was just as surprised as you were."
Kyaran nodded. "I see. Well, I apologize for disturbing you. I shall be on my way..."
The old man interrupted him gently. "If you wish. But we would be most grateful if you would pray with us...for the peace of the world, for those who have passed on, for the sick, the weak, the poor, and for those who have succumbed to the lust for war and bloodshed. I know that this might seem out of place in these times, where babes are killed for sport, where men and women alike are slaughtered for calling God by a different name, or simply because men who have fallen away from love wish it...please, stay with us for awhile, that we may persuade God that this world is worth saving after all."
Kyaran replied, "Of course...I would be honored."
And on that night, Kyaran witnessed many things - light, a glimpse into the future, and the fulfillment of the prayers of those gathered in the cathedral. But what sorrow he felt when it had ended! He could speak of these things to no ordinary man, but only to those whose hearts were pure, who would not attempt to twist the knowledge that had been revealed for their own selfish purposes. But from that day forward, Kyaran found renewed purpose in life; he traveled near and far, giving all he could to the poor, the sick, the weak, and those who had lost their minds. As his heart grew, so did his determination to set things right, for he understood that life was not to be wasted on gems and silk, but on doing those things that truly needed to be done.
When Kyaran lay upon his death bed, and felt his life slipping away, Balam, his son, was sitting beside him, looking at him with unbridled joy and affection, but also with tears in his eyes, for he knew his father wasn't long for this world. He asked him, "Father, I do love you...but I must know, do you regret having killed and warred in your youth? I know you have lived a pure and noble life; that is beyond question. But are you still haunted by the ghosts of your past? Do you not still feel pangs of guilt? If you do, I can only remind you of all the people you have saved..."
Kyaran interrupted him. "Of course those ghosts haunt me, as vividly as they did when I was young. Of course I wish I had not been so rash and foolish. But since those dark days, I have lived my life for the betterment of the world. Indeed, I have saved many, and I say this not with pride, but merely with satisfaction. I do not fear meeting my Maker, for I have prayed night and day for all that exists..."
His son smiled, tears still glimmering in his eyes. "And you will be sorely missed. Wherever you go after your time here is done, never forget all those who love you, those whom you have blessed through kindness and compassion. Never forget that we will be praying for you night and day..."
Kyaran smiled a smile that bespoke wisdom and longing. "My son, come closer. It is almost time for me to depart." Balam did so, sobbing. "I shall be watching over you from Eternity, where day and night cease to be, where time stands still and the flowers are ever in bloom. Never think for even a moment that I will not be with you..."
And with that, Kyaran closed his eyes for the last time, and ascended toward the Great Light.
Kyaran, exhausted from a week of travelling, glanced up at the curiously silent village, squinting from the glare of the setting sun. Why, he wondered, was Taran-Morh so quiet? He had been told that a great festival had been planned for this day, that all the villagers, young and old, would be celebrating the victory of Heiram The Valiant over the Gorlachs a thousand years back. But he saw no signs of life; the stables were empty, and the town square was deserted. What, he wondered, had happened?
He continued up the path leading to the village, casting suspicious glances about him with every step. As he climbed over the last hill, the village rose before him - marble spires of a cathedral, the watchtowers encircling the village, ever-wakeful guardians of stone rising into the sky, and countless dwellings of farmers, craftsmen, and artisans. As he approached the edge of the village, he began to hear faint chanting emanating from the cathedral; he drew his sword and raced toward the building, his heart pounding.
Kyaran threw open the door of the cathedral. What must have been at least two hundred people were gathered in a circle, wearing white robes and chanting in a strange tongue. They had not even noticed his arrival. Kyaran, fearing the worst, silently padded over toward the shadows, and watched the ceremony, fearing for his life. What kind of foul magic were these acolytes invoking?
An elderly man dressed in a purple robe walked to the center of the circle and cradled a shining object in his palms. It shined so fiercely that Kyaran could not see what is was; however, the other acolytes did not so much as blink. The old man began to sing a haunting melody, and the light grew brighter.
The white-robed acolytes began to sing in a voice so low that it sounded completely inhuman; Kyaran could feel his own body, and the walls to which he was clinging, vibrate with every note of the song. The ritual lasted several minutes, the chorus growing louder and louder, until it ended abruptly and the shining object ascended into the air and began to coruscate with multi-colored light - gold, silver, white, and pale blue. In a flash of light, the object disappeared, and the acolytes bowed their heads and prayed in silence. Kyaran found the courage to come out of the shadows and approach them, trying to look as unthreatening as he could. He needed to know what had just transpired here. Was it some foul sorcery, or merely a traditional religious rite? Or was it something else entirely?
The man in the purple robe walked toward Kyaran with a gentle gait. His eyes seemed to convey some kind of unearthly kindness, a kind of softness he had seldom witnessed in the eyes of any man or woman.
"I do apologize if we frightened you. I assure you, that wasn't our intention." The man coughed and chuckled. "I'm Galandor..." He extended his hand with a friendly smile. Kyaran shook his hand and squeezed gently. "I know what you just witnessed must have seemed very strange indeed..." He coughed again, hacking and wheezing. "...we were praying to our God that the harvest be plentiful, that the winter be mild, and that the world might know peace."
Kyaran replied, "Ah...I see. Forgive me if I was alarmed. I was told that this day was a day of celebration and festival for your town...I was at a loss for what to think when I heard your chanting and saw that light. If I might ask - what was that light?"
The purple-robed man smiled sheepishly. "Oh, that...ahem...that was an offering of goodwill for our God. The light you saw was not created by us; no, that light came from the grace of God, in response to our prayers. To be truthful, this is the first time I've seen such a light. I was just as surprised as you were."
Kyaran nodded. "I see. Well, I apologize for disturbing you. I shall be on my way..."
The old man interrupted him gently. "If you wish. But we would be most grateful if you would pray with us...for the peace of the world, for those who have passed on, for the sick, the weak, the poor, and for those who have succumbed to the lust for war and bloodshed. I know that this might seem out of place in these times, where babes are killed for sport, where men and women alike are slaughtered for calling God by a different name, or simply because men who have fallen away from love wish it...please, stay with us for awhile, that we may persuade God that this world is worth saving after all."
Kyaran replied, "Of course...I would be honored."
And on that night, Kyaran witnessed many things - light, a glimpse into the future, and the fulfillment of the prayers of those gathered in the cathedral. But what sorrow he felt when it had ended! He could speak of these things to no ordinary man, but only to those whose hearts were pure, who would not attempt to twist the knowledge that had been revealed for their own selfish purposes. But from that day forward, Kyaran found renewed purpose in life; he traveled near and far, giving all he could to the poor, the sick, the weak, and those who had lost their minds. As his heart grew, so did his determination to set things right, for he understood that life was not to be wasted on gems and silk, but on doing those things that truly needed to be done.
When Kyaran lay upon his death bed, and felt his life slipping away, Balam, his son, was sitting beside him, looking at him with unbridled joy and affection, but also with tears in his eyes, for he knew his father wasn't long for this world. He asked him, "Father, I do love you...but I must know, do you regret having killed and warred in your youth? I know you have lived a pure and noble life; that is beyond question. But are you still haunted by the ghosts of your past? Do you not still feel pangs of guilt? If you do, I can only remind you of all the people you have saved..."
Kyaran interrupted him. "Of course those ghosts haunt me, as vividly as they did when I was young. Of course I wish I had not been so rash and foolish. But since those dark days, I have lived my life for the betterment of the world. Indeed, I have saved many, and I say this not with pride, but merely with satisfaction. I do not fear meeting my Maker, for I have prayed night and day for all that exists..."
His son smiled, tears still glimmering in his eyes. "And you will be sorely missed. Wherever you go after your time here is done, never forget all those who love you, those whom you have blessed through kindness and compassion. Never forget that we will be praying for you night and day..."
Kyaran smiled a smile that bespoke wisdom and longing. "My son, come closer. It is almost time for me to depart." Balam did so, sobbing. "I shall be watching over you from Eternity, where day and night cease to be, where time stands still and the flowers are ever in bloom. Never think for even a moment that I will not be with you..."
And with that, Kyaran closed his eyes for the last time, and ascended toward the Great Light.