Note: I have put links to two maps (the region and the city) at the start of chapter 1.

Lanterns

“Then what do you want?”

“Go all the way down the avenue, like everyone else.”

“Take care, Alamûjil! What have I taught you about using words like always or never or everyone?”

“But everyone does go!”

“Everyone does not go.” Majani knelt down on the floor beside her son. “There are people too old or too frail for this long walk, there are people ill in bed and those who tend them, and women waiting to give birth, and people who cannot leave their duties – ”

“I know, Mother, I know! But we are not ill or old, and we are the Seraphs. Why cannot we go?” He clenched his fists and pressed his lips together, but a treacherous tear spilled from his eye nonetheless. “I am nearly eight. I don’t just want to walk around the palace gardens; I want to go to the real thing!”

Majani sighed. “I understand, sweetheart. But your brother and sister are too little. We’ve gone round the gardens every year before and you’ve always enjoyed it.”

“You shouldn’t say always,” grumbled Alamûjil. His mother laughed and wrapped her arms around him.

“Beaten by my own words! But listen, Alamûjil. The Festival of Lanterns is an important day for our people, and families should spend it together if they can. Lalina and Řahamûjil are so small; they cannot walk that far and they would be frightened in the crowds. Besides, the main procession does not start until late, and they would be tired and cross. Let us walk round the gardens with them, and later you may go to one of the balconies and watch the procession set off.”

“No, Mother, I have a better idea. Let us go round the gardens together and then you can take the little ones to bed and Father can take me to the procession. Or you may come, too, if it pleases one of your ladies to watch over the little ones. Miriel, you are so fond of the babies, you wouldn’t mind staying with them, would you?” One of the Seraphine’s ladies in waiting laughed but nodded good-naturedly. “See, Mother, Miriel will do it.”

“I see you are a statesman already, Alamûjil. Very well, I will speak with your father, and if it pleases him, we shall follow your plan.”

“And I get to carry the blue lantern?”

“Why do you even ask? You always carry the – hush, don’t you dare say a word! Now, if it pleases you, go to your tutor and show him your sums.”

“I will, Mother. And thank you!”

Majani and her ladies watched the child skip away.

“What a boy! And nearly eight when he only just turned seven in the summer.” With a laugh, the Seraphine sank down on a sofa. “You are very kind, Miriel, to indulge him so. You may have wished to go yourself.”

“I have seen the procession many times,” said Miriel. “Besides, while I cherish it as a custom of your land, it does not mean as much to me as to those who grew up here.”

Another lady in waiting, Ninod, who had been busy arranging the Seraphine’s porcelain birds that sat on gilded shelves all around the room, now turned around.

“Tell us, Miriel, of the customs of Gondor,” she said. “Do you have something like our lantern festival?”

“There is a harvest festival, though it does not fall on the equinox. And we light many candles at Mettarë, which is when the year starts in Gondor. But my memories are faint, Ninod. Remember that I was barely seventeen when I was taken.”

The story of Miriel, of her escape from the slave traders of Khand and her rescue in the wilderness by the Wanderer Pallando was almost a decade old now, but it still intrigued the women of the palace and they rarely missed a chance to ask for more tales from the West. Miriel was happy to talk some days, and reluctant at other times, and today seemed to be one of those occasions when she would tell nothing much. Perhaps it saddened her too much to think of joyous times in her distant homeland. The Seraphine briefly pressed her hand, then she got up.

“I suppose I must go now and speak with my husband. I have a notion that he will not be too keen on this outing. It looks like it may rain, and he meant only to speak to the people as they set out. I shall tell him that the Archseraph must lead his people in every way, rain or no rain. Oh, and Ninod – my birds are just fine. Let them be, will you?”

-oOoOo-

For all that he treated it as if he were merely doing a favour to his little sister and brother, Alamûjil couldn’t hide his enjoyment of the walk in the palace gardens. It took place at twilight, in view of the babies’ bedtime, and so the lanterns did not shine in their full glory, but on the other hand this meant that the flowers and shrubs and birds and butterflies still showed some of their colours.

While the outer parts of the gardens were open for the pleasure of the people, the central portion, adjacent to the palace, was reserved for the royal household and surrounded with a laurel hedge. Within this enclosure strutted the royal peacocks among the flower beds and the marble-rimmed pools, trailing their blue-green tail feathers, though one of them, known as Vani, was milk-white with ruby eyes. The paths were gravelled, and edged with pungent herbs, and today they were lined with little glass globes that each housed a flickering candle.

The Archseraph held the hand of his tiny daughter, and behind him came the Seraphine hand in hand with Řahamûjil, who had not long ago learned to walk. This made their progress slow, and time and again Alamûjil in his impatience speeded ahead and then turned to run back to his family, so that he resembled a puppy more than the dignified lantern bearer he considered himself to be.

Still, he had the blue lantern, and he carried it high though his arm was getting sore with the strain. His parents let their lanterns hang from their dangling arms, as did their attendants who followed behind, and all their lanterns had glass panes of red, green or golden yellow, each of one solid colour. The blue lantern only was different. It was slightly larger than the others, but what set it apart was that its panes were made of many hues of blue melded together in patterns of swirling ribbons. “Like the waves of the sea,” Pallando had said when he had gifted the lantern to the newborn seraph prince. “It was made by an Elven artisan whose skill surpasses even that of the Kûzeen.” Ever since he was big enough to wrap his fingers round the handle, Alamûjil had carried it during the Festival of Lanterns, if only for a few steps. Today, he was determined, he would carry it all the way up the Avenue of Peach Trees.

But first there was the round of the gardens to complete, and a few bites of supper to be taken, and the babies had to be kissed good-night and handed over to Miriel, and then his mother insisted on warmer clothes, and then finally, finally, they came out onto the plaza, where many hundreds of Kûzeen were already assembled. It was dark by now. Low, heavy clouds covered the moon and stars, and they smelled of the rain that was yet to come. The hubbub of the people faded as the Archseraph stepped forward.

“Citizens of Levare!” he began in his most majestic tones. Alamûjil felt his body tingle with the thrill of being outdoors at night, and with knowing that he was the son of such a father. “I am glad that it has pleased you to join my family and me for the Festival of Lanterns. Tonight we give thanks for a plentiful harvest, and we farewell the brightness and the colours of summer. We have lived life to the full in the sunshine and under the green boughs. Now the land that has filled us with its wealth approaches its well-earned time of rest. We bear cheerfully the waning of the year and the winter since we know that spring will come again. Let us now proceed to the Dome of Flowers and pay our respect to the Power that brings forth the fruit of the Earth.”

Alamûjil was ready to set off, but his father’s hand on his shoulder held him back.

“Wait,” the Archseraph said. “Let the attendants go ahead.” And at his signal four lantern-bearers from the royal household strode off towards the avenue, followed by the Seraphs with their entourage and all the assembled citizens. Below the black sky, Levare stretched out studded with many-coloured lights. Lanterns stood in the windows of the houses and were set on the balustrades of the bridges. Lanterns shone from boats on the canals. From the branches of the peach trees, lanterns hung and they twinkled as the wind ruffled the leaves. All along both sides of the avenue, people stood with lanterns in their hands. The glittering night was alive with chatter, and with scraps of music coming from open doors and windows. Farewell, Summer Sun sang the people, and Shine, Lantern, Shine, and Praise to the One Who Makes Things Grow. Under Alamûjil’s feet, the stone-paved street was criss-crossed by bands of a dim red glow. He strode on behind the attendants, no longer the fastest of the party, but having to make an effort now to keep up with the adults. His lantern, too, became heavier by the minute, until he could no longer hold it high in front of him. But he did not mind. He was out in the real procession, and he drew in deep breaths of the night air and marched on.

Some way ahead, the Dome of Flowers could now be seen. Many lights were lit inside and shone out through the glass panes, clear most of them, but some in colours of the rising sun, pinks and reds and peachy yellows. The dome was indeed an immense greenhouse, filled not only with flowers but with delicate trees, and here the people of Kûz paid respect to the Power that brought forth life from the Earth and who by the teachings of the Guardian and the Wanderer they called Kementári. It was the custom on this night for the people to form a ring around the dome while the holy ones performed the ceremony of blessing and thanksgiving.

In the jostle of folk trying to form the ring while those at the back of the procession still pushed forward, Alamûjil became separated from his parents. He didn’t notice it at first, because his mind was filled with awe at the dome, which he had never before seen at night. But when he turned to tell his mother that the babies were really missing out, he could see neither her nor his father nor any of the royal entourage, and when he called for them, his voice was drowned out by the singing of the people.

He was a brave boy, or so he told himself, so he didn’t cry, but all around him were people taller than himself who paid no attention to him, and he wasn’t used to that at all. He tugged at the sleeve of a woman standing next to him.

“If it pleases you, will you look for the Archseraph? He is my father.”

The woman glanced at him and patted his shoulder, then turned her face back to the dome and craned her neck. “Yes, love,” she said, “I’m sure he is.”

“But I’ve lost him!” Tears rose in Alamûjil’s eyes.

“Little children like you shouldn’t come here on a night like this. What were your parents thinking? You belong in bed. Anyway, if you’ve lost them, wait till the end when everyone leaves. If your parents have any sense, they won’t go without you.”

This was too much for Alamûjil. He began to cry loudly and pushed through the crowd, his lantern held close to his chest.

“Mother! Father! Where are you? Someone help me! I am the Archseraph’s son! Help me!”

Then a bulky figure turned round and seized him by the arm, and when he looked up he realised to his relief that it was a man he had sometimes seen in the palace. The man pulled him to the back of the crowd and then out into an open space between some trees. It started to drizzle.

“Young Seraph, do you know me?”

“If it pleases you, I know you, but I do not know your name.”

“I am Olan, the Warden of Hill. Stay with me until we can find your parents. There is nothing to fear. May I see your lantern? It is very beautiful.”

“The Wanderer Pallando gave it to me when I was born.”

“So I have heard.” Warden Olan held out his hand, palm up, and frowned. “The rain is getting heavier. Does your cloak have a hood? Here, put it up, and then come under one of these trees for shelter. There, that big cedar will do fine. Hurry up! What’s the matter?”

“Aren’t you going to say If it pleases you?”

“It’s raining, child. Come now, or we’ll both get soaked.”

The rain made some others seek a roof under the trees, but many had brought umbrellas, and others took shelter in the dome. Alamûjil turned his head here and there but he still could not see anyone of his household.

“Should we not look for my parents?”

Warden Olan pulled his cloak around himself. “We will stay here,” he said. “They will come looking for you, and if we move about, the chance is much greater that we will miss them. Patience, young Seraph!”

This was rough treatment by Alamûjil’s standards. He cast his eyes down miserably, and then he saw that his candle had gone out and that wax had spilled from his lantern onto his tunic.

“I am hungry,” he said in a small voice. He wasn’t really, but it was better than saying I’m scared.

Warden Olan rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a peach. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

Olan sighed and shook his head a little. “Once upon a time there would have been roaring fires at the festival, with roasted goats turning on the spit,” he said. “But your ancestor put an end to all that.”

“I am glad we have the New Way now,” replied Alamûjil, oblivious to the note of disapproval in the Warden’s voice. “I would not like to kill the goats and eat them. They are so kind to let us have their milk. Do you like goat cheese?”

“Does he like goat cheese?” came a mocking voice from the other side of the tree trunk. “Is this the kind of question that keeps you up at night, child of Hamûjil?”

“Come away,” Olan said and reached for Alamûjil’s hand, but the boy had already stepped round the tree to see the speaker. She was a woman, dressed in a faded red robe, and she seemed fantastically old to Alamûjil, with white hair knotted on top of her head, and a network of lines on her face. She sat on a blanket on the ground and regarded him with eyes that were nearly colourless.

“Are you the one they call the Seer?” asked Alamûjil.

“That I am, child of Hamûjil. And they do not call me that for nothing. Tell your father to beware. Darkness is coming!”

“But it’s already dark.”

“Darkness impenetrable. Darkness neverending. Beware, I say. Tell your father.”

“Don’t listen to her nonsense,” said Olan and pulled Alamûjil away by the arm. The boy, stunned by such violence, did not resist. Just then there was a commotion in the crowd, and he saw torches moving and his name called, and there was his father!

“Over here!” cried Olan, waving his other hand. An instant later, Alamûjil was in his father’s arms.

-oOoOo-

“What a boy!” said Majani for the second time that day. The boy in question was by now warm and dry and fast asleep. The Archseraph and the Seraphine stood by the window looking out over Levare. It was well past midnight. Here and there, lights still twinkled, because it was the custom to leave the candles burning until they went out by themselves. Their chamber, too, was still lit by a few red and golden lanterns.

“If only it hadn’t been Olan who found him,” continued Majani. “I do not like being indebted to him.”

“Olan is a righteous man,” replied Hamûjil. “He may not like the New Way, but he is loyal and he will not go against the Council.”

“Are you sure? I heard that people were hunting deer in Hill.”

“Yes, and Olan made them stop, because he knows what his duties are. I am not worried about him. The new Leader of the Traders’ Guild now, that Tilar, she is another matter. Ambitious and trivial – a dangerous combination. But no more of this. We have had enough worry for one night.”

“We sure had.” Majani shuddered. Hamûjil stroked her hair.

“Beloved,” he said. “I was going to do this tomorrow morning, but since you have had such an evening, I will do it now. If it pleases you, close your eyes.”

She obliged, and she heard him walk across the room and open the door of a cabinet. Then his steps returned. He seized her hand and put something in it, something smooth and hard and cold.

“You may open your eyes.”

“Oh! Oh, it is wonderful! Oh, it is Vani, look, the eyes are rubies. And the feet are silver, how clever! Is this Idian’s work?”

“No, Ghesen’s.”

“His skill is growing.”

“Yes, one day he will surpass his mother.”

“You are the kindest husband. I thank you. This will have pride of place in my collection.”

 “I am glad you like it. It is, of course, but a trinket.”

“A trinket…” She held the bird delicately between her hands and her face became grave. “Do you remember what he said, the ambassador? Sauron does not want your trinkets. What did he want, Hamûjil? What does he want from us? It worries me.”

“How can it still worry you, my love? It was, what, ten years ago? Eleven? We never heard from them again. Sauron has quite forgotten us by now.”

“You heard Pallando say that war is stirring in the West.”

“In the West, yes. And that is where it will stay. Alatar says the same; Sauron’s hatred is for Gondor. It grieves me for them, of course, but what can I do? Even if I had an army, what succour could I give them, two thousand miles from here? Nay, this war is but a rumbling of thunder in the distance, so do not fret.”

“I cannot help it. Sometimes I think Kûz is like one of my porcelain birds: beautiful, precious, wrought with great skill – but easily smashed by a single stroke of a hammer.”

“Oh, Majani, where do these gloomy thoughts come from? Kûz is surrounded by friends, our people prosper and our coffers overflow. Our children are thriving. You are beloved by all, and most of all by me. No hammer strike will fall, not on your birds and not on Kûz.”

He embraced her and kissed her brow.

“You are right,” she said and leaned against him. “It is silly of me, forgive me. And thank you again for the peacock. It is a thing of great loveliness.”

“As are you.”

They held each other, and one by one, the candles winked out.