The Splendour of Kûz

“Was the sister nice?”

“Oh, yeah, nice enough, but what good is that to me?”

It was the morning after their return from the Sacred Cave and Jarin and Sâlian, her friend and fellow lungi, were walking in the grounds of the Houses of the Powers. The fair weather continued with mild air moving gently under a porcelain-blue sky. Fallen leaves dotted the lawns, but the evergreens stood in their deep, glossy foliage, festooned with silver cobwebs. Jarin strode on.

“Anyway, it’s not important,” she said.

“But you are upset.”

“I’m not upset, Sâlian, I’m scared! I’m not allowed to tell you the whole story, but Kûz is in danger. Can you imagine what we would do if an army from Krâ came marching up the South Road?”

“The Krâ are attacking us? Are you sure?”

“I said if. But hush now.” They were drawing near to the great cedar. Jarin and Sâlian made the gesture of greeting and intended to walk on, but the Seer called out to them.

“Child of Margig!”

Jarin sighed. She wondered whether the old woman only ever learned people’s names once they had children.

“My name is Jarin,” she said, “as well you know. And I am also the child of Nazal, though she is gone. What is it you want to tell me?”

“The child of Margig and Nazal is feisty,” said the Seer with a crooked smile. “Beware, Jarin Dragonrider! Beware of the north wind!”

“Right.” Sâlian was trying to make her move on, but Jarin sat down on the ground beside the old woman instead. “Tell me then. What am I supposed to do about the north wind? I can hardly stop it from blowing.”

If the Seer was surprised by this direct assault, she didn’t show it. With a nod, she bid Sâlian to sit down, too.

“And anyway,” continued Jarin, “Shouldn’t it be the west wind you warn us of? The Krâ, and Sauron, it’s all in the West.”

“I know, child. That’s no secret. I wouldn’t be much of a Seer, would I, if I told you what everyone knows. But I wasn’t talking about Kûz. I was talking about you, Jarin Dragonrider. I feel an unease, a foreboding about you. One of these days, one days soon, I think, the north wind will take you, for ill or for good.”

“If it may be for ill or for good, what’s the use of your warning?”

The old woman shook her head. “Jarin, try to understand. Forebodings come to me, but they are not as words written on paper. I cannot tell you, do this or do that. But this I say: do not go blindly ahead. Keep your eyes open, your mind alert. Something lies ahead, and the more aware you are, the better it will be for you, and perhaps for us all.”

“When you speak like this, it makes so much more sense,” said Sâlian. “Why do you always scream Beware, Child of So-and-So and all that?”

“If I spoke in cool and measured tones, who would listen to me?”

“Well, I would!” cried Jarin. “And I thank you for your counsel. I promise to be on my guard. But tell me, if it pleases you, what did you mean by perhaps for us all? Surely my fate is of no great importance.”

“You are a lungi. You go where others can’t. You see places from up high. You converse with dragons.”

“Well, so do Sâlian and all the other lungi.”

“But you are the one of whom I have forebodings.”

Sâlian shook her head. “Seer, I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that I don’t feature in your hunches.”

“There is no need for either. You are a good woman who walks on a straight path. Jarin, though…she will be taken off-course. Who knows what may come of that?”

Jarin took the old woman’s hands and kissed them swiftly. “I guess we will see. Farewell now. Sâlian and I were on our way to the market, and we want to get there before all the best soapberries* are gone.”

-oOoOo-

Over at the palace, Hamûjil did what he could, which was little enough.

“If Sauron wanted our friendship, he would not send you here with threats and harsh words.”

The ambassador laughed. “Friendship, ha! The time for friendship is over. As I told you ten years ago, that offer will not be repeated. What Sauron demands now is allegiance and the tributes –”

“You also told me ten years ago that Sauron doesn’t want our trinkets. Has he changed his mind? We are a free people who acknowledge no sovereignty above our own, and we certainly do not pay tributes. If Sauron wants to purchase any of our goods, I will let my chamberlain draw up a list of prices.”

“You think Sauron will pay for your silly little mirrors and vases?” the ambassador said with a sneer. “You think Sauron the Great is going to buy embroidered silk hangings to deck his chambers?”

“No, I think Sauron has no use at all for the beautiful things the Kûzeen make and that this demand for tribute is nothing but a ploy to intimidate us. But we are not so easily cowed. And now you must leave. I banish you from the palace. Elsewhere in the city and the land of Kûz you may still travel unless I hear ill of you. Now go!”

“Now go,” repeated the ambassador in a mocking voice. “Are you not going to say By your leave and Pretty please anymore? Do you not have to ask your little mayors and guild masters for approval before you speak to me? You petty chieftain who plays at being king! What will you do if I refuse to leave?” And he planted his feet firmly on the ground.

Without a further word, Hamûjil rose and went out. The two guards stood beside the Peacock Throne like statues and did not so much as move their eyes while the ambassador ranted and raged. After a while, he fell silent, and after another while, he flounced out, slamming the door behind him. One of the guards sniggered.

-oOoOo-

Hamûjil made straight for his wife’s chambers. Majani was sitting with the little ones beside her, while Miriel was engaged in a game of chess with Alamûjil. The other ladies were employed with various handicrafts. The Seraphine took one look at her husband’s face, and on a sign from her, her ladies ushered the children out. Hamûjil sat down beside Majani and she put her arms around him.

“What did you say to him? Was he very disagreeable?”

“Majani…I am not sure you understand. This goes way beyond disagreeable.” Hamûjil tugged at the ends of his moustache, a sure sign that he was unnerved. “He said Sauron demands that we swear allegiance to him and recognize his dominion over all the lands of the East, including Kûz. He offered to allow me to continue as Archseraph if I were to agree to his terms.”

“And did you?”

“Of course not!”

“You were brave to stand up to him. But it was dangerous.”

“You think he would have slain me on my own throne? I doubt it. He is still just one man, however grim. You were wise not to permit his escort to enter the city.”

“Where is he now?”

“I do not know. I banished him from the palace, but he refused to leave, so I left instead.” He laughed bitterly. “A fine Archseraph I am! For all I know, he is sitting on my throne now, passing judgement on my people.”

Majani took his face between her hands. “No, I think you did the right thing. He sought confrontation, and you denied it to him. Mark my words, he will not know how to respond to that. You know, he frightens me, but I can also see this about him: that he acts like an angry child; and over such a one a superior mind like yours will prevail.” She smiled. “And as yet, we do not hear any trumpets proclaiming the Lord Sauron.”

“Do not jest, Majani. This might still come to pass.”

“What will you do now?”

“Wait for an hour, then see if he is gone.”

“No, I mean about…the wider situation.”

“The Council is called for the end of next week. There is not much I can do before then. The lungi who returned this morning say they saw no signs of a Krâ army moving. So at least we are safe for now. I think we should go on as we always do, and be seen in the streets and of course at the exhibition. The last thing we need is for our people to panic.”

“Agreed. I confess the exhibition is uppermost in my mind, war in the West or not. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No, Beloved. You have worked so long and so hard towards this. It will be a marvel to behold, a beacon of the splendour and goodness of Kûz.”

He kissed Majani, then he stood up and ambled over to the chess board. “Checkmate in three moves,” he mumbled. “Who is playing black?”

“Miriel.”

“Shame. I thought our son was uncommonly clever.”

“He is, but he is also seven years old.”

Shortly afterwards, an attendant came in.

“Archseraph, the ambassador has left the palace. He has taken his horse from the stables and was seen riding for the South Road. The captain of the guard wants to know if he should send men to follow him.”

“No, let him go, and good riddance.”

Majani grabbed his arm. “He will ride for Mordor and tell Sauron.”

“Yes, of course,” said Hamûjil. “But unless he learns to fly, it will be many weeks before he gets there. Whatever else, he will not be able to spoil your exhibition.”

-oOoOo-

“It seems a shame dragons are not permitted. I know Wan loves pretty things.”

“It’s not sensible,” said Sâlian. “How would they fit into the buildings? The Tree Women can’t go in either.”

“Well, it should be held outside then.”

“At this time of year? Look, it’s going to rain again in a minute, and we didn’t bring umbrellas. I hope we’ll get in soon.”

There was a long queue outside the museum in the fifth rung, stretching down the street as far as the Mayor’s Hall. Paper banners announced the exhibition from walls and railings. The Kûzeen had many virtues, but patience was not principal among them, and so as the first drops began to fall, there was much grumbling and a fair amount of pushing. The guards had some work to keep clear the main thoroughfare of the street, where a number of chariots were now approaching. The first held the Archseraph and the Seraphine, the second their eldest son in the care of a fine lady, and then followed many others with wardens and mayors, and with delegations of dwarves and elves. Not a single Ezen had come from Krâ.

The Seraphs ascended the stair together and turned at the entrance. There the Seraphine gave a short speech, though Jarin and Sâlian where too far away to catch more than a few scraps. Way of Light. Beauty of our hands and hearts. People prosper. Then the doors were flung open, the guests of honour entered with the Seraphs, and then, very slowly, the queue began to move.

Jarin and Sâlian were fairly drenched by the time they reached the entrance. They passed their sodden boots to an attendant in exchange for felt slippers and followed the crowd into the main hall of the museum.

“Oh, look!” cried Sâlian. All across the far wall hung a silk banner on which was painted a majestic dragon in hues of blue, red and purple. The two lungi went closer and saw how deftly each shimmering scale had been drawn.

“I think this is outlined in glowstone paint,” said Jarin. “It will look magnificent in the dark.”

“Do you propose to stay here till nightfall?”

“Maybe we could break in after dark.”

They giggled.

The Seraphine called it an art exhibition, and there were indeed many paintings and broidered hangings and fine porcelain figurines to be admired, though shrewdly she had also included displays of more practical crafts, and it was to these more than the delicate images of mountains and flowers that she steered the groups of dwarves and elves.

“These reed mats are very hard-wearing,” Jarin heard an artisan declare. “We are using a new weaving technique to make them virtually waterproof and they are good for keeping the cold out.”

“What do you think?” whispered one dwarf to another. “It’s always damp in the third hall.” His companion nodded thoughtfully.

A gaggle of elves was clustered around a table with glass mirrors. “One of these days,” said one, “we will find out how they make them. It is not proper that the Secondborn should surpass us in such a craft.”

“Good luck!” replied another. “I can easily see them guarding their secret for another three hundred years.”

“Well, let them,” said the first. “We can wait.”

Jarin and Sâlian proceeded upstairs, where four whole rooms were dedicated to the ceramic arts. Here, too, everyday earthenware was shown alongside the most graceful porcelain. Sâlian fancied a small blue jug with curved handles and wondered what it might cost.

“It’s an exhibition, not a shop,” said Jarin.

“I think the Seraphine means it to be both.”

“Well met, lungi!” They turned around. There stood a man robed in palest blue, with lush white curls cascading down his shoulders and mingling with his beard. He winked. The three embraced.

“Pallando! When did you return?”

“Just this morning. It was a long journey, and poor Mûn was exhausted. I quite fancied my bed, too, but when I heard of the Seraphine’s exhibition, well, I couldn’t miss that now, could I?”

“I am glad you’re here,” said Jarin. “We have some very worrying news, and we sorely need your counsel. The Archseraph and I have been to see the Guardian, and we – well, I’m sure he will tell you all about that. But, Pallando, I have seen the Unquenchable Light!”

“That’s good, my dear, very good. Well, I’m afraid my news is not delightful either, and the Archseraph must hear of it, and soon. But it can wait till tomorrow. Let’s not spoil this joyful occasion. Have you seen much yet? What do you like best?”

“Oh, the dragon! Have you seen it? Is it Mûn?”

“Yes, it is Mûn. I painted him some years back as a gift for the Seraphine. I am pleased she is showing him off to all now.”

“I didn’t know you could paint,” said Sâlian.

“My dear, I have been around for a long time. I have had a chance to try my hand at most crafts.”

“Artist, wizard, dragon rider…”  Jarin smiled. “I can see there is more to the Wanderer than I thought when I was a child.”

“There is,” he agreed. “But what about friend? I hope you did not leave that out on purpose?”

“Of course not!” Jarin slung her arm through his. “Come, I’ll show you some amazing vases.”

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*lychees