Going West

To the south of the city, perhaps half an hour’s walk from Margig’s house, lay a fallow field that was enclosed by woodland on three sides and by a stream on the fourth. They had chosen this out-of-the-way spot so that half Levare wouldn’t congregate around them and offer advice. A rare hoarfrost had lasted all day and the lacy white trees stood like elven jewels against the pink sky. Even prettier were the withered crowns of cow parsley and the seed heads of bitter dock, also in their icy garb. Jarin shielded her eyes against the sun that was languidly sinking in the West. Their shadows were so long that they nearly touched the edge of the field. Diri joked about feeling tall for once.

Pallando and Sâlian arrived by dragon, laden with boxes and an enormous scroll. The green-scaled Lu-yan faded as soon as her rider had dismounted, but Mûn stayed.

“This I have to see,” he said.

“It will be a while,” said Diri. “There is a lot of apparatus.” He looked at the boxes that had been put down in the snow and lifted the lid on the first. It contained a number of metal tubes. “We will set up today while it’s still light, though eventually we have to practice doing it in the dark.”

“Here’s Hamûjil,” said Jarin. Indeed, a figure was approaching from the far side of the field, carrying a box under his arm. The Archseraph was dressed in plain clothes with a scarf wrapped round his head. The only thing that might have still given him away to any onlooker was his magnificent moustache. He waved at the group and then jogged the remaining distance towards them.

“I am sorry to be late,” he said.

“We are only just starting,” Pallando replied. “And we cannot really test the device until it’s dark. You will be thoroughly chilled by then, Hamûjil. You should have stayed in your cosy palace a bit longer.”

“Nonsense,” said Hamûjil, “if you can all face the cold, then so can I. Majani made me put on mittens.” He held out his hands as proof and they laughed.

“Well, that won’t do for me and my able assistant,” said Diri as he and Jarin began to assemble the device with bare hands. The last rays of the sun glinted on the mirrors and lenses. They worked on in the twilight, steadily, just like they had practised before in the Tower of Knowledge. Soon it was dark. Sâlian lit a couple of lanterns that cast a pale golden light on the snow.

“So, if the screen is there, then you will have to stand about here, Archseraph,” said Diri and marked a patch on the ground with his boot. “You will be able to talk, and be heard if you talk loudly enough, but your image will be over there.”

“Will they not know where my voice comes from?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Have you ever tried to locate the source of a noise in the dark? You ask three people, they’ll point in three different directions.”

“Are you sure? It still seems risky.”

“Yes, it’s risky!” Diri sounded exasperated. “It’s a risky thing you are planning to do! All we can do is reduce the risk. Are you willing to face the remainder?”

There was a pause. Jarin and Sâlian and even Pallando looked uncomfortable at this outburst against the Archseraph. Mûn began to wander off. But Hamûjil nodded slowly.

“You are right, Diri,” he said. “I must take a risk. But don’t tell Majani.”

Their first attempt was as would be expected, slow, with stops and starts and a fair amount of confusion. The following day, things went slightly smoother, and after two more days Diri reckoned they were ready to practice setting up in the dark. They did this for a week. Hamûjil became more impatient by the day, calculating the miles that the Krâ host would cover while Diri and Jarin were fiddling with what still seemed like a magic trick to him. Pallando kept reminding him that a weeks’ march of a big host could be travelled by dragons in less than a day.

Eventually, Diri was satisfied that all would go according to plan. It would have been his preference to leave quietly, but Hamûjil declared that the people of Levare should have a share in the adventure. Their quest was therefore to begin with a torch-lit midnight procession from the Houses down the Avenue of Peach Trees to the palace.

They napped in the afternoon. At about ten o’clock, Jarin returned to her room from having farewelled her father. Margig had been offered a seat on a palace balcony overlooking the plaza; he would see her setting off, but would not have a chance to speak to her at that time.

Jarin washed, braided her hair and then checked her pack once again. Her food supplies – twice-baked bread (the last from the storeroom), goat cheese, apples, raisins, nuts – seemed inadequate for a trip that might last a fortnight or longer, but it should be possible to pick up more on the way. She sat down on her bed and stroked the pillow. Ever since her return from Kamenogi, her room had not seemed quite real to her. And now she was to leave it again, and it was not certain that she would come back. She tried to imagine what it would be like, standing in the dark with nothing but a bit of trickery between herself and twenty-five thousand hostile Krâ. Well, at least she would be with friends. And presumably the dragons would be able to bail them out if things went wrong.

At quarter to midnight, Sâlian came to pick her up. As they walked by the cedar tree, the Seer rose from her seat and without a word kissed them both on the forehead. They met up with the others by the bridge and each in turn summoned their dragon.

“You will go down in history, Jarin,” whispered Wan. She smiled and shook her head.

On the stroke of midnight, they crossed the bridge and began their procession down the avenue. A dozen torch bearers went in front, followed by Mûn with Pallando and Uilara on either side, also carrying torches. And then came the other dragons, each with their lungi and their passenger by their side: Vilajin and Alatar with the dragon Zhu, Sâlian and Diri with Lu-yan, and the dragon Yila with her lungi Marai and Warden Yun, who had indeed decided to join them. Only Jarin walked alone beside Wan, as the Archseraph was to meet them at the palace. Another dozen torchbearers brought up the rear. At a little distance, not really part of the procession but nevertheless essential, came a bini cart with their luggage.

The people of Levare did not disappoint. In their thousands they lined the street, holding lanterns, silk scarfs or winter flowers. On the banisters of the bridges, evergreen garlands and red and yellow ribbons showed the colours of the Seraphs. Lights and shadows flittered like birds across the pavement, the façades of the houses, people’s faces… Jarin walked half dazed, like one just awoking from a heavy dream. The glowstone cobbles shimmered under her feet. She clutched her torch tighter. In the Third Rung, people were singing the song of Kûz:

                        Our land, a jewel under the sapphire sky

                        Our Seraphs, our wise and noble guides

                        Our hearts, with the power to unify

                        Our future, realm where our hope abides

                        Our ships are ploughing the inland sea

                        Our hands are weaving the finest clothes

                        Our homes hold the harvest of field and tree

                        Our music summons the scent of the rose

Our fathers and mothers give love and care

Our children…

“This will be a night to remember,” said Wan. “Generations to come will speak of it.”

Jarin sighed. “You talk as if you’ve already decided that we’ll die.”

“You may. But I don’t think you will.”

“Yeah, that’s very encouraging, Wan.”

“No need to be sarcastic.”

She peered ahead to where Sâlian was walking with Diri and Lu-yan. Suddenly she wished she had dissuaded her friend from coming. Sâlian had parents who relied on her and a sweetheart whom she was to wed in the summer. What if she didn’t come back?

“Jarin?” Wan nudged her with his head. “Do not fret. Whatever happens, you will have five dragons standing by.”

“And what exactly could you do?”

“Get you away, of course.”

“And bring us back, failures. I hope it won’t come to that.”

The palace was in sight now with all its windows lit. But the procession moved slowly, and it was nearly another twenty minutes before they arrived at the plaza. The crowd cheered. Under Pallando’s direction, the five dragons spread out in a semi-circle facing the central balcony, where the Archseraph and the Seraphine now appeared with their attendants. Jarin was looking for Margig on the other balconies, but there were so many spectators there; she couldn’t make him out. Hamûjil stepped forward to the banister and raised his hands for silence.

“Citizens of Levare!” he began. “I thank you with all my heart that you have turned out tonight to show your support. The task that lies ahead of me and my companions is unlike any we have ever known. And yet it is a task that honours the New Way and the best traditions of Kûz. At a time when war is brewing in the West, we are not going to war. We are not setting out to fight the Krâ. We are setting out to call the Krâ back to the ways of peace. And this truly matters. The Guardian and the Wanderer agree that the war in the West can swing one way or another depending on whether or not this Krâ host arrives there. By doing what we are setting out to do, we are making our contribution for peace, not just for Kûz, but for all of Middle-earth. There is no guarantee that we will succeed. But I am confident that if all your good wishes accompany us, if my voice is not just my own but that of all Kûzeen, then the Krâ will listen to me.”

Cheers went up.

“But I will be honest with you. It is possible that we will fail, and it is possible that we will not all return. Should that come to pass, I trust that you will follow the Seraphine as you have followed me, until such a time that my eldest son is ready to take the Peacock Throne.”

There were a few cries of dismay in the crowd, but mostly downcast eyes and earnest nods. Long-indulged and complacent the Kûzeen might be, but they were not so naïve as to think that great deeds could be done without risk. Jarin looked at the ground. She had hoped that the risk had not been so clear to her father, but she realised that this was a foolish thing to expect. And what about Majani? Would she change her mind again, hearing these words from her husband’s mouth?

But Majani stood silently next to the Archseraph. Her ladies and the other dignitaries looked grave. Only Tilar came up from behind Hamûjil and whispered urgently in his ear. He shook his head and waved her away. Then the Seraphs and their entourage left the balcony and a while later emerged at the front of the palace. Hamûjil was now dressed for travel. He kissed Majani and each of his children and then came over to the dragons without looking back.

“Are you ready?” he said to Jarin.

“I am.”

There were no further cheers, but a solemn hush as the dragons cast off from the plaza, Mûn first. They circled twice over the palace and then headed out of the city along the river Leva. They had left many hours before sunrise because the days were so short and they intended for the dragons to follow the West Road until first light and then cut across the inland sea towards Baktu. Bonfires had been be lit every couple of miles along the road to guide the dragons.

Dragon rides in winter are a chilly affair, and though Jarin had wrapped up well, she was still glad for the warmth of Hamûjil behind her. The dragon’s body gave off no heat. Soon her fingers and toes began to feel numb. They had reached the first bonfire and could just make out the second in the distance. The third could be seen as a tiny speck of light by the time they passed the second. Jarin was glad this plan, which had been Uilara’s idea, was working out. Hamûjil had sent out the carts with firewood over the course of the last week; lungi had taken it to the furthest sections.

At daybreak they rested for an hour. The air was damp and still and the inland sea lay smooth under a thin veil of haze. To the south, the reed marsh stretched to the horizon, a patchwork of fawn-coloured islands and muddy pools. It stank of rot and mould.

“I’m not surprised nobody wants to live here,” muttered Diri. “Have you ever thought of draining this place?”

“No,” said Hamûjil. “The marshes are not part of Kûz, nor of Krâ, and it is a good thing neither country lays claim to them.”

“They’re the size of a whole country in themselves!”

“A country of treacherous ground and swamp-borne diseases. No, no, we are not so pressed for space. We harvest reeds along the eastern edge, and otherwise we leave well alone.”

“Well, at least you built the road.”

“Long, long ago. Our records do not say which Seraph had it built, and our records go back seven hundred years.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a Seraph, but the Hwenti? They used to be more spread out.”

“Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Pallando came over and suggested they get back in the air. Soon they were flying across the Sea of Calma in a north-western direction. In the later morning, the mists cleared and they could see the waters spread out beneath them like a sheet of wrinkled silk. A couple of hours later, Vilajin was the first to spot a cluster of dark specks ahead.

“What is that?”

They lost a little height to see better.

“Ships. Why so many?”

“It’s a fleet.”

 “They are sailing for Kûz!”

“They’ll attack us! We have to turn back!”

“Archseraph, what shall we do?”

The dragons were now flying side by side to allow the riders to speak to each other. Hamûjil hesitated. He had not expected the Krâ to go to war on two fronts and had made no plans for such a scenario. When he gave no reply, people started looking at Alatar.

“Guardian?”

“What shall we do, Guardian?”

Alatar closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, “We must go on. The reasons we had for setting off have not changed. We must not fail. We must go on.”

“But what of our people?” cried Sâlian. “Can we not warn them?”

“Yes, we should!”

“No, we must listen to the Guardian.”

“Listen to me,” rang out the voice on Mûn. “We must indeed go on, but not all of us. The Wanderer, Uilara and I will deal with this fleet while the rest of you go on.”

“How could one dragon stop a fleet?”

“How could five?”

“Mûn is right,” said Hamûjil. “One dragon has as much of a chance as five, and we must go on. Do you agree, Pallando?”

“Yes. You have Alatar with you, you don’t really need me as well. You go, and leave this new challenge to us.”

So after some hasty farewells between the members of the party and a precarious mid-air rearrangement of their luggage, the four dragons continued on their course while Mûn flew a wide circle around the fleet. There was no sign from the ships that they had been spotted. They were at this point just under halfway across the inland sea. Even with favourable winds, the fleet would not make landfall until the following afternoon.

“What shall we do?” asked Uilara. “Can we somehow distract them, send them round in circles or something?”

Pallando shook his head. “These ships are captained by experienced sailors, I’m sure. They know their course. Unfortunately, we don’t. Mûn, do you think they are making for Levare?”

“Give me a moment.”

The dragon continued his circles, looking down at the fleet and up at the sun.

“No,” he said eventually, “I think they are headed for Mil Nahara. It makes sense. In Mil Nahara, they can capture more ships and then go to Levare from there, perhaps to Najûn, too.”

“What use would more ships be to them; they’re not going to have more men.”

“Ah, true. But considering the direction of the wind, if they were going to Levare they would steer a more southerly course right now. I’m fairly sure they are going to Mil Nahara. If you want to invade a country, go for its major port first. And to get to Levare, they’d have to leave their ships and march nearly fifty miles upriver; I don’t think they’ll do that.”

“Why don’t we follow them until we can be sure?” said Uilara. “And in the meantime, we can think of what to do. Because surely whichever way they are going, we want to stop them!”

“Gallant words, my dear,” said Pallando. “But we must make up our minds soon, for we cannot fly through the night.”

So Mûn flew on in leisurely figures of eight, keeping the fleet just within sight ahead. It was by now after two o’clock and they had less than four hours of daylight left. The fleet maintained its eastward course and after another hour it seemed beyond doubt that their destination was indeed Mil Nahara.

“What do you want to do, Wanderer?” said Mûn.

“We will fly ahead at full speed and reach the eastern shore not long after nightfall. Then we can follow the lights of the villages. I have a plan now. Well, more of an idea, but it will be a plan by the time we get to Mil Nahara.”

“And what would that be?”

He told them.

“This is no solution, Wanderer,” said Uilara. “If it doesn’t work out, we will all be killed.”

“So what would you do instead? If we fight them, we will get killed anyway, and we would have abandoned the Way.”

“We could warn people so they could go into hiding.”

“Then they would get killed a little later,” said Mûn. “And the Krâ would move on to other places in Kûz. No, Pallando is right. This is our best chance.”

Uilara considered briefly the wisdom of arguing with two immortals, then she shrugged. “So be it.”