Canto 5

“Do you understand now?” said Thaelon.

I nodded, replied “Indeed,” but hesitated to say more.

A low sigh and Thaelon shifted, leaning back against the rock behind him.

“And yet?” he prompted.

“And yet,” I said slowly, “Though much is answered, not all. What is Stol’rethas? That you did not explain. Were the other Mirkem brought under similar circumstances as Emindor? What is the name of this Master? Surely, he must have a name, or did the Mirkem fear to say it?”

“Nay,” Thaelon refuted, “No Mirkem feared living man, unless it were himself. The Master’s name was not spoken simply because he was The Master. If you must know, his given name was Maef Urentof.”

“Maef Urentof,” I murmured, “It is not Oraniell.”

“Nor any other language,” Thaelon rejoined, “But only by reorder can that be understood.”

“What?”

Thaelon waved a hand, “It is no matter, at least not now. To answer your other questions: Stol’rethas was the name of the great city wherein the great Arena stood. Your ancestors renamed it and forgot its first purpose,” a darkness shadowed his gaze and he seemed to peer into the past, “Nay, Stol’rethas was no great city in that which is truly great,” then he seemed to return, “As for the Mirkem, yes, some were brought in ways similar to Emindor, others joined of their freewill, still others were sold by foolish bets, and others methods. The selection of Mirkem was never so important as the survival.”

“What of the Mantles?” I asked, leaning forward, “How were the-”

“Peace!” Thaelon exclaimed, though softly. I was silenced, and he spoke:

The weight of his Mantle’s deceit
Burdened Emindor with the need
To counter-act such deeds of spite
And cruelty with deeds of right.
Yet none of his fellow Mirkem
Wished to speak of the world beyond.
Many had joined as last resort
To ‘scape the world and then forget.
Seldom allowed beyond the wall,
Emindor knew nothing at all
Of why they would desire to flee
From freedom into slavery.
Into the courtyard the next day
Emindor walked, thinking how may-
Be if he were to breach the fence
He might slip out and take the chance
To lend a hand in something good,
To help and heal where’er he could.
Within the shadow of the hall,
Beside the door, beneath the wall
Thaelon was sitting, cloaked in gray
With naught to do and naught to say.
His brooding silence, at this time,
Appealed to Emindor’s grim mind,
And he seated himself beside
The man who neither quit nor tried.
“My friend,” Emindor soft began,
“I beg your counsel, if I can.”
Thaelon just stirred and nod his head,
“Beg if you really must,” he said.
“I know that you, of all this crew
Understand what we really do,
And all its base futility
E’en as we trick ourselves to see
Our actions in the light of good
When we do what we never would
Were we beyond that wall and gate,”
Emindor gestured, “We would hate
Ourselves for what we are and do.
I do not love this life, nor you.
I know this, so I ask your aid.
Where might I find a way to trade
My little time for good action;
Begin to right the wrong I’ve done?”
Emindor sighed and looked away;
“I’m weary of this foul play.”
The silence echoed for a space
And sunlight beamed into that place,
The courtyard, till it smoked with gold,
As much heat as the sand could hold.
At last, “The kind of work you seek . . .
It is not clear. To help the weak
Or find another source of fame
In something that’s outside the game?”
Thaelon inquired, never did look
In Emindor’s face as he spoke.
“Because I know not what’s beyond,”
Emindor began slow, “I find
It hard to clearly state my dream,
Things may not be the way they seem
From here. I know the tales of old
And how the heroes – it is told –
Of ages past were selfless, brave
And feared neither pain nor the grave.
Their mission was for good of men.
I wish to be what they have been.”
“Emindor,” Thaelon said, “You are
A strange young man. Even stranger
That after all the vice you’ve seen
You still aspire to this dream.”
He sighed, “But you will not stay long
Holding this dream, for all the wrong
Will blast you, punish for your quest
And give you neither room nor rest
Until you have surrendered to
The Master’s will, as all men do.”
Emindor shook his head and spoke:
“I know that other men have broke
And better men than me, ‘tis true
And though I can’t know what I’d do,
I know this dream is more than life
To me. I will not yield. No knife
Nor whip, nor brand, nor agony
Can quench the living faith in me.”
Emindor’s eyes were lit with gold
And such a marvel to behold
Was the passion of thought for grace
Which beamed like sunlight from his face
It testified more than a shout,
And slew a bit of Thaelon’s doubt.
Standing, Thaelon gazed ‘cross the yard
Then looking at Emindor hard,
His eyes narrowed and their dark gaze
Searching the younger man’s bright face
At last he sighed and nodded slow
“A little time, I’ll let you know.”
Then walked away, left Emindor
With a drop more hope than before.
Emindor felt his heart elate,
“A little time? I’ve learned to wait.”