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‘It might seem like pride, sir. But I don’t think it really is. You see, after being forced to watch what Morjin did to Atara, no help for it and nothing I could do, nothing … after that, there wasn’t very much to be proud of, ever again. No, it is something else.’
Master Juwain’s Juwain’s eyes grew bright and sad as he finally understood. ‘No, Val – don’t do this.’
‘Earlier tonight, you made a test of things with your horoscopes. But there are other tests to be made.’
‘No, not this way.’
‘I must know, sir.’
Master Juwain pointed his gnarled finger at the letter and said, ‘I think this is an evil thing.’
I nodded my head to him. ‘But didn’t you once tell me that light would always defeat the darkness? Either one has faith in this or one does not, yes?’
Master Juwain sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head. He sighed, his troubled eyes on the letter. Then he turned toward my father and asked, ‘And what, King Shamesh, do you advise your son to do?’
My father’s eyes were like coals as he said simply, ‘Open the letter.’
‘And you, Queen Elianora?’ Master Juwain asked my mother.
Her concern for me hurt my heart as she said, ‘Burn it, please.’
Master Juwain asked everyone’s counsel. Nona joined my mother and Master Juwain in their desire to see the letter destroyed, while Asaru and Maram agreed with my father that it should be opened and read. And so Master Juwain looked at me and said, ‘You must decide, Val.’
I nodded my head, then moved my knife toward the letter.
‘Wait!’ Master Juwain called out. ‘If you don’t fear the poison of the Lord of Lies’ words, then at least consider that he might have written this letter with a poisoned ink. Do not touch it with your bare hands!’
Again, I nodded toward him. I laid down both the letter and the knife, then removed the riding gloves folded around my belt. I put these on. Then I picked up the knife again and used its sharp steel tip to break the seal of the letter.
‘Do you have enough light?’ my mother said to me. ‘Shall I bring you a candle?’
I shook my head as I drew out the sheets of paper and unfolded them. It was awkward working this way, with my fingers covered in slips of leather. But the gloves kept my sweat from the paper, and the ink from my flesh, even as the small, neat lettering of Morjin’s hand leaped like fire into my eyes:
My Dearest Valashu,
I trust this letter finds you in good health, which my friends in your little kingdom assure me has never been better. You will want to know that I have made what could be called a miraculous recovery from the wound to my neck that you must have hoped was mortal. The wound to my heart, however, remains more grievous. For you have taken from me that which is dearer than life itself.
‘Well?’ Maram called out from next to me. ‘What does it say? Read it out loud.’
I nodded my head and took another sip of brandy. I began reading again from the letter’s beginning, for Maram’s sake and everyone else’s. As I intoned the words that Morjin had set to paper, I had to fight to keep my voice from becoming his voice: smooth, suasive, seductive and strong. An image of Morjin as I had first seen him came into my mind: his fine, intelligent face that was radiant with an almost unearthly beauty; his hair like spun gold and his golden eyes. They were the eyes of an angel, and they seemed to know all things. They looked at me out of the black ink of his words as I continued to read:
I know that you keep the Cup of Heaven locked and guarded in your castle as in ancient times. It is a beautiful thing, is it not? The most beautiful in all the world. And so I know that you will see in its golden depths the most beautiful of all temptations: to believe that you are its master, the Lord of Light – the Maitreya. How could it be otherwise? For you, Valashu Elahad, who feels so keenly the suffering of others, must long quite terribly for the suffering to end. This is a noble impulse. But it is misguided, and for the sake of the world, and your own, I must try to make you understand why.
All beings yearn for one thing above all else: the light and love of the One. For this is our source and substance, and we long to return there. But this ecstasy of completion and deep peace is denied to us, and the proof of this is our suffering. Men suffer many things: dread of death and wounds and dashed dreams, but nothing so terrible as the desire that burns our beings to feel ourselves at one with our source. We suffer most of all because we do not understand why we must suffer: why the One, which is said to be all goodness itself, would wish all the agonies of the body and soul upon us. Have you not, Valashu, as you listened to the cries of the children being torn apart at Khaisham, as you cursed life itself, asked yourself the simple question, ‘Why?’
The answer, I must tell you, is as simple as it is terrible: because of the One’s nature, which is the nature of all things. Can you not yet see that good and evil are the two sides of the One’s face, and his two hands, right and left? In one hand he holds the golden gelstei and makes the cosmos and all its creatures from the substance of his own being; with the other he casts them from the light and torments them. He builds wallsof flesh around our souls to separate us from our source and from each other; he makes us rot with age, and crucifies us to the cross of life in the most hideous of anguish. He makes us to die. And so, at the end of all things, we must suffer the greatest ignominy: that of being erased. And then, forever, there is only nothingness and the darkness of night.
Who has not raged that the One should make things so? Do you think that I, Valashu, have not wept bitter tears like any other man? Have not known love and loss? To fear that the beautiful light that is my soul will simply die like a candle flame snuffed out by cold wind – do you think I haven’t, ten thousand times, shaken my fist at the heavens over the cruelty of such a fate? Should I not, then, hate the One and all the works of his hand? Shouldn’t we all?
Indeed, we should, for this too is the nature and design of the One. Hate, Valashu, is that singular force that separates. We are born as separate selves, and it is our right and duty to strengthen ourselves so that we might live our lives. But since life lives off life, whether beasts or men, we must strengthen ourselves against others, even as they would strengthen themselves against us. Hate gives us great courage in this war of all against all; it breathes fire into our will to become greater beings, and so to succeed in the quest for greater life itself. And so, like dragons, we might stride the earth in our power and pride, rather than cowering behind a rock and wailing at the injustice of life. And it is indeed cruel, as it must always be: for if you do not have the courage to become a predator, you must have the resignation to be prey. As night will follow day, the strong will devour the weak, on and on through all of eternity.
It is just this success that gives us joy. It is measured by the degree of our dominion over others. In many individuals seeking their advantage, the world gains its greatest advantage as the hidden hand of the One raises up the strongest and bestows upon them the only true wealth. Then the accumulation of the riches of power gained, if invested in our bodies and beings, leads to ever greater riches. Thus does a man, training at arms, become a knight; thus do knights go on to become lords and kings. And the greatest kings of men use the great gelstei to turn their sight to the heavens for new conquests, and so learn to walk the stars. Then comes the greatest conquest of all as mortal men strengthen the flame of life so that it cannot be blown out. And so are born the immortal Elijin, and the strongest of these angels gain the power of the quenchless Galadin: they who can not be harmed in any way.
And yet, still they do suffer: terribly, terribly, terribly. For our journey toward the ultimate becomes more, not less, painful at every step. Man is a very small vessel that contains only a small amount of life’s bitter poison; the great Galadin hold inside entire oceans. And as their suffering increases without measure, so must their means to bear it.
You know in your heart, Valashu, what this must be: that one’s own pain can only be ended by inflicting equal pain upon another. For the power of life and death over the weak is ultimately the power of life over death itself. Can you deny that this is so? Doesn’t the scream of another make you give thanks that you are healthy and whole? Doesn’t the flesh of animals quicken your own? Do you not feel, like a lion, exalted at the moment when you kill?
This is the secret of the valarda, the secret of life itself. The deepest part of the Law of the One is this: that there is an affinity of opposites. We hate most those we love most deeply. We love: terribly, terribly, terribly. In our love and longing for the One, we feel too keenly the longing of others. If we are not to be overwhelmed by it, what are we to do? Strike fire into their souls! Rend them with our claws! Devour their entrails and take joy in the agony of their eyes! Then they will cry out to be relieved of their suffering. But since it is our hand, the One acting through us, which creates this torment, it is to us they cry for relief. And so, for a moment, we are reminded of our divine nature and why we were created. We touch upon the One’s true purpose, and the One itself, and in that light of ecstasy, how should any suffering remain?
Do you not see the terrible beauty of the One’s design? As the One is infinite, so is the One’s pain – and so must be the means to end it. In the torment of innocents, infinite in number, the One realizes his invulnerability. And the tormented innocents, the strongest of them, raise themselves up as angels to grasp the divine light itself. And so the true magnificence of the One is revealed: for the One’s two faces are also love and hate. Our hate of the One for making us suffer leads, in the end, to love of the One for impelling us back to our source. And so the One uses evil to work the greatest possible good. And isn’t this, Valashu, true compassion?
I paused for a moment in reading Morjin’s letter. Because my mouth was dry, I took a drink of brandy. My hands were sweating inside their casings of slick leather. My eyes burned. The whoosh of Maram breathing heavily beside me merged with the other sounds of the room: the crackle of the fire, the rustle of paper, the grinding of my brother’s jaws. Asaru’s anger was no greater than mine. True compassion, Morjin had spoken of! But it was a twisted compassion. Another image of Morjin, the true image that he did not wish men to see, appeared in my mind: The once-lovely Elijin lord whose very body had rotted as if from the inside out. His ghoulish-gray flesh hung in folds from the sharp bones of his face. His gray hair, stringy and limp, grew in patches as if he had once suffered terrible burns. His eyes, his ancient eyes, were as cold and cruel as iron, rusted red and filled with blood. In them raged a terrible will to suck the life out of others. And they cried out with a terrible hunger. For he spent much of his vital force trying to maintain the illusion of his beauty in order to deceive men – and perhaps himself.
‘Read on!’ Maram called out beside me. ‘Let’s finish this, Val!’
I noticed my father studying my face, as my grandmother turned toward me and my mother watched me intently. Even Master Juwain, now caught in his curiosity to hear what Morjin had written next, nodded for me to continue. And so I read on:
The Maitreya is called the Compassionate One. He is said to be a healer of the world’s suffering and the anguish that all men know. If this be true, then how could you be he? You, who have killed and maimed so many and caused so much agony? Do you truly wish the ending of war and the forgiving of your foes? Then ask yourself this question, Valashu: if you were this Shining One who bears the light of the divine, would you hold out your healing hand to me?
The Maitreya, it is also said, will show man the world just as it is. For man, faced with the horror of existence, is liable to long for a world without evil that can never be. And to give up under the crushing burden of life and its torment of fire. And so the One, in mercy, in true compassion, sends into the world the Lightstone, all the One’s power, so that the Maitreya might seize it and show men the truth. And so the Maitreya eases their suffering, for all then know their place in the natural order and the path of returning to their source. But can you, Valashu, show the world this terrible truth? Can you bear to show it to yourself? No, we both know that you do not have the heart for this. And so you cannot be this Maitreya, either.
But if you aren’t he, who are you? You are a Valari of an ancient line of adventurers who are never Maitreyas. You are a warrior who professes to hate war. A murderer of men who justifies his crimes by castigating his foes as evil. A prince … of thieves. You are he who steals the light of truth from the world so that darkness will prevail. You are he who opposes the establishment of a natural order where the strong might rise without the waste of war. You are a Lord of Lies, for you tell yourself that you will somehow be redeemed from your dreadful deeds in your suffering of others’ pain.
You believe that you have experienced the most bitter of suffering, but I promise you that you have known only the barest twinge of its beginning. You think, too, that what I have done to you is evil. It is just the opposite. Consider this: would you have ever developed the strength to steal the Lightstone if I hadn’t opposed you at every step of your journey?What is evil? All that weakens and diminishes a man. What is good? All that strengthens him and drives him toward divinity. Can you deny that you – and the woman you think you love – are now both greater beings as a result of the torments that I have visited upon you? Lord Valashu, Knight Swan, Guardian of the Lightstone – can you deny that it is I who has made you?
And so you are in my debt. And doubly and triply so since you have wounded me and taken the Cup of Heaven. And yet, upon you I wish no vengeance. I must believe that you did what you did out of error and not malice. You are young and full of fanciful dreams, as I was once. Inside you there blazes a truly beautiful light. Who has seen this as I have, Valashu? Open your eyes, and you might see it yourself.
The debt must be repaid. One day, I hope, you will swear allegiance to me. You will serve me – in life or in death. The Lightstone, however, must be returned immediately. If it is, I shall reward you with a million-weight of gold and a kingdom of your own to rule. If it is not, I shall so reward any man who delivers the Lightstone into my hands. And the kingdom of Mesh shall be taken away from you, and you and your family destroyed. My ally, King Angand of Sunguru, stands ready to march by my side that the crime you have committed might be redressed. And the kings of Uskudar, Karabuk, Hesperu and Galda, who owe me allegiance, will march as well. And King Ulanu of Yarkona, whose acquaintance you have already made. Upon this sacred crusade, I pledge my kingdom, my honor and my life.
Faithfully, Morjin, King of Sakai and Lord of Ea
P.S. I have returned with this letter the personal belongings of Atara Ars Narmada. I can only hope that you, or she, might find some use for them. Of course, Atara might find it more useful if she were given new eyes with which to behold you. Return the Lightstone to me, and I shall make it so. It would give me great pleasure.
P.P.S. One day, if you live long enough, you will use the valarda to strike death into another – as you tried to strike it into me. And on that day, I shall be there by your side, smiling upon you as I would my own son.
My parents’ room was deathly quiet as I finished reading. My family and friends were all staring at me. Without a word, I crushed the pages of the letter inside my fist. I stood up and walked over to the far fireplace. There I cast the letter into the flames. It took only a moment for these writhing orange tendrils to begin blackening the white paper and consuming the letter. As I watched the pages curl into char, I thought of all the millions of books that Count Ulanu had burned at Khaisham. But Morjin’s words, I knew, would not be lost, for they were now burned into my brain.
‘The gloves, too, Valashu!’ Master Juwain called to me. ‘Cast them into the fire!’
I did as he advised, and then walked back to the carpet to rejoin those who would give me counsel.
‘Lies, such terrible lies,’ Master Juwain said.
‘Yes – and even more terrible truths,’ I said. ‘But which is which?’
‘How could you hope to sort the truth from the lies of the Lord of Lies?’
‘But I must. I must learn to. Everything depends upon it.’
Asaru refilled my glass and pressed it into my hand. He said, ‘Morjin feeds you poisoned meat and you still seek to take sustenance from it? You did the right thing burning it. Now forget about the letter.’
‘How can I? He said –’
‘He said many evil things. Predators and prey, indeed.’ He nodded at our father, and continued, ‘We Valari are taught to protect the weak, not eat them.’
I smiled at this, and so did everyone else. It was one of the rare moments when my serious brother made a joke. But too much had happened that night for us to sustain a mood of levity.
‘It may be,’ my father told me, ‘that the real purpose in Morjin’s writing this letter was to confuse you.’
‘Then it seems he has succeeded.’
My grandmother, who knew me very well, turned her cataract-clouded eyes toward me and said, ‘You are not as confused as he.’
‘Thank you for saying that, Nona. If only it were true.’
‘It is true!’ she said. Her back stiffened as she sat up very straight. I knew that if Morjin had managed to invade this very room, she would have thrown her frail, old body upon him to defend me. ‘This Red Dragon speaks of love and power. Well, he may know everything about the love of power. But he’ll never understand anything about the power of love.’
Her smile as she nodded at me warmed my heart.
‘There’s only one love that Morjin could be capable of,’ my mother added, looking at me. ‘And that is that he loves to hate. And how he hates you, my son!’
‘Even as I hate him.’
‘And such passion has always been your greatest vulnerability,’ she went on. Her soft, graceful face fell heavy with concern. ‘You’ve always loved others too ardently – and so you hate Morjin too fiercely. But your hatred for each other binds you together more surely than marriage vows.’
My mother’s soft, dark eyes melted into mine and then she said an astonishing thing: ‘Morjin uses hate to try to compel your love, Valashu. He hates all things but himself most of all. He wishes that you were the Maitreya so that you might heal him of this terrible hate.’
My confusion grew only deeper and murkier, like a mining pit filled with sediments and sludge. ‘But he has said that I cannot be the Maitreya!’
‘Yes, but this must be only another of his lies.’
Master Juwain nodded his head as he sighed out: ‘There’s a certain logic to his letter. It indicates that he believes becoming the Maitreya is open to superior beings who wield the Lightstone with power. Certainly he fears Val wielding it this way. It seems that he has written his whole letter toward the end of convincing Val that he cannot be the Maitreya.’
I touched Master Juwain’s arm and said, ‘But what if I cannot?’
‘No, Val, you mustn’t believe this. I’m afraid that the Lord of Lies is only trying to discourage you from your fate.’
As the candles burned lower, we talked far into the night. Each of us had our own fears and dreams, and so we each felt drawn by different conclusions as to what my fate might truly be. Asaru, I thought, was proud merely to see me become a lord at such a young age and would have been happy if my title remained only Guardian of the Lightstone. My father looked at me as if to ask whether I was one of those rare men who made their own fate. Nona, her voice reaching out like a gentle hand to shake me awake, asked me the most poignant of questions: ‘If you weren’t born to be the Maitreya, who were you born to be?’
It was Maram who made the keenest comment about Morjin and his letter. Although not as deep as my father, he was perhaps more cunning. And it seemed that his two slow glasses of brandy had done little to cloud his wits.
‘Ah, Val, my friend,’ he said to me as he lay his arm around my shoulders. The heavy bouquet of brandy fell over my face. ‘What if Morjin is playing a deep game? The “Lord of Lies”, he’s called – and so everyone expects him to manipulate others with lies. But what if, this one time, he’s telling you the truth?’
‘Do you think he is?’
‘Do I think he is? Does it matter what I think? Ah, well, we’re best friends, so I suppose it does. All right, then, what I think is that Morjin could use the truth as readily as a lie to poison your mind. Do you see what I mean? The truth denied acts as a lie.’
‘Go on,’ I said, looking at him.
‘All right – Morjin has said that you cannot be the Maitreya. Perhaps he knows that you could never accept such a truth, even if it is the truth, and so you’d think it must be a lie. And so you’d be tempted to believe just the opposite. Therefore, isn’t it possible that Morjin is trying to lead you into falsely believing that you’re the Maitreya?’
‘But why would he do that?’
‘Ah, well, that is simple. If you believe yourself to be the Maitreya – never mind the prophecies – you would neglect to find and protect the true Maitreya. And then Morjin might more easily murder him.’
What Maram had said disturbed me deeply. That he might have great insight into Morjin’s twisted mind disturbed me even more. It came to me then that I would never find the answers I sought in trying to parse Morjin’s words and motives – or anyone else’s. And so, at last, I drew my sword from its sheath. I held it pointing upwards, and sat looking at its mirrored surface. The Sword of Truth, men called it. In Alkaladur’s silver gelstei, I should have been able to perceive patterns and true purposes. But the light of the candles was too little, and I couldn’t even see myself – only the shadowed face of a troubled man.
‘Valashu,’ my grandmother called to me.
I looked away from the sword to see her smiling at me. Her desire to ease my torment was itself a torment that I could hardly bear.
‘Valashu,’ she said again, with great gentleness. ‘You must remember that it is one thing to take on the mantle of the Maitreya. But it is quite another being this man. You’ll always be just who you are. And that will be as it should.’
‘Thank you, Nona,’ I said, bowing my head to her.
My father had always looked to her for her wisdom, without shame, as he was looking at her now. And then he turned to me and said, ‘Nona is right. But soon enough, you will have to either claim this mantle or not. If you are the Maitreya and fail to take the Lightstone, then, as has been prophesied, as has happened before, a Bringer of Darkness will.’
My hands were sweating as I squeezed the black jade hilt of my sword. I felt trapped as if in a deep and lightless crevasse, with immense black boulders rolling down upon me from either end.
I looked at my father and said, ‘Morjin spoke of great consequences if the Lightstone is not returned to him. Do you think he could mount an invasion of Mesh?’
‘No, not in full force, not this month or even this summer. He would have to gather armies from one end of Ea to the other and then march them across the Wendrush, fighting five tribes of the Sarni along the way. We have time, Valashu. Not much, but we have time.’
‘Time to unite the Valari,’ I said. ‘Time even to journey to Tria and meet in conclave with the kings of the Free Kingdoms.’
Asaru shook his head at this. ‘Who but Aramesh ever united the Valari? Who ever could?’
My father’s bright eyes found mine as he said, ‘The Maitreya could.’
Because I could not bear to look at him just then, I stared at my two hands, right and left, wrapped around my sword. I said, ‘No one really knows, sir, what the Maitreya is.’
‘Many believe that he would be the greatest warlord the Valari has ever known.’
‘No one knows who he is,’ I said.
‘Many believe him to be you.’
A single flicker of light fell off from my sword like a shard of silver. It stabbed into my eyes; it pierced cold and clean straight down to my heart. There, it seemed, in the silence between its quick and violent beats, I heard someone whispering to me.
‘I must know,’ I suddenly called out. I slipped my sword back into its sheath and picked up the box that Morjin had sent to me. I bowed my head to my father and said, ‘Sir, may I be excused?’
Even as he nodded and gave his consent, I pushed myself to stand up.
‘It is very late,’ he said. ‘It seems we’ll accomplish little more tonight. But where are you going?’
‘To the scryers’ room,’ I said.
‘At this hour? Kasandra is an old woman, Val.’
