Black Jade

‘Well,’ Master Juwain said to Maram as we walked out into the valley, ‘what is our way?’

And Maram recited:

At gorge’s end, a wooded vale;

Its southern slopes show shell-strewn shale.

Toward setting sun the vale divides;

To left or right the seeker strides.

Recall the tale or go astray:

King Koru-Ki set sail this way.

Maram stood next to his horse licking his lips as he glanced to the left. He said, ‘Ah, who devised these rhymes, anyway? “Its southern slopes sow hell-strewn shale.” Now there’s a tongue-twister for you! I can hardly say it!’

‘But it’s not so hard!’ Daj said, laughing at him. Then quick as a twittering bird, he piped out perfectly:

Its southern slopes show shell-strewn shale.

Master Juwain beamed a smile at him and patted his head. And then he said to Maram, ‘The Rhymes aren’t supposed to be easy to say but to memorize – hence the rhythm and rhyme. The alliteration, too.’

‘Well, at least I did memorize it,’ Maram said. ‘Little good that it would do me if you weren’t here to interpret for us.’

The Way Rhymes, of course, might be meant to be easy to memorize, but they were designed so that only the Brotherhood’s adepts and masters might resolve them correctly. Thus did the Brotherhood guard its secrets.

‘Come, come,’ Master Juwain said to him. ‘These lines are as transparent as the air in front of your nose.’

Maram pointed at the turbulent water rushing past us and muttered, ‘You mean, as clear as river mud.’

‘What don’t you understand? Clearly, we’ve passed the Ass’s Ears and the Kul Kavaakurk, and have come out into this valley, as the verse tells. Look over there, at the rock! Surely that is shale, is it not?’

We all looked where he pointed, across the river at the nearly vertical slopes to the south of us. The rock there was dark, striated and crumbly, and certainly appeared to be shale.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Maram said to him. ‘You know your stones. But does it bear shells? Who would want to cross the river to find out?’

Kane coughed out a deep curse then, and mounted his horse. He drove the big bay out into the river, which looked to be swift enough to sweep a man away but not so huge a beast. In a few mighty surges, his horse crossed to the other bank and soaked the stone there with water running off his flanks. Kane then rode up through the trees a hundred yards before dismounting and making his way up the steep slope on foot. We saw him disappear behind a great oak as he approached a slab of shale.

‘He’s as mad as Koru-Ki himself,’ Maram said, watching for him. ‘He’d cross an ocean just to see what was on the other side.’

A few moments later, Kane returned as he had gone, bearing a huge smile on his face.

‘Well?’ Maram said. ‘Did you see any of these shells-in-shale?’

‘Many,’ Kane told him as his smile grew wider.

‘I don’t believe you – you’re lying!’

‘Go see for yourself,’ Kane said, pointing across the river.

‘Do you think I won’t?’ Maram eyed the swift water that cut through the valley and shook his head. ‘Ah, perhaps I won’t, after all. It’s enough that one of us risked his life proving out those silly lines. You did see shells, didn’t you? She sells? I mean, sea shells?’

‘I’ve told you that I did. What more do you want of me?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t have hurt to bring back one of these shelled rocks, would it?’

Kane laughed at this and produced a flat, thick piece of slate as long as his hand. He gave it to Maram. All of us gathered around as Maram stared at the grayish slate and fingered the little, stone-like shells embedded within it.

‘Impossible!’ Maram said. ‘I saw shells like these on the shore of the Great Northern Sea!’

‘But then how did they get into this rock?’ Daj asked him.

Kane stood silently staring at the rock as the rest of us examined it more closely. Not even Master Juwain had an answer for him.

‘Perhaps,’ Atara said, ‘there really was once a great flood that drowned the whole world, as the legends tell.’

Kane’s black eyes bored into the rock, and he seemed lost in endless layers of time. He finally said to us, ‘So, the earth is stranger than we know. Stranger than we can know. Who will ever plumb all her mysteries?’

‘Well,’ Maram said, hefting the rock and then tucking it into his saddlebag, ‘this is one mystery I’ll keep for myself, if you don’t mind. If I ever return home, I can show this as proof that I found sea shells at the top of a mountain!’

I smiled at this because it was not Maram who had found the rock, nor had it quite been taken from a mountain’s top. It cheered me to know, however, that he still contemplated a homecoming. And so he held inside at least some hope.

‘Your way homeward,’ Master Juwain said to him, ‘lies through this valley. Are we agreed that we must traverse it?’

‘Toward the setting sun,’ Maram said, pointing to the west. ‘But I can’t see if the valley truly divides there.’

I stood with my hand shielding my eyes as I peered up the valley. It seemed to come to an end upon a great wedge of a mountain rising up to the west. But it was a good thirty miles distant, and the folds and fissures of the mountains along the valley’s rim blocked a clear line of sight.

‘Then let us go on,’ Atara said, ‘and we shall see what we shall see.’

A faint smile played upon her lips, and it gladdened my heart to know that she could joke about her blindness. Then she mounted her horse and said, ‘Come, Fire!’ She guided her mare along the strip of grass that paralleled the river, and it gladdened me even more to see that her second sight had mysteriously returned to her.

And so we followed the river into the west. It was a day of sunshine and warm spring breezes. Wildflowers in sprays of purple and white blanketed the earth around us where the trees gave way to acres of grass. It seemed that we were all alone here in this quiet, beautiful place. Our spirits rose along with the terrain, not so high, perhaps, as the great peaks shining in the distance, but high enough to hope that we might have at least a day or two of surcease from battle and travail.

And so it came to be. We made camp that first night in the valley on some good, grassy ground above the river. While Kane, Maram and I worked at fortifying it, and Liljana, Estrella and Daj set to preparing our dinner, Atara went off into the woods to hunt. Fortune smiled upon her, for she returned scarcely an hour later with a young deer slung across her shoulders. That night we made feast on roasted venison, along with our rushk cakes and basketfuls of raspberries that Estrella found growing on bushes in the woods. Master Juwain chanted the Way Rhymes to Maram, and later Kane brought out the mandolet that he had inherited from Alphanderry. It was a rare thing for him to play for us, and lovely and strange, but that night he plucked the mandolet’s strings and sang out songs in a deep and beautiful voice. He seemed almost happy, and that made me happy, too. Songs of glory he sang for us, tales of triumph and the exaltation of all things at the end of time. He held inside a great sadness, as deep and turbulent as oceans, and this came out in a mournful shading to his melodies. But there, too, in some secret chamber of his heart, dwelled a fire that was hotter and brighter than anything that Angra Mainyu could ever hope to wield. As he sang, this ineffable flame seemed to push his words out into the valley where they rang like silver bells, and then up above the snow-capped mountains through clear, cold air straight toward the brilliant stars.

With the making of this immortal music, Flick burst forth out of the darkness above the mandolet’s vibrating strings. At first this strange being appeared as a silvery meshwork, impossibly fine-spun, with millions of clear tiny jewels like uncut diamonds sewn into it. Strands of fire streamed from these manifold points throughout the lattice, making the whole of his form sparkle with a lovely light. The longer that Kane played, the brighter this light became. I watched with a deep joy as the radiance summoned out of neverness many colors: scarlet and gold, forest green and sky blue – and a deep and shimmering glorre. And still Kane sang, and now the colors scintillated and swirled, then mingled, deepened and coalesced into the form and face of Alphanderry. And then our lost companion stood by the fire before us. His brown skin and curly black hair seemed almost real, as did his fine features and straight white teeth, revealed by his wide and impulsive smile. Even more real was his rich laughter, which recalled the immortal parts of him: his beauty, gladness of life and grace. Once before, in Tria, this Alphanderry, as messenger of the Galadin, had come into being in order to warn me of a great danger.

‘Ahura Alarama,’ I said, whispering Flick’s true name. And then, ‘Alphanderry.’

‘Valashu Elahad,’ he replied. ‘Val.’

Kane stopped singing then, and put aside his mandolet to stare in amazement at his old friend.

‘He speaks!’ Daj cried out. ‘Like he did in King Kiritan’s hall!’

The boy came forward, and with great daring reached out to touch Alphanderry. But his hand, with a shimmer of lights, passed through him.

Alphanderry laughed at this as he pointed at Daj and said, ‘He speaks. But I don’t remember seeing him in King Kiritan’s hall.’

So saying, he reached out to touch Daj, but his hand, too, passed through him as easily as mine would slice air. Then he laughed again as he turned toward Estrella. His eyes were kind and sad as he said, ‘But the girl still doesn’t speak, does she?’

Estrella, her eyes wide with wonder, spoke entire volumes of poetry in the delight that brightened her face.

‘But where did you come from?’ I asked Alphanderry. ‘And why are you here?’

‘Where did you come from, Val?’ he retorted. ‘And why are any of us here?’

I waited for him to answer what might be the essential question of life. But all he said to me was, ‘I am here to sing. And to play.’

And with that, he reached for the mandolet, but his fingers passed through it. It was as hard, I thought, for such a being to grasp a material thing as it was for a man to apprehend the realm of spirit.

‘So,’ Kane said, plucking the mandolet’s strings, ‘I will play for you, and you will sing.’

And so it was. We all sat around listening as Kane called forth sweet, ringing notes out of the mandolet and Alphanderry sang out a song so beautiful that it brought tears to our eyes. The words, however, poured forth in that musical language of the Galadin that even Master Juwain had difficulty understanding. And so when Alphanderry finally finished, he looked at Master Juwain and translated part of it, reciting:

The eagle lifts his questing eye

And wings his way toward sun and sky;

The whale dives deep the ocean’s gloam –

Always seeking, always home.

The world whirls round through day and night;

All things are touched with dark and light;

The dusk befalls on light’s decay;

The dying dark turns night to day.

The One breathes out, creates all things:

The blossoms, birds and star-struck kings;

With every breath all beings yearn

To sail the stars and home return.

The dazzling heights light deep desire;

Within the heart, a deeper fire.

The road toward heavens’ starry crown

Goes ever up but always down.

As Kane put down the mandolet, Alphanderry looked at Master Juwain and smiled.

‘Am I to understand,’ Master Juwain asked him, ‘that these words were intended for me?’

It was one of the glories of Alphanderry’s music that each person listening thought that he sang especially for him.

‘Let’s just say,’ Alphanderry told him, ‘that there might be a sentiment in this song that a master of the Brotherhood would do well to take to heart. Especially if that master guided his companions on a quest through the dark places in the world.’

‘Were you sent here to tell me this?’ Master Juwain asked him.

In answer, Alphanderry’s smile only widened.

‘Who sent you, then? Was it truly the Galadin?’

Now sadness touched Alphanderry’s face, along with the amusement and a deep mystery. And he said to Master Juwain, and to all of us, ‘I wish I could stay to answer your questions. To sing and laugh – and even to eat Liljana’s fine cooking again. Alas, I cannot.’

He looked skyward, where Icesse and Hyanne and the other glittering stars of the Mother’s Necklace had just passed the zenith. In that direction, I thought, lay Ninsun, the dwelling place of the Ieldra – and the light that streamed out of it in the glorre-filled rays of the Golden Band.

‘But if you could remain only a few moments longer,’ Master Juwain persisted, ‘you might tell me if –’

‘I can tell you only what I have,’ Alphanderry said with a brilliant smile. And then he added:

The road toward heavens’ starry crown

Goes ever up but always down.

He reached out to touch Master Juwain’s hand, but this impulsive act served only to brighten Master Juwain’s leathery skin, as with starlight. And then Alphanderry dissolved back into that brilliant whirl of lights we knew as Flick. Only his smile seemed to linger as Flick, in turn, vanished once again into neverness.

‘Ah, how I do miss our little friend,’ Maram said, staring at the dark air.

Kane, I saw, stared too, and his dark eyes wavered as if submerged in water.

‘But I wonder what he meant,’ Maram continued, turning to Master Juwain. ‘His verses are even more a puzzlement than your Way Rhymes.’

Master Juwain held his hands out to the hissing fire. His fingers curled as if grasping at its heat.

‘It is possible,’ he finally said, ‘that Alphanderry sang verses of the true Way Rhymes.’

‘The true Rhymes?’ Maram said.

‘Perhaps I should have said, “the deeper Rhymes”. The higher ones. Just as there are verses that tell the way to many places on Ea, there are those that describe man’s journey toward the One.’

He went on to explain that the path to becoming an Elijin, and so on toward the Galadin and Ieldra, was almost infinitely more difficult than merely finding the Brotherhood’s secret sanctuary.

‘Our order,’ Master Juwain explained, ‘has spent most of ten thousand years trying to learn and teach this way. But we have understood only little, and taught less. The Elijin surely know, the Galadin, too. But they do not speak to us.’

Everyone looked at Kane then. But he sat by the fire as cold and silent as stone.

‘At least,’ Master Juwain went on, ‘the angels do not speak to us, we of Ea. Surely on other worlds, they share with the Star People and the eternal Brotherhood the songs that I have called the true Way Rhymes.’

‘Why are they so favored, then?’ Maram asked, looking up at the sky.

‘It is not that they are favored,’ Master Juwain told him. ‘It is rather that we, of Ea, are not. You see, the true Way Rhymes are perilous to hear. Consider the lesser Rhymes I’ve taught you. If learned incorrectly or in the wrong order, they could lead one off the edge of a cliff. This is even more pertinent of the higher Rhymes that would guide a man on the journey to becoming an Elijin, or an Elijin to becoming a Galadin.’

The fear that flooded into Maram’s face recalled the fall of Angra Mainyu – and that of Morjin.

‘I notice that you say, “guide a man on this journey”,’ Liljana carped at Master Juwain. Her voice was as sharp as one of her cooking knives.

‘It was a figure of speech,’ Master Juwain told her. ‘Of course women must walk the same path as men.’

‘Oh, must we, then?’ Liljana’s soft face shone with the steel buried deep inside her. Then she added, ‘You mean, walk behind men.’

‘No, not at all,’ Master Juwain said. ‘You are to be by our sides.’

‘How gracious of you to accept our company!’

Master Juwain rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed out, ‘I meant only that our way lies onward, together.’

‘Oh, does it really?’

Liljana moved closer to Master Juwain and knelt by his side. She placed her thumb against the tips of her other fingers and held them cocked and pointing at him. From deep inside her throat issued a hissing sound remarkably like that of an adder. And then, quick as any viper, she struck out with a snap of her arm and wrist, touching her pointed fingers against the lower part of Master Juwain’s back.

‘Your way, I think,’ she said to him, ‘is that of the serpent.’

‘And your way is not?’

‘There are serpents and there are serpents,’ she told him. ‘Ours is of the great circle of life, and we name her Ouroboros.’

What followed then, as the fire burnt lower and the night darkened, was a long argument as to the different paths open to man – or to woman. Liljana spoke of the sacred life force that dwelled inside everyone, and of the arts that the Maitriche Telu had found to quicken and deepen it. Master Juwain’s main concern was of transcendence and the way back toward the stars. I did not pretend to follow all the turnings of their contentions and justifications, for there was much in what they said that was esoteric, legalistic and even petty. I understood that their dispute went back to the breaking of the Order of Sisters and Brothers of the Earth long ago in the Age of the Mother. And like siblings of the same family who had set out on different paths in life, they quarreled all the more fiercely for sharing a mutual language and deep knowledge of each other. Both spoke of the serpent as the embodiment of life’s essential fire. Both taught the opening of the body’s chakras: the wheels of light that whirled within every man, woman and child. But each put different names to these things and understood their purpose differently.

Master Juwain, noticing how closely Daj followed their argument, turned to him to explain: ‘We of the Brotherhood teach the way of the Kundala. At birth, it lies coiled up inside each of us. There is a Rhyme that tells of this:

Around the spine the serpent sleeps.

Within its heart a fire leaps.

The serpent wakes, remembers, yearns –

And up the spine, like fire, it burns.

And through the chakras, one by one,

Until it blazes like the sun,

And then bursts forth, a crown of light:

An angel soars the starry height.

‘This is man’s path,’ he said to Daj, ‘and it is a straight one, though difficult and perilous. Seven bodies we each possess, corresponding to each of the seven chakras along the spine, and they each in turn must awaken.’

At this Daj’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his slender hand as he patted his chest. He said, ‘How can we have more than one body?’

Master Juwain smiled at this and said, ‘We have only one physical body, it’s true. But we have as well the body of the passions, associated with the second chakra, which we call the svadhisthan, and the mental body as well.’

‘I never knew they were called “bodies”. It sounds strange.’

‘But you understand that a boy could never become a man until they are fully developed?’

In answer, Daj rolled his eyes as if Master Juwain had asked him the sum of two plus two.

Master Juwain, undeterred, went on: ‘I’m afraid that most men do not progress beyond these three bodies, nor do they ever develop them fully. The physical body, for instance, can be quickened so as to heal any wound, even regenerating a severed limb. It is potentially immortal.’

At this, we all looked at Kane. But he said nothing, and neither did we.

‘But what is the fourth body, then?’ Daj asked him.

‘That is our dream body, also called the astral. It is the bridge between matter and spirit, and it is awakened through the anahata, the heart chakra.’

So saying, Master Juwain reached over and laid his gnarly hand across Daj’s chest.

‘Then, higher still,’ he went on, ‘there is the etheric body, which forms the template for our physical one and our potential for perfection, and then the celestial. There lies our sixth sight, of the infinite. The highest body is the ketheric, associated with the sahastara chakra at the crown of the head.’

Here Master Juwain stroked Daj’s tousled hair and went on to say that each of the bodies emanated an aura of distinctive color: red from the first chakra, orange from the second and so on to the sixth chakra, which radiated a deep violet light. The highest chakra, when fully quickened, poured forth a fountain of pure white light.

At this, Daj exchanged smiles with Master Juwain and recited:

And through the chakras, one by one,

Until it blazes like the sun,

And then bursts forth, a crown of light:

An angel soars the starry height.

‘Yes, that is the way of it,’ Master Juwain said as his voice filled with excitement. ‘When we have fully awakened, every part of us, the Kundala streaks upward and joins us to the heavens like a lightning bolt. And then as angels we walk the stars.’

Liljana scowled at this as she eyed Master Juwain’s hand resting on top of Daj’s head. Then she huffed out, ‘The serpent does not so much break through as to light up our being from within. And then, when we have come fully alive, like our mother earth turning her face to the sun, we can draw down the fire of the stars.’

Here she sighed as she shot Master Juwain a scolding look and added, ‘And as you should know, the serpent’s name is Ouroboros.’

She went on to tell of this primeval imago, sacred to her order. Ouroboros, she said, dwelled inside each of us as a great serpent biting its own tail. This recalled the great circle of life, the way life lived off other life, killing and consuming, and yet continuing on through the ages, always quickening in its myriads of forms and growing ever stronger. Ouroboros, she told us, shed its skin a million times a million times, and was immortal.

‘There is in each of us,’ she said, ‘a sacred flame that cannot be put out. It is like a ring of fire, eternal for it is fed by the fires of both the heavens and the earth. And our way must be to bring this fire into every part of our beings, and so into others – and to everything. And so to awaken all things and bring them deeper into life.’

So far, Atara had said very little. But now she spoke, and her words streaked like arrows toward Master Juwain and Liljana, and were straight to the point: ‘Surely the spirit of Alphanderry’s song was that both your ways are important, and indeed, in the end, are one and the same.’

Kane smiled at this in an unnerving silence.

And Maram willfully ignored the essence of what Master Juwain and Liljana had to say, muttering, ‘Ah, I’ve never understood all of this damn snake symbolism. Snakes are deadly, are they not? And the great snakes – the dragons – are evil.’

Master Juwain took it upon himself to try to answer this objection. He rubbed the back of his bald pate as he said, ‘Snakes are deadly only because they have so much power in their coils, and therefore life. And the dragon we fought in Argattha was evil, as are all beings and things that Morjin and Angra Mainyu have corrupted. But the dragon itself? I should say it is pure fire. And fire might be used to torture innocents as well as to light the stars.’

I thought his answer a good one, but Maram said, ‘Well, I for one will never like those slippery, slithering beasts. Whether they be found in old verses and books, or in long grass beneath the unwary foot.’