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Authors: Gary Alan Wassner
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stood on her toes and reached for a heavy volume, much worn with use and faded with time. As she carried it over to the polished, Noban table, Treestar turned to her.
“Shall we read it once more, my dear? Will a thousand readings unveil to us what we want so desperately to learn?” he asked, frustrated.
“I wish only to speak the words aloud. Sometimes what is hidden reveals itself more easily when spoken.”
She carefully laid the book upon the table and opened it to a page three quarters of the way through it. She respectfully spread the pages flat and then picked up a silver pointer that dangled from a ribbon on the side of the table. Using the tip to guide her eyes through the small print and intricate writing, she began to read:
“The darkness gathers on the shores of dreams,
Blood red flow the rivers and the streams,
Black pools of night smother the land,
Mighty boulders crumble into sand,
Wherefore art the gold and silver bands?
Behold, a man—
Behold, a man—
A child is born, yet disappears,
a tree is born and who will hear its lonely cry?
A fire bursts upon the sky,
The maids arise with open eyes,
And change the purpose of their lives,
and who will know the reason why?
And who will know the reason why?
The sleeping child shall awaken soon,
his senses shall all be attuned
to the other, whom he has yet to greet.
To the other, and should they ever meet
the Gem will burn with fire anew,
and the trees will pass, all but a few.
The trees will pass, all but a few.
The Chosen shall die in the darkness alone
bereft and far away from home,
the body turned to ash and bone.
A stepping stone?
A stepping stone.
This age will fade into the next,
Embracing time with its soft caress,
but will the races pass the test?
Or perish just like all the rest?
Or perish just like all the rest?”
“It seems so sad and hopeless,” she said after a slight pause.
“Yes, on the surface it certainly does. But so much in the ancient books sounds desperate when in fact it is not. Each episode of violence seems only to precede a period of hope.”
“There is so much being said herein. It could mean anything,” she noted, perplexed once again.
“It must be referring to Davmiran when it speaks of the boy ‘disappearing’.”
“Yes, and the ‘sleeping child’ can be none other than he. But what of the ‘passing of the trees’? Are they destined to die? What will the world be like without the Lalas?” she asked sadly.
“It does not say that they will all die. In fact, it mentions a new tree. If a new tree can be born, then there is still hope.”
“Do you think it is saying that all of the Chosen will die? Or, will it be a specific one? The word can be both singular and plural. It is so ambiguous.”
“As always, my dear. Did you expect the Tomes to be clear and spell it all out for us? We can but interpret what we read and hope that we do so correctly. I find it sad too, but in an odd manner I rejoice in the fact that there is an implicit challenge in the words,” he responded, his forehead creased from thought.
“How so, husband? What do you read that I fail to?”
“There is much to be wary of and there is much to cause one to be optimistic. If in fact this is all a ‘test’, then certainly we have an opportunity to pass it. And if we have even an opportunity, then we have cause to be hopeful. Each of the words has been chosen with great care and each is meaningful. It is no mistake that the word ‘test’ appears.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, rising up from the table and gazing once more out the window. “Although the choice of words appears to be sad, there are many that are pregnant with possibilities. You are so right, Treestar. I often lose sight of those in the face of the others. But, I should not.”
“No, Elsinestra. You should not. There is reference made to birth, to awakenings, to change and unprecedented situations. In its own way, I do find it
“Shall we read it once more, my dear? Will a thousand readings unveil to us what we want so desperately to learn?” he asked, frustrated.
“I wish only to speak the words aloud. Sometimes what is hidden reveals itself more easily when spoken.”
She carefully laid the book upon the table and opened it to a page three quarters of the way through it. She respectfully spread the pages flat and then picked up a silver pointer that dangled from a ribbon on the side of the table. Using the tip to guide her eyes through the small print and intricate writing, she began to read:
“The darkness gathers on the shores of dreams,
Blood red flow the rivers and the streams,
Black pools of night smother the land,
Mighty boulders crumble into sand,
Wherefore art the gold and silver bands?
Behold, a man—
Behold, a man—
A child is born, yet disappears,
a tree is born and who will hear its lonely cry?
A fire bursts upon the sky,
The maids arise with open eyes,
And change the purpose of their lives,
and who will know the reason why?
And who will know the reason why?
The sleeping child shall awaken soon,
his senses shall all be attuned
to the other, whom he has yet to greet.
To the other, and should they ever meet
the Gem will burn with fire anew,
and the trees will pass, all but a few.
The trees will pass, all but a few.
The Chosen shall die in the darkness alone
bereft and far away from home,
the body turned to ash and bone.
A stepping stone?
A stepping stone.
This age will fade into the next,
Embracing time with its soft caress,
but will the races pass the test?
Or perish just like all the rest?
Or perish just like all the rest?”
“It seems so sad and hopeless,” she said after a slight pause.
“Yes, on the surface it certainly does. But so much in the ancient books sounds desperate when in fact it is not. Each episode of violence seems only to precede a period of hope.”
“There is so much being said herein. It could mean anything,” she noted, perplexed once again.
“It must be referring to Davmiran when it speaks of the boy ‘disappearing’.”
“Yes, and the ‘sleeping child’ can be none other than he. But what of the ‘passing of the trees’? Are they destined to die? What will the world be like without the Lalas?” she asked sadly.
“It does not say that they will all die. In fact, it mentions a new tree. If a new tree can be born, then there is still hope.”
“Do you think it is saying that all of the Chosen will die? Or, will it be a specific one? The word can be both singular and plural. It is so ambiguous.”
“As always, my dear. Did you expect the Tomes to be clear and spell it all out for us? We can but interpret what we read and hope that we do so correctly. I find it sad too, but in an odd manner I rejoice in the fact that there is an implicit challenge in the words,” he responded, his forehead creased from thought.
“How so, husband? What do you read that I fail to?”
“There is much to be wary of and there is much to cause one to be optimistic. If in fact this is all a ‘test’, then certainly we have an opportunity to pass it. And if we have even an opportunity, then we have cause to be hopeful. Each of the words has been chosen with great care and each is meaningful. It is no mistake that the word ‘test’ appears.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, rising up from the table and gazing once more out the window. “Although the choice of words appears to be sad, there are many that are pregnant with possibilities. You are so right, Treestar. I often lose sight of those in the face of the others. But, I should not.”
“No, Elsinestra. You should not. There is reference made to birth, to awakenings, to change and unprecedented situations. In its own way, I do find it
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