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Authors: Lee Duigon
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the biggest towns.
“We’ve heard the Temple’s gone—destroyed by fire, and the First Prester killed,” Loyk said. “How such a thing could happen, no one knows. The great city still stands, but how long can it last without the Temple? The heart of Obann has been cut out.
“We have no one now to lead us in our prayers. No prester will set foot outside a walled town. Nor can we farmers leave our lands. But we have heard, Gurun, that you lead prayers and know the Scriptures like a prester. Tim said that where you come from, there are no presters. You pray now for these Heathen men. Maybe you can pray for us.”
“In my country we all pray for ourselves,” Gurun said. “My father leads the prayers when our family prays together, but anyone can pray whenever he pleases. God hears everybody’s prayers.”
“She ain’t a Heathen, though,” Tim said. “That’s just how her people do things, not knowing any better. But their Scripture is the same as ours. Recite the Song for him, Gurun.”
Many of the islanders memorized verses as laid down in the true copies of the holy books, even if they didn’t understand the ancient language. They had the Sacred Songs exactly as King Ozias wrote them, centuries ago. Anyone who’d ever attended services at a chamber house would recognize Ozias’ Song of the Lion, as Gurun spoke it:
When I was alone in an uninhabited land,
The lion caught my scent and roared.
Behold, I had no hiding place,
Far from the forest where my mother raised me:
Nor could I return, for fear of my enemies.
I called upon my Lord, who heard my voice:
Who preserved me in the desert land;
Who made the lion to flee before my face.
My every hope is in my Lord, and my salvation.
That was as far as Gurun had learned the Song. The ancient language was difficult. But Loyk and his family listened reverently and bowed their heads over their table.
“The prester himself, in the chamber house in Trywath, couldn’t have spoken it better!” Loyk’s wife said.
“We will assemble tomorrow to decide whether you and your men can stay with us all winter,” Loyk said. “As for me, I think that would be a good thing, and I’ll say so. I have heard your recitation of the Song, and it is good.”
“What else can we do?” said one of the sons. “There’s no Temple anymore. There could be fighting here tomorrow. If these men will fight for us, we’ll need them.”
“You feed us, we fight,” Shingis said. He’d been fed roast chicken, and he liked it. “Our Queen Gurun, she will pray for you. Pray to the All-Father.”
Loyk shook his head and sighed. “These are evil times we’re living in. Some of us believe the harvest was so good this year because it was the very last one we’ll ever have. We shall need prayers as much as we’ll need fighting men—and maybe more.”
Gurun didn’t understand why so many people in Obann had a notion that the world was coming to an end, but at least now she would have a place to spend the winter. She wondered how these above-ground houses would stand up to the winter. It seemed foolhardy not to plant one’s dwelling deeply in the ground.
An inner voice reminded her, “Don’t forget what the filgya said. You are to go to Obann and see the king. You can’t sit here all winter.”
She wondered when the Blays would let her go.
CHAPTER 12
Into the East
The trail Helki was following ended at an abandoned barn, where it was erased by the scuff-marks of at least a hundred men. There was no telling whose those were, but Helki thought they must have been Griffs.
“Martis let those two men get away,” he said to Cavall, “and I guess they ran for help. Looks to me like this bunch must have grabbed Martis and the kids. But look here—their trail runs east. Funny they didn’t head back to Obann, where their army was.”
The hound looked up at him. Helki always talked to animals, probably more than he talked to people. It didn’t bother him that they
“We’ve heard the Temple’s gone—destroyed by fire, and the First Prester killed,” Loyk said. “How such a thing could happen, no one knows. The great city still stands, but how long can it last without the Temple? The heart of Obann has been cut out.
“We have no one now to lead us in our prayers. No prester will set foot outside a walled town. Nor can we farmers leave our lands. But we have heard, Gurun, that you lead prayers and know the Scriptures like a prester. Tim said that where you come from, there are no presters. You pray now for these Heathen men. Maybe you can pray for us.”
“In my country we all pray for ourselves,” Gurun said. “My father leads the prayers when our family prays together, but anyone can pray whenever he pleases. God hears everybody’s prayers.”
“She ain’t a Heathen, though,” Tim said. “That’s just how her people do things, not knowing any better. But their Scripture is the same as ours. Recite the Song for him, Gurun.”
Many of the islanders memorized verses as laid down in the true copies of the holy books, even if they didn’t understand the ancient language. They had the Sacred Songs exactly as King Ozias wrote them, centuries ago. Anyone who’d ever attended services at a chamber house would recognize Ozias’ Song of the Lion, as Gurun spoke it:
When I was alone in an uninhabited land,
The lion caught my scent and roared.
Behold, I had no hiding place,
Far from the forest where my mother raised me:
Nor could I return, for fear of my enemies.
I called upon my Lord, who heard my voice:
Who preserved me in the desert land;
Who made the lion to flee before my face.
My every hope is in my Lord, and my salvation.
That was as far as Gurun had learned the Song. The ancient language was difficult. But Loyk and his family listened reverently and bowed their heads over their table.
“The prester himself, in the chamber house in Trywath, couldn’t have spoken it better!” Loyk’s wife said.
“We will assemble tomorrow to decide whether you and your men can stay with us all winter,” Loyk said. “As for me, I think that would be a good thing, and I’ll say so. I have heard your recitation of the Song, and it is good.”
“What else can we do?” said one of the sons. “There’s no Temple anymore. There could be fighting here tomorrow. If these men will fight for us, we’ll need them.”
“You feed us, we fight,” Shingis said. He’d been fed roast chicken, and he liked it. “Our Queen Gurun, she will pray for you. Pray to the All-Father.”
Loyk shook his head and sighed. “These are evil times we’re living in. Some of us believe the harvest was so good this year because it was the very last one we’ll ever have. We shall need prayers as much as we’ll need fighting men—and maybe more.”
Gurun didn’t understand why so many people in Obann had a notion that the world was coming to an end, but at least now she would have a place to spend the winter. She wondered how these above-ground houses would stand up to the winter. It seemed foolhardy not to plant one’s dwelling deeply in the ground.
An inner voice reminded her, “Don’t forget what the filgya said. You are to go to Obann and see the king. You can’t sit here all winter.”
She wondered when the Blays would let her go.
CHAPTER 12
Into the East
The trail Helki was following ended at an abandoned barn, where it was erased by the scuff-marks of at least a hundred men. There was no telling whose those were, but Helki thought they must have been Griffs.
“Martis let those two men get away,” he said to Cavall, “and I guess they ran for help. Looks to me like this bunch must have grabbed Martis and the kids. But look here—their trail runs east. Funny they didn’t head back to Obann, where their army was.”
The hound looked up at him. Helki always talked to animals, probably more than he talked to people. It didn’t bother him that they
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