The Gardener of Nahi

Chapter 18

Nahi

Another few days on horseback and my body is aching.  The sun is setting out at sea – a most beautiful sight.  From Nahi City, this can never be seen - the mountains obscure the setting sun.  But now that we've rounded the immense rock at the center of this island, things are entirely different.  Gone are the rising aspirations of the eastern coast.  We're on the other side now.  On the setting side.  On the declining side. 

Our backs are to the edge of the dense forest which we’ve just travelled through, ending here upon a rocky plateau high above a plain.  If I walk to the edge (something Akuli warns me against) I can see the Shule spread out below us.  It's larger than I thought, perched upon another great sandy cliff overlooking the sea.  There are many streets which enter it on precise angles, like a masterfully designed cobweb.  What lurks in the center, I wonder?

Akuli wants to wait a few more hours until the trading shops close and the streets thin out.  It’s as good of a plan as any and I took the time just now to peruse my heavy pack, throwing away anything which was not needed.  However while doing this, I stumbled upon something which I had meant to read days before now, but had forgotten.

There is a roll of parchment, flattened at the bottom of my gear.  Chaliani had given it to me when he had said his goodbyes, saying that it is the reason the intercessors hate me (or fear me at best), and only now have I just read the tattered page, placing it in my journal just so.

Honestly, I can appreciate their concern.  The man clothed in white - it is not a far stretch of the imagination to presume he is me.  After all, I am from the Father Sea.  I had been taken into the Palace as one of them.  And I seemingly have the mark of the gardener.

Without a doubt, I must ensure that the similarities end there.

The Book of the Intercessors, Dream 46

All of the women of the isle were standing on the beach that morning as the others adorned them with wreaths and strands of hilma, the buds as white as the finest pearls from the Mother Sea.  But as the women stood there their proud smiles faded and the revelers retreated up the sandy bank in fear, for something was not as it seemed.

     There, in front of onlooker’s very eyes, the women began to whither.

     Like plucked bulbs which have been left out of water for far too long, their faces began to sag against their skulls and their bodies started to hunch over in weakness.  Limbs began to fall to the sand as if they were petals, and the rest of them eventually collapsed to the ground, coiled up as if they were dried stems in the sun.

     Yet through all of this, their wreaths and strands grew brighter.

     The hilma flowers became a shining bright light, and all the revelers had to shield their faces from its power, as if it was the sun descended upon the beach that morning.  Nobody moved or uttered a word until a man clothed in white came forward and collected the shining flowers.  He walked from body to body upon the beach and pried them out the dried remains, shaking them free as he placed them around his neck.  Soon he was a shining sun himself and he turned to the others as a brave intercessor from the crowd addressed him.

     “Who are you, that you have such power?”

     “I am the gardener,” he said.

     “Do I know you?”

     “You have taken me in as one of yourself, yet I am not from here.”

     “You are from the Father Sea, then.”

     “Yes.  I have come to help you.”

     “But what have you done to our women?”

     He looked down then as if to gaze at their bodies, but by then they had become dust and the wind and the waves had taken them.  Looking up, he raised his arms and the people had to shield their eyes once again.

     “They are a sacrifice for what is yet to come.”

     “And what is to come?” asked the brave intercessor, his arm still bent in front of his face.

     “Whereas now you stumble blindly, soon your eyes will be opened.”

Darkness now.  The streets far below us are dead and silent.  The fires which lit the massive cobweb into a bejeweled spectacle before have now dwindled to the point that it does not resemble a cobweb at all, but a random map of burning stars. 

Akuli has informed us of our first destination.  It is an inn called "Hamm's Place," and it is very close to the edge.  Myria is looking sideways at me with concern, most likely wondering how far I will let Akuli take us on this twisted path.  But in all honesty, the only thing I wish for right now is a bed that is not made of pine needles or prairie grass, and “Hamm’s Place” seems to accomplish this goal for the time being.  Besides, apparently they have private rooms where I’ll be able to take off this stifling disguise – I am already sick of it.

There is a girl there who supposedly can get Akuli close to the man Utte.  He won't say anything else.

Quietly we rise.  We are leaving now.