Chapter One: The Return of the Ship
Almitra the seeress stood on the hill without the city walls and looked seaward. Statuesque, her alabaster face turned gently to the breeze, her gaze fixed on the approaching ship on the horizon. For twelve years, she had prayed with every breath, waiting for his return.
She longed for the melody of his words, the song of his voice that sang as softly as the summer breeze dancing through the narrow winding streets and through the branches of the trees.
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation, she pondered. She had waited as patiently as the autumn leaf clinging to the branch, calmly awaiting the wind to blow it to down to the safety of the forest floor.
Her heart rose and sank with the tide, and her soul called out silently across the waves to the ship as it carved its way slowly through the heavy mist towards the shore. The days of her longing had been long and the nights without his voice punctuated the somber solitude that wrapped around her like a white virgin gown.
She would often recall the deep emptiness that had filled her soul that day on the seventh of Ielool in the month of reaping as he made his way from the vineyards and walked towards the city gates to the hillsides that rose outside the forest and dropped brusquely into the sea.
And now she was slowly making her way out of the confinement of her sanctuary, drifting over the moors towards him, softly uttering the very words her heart had concealed from him all those years he had remained amongst her people.
On her face, she was now wearing the same pale visage she had that same day twelve years past, and her lips now faintly murmured the same words she did then.
The vision of that solemn memory danced in her head, the vision of that distant day of parting, now so clearly unfolding like the petals of a rose gently opening to greet the morning dew.
The years had embraced her in their folds and the hands of time had carried her back to the same place near the cliff where she stood the day of parting.
Her spirit drifted between past and present and she spoke ancient words of rapture, their meaning hidden beneath a veil of beauty as deep as her eyes. Words that only she could decipher. Words that now betrayed her isolation. For until this moment, these words remained silent all these years, but now the promise of return brought them back to her lips and they sprang forth from somewhere beneath the beating of her heart and the silence of her thoughts. Now as then, she walked towards him as slowly as he had walked away from her that day.
Finally, she whispered above the wind. Had I told the sea what I felt for you, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me.
For it was Almitra who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city. It was she who had stood beyond the trees, at the edge of the city gates, and watched him from afar as he walked through the streets where the children danced in circles around him.
The menfolk, tilling their fields after the first harvest, came and walked at his side to listen to the wisdom of his speech.
On that day in Ielool, Almitra reached the hill where the menfolk had congregated around him. She hailed him and her voice rang out like the song of a thousand doves singing in quiet unison. The melody of unspoken love.
He looked upon her with exceeding tenderness as she addressed him.
O Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship. And now your ship has come, and you must needs go. Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you. Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
And with this promise, his words did not perish. The promise of retelling, the memory from father to son, and mother to daughter. His song was sung and he lived and continued to walk amongst them like a shadow, near and never far.
In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep. Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
These had been Almitra's words on that day long ago, when he turned to the congregation, eyes beaming like the noonday sun, and spoke on matters of the heart. He spoke of silent whispers that contained the wondrous secrets of life and forever sleep, of joy and sorrow, of knowledge and teaching, of work and prayer, and of believing and becoming.
Those words had remained imprinted on the hearts of his people. His voice remained a melody in the wind that danced through the trees and winded through the city streets, their spirit mixed with all that lived and was thus carved into the city walls and written upon the sands of time in the city forever.
And today he was returning. The ship that bore him away to the isle of his birth twelve long years past now brought him back to the island of those he loved. Today, the Chosen and the Beloved of Orphalese, who was a dawn unto his own day, was returning to the city of his people.
The elders stood at the city gates. They had grown greyer and Time had weathered their faces. Still as resolute, their bodies strong like temple columns beneath the roof of the sky.
Behind the elders, the farmers stood, steadfast and unwavering in the breeze that blew off the sea, washing upon them the salt of tears and time like the tide that crashes upon the aged face of the great rocks.
Behind them, the young men moved with vigor towards the city gates. With time, they had abandoned their playful running through the streets, shedding the innocence of boyhood. Now, they came to welcome the Chosen whom they had bid good-bye twelve years past when, as boys, they ran by his side to hear his tales, chasing him throughout the winding streets of the city.
Their sons flanked close behind them. They came near the cliff and stood still to look across the horizon. Like tall trees in a forest guarding the gate to the city of knowledge from the chasing hands of time.
Behind the men, the young maidens, in white gowns flowing in the wind, like lilies waving softly against the breeze moving over the hills, also came towards the sea. They played the harp and the flute and filled the morn with soft sounds that drifted upon the gentle breeze, over the waves, to greet the Beloved.
Twelve years past, they had been but like gentle buds kissing the morning dew. Now, in their age of becoming, they stood in the soft warmth of the early sun, a field of delicate flowers opening their petals. Young virgins with almonds eyes, hidden pearls, their hair flowing like a flock of goats from behind the mountainside.
Behind the maidens came the womenfolk, draped in long white robes, veils upon their hair. The hands of time had carved into their bronzed faces the remnants of the years and in their eyes, the stories of childhood and birth, agony and pain, joy and fortitude. They too waited, silently facing the sea, their breath rising over the cold mist washing upon them.
Their silent salutations were carried to the traveler on the distant ship that was nearing over the distant horizon towards them, towards the shore of Orphalese.
And from beyond the cliff that hung over the sea, the princess of Orphalese came towards Almitra, her daughters at her side, dancing around her like graceful swans.
Men, women and children were waiting, their gaze fixed upon the approaching ship. On its bow, through the brume, the outline of a single shadow against the morning sun.
From behind the crowd, a tall man in a long, white robe draped with a purple cloak, came forward and stood behind Almitra. In his right hand, a long, wooden staff with ancient carvings spoke of his renown in the city. He was the old priest. His beard and mane had turned white like the autumn clouds, his eyes gone blind and grey, his back slightly arched forward to reveal the weight of time, the longing that had weathered him.
The timbre of voice, when he finally spoke, like the whistle of the ancient wind when it blew against the hillside from the sea in the month of Tashreen, carried with it the ominous secrets of time and the souls that had departed.
O! Sons and Daughters of Orphalese. Long have you awaited the return of the Prophet of God and fain would your souls have flown through the skies yearning for the secret whisperings on the lips of Zephyrus weaving through the hyacinth whilst the rage of Appollon fell upon you like the hooves of a thousand stallions dashing through the air in a rage of love.
Your days were a haunting in his absence and painful and not without a care and your nights solemnly dark not without a want nor a grief, for long were the hours you have counted from the noonday sun to the midnight moon of his return.
You have, in your haste, let the waves of the sea separate you from his memory, and erst he walked amongst you as a spirit, and his shadow had been a light upon your faces, and much had you loved him but speechless was your love, and with veils it had remained veiled till now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you. And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."
The ship came meandered through the harbor to rest upon the shore. The large sails waving softly, like claps of distant thunder fading away.
The skeleton of the ship was etched against the canvas of daybreak on the shore of Orphalese.
The mariners on the ship parted to either side of the deck. From behind them, a tall shadow emerged upon the prow, against the golden rays of the sun now mounting on the break of day.
AlMustafa, the Chosen and Beloved of Ophalese, had returned.