The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Here in this valley where Kansi-a-lari had brought him, someone had wondered and dreamed about the vast cosmos and the workings of the heavens. Perhaps her son was the scholar, or perhaps it was the beautiful woman he had seen first in his vision at the palace of coils and then in a moment of shining glory before she was enveloped by the fiery daimones and transported by their wings up into the heavens. Possibly the clerical figures he had seen down by the tower were the scholars, but he could not trust them after they had tried to kill him. And anyway, why would they hide this scrap up here when they had been given a fine tower and hall below in which to write and contemplate in comfort?

No doubt he ought not to linger so long. He didn’t know what those people down there intended now, in the face of such absolute ruin. He tucked the scrap into the pot, yanked the goats away from their feasting, and found a neat, clearly-marked path leading up through a field of boulders. It took him over the ridgetop and into the arms of three skittish monks.

They spoke Wendish poorly, and although he knew enough Dariyan to quote the liturgy fluently and at length, he had a hard time understanding their babbling explanation of mountains catching fire and portents seen in the sky. He tried to dissuade them from exploring down the path into the valley, but he failed. Apparently they had not until this day known the valley existed although the monastic hostel which they tended had been built over fifty years before by a previous generation of brothers.

They pointed out the hostel to him. Because by this time it was afternoon, and he hadn’t eaten for three days, he made his way down a narrow path more suitable to the goats and onto a remarkably well-preserved old stone road that passed the monastery gates. The gatekeeper was either laconic or too stunned to speak after the events of the previous night. The man simply waved Zacharias through, and with some effort, because he was by now quite light-headed, he left his goats in the care of the flustered stablemaster and found his way to the hostel. There he gratefully collapsed while the brother guestmaster brought him a bowl of steaming hot pulse porridge topped by a pat of exquisite butter.

“These are strange times,” said the guestmaster when Zacharias had finished his meal and washed down the porridge with a cup of very bold wine. He spoke a number of languages well enough, Wendish among them.

“Are there other guests here today?”

“Nay, none have asked shelter of us today, Brother, although I heard that a man and a woman were seen on the road an hour after dawn. But I think poor Brother Cunradus is seeing things again, for he said they weren’t of human face though they were dressed in human clothing. The man was even armed, riding a warhorse, but he had a terrible hunched back, like a demon.”

“Ah,” said Zacharias carefully. “I’d hope not to meet such a pair, myself. Did they go south or north?”

“North, so he said. From where have you come, Brother?” He gestured, and his young assistant filled Zacharias’ cup.

“From the east.”

“Where did you lay up last night? Did you see the great fire along the mountains? Did you see the dragon.? As it says in the Revelation of St. Johanna, ‘Woe to all who stand beside earth and sea, for when the dragon comes, there may be but little time.’”

At once, Zacharias realized his dilemma. What was he to tell this man? Ought he to be honest, or prudent? Might they not bundle him up and send him south to stand trial before the skopos as an accessory to foul sorcery if they knew everything he had done, and thought? Yet no longer could he justify the hypocrisy of pretending to agree. “Do you believe that the dragon is only a portent of some great disaster?”

The guestmaster gave him an odd look. “Truly, what else could these visions mean?”

“Did you not see how it left the air near us by flying up into the heavens and then vanishing? Surely this is not a portent. Surely we merely saw a living creature not accustomed to the confines of Earth who somehow yesterday made its way down through the spheres because of the great disturbances in the heavens. There are gateways through the spheres through which corporeal creatures can travel—”

The guestmaster stood up so suddenly that his bench went flying over. “What manner of heresy is this? The church mothers teach that only our incorporeal souls can travel up and down the ladder of the spheres.”

“It isn’t so!” objected Zacharias. “They may have believed it was so, but they didn’t know everything. If the old wisdom is incomplete or even wrong, why shouldn’t we bury it with reverence and grant pride of place to what we discover to be true?”

in this valley where Kansi-a-lari had brought him, someone had wondered and dreamed about the vast cosmos and the workings of the heavens. Perhaps her son was the scholar, or perhaps it was the beautiful woman he had seen first in his vision at the palace of coils and then in a moment of shining glory before she was enveloped by the fiery daimones and transported by their wings up into the heavens. Possibly the clerical figures he had seen down by the tower were the scholars, but he could not trust them after they had tried to kill him. And anyway, why would they hide this scrap up here when they had been given a fine tower and hall below in which to write and contemplate in comfort?

No doubt he ought not to linger so long. He didn’t know what those people down there intended now, in the face of such absolute ruin. He tucked the scrap into the pot, yanked the goats away from their feasting, and found a neat, clearly-marked path leading up through a field of boulders. It took him over the ridgetop and into the arms of three skittish monks.

They spoke Wendish poorly, and although he knew enough Dariyan to quote the liturgy fluently and at length, he had a hard time understanding their babbling explanation of mountains catching fire and portents seen in the sky. He tried to dissuade them from exploring down the path into the valley, but he failed. Apparently they had not until this day known the valley existed although the monastic hostel which they tended had been built over fifty years before by a previous generation of brothers.

They pointed out the hostel to him. Because by this time it was afternoon, and he hadn’t eaten for three days, he made his way down a narrow path more suitable to the goats and onto a remarkably well-preserved old stone road that passed the monastery gates. The gatekeeper was either laconic or too stunned to speak after the events of the previous night. The man simply waved Zacharias through, and with some effort, because he was by now quite light-headed, he left his goats in the care of the flustered stablemaster and found his way to the hostel. There he gratefully collapsed while the brother guestmaster brought him a bowl of steaming hot pulse porridge topped by a pat of exquisite butter.

“These are strange times,” said the guestmaster when Zacharias had finished his meal and washed down the porridge with a cup of very bold wine. He spoke a number of languages well enough, Wendish among them.

“Are there other guests here today?”

“Nay, none have asked shelter of us today, Brother, although I heard that a man and a woman were seen on the road an hour after dawn. But I think poor Brother Cunradus is seeing things again, for he said they weren’t of human face though they were dressed in human clothing. The man was even armed, riding a warhorse, but he had a terrible hunched back, like a demon.”

“Ah,” said Zacharias carefully. “I’d hope not to meet such a pair, myself. Did they go south or north?”

“North, so he said. From where have you come, Brother?” He gestured, and his young assistant filled Zacharias’ cup.

“From the east.”

“Where did you lay up last night? Did you see the great fire along the mountains? Did you see the dragon.? As it says in the Revelation of St. Johanna, ‘Woe to all who stand beside earth and sea, for when the dragon comes, there may be but little time.’”

At once, Zacharias realized his dilemma. What was he to tell this man? Ought he to be honest, or prudent? Might they not bundle him up and send him south to stand trial before the skopos as an accessory to foul sorcery if they knew everything he had done, and thought? Yet no longer could he justify the hypocrisy of pretending to agree. “Do you believe that the dragon is only a portent of some great disaster?”

The guestmaster gave him an odd look. “Truly, what else could these visions mean?”

“Did you not see how it left the air near us by flying up into the heavens and then vanishing? Surely this is not a portent. Surely we merely saw a living creature not accustomed to the confines of Earth who somehow yesterday made its way down through the spheres because of the great disturbances in the heavens. There are gateways through the spheres through which corporeal creatures can travel—”