Pilgrimage

A warm sun greeted the travelers as they left a dark wood behind them. Their cart happily bumped along the dirt path as the clicking of their horses’ hooves created a melody of movement. Ronem raised his hand above his eyes and looked into the sun. His other hand held tight the reins of the horses and steered the cart down the rough, dirt path. The old man Margrem sat next to him in silence and stared across the landscape. A rich grassland surrounded them. Deer, elk, and all manner of wildlife sprawled across the grasslands feasting, playing, and watching. Small patches of shrubs and trees dotted the grassland in every direction.
“Old man, it appears that the journey to Zareth is as beautiful as you said.”
“Did you doubt my memory, boy?” asked Margrem with a smile.
“Why would I doubt?” Ronem replied while keeping his eyes steadily trained on the path in front of him.
“Because you believe an old man’s mind and the memories which gallop through it are clouded by mists of emotion and sentiment.”
Ronem smiled. His strength may be failing, but his mind stands strong.
“If your memories of Zareth itself are true, then I will be reproved.”
“So be it.”
Ronem’s smile continued to grow until his gaze fixed upon a large wood far down the road. A frown escaped for a moment as he remembered it. Smothering heat. Defeat. A dark, gliding shadow that saved his life and made him fear for what remained. Margrem sensed a turn in Ronem’s demeanor and spoke.
“What has changed so stoic a man so quickly?”
“I thought I was only a boy, old man,” Ronem retorted with due sarcasm attempting to change the topic of discourse.
“For now, I give you the benefit of the doubt. For now, you ought to answer my question.”
“It is nothing.”
“Very welI,” Margrem said taking a deep breath. “I will allow such a lie to stand if you stop and help an old man into the back of the cart to rest.”
Ronem pulled backward on the horses’ reins and the cart found its way to a halt. Ronem slid off the front board of the cart and walked behind it. He reached into the back of the cart, shoved aside their bags of goods and supplies, and created a small bed of hay in which Margrem could rest. He arrived to the side of the old man as Margrem placed his hands firmly on the board upon which he sat and turned. He pushed himself off the board and slid. As the old man landed on his feat, Ronem reached out and supported him. As he did so, a nearby cry caught Ronem’s ear. He turned to the right; and as he did so, the old man raised his head. A doe limped out of a small patch of shrubs and fell. Arose and fell again. With a final effort, she found her feet again but was too late. A cougar lept out of the woods behind and caught its prey.
Once again, Ronem’s mind returned to the night in the woods. So easily, the shadow could have had me as the cougar has the doe. His teeth ground together at the thought as he brought the old man to the rear of the cart and helped him into the back. Using his arms, Margrem slowly lowered himself onto the cart, and after a moment, he lay in the back of the cart in silence.
Ronem glanced in the direction of the cougar’s kill. Both the beast and its fallen prey had disappeared.
“Sleep well, old man.”
Margrem smiled, “As always.”

The cart had twisted and turned through the winding, dirt path into another forest. Except for a few persistent rays of light, the bright beams of sunshine surrendered to the canopy of dark green. Ronem’s eyes flickered from left to right, watching every shadow that moved through the underbrush. The breaking of twigs caused him to sweat, and the bumping of the cart through the overgrown path made his hands strangle the reins of the two draft horses pulling the cart. A new sound floated into his ears; and for the first time since he entered the woods, Ronem smiled. Margrem’s snore periodically broke the natural noise of the wood.
His snore will be loud enough to scare the beasts of the forest away.
But even as he thought it, he remembered the shadow from the woods. And his thoughts turned dark once again; even so, he gently urged the horses onward through the forest. Though the cloak of the forest blotted out most of the sun, Ronem knew that night would arrive soon. And he had no desire to make camp in the forest.
Thoughts of the creature that had killed the fire-throwing man from the forest invaded Ronem’s mind and sent chills down his spine. His skin became cold. But by supreme effort of mind and control of his body, he pushed the fearful thoughts of the creature far from himself. He focused entirely on his goal: to transport Margrem to Zareth. Then his thoughts changed. Ronem began to think of Margrem’s love for the holy place.
Why love this place? He describes it as a place of worship--holy, beautiful, spiritual, enlightening… I’ve never seen such a place.
Margrem’s snore began to rise and broke: Margrem yawned and Ronem felt the old man open his eyes.
“The road is full of pits. They bid you return to the land of the living.”
“And I most graciously accept their invitation,” Margrem responded.
Ronem heard Margrem grunt deeply and knew that he was sliding himself up against the back of the cart.
“Margrem, why do you desire to return to Zareth?”
“Have we not spoken of this before?” Margrem asked with a yawn.
“Yes. But I do not understand the meaning of this place--the value it brings to you. You describe Zareth as if it is the paradise which is offered to the holy and righteous ones, but it is only a place. From others, I hear of broken, shattered stone and marble walls laying on a growth-forsaken hill. Inside the walls sit a beaten tabernacle constructed of stone and marble. The gold columns which supported the patio have been taken; the wall of silver separating the hall of worship from the inner chamber was destroyed by marauders. It is a ruin.”
“Yes, it is. Some despise the ways of the Ancient One. They see the rituals we partake in as foolish or inept. So, they take the gold and silver which were dedicated for the most important purpose and use it for their own. They destroy the building which symbolizes what we believe, but they do not destroy our belief. I choose to return to Zareth for the last time because it reminds me that despite the evil men do, it does not deter the Ancient One from continuing his purpose.”
Ronem hesitated and asked the question which demanded its release, “Why do you say, ‘For the last time?’”
Margrem let out a soft laugh.
“And you suggest that my mind is fanciful? An old man grows weary; even though my mind and soul would live another lifetime here, my body bids me to rest and wake in paradise. And I believe my passing will come sooner rather than later.”
At the conclusion of Margrem’s words, silence struck the two men, and the wood itself paused in honor of Margrem’s honest speech. After a few minutes of quiet, Ronem broke the silence.
“A dreary forest brings a dreary mood.”
“Do you suggest that my words only come from my mood?”
Ronem could not help but smile at the old man’s question.
“Perhaps. Do you really believe that the Ancient One rewards those of us who earn a new life?”
Ronem waited several moments for an answer. The old man inhaled as if he were about to speak, then he paused. Another minute passed before the old man’s words broke the silence of all but the rattling of the cart through the dirt path.
“No, I do not. I believe that he will give mercy to those who will accept. I believe he will elevate those who humble themselves before him. So says the ancient texts.”
“How is it that you believe in scrolls which disappeared years ago? If the Ancient One desires to be a parent to our people, then why does he not show himself? You told me of His miracles and power, yet I have seen none.”
“I cannot know His purposes unless He reveal it to me. Do you not believe?”
“I believe that He exists, but I do not understand His…”
Ronem’s breath caught in his chest. He had been so engaged in conversation that he failed to notice the ending of forest. As they emerged, Ronem’s eyes beheld a wonder. Before him stood a large, steep hill. Pieces of gray stone jutted out of the flowing green, grass. The dirt path continued to wind and weave its way through the beautiful expanse of green and grey until it reached the top of the hill. There it ended before a rising and falling wall of glowing white, cream, and black. The wall of Zareth seemed to change color as the fiery flame of the sun assaulted the walls and reflected hues of red, orange, and pink in the seemingly transparent marble stones. Then as quickly as it had come, the sight began to fade as the shadows of the earth swallowed the light of the sun.
“Boy, a moment ago, you said that you do not understand and you have not seen Him. What do you say now?”
Ronem urged the horses onward.
“I say we make our way up the hill and find a place to rest.”

The walls of Zareth did not seem so impressive from the inside out. The crumbling stature of the once great walls became apparent; the beauty which had been reflected from the walls by the sun was long gone. An entire portion of the wall lay scattered across the ground. Inside the walls, the occasional tent dotted the small expanse of dirt and grass; travelers sat around fires and roamed; children played, yelled in joy and ran where they pleased. In the center of the broken walls sat a building. The temple of Zareth. The walls of the temple were constructed of marble though not as the outer walls; instead of whites and grays, the temple burst all manner of colors. The beauty of the building has lost its former breath; the once bright stones have been dulled by the beating of the wind. Scattered pieces of marble lay in front of it. Part of the collapsed ceiling. Must have occurred when the golden pillars were taken.
“Old man, where do you want to stay?”
“Pull as close to the temple as you can; I will sleep in the cart.”
“Very well, do you--”, Ronem’s words were cut short by the shouting of a short, plump man carrying a wooden tray with small statues on it.
“My friends, welcome! Do you desire a blessing from one of the gods?”
“No, we…”, once again, Ronem’s words were cut short.
“Very well, you have arrived in the right place. All of these represent one of attributes of the great Ancient One! Praise His name! Since you have come at the time of The Gathering, the prices of these valuables has lowered. Now, do you prefer a symbol of His faithfulness, His power, or perhaps the pleasures that come with serving--” This time the plump man was interrupted.
Leaning over the side of the cart, Margrem smacked the tray with Ronem’s staff. The merchant’s eyes grew wide as his precious commodities and livelihood clattered into the ground.
“Sir,” spoke Margrem, “we have no desire to fill your pockets when we have these promises from the Sacred Texts. Go patronize someone else.”
Ronem yanked the reins of the horses and it pulled forward. The curses and ramblings of the merchant could be heard as they pulled forward.
“I see that you have not completely lost your fire,” said Ronem with traces of a smile lining his face.
“No. I grow weary of such things.”
“Why?”
“Have you learned nothing from me, boy? The Ancient One requires belief and obedience, not coin.”
“Yes, you also taught me that the Ancient One teaches us to love. I do not believe that what you did was in love.”
“Love and tolerance for false promises are not the same. And he sells only that; false promises which lead to nothing.”
“Perhaps. Could those not also be a symbol of a greater hope?”
Margrem snorted and laughed, “Boy, at least I have taught you how to fight...with weapons as well as wit. Do you think I ought to apologize?”
Ronem thought for a moment and then spoke, “If I remember correctly, you spoke earlier of humility and the honor He bestows on the humble.”
“Very well. When I see him next, I will apologize.”
“You confuse me, old man. In one moment, you refuse to be moved; in the next moment, you recant.”
“No, I do not recant what I believe. I recant of an action. An incorrect action performed for the right reasons misses the mark to which we are called.”
“Very well. I have found a spot for us to sleep.”
As they pulled off the dirt road and into the trodden grass, the fullness of the night surrounded them. Margrem settled himself comfortably in the cart. Ronem removed his outer robe, rolled it into a bundle, and threw it on the ground. After grasping his blanket, he lay back and stared at the stars. If anything speaks of His hands at work, it must be lights of the night sky. As Ronem’s thoughts resided in the cosmos, one specific star caught his attention. It seemed to pulse and beat in a rhythm. Then in a brief second, it grew brighter than any of its other siblings. Then nothing. It disappeared. Ronem frowned. Even so, it ends. Ronem exhaled the thought from his mind, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. His thoughts gave way to a peaceful rest and the rising and falling rhythm of breath.

Besides a few campfires inside the walls of Zerath, darkness abounded across the landscape. Wolves howled in the distance. Nothing could be seen except a small form of white moving through the landscape toward the entrance of Zerath. A form of darkness to follow her which is why she ran.
She ran. As fast as she could. With every ounce of strength. For life itself, she ran. She could hear the high-pitched cry of the creature behind her, closing ever so slowly. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. All her youthful might flowed into her small legs as she ran. Daddy! Daddy! I am sorry. As these thoughts flooded her mind as a small rut in the ground caught her foot. She landed face first into the ground. She rose and fell again. She turned, and her face froze in terror. Black eyes. Black eyes! And the monster’s mouth moved and words as deep and gutteral as the roar of a lion flowed from its grotesque face.
“I am sand-man.”
Its hand reached toward her face, and with the last mite of strength she could, she screamed! She shut her eyes tightly, pretending that it was all just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream!
Two hands grabbed her shoulder. Keeping her eyes closed, she struck them as hard as her small hands could. She writhed and twisted against the unbreakable strength in those arms. Words continued.
“Do not be afraid. I am here.”
She continued to struggle, but she struggled vainly. She felt the arms bringing her closer to itself. Finally, she heard it. The voice is different. With supreme courage, she opened her eyes. The arms were not the arms of a monster. The face was not the face of a demon. The strength was not a violating strength but a protective strength.
“I am here, child. Your father is here.”
“Daddy! Forgive me. I will always stay with you; I will never wander away. I promise!”
“Ok. Daddy is here. Everything will be alright. I promise you! I pro--”
“Sand-man was here! Don’t let him take me away.” Her screams and pleading voice gave way to a fountain of tears. Tears of a child caught alone in the dark by an embodiment of darkness itself.
“Nothing will hurt you while I am here, love.” Her father cradled her in his arms. He took a deep look into the darkness around him, and he spoke. He spoke not only to his daughter, but also to the darkness itself. “Nothing.” The man turned and carried his weeping daughter toward the walls of Zareth. As he walked, he said a silent prayer. Father above, help me to keep this promise. And if I am not strong enough, then send someone to protect her. Hold her in Your strong arms. The tone of her father’s prayer grew deeper. You must be her Guardian. If you are who the Sacred Texts say, then you will. And as it is written, let it be done. As he finished his prayer, he felt no change. His daughter still cried softly in his arms. Sweat still clung to his skin, and darkness still surrounded them both.

Ronem woke before the rising of the sun as was his habit. Before he had been adopted by Margrem, he had begged on the streets. As a young beggar, he had acquired money by annoying the merchants who set up their carts of merchandise early in the money. A few of them allowed him to help them, and the boy worked for some of the coin he earned. And he stole some of it when he could. Some of these memories entered Ronem’s mind as he remembered waking as a young boy in the darkness. Some habits never die.
Ronem arose and walked. Everyone slept, everyone except for a man and a small girl. Sitting next to a crackling fire, a man cradled the little girl. The man looked to be nearer to forty years of age rather than thirty. He had an ragged, short beard and short, brown hair. His eyes stared into the fire. As he sat, he rocked the little girl back and forth. The little girl looked to be almost ten years of age; her long, dark hair flowed out of her fathers arms and fell to the ground. Without thinking, Ronem started walking toward them; an urge to speak with them propelled him forward. As he approached, the fire gave a clear picture of their faces. The man looked worn: Dark rings had formed around his eyes. One side of the little girl’s face lay against her father’s chest; the other side showed trails of tears, and the eye that Ronem could see was slightly swollen.
She was crying. As Ronem recognized the signs of dreariness on the man’s face, the bearded face shot upward. His eyes were wide open. The sudden movement had threaded its way throughout the man’s body, and woke the little girl. She arose with a start, and peered quickly around. At the sight of Ronem, she clung more tightly the man’s strong body.
Ronem raised his arms with his palms pointed outward, “I apologize. I did not intend to frighten you or your daughter. I saw that others were awake, and--”
“You did not frighten me.” The man looked into Ronem’s eyes. But he is frightened. “You may sit.”
Ronem nodded, sat down on the opposite side of the fire and crossed his legs in order to become comfortable.
“It appears that you have not slept tonight.”
“Very little.”
“I see the tear streaks on your daughter’s cheek,” Ronem said as he motioned toward his daughter. She brought her face more firmly against her father’s chest and wiped the side that Ronem could see.
“Yes, she was.”
“Why?”
“Why do you need to know?” the man retorted defensively.
“I do not need anything. I ask because you...you and your daughter are troubled.”
“Can you change what has already happened?”
“No, I cannot.”
“Then how can you help?”
Ronem began to rise. As he did so, the little girl spoke.
“Daddy, he is trying to help.” As the words came out of his daughter’s mouth, the man frowned and closed his eyes. He motioned Ronem to remain seated.
“I apologize to you. My mind is filled with anxiety.”
Ronem nodded.
Seeing Ronem’s acknowledgement, the man continued.
“Something attacked my daughter, and it--”
“No! No more sand-man.”
“It will be fine, love. As you said, this kind man is here to help us.” As he spoke, he caressed his daughter’s hair, and she began to breath more deeply. She began to fall asleep. And Ronem waited knowing that the man would continue his explanation.
“I do not know what it was, but it called itself ‘sand-man’. I do not even know what it is.” The man’s speech became more broken. “I did not even see what hunted my own daughter. She said that I held her only seconds after the monster had caught her.” Ronem could see the man’s features tighten and his voice grew deeper. “But I saw...nothing.”
“A child’s mind can become confused when she is threatened.”
“It can.”
Ronem could see that the man felt guilty for the incident.
“I do not think you are a man who would be careless with his own child’s life. Did she wander off on her own?”
“Yes. When we entered Zareth this morning, my daughter saw the wild lilies scattered across throughout this grassy hill. So, we walked outside the walls this afternoon, and she picked them.” The father smiled. “If only I could have captured that moment… One of the flowers in particular had captured her attention. We both noticed that it was larger than the other lilies. So, she picked it for herself, and I helped her put it in her hair. Dusk began to fall, and we walked back into these walls. It was only after we had entered that we realized her flower had fallen during our return…”
“...and she went out to find it.”
A few tears began to flow from the man’s eyes.
“Yes. I found her screaming in the grass near the wall. When I grabbed her, she struck out at me. She told me later that she had thought I was the monster and that it had been where I stood seconds before.”
The grass softly crunched behind Ronem. The bearded man look up, and Ronem turned. Margrem stood behind him on a pair of worn, wooden crutches. Once again, the sudden movement, awoke the little girl. She rubbed some sleep from her eyes and fixed her gaze on Margrem.The little girl tilted her head inquisitively and asked Margrem the first question that popped into her head.
“What is wrong with your legs?”
Margrem smiled warmly and replied.
“Many years ago, they began to grow weak. In truth, I do not know why they are weak. But we all must live with the difficulties before us.”
At these words the little girl frowned.
“And we can always endure these difficulties with friends. May I be your friend, little one?” The little girl looked into her father’s eyes. He then looked into Margrem’s eyes measuring the old man as he had done with Ronem. His eyes then returned to his daughter.
“Lillana, do you think this kind and wise old man should be our friend?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Margrem carefully lowered himself to his knees. Little one, will you take this crutch for me?”
Lillana nodded and handled Margrem’s third leg with great care.
“Thank you, Lillana. You are kind as well.”
And in that moment, Ronem saw three beautiful sights. A little girl’s smile. A gleam of joy returning to her father’s eye. And the sun cutting through the morning sky.

The day found Lillana and her father (whose name Ronem later found was Jarith) in better spirits. In truth, Ronem knew that the joy in the little girls eyes came more from Margrem’s fantastical stories than anything else: he told Lillana stories of love and kindness and honor. Margrem’s brilliant narration caused the little girl to gasp with worry, clap her hands with joy, and express almost the entire spectrum of emotion.
Ronem watched the old man as he held captive her attention. This old man has more life in him than anyone I know and probably ever will know. He inspires everyone he meets...even me. I wish I knew how he lives in this way--fully, happily and without reservation. Ronem’s thoughts were interrupted by Jarith’s words.
“I have never seen anyone hold her attention as he does. He seems to cast a spell over my daughter, and it is a spell which brings her much joy. It brings me much joy.”
Ronem’s eyes once again focused on the odd pair sitting in the grass a short distance away. Lillana sat on the grass and leaned forward onto her elbows as she listened to Margrem’s words. Meanwhile, the old man motioned wildly, and his tone rose and drowned in the ocean of his being.
“Yes, he has a rare spirit.”
“Indeed, you are lucky to have such a father.”
“In truth...he is not really my father, but I have no one else to call father. But I think your daughter is lucky to have you as her father.”
At these words, Jarith hung his head.
“I should have seen the creature.”
“Perhaps. You believe in the Ancient One, yes?”
Jarith nodded.
“Then you know that He has a purpose for all of this.”
Jarith’s hands tightened as he gave his response, “What good can come of the terror Lillana has endured?”
“We cannot see it, but maybe He does.”
“You speak those words weakly. Do you believe them?”
Ronem thought hard for a moment and then spoke, “I choose to believe them. I do not understand what good can come of a fear that I face, a fear similar to Lillana’s fear.”
“I try to believe the Ancient Texts as well. My father spoke them to me when I was a boy. He did not have the charisma of your father, but he spoke words of wisdom as Margrem does. He spoke the Sacred Texts to me and bid me to remember them.”
“It seems as though Margrem--” Ronem’s words were interrupted by shouting.
“Old man, do you remember me!?”
Ronem turned quickly to the sound of the voice. The short, plump man who had been selling statues, the same man whom Margrem nearly struck with Ronem’s staff, stood over Margrem. Without thinking, Ronem walked toward them both with clenched fists. Jarith moved toward his daughter who stepped away from Margrem and the screaming man.
“You cost me ten gold pieces worth of merchandise!” The plump man’s stubby forefinger shot into Margrem’s face. Ronem continued to walk forward until he stood next to Margrem. The plump man’s demeanor showed a small sign of fear as he looked into Ronem’s face which could not help but show his dislike of the plump man’s verbal assault.
“I will not be bullied! I want my money.”
After a brief silence, Margrem spoke, “Ronem, go and retrieve twenty gold coins for this man.”
Ronem’s mouth dropped.
“This man’s trinkets are not worth the sum that he just named. Let alone double that price!”
The plump man regained some of his former courage, “Boy, listen to the old man and retrieve my twenty gold coins.”
Involuntarily, Ronem took a step forward. His fists clenched even harder. Before he could step in front of the plump man, Margrem’s arm shot out in front of him.
In a perfectly even tone, Margrem spoke, “Ronem, will you force me to retrieve the coins?”
“No,” as he spoke, Ronem turned his back to them. He retrieved the coins and found Margrem and the plump man where they stood. He handed the coins to Margrem and stood firmly to his side.
Margrem held the twenty coins in his hand and spoke, “Before I give these to you, I ask you for one favor.”
“Do you desire one of my statues?” the plump man asked with a mercenary smile.
“No, but I do ask for your forgiveness.” This statement shook the plump man’s composure. His eyes widened and mouth dropped open for a moment. His expression changed, and he stood for a moment with a knitted brow.
“It is given.” The merchants eyes fell to his coins as he spoke, “With an apology such as this, how can I not?”
After responding, the merchant slowly walked away counting his coins.
A moment later, Ronem stood face to face with Margrem and spoke, “He humiliated you. Not only you! He humiliated me. And the only purpose it served was to fill his pockets!”
“You should not hold your pride so closely,” Margrem spoke evenly meeting Ronem’s eyes with his own. “It will cost you dearly.”
Ronem knew that he could not win this debate and stalked away.

Ronem stood against the outer wall of Zareth and brooded. Thoughts of the plump man’s insulting demeanor and actions filled his mind. My pride!? The man insulted us, and Margrem said himself that the porker ought not to sell those stupid pieces of stone! Margrem grows weaker in his old age. Trying to remove these thoughts from his mind, Ronem gazed into the woods. Shadows danced inside the woods. He felt them laughing at him. Ronem’s hands clenched, and the features of his face tightened.
Sounds of speech came from inside the walls of Zareth. Now they all sit as sheep and listen to the recitation of the Text. And how will that benefit them? Even as he thought, Ronem knew how Margrem would respond.
“Those words show us the knowledge we need to live abundantly. More than that, they teach us how to become greater children and servants of the Ancient One.”
Perhaps, I do not wish for that. Ronem’s hands had been tucked to his sides with his arms crossed but no more. They fell to his side, and mouth fell open. Why did I… Ronem held his head with both of his hands. What else is there? The air seemed to turn cold around him, and he began to slide to the ground until…
He heard it. Screams erupted from inside Zareth, and Ronem arose to his feet. He ran swiftly toward the entrance with only one thought in mind. I must find Margrem. He turned the corner to the gate of Zerath only to be knocked to the ground by a crowd of people. They stumbled over him. Rise, you fool! With as much strength as he could must, Ronem threw himself upward to his feet and advanced through the crowd, throwing those ran into him aside. I must find Margrem. As he advanced, he tried to see around the horde of people running to leave Zerath, but he could see no one.
Finally, the crowd subsided, and Ronem caught a glimpse of the terror which had seized them. And he froze... A beast, seemingly ethereal, stood in the middle of Zerath in front of the temple itself. It roared down at two forms laying on the ground in front of it. Ronem’s mind whirled and tried to reconcile what he saw with what he knew. The beast stood easily ten feet tall with a black form which appeared to be more like mist than flesh. The holes where its eyes ought to be were black voids, and its jaw distortedly jutted out from its face. The arms fell from its shoulders merging into large hands with claws instead of fingers. Finally, Ronem’s mind realized the identity of the two forms laying on the ground in front of it. Jarith raised his arm toward the beast trying to ward it away. With his other hand, he held Lillana who screamed and cried in terror. Help them. Ronem tried to move, but his feet were as heavy as millstones. Sweat ran down his body, and he could feel his pulse beating like drums. Then he saw.
Margrem’s broken form hobbled toward the monster as fast as his arms and crutches carried him. His ears heard the voice of Margrem roaring curses at the monster. And the brute turned toward Margrem and roared in return: its essence seemed to hurl a whirlwind into Margrem. Margrem stood on his feet as tall as he could and threw his crutches at the beast, and the monster seemed to envelop the old pieces of wood. Then it smiled cruelly and slowly stalked toward Margrem.
No! Ronem’s courage found his heart and his head, and he propelled himself forward toward the beast. Without a thought, he retrieved his staff from his back, and he seemingly floated across the ground toward his prey. Margrem’s legs failed him, and he fell to the ground. The beast stood over him, and Margrem faced it with one final act of defiance. Almost there. Ronem heard another voice screaming and roaring amidst the screaming of Lillana and the roaring of the beast. The voice was his own. He left the ground as his feet propelled him into the air. His staff rose high than himself as he tensed his arms waiting to force all of his strength through the staff and into the creature. As he did so, the creature felt his presence and turned into him with arms drawn back. And their eyes met. Time stood still. All grew silent. The creatures eyes pushed fear into his heart which he channelled through his mind into strength, a crushing strength which his staff dispelled as he struck.

It took a moment for Ronem to gather his mind. He knelt forward on one knee with his staff against the ground. He had seen the staff pass through the beast without an ounce of physical tension and then it was gone. His eyes burned as sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes, but he didn’t wipe it away. His chest rose and fell deeply and irregularly. His mind slowly returned. I ought to be dead. If I missed it, I ought to be dead. He felt something touch his shoulder. In a split second, he brought his head and staff around, preparing to strike. He stopped short, seeing Margrem standing beside him with one of his crutches. He saw his mouth moving, but he couldn’t seem to hear anything. Margrem pointed to Ronem’s right side. Ronem shook his head in time to hear Margrem finish a sentence.
“...’st catch her!”
“What!?”
“The beast was an illusion! The caster ran toward the woods! Catch her!”
Ronem turned and saw a woman sprinting into the woods. And he chased.

He shot into the woods and stopped and listened. The darkness of the woods greeted him warmly, and he stopped and breathed. Be cautious. Margrem’s words echoed throughout his mind, “Always use your ear when you hunt. A man who uses his ears can see in more directions than one.” Ronem did so, and he heard the rushing of a form and the breaking of twigs. And he followed the sound. Until it stopped. Then he stopped. And he waited. More of Margrem’s words found their way into his mind, “If the prey which you hunt can also hunt you, always be wary of an ambush. Do not join the hasty in their folly.” So, Ronem waited. If she is not moving, then I will not lose her if I wait. Ronem crouched down and rested his back against a tree. Silence was the only friend Ronem had for several minutes until he saw it. A figure caught his peripheral vision. It moved ever so slightly nearer to his right side, Ronem tensed his muscles and prepared to strike once it came into his reach. Then he paused. It makes no sound. Ronem smiled and waited. The form grew nearer. Fifteen feet. Wait. Twelve feet. Soon. A twig snapped, and Ronem spun to his left with staff upraised. He brought it across the sorceress’s face, and she fell unconscious to the ground. Ronem then turned back to his right where he had seen form, and nothing was there. He smiled and thought to himself, The form made no noise.

Ronem had carried the woman back to Zareth where only Margrem, Jarith and his daughter Lillana awaited him. He had dropped the unconscious witch to the ground where she still. After which, he recounted the tale of what happened in the woods to his companions. While Jarith tried to explain to his daughter that the “sand-man” had only been an apparition, Ronem and Margrem spoke.
“How do you know that she cast the illusion?”
“I have seen people cast illusions before. Many do so with small things, things that entertain others. You probably did not know this, but you stood frozen for several seconds after you attacked the apparition. During those seconds, I saw her. In some way, your attack on the ghost harmed her because I saw her stumble to the ground as if wounded and then run into the woods. I once saw something similar happen.”
“And when was that?” Ronem prodded for explanation.
“In another life, boy. A life which an old man longs to forget.”
“Someday, you will have to tell me.”
“Perhaps, but let us hope that the day never comes when I need to tell you.”
The serious response turned Ronem’s mind to another serious matter.
“Will you forgive me? You were right to repay the merchant, and I should not have acted as I did...with such pride.”
“You are forgiven, my boy. Know that I am proud of you.”
“I make many mistakes.”
“Yes, you do. And you learn from them as well.”
Ronem nodded and walked away. He gathered some wood and kindled a small fire. After the fire began to burn brightly; Jarith, Lillana and Ronemm listened to Margrem as he recited verses from the Sacred texts. Afterward, Ronem took the first watch of the night to guard the prisoner who still lay unconscious. After several hours of watching the prisoner and the stars, Ronem awoke Jarith for the second watch of the night. Moments after this, he threw himself to the ground and entered the land of dreams seconds later.

Ronem awoke to a disturbing revelation. At some point during Jarith’s watch, the prisoner had escaped. Margrem had awoken and found Jarith sitting on the ground with head leaned fully against his chest asleep. Jarith loudly chided himself for falling asleep during his watch and allowing the prisoner to escape.
Ronem responded to his irritaiton, “No, it is my fault. You had been awake for most of the previous night trying to comfort Lillana. We both should have stood the watch together.”
Jarith nodded, and his face turned thoughtful.
“Margrem, why do you believe all of this happened here?”
“As always, servants of darkness desire to turn us away from the light. I believe it happened here because Lanfel desires to destroy our faith in the Ancient One. He chose long ago to desert the ranks of the Creator and become the Lord of Darkness. And now, he attemptes to destroy our faith by destroying the symbols which stand for what we believe. Sadly, I believe that many who were here will never return.”
Ronem spoke, “They will never know that victory was in grasp.”
Margrem spoke slowly, “Those who do not stand in the face of seeming defeat never find victory.”

After their thoughtful conversation, Ronem decided to find some flowers and give them to Lillana before their departure. He did find her flowers, and he also found something entirely unexpected. On the outskirts of Zareth a few yards away from the woods which he had entered the day before lay the body of the witch he had chased. It lay bloodied and mangled with features tightened in terror. Ronem quickly withdrew from the site, picked the flowers for Lillana, and returned to the interior of the walls of Zareth. On the way back, he never removed his eyes from the woods.
Once he entered Zareth, Ronem presented the flowers to Lillana. In moment of pure joy, she had jumped up and down at the thought of Ronem’s gift and hugged him as tightly as her small arms were able. Margrem had entered upon this moment and said goodbye to Jarith as well as his new-found friend Lillana. He told her one last story from the Ancient Texts about a brave follower of the Ancient One who in spite of terror and threat spread the love and words of the Ancient One to all the people in her village. After Margrem’s inspirational story, Ronem and the old man left Zareth, with arms out-raised and waving to their newfound friends.

As the cart bumped along the road, Ronem revealed the death of the sorceress to Margrem.
“I cannot fully describe the terror inscribed upon her face, and her body lay in a mangled, bloody mess upon the ground. No creature I know could have done that.”
“Then it is probably correct to assume that is the truth. Unless of course it be the shadow you glimpsed in the woods. The shadow which killed the man who threw fire.”
At these words, Ronem felt a deeper fear. It’s following me.
Seeming to feel the inner terror that gripped Ronem’s mind, Margrem changed the subject, “Jarith spoke to me while you outside the walls. After the spectre chased his daughter through the fields of Zareth, he prayed that the Ancient One would send someone to save his daughter from this terror.”
“And he sent us.”
“Yes, I believe that He sent us to Zareth for a reason; however, I also believe that we were not the only ones he sent.”
“I do not understand what you mean to say.”
“The sorceress tormented Jarith’s daughter, and I believe that the creature which ended her inflicted the same torture upon the sorceress which she inflicted upon Lillana. Our prayers are not always answered in the way which we expect. Not only that, but the Ancient One will weave his will throughout the present. We should choose to be willing participants of His will, and we should also consider that a monster may unwittingly fulfill the Master’s bidding.”