done many times before. When we have rested we can decide our course further.”
“That would be best, Alfonzo,” said Blaine, “For they tell me we are to hold council and that we will part ways at its end. Better near than far, as they say.”
An hour later they reached the camp. There were ruins of what was once a great city scattered all through the area, for a mile in each direction. A thick wall ran around the perimeter: once mighty, but now like mere dust. There was only a foot of earthly stubble where it had once risen high into the air. The buildings were reduced to a similar state. Most of them were already engulfed into the nothingness of the past. In the center of the ruins was a temple, made of white marble and a mysterious stone with a strangely patterned grain. Thousands of years before it had been tall and majestic, with a tower above that stretched into the sky. This tower had long ago crashed into the lower portion of the temple, however, and now lay scattered across the ground. The rooms of the temple had no ceiling. The walls were tumbling over. Its center, though, remained intact, as if something within had protected it from the disaster that leveled the rest of the city.
There was a platform on the Treeway with a hole in the bottom and a rope ladder attached to the side. It was one of the exits to the ground below. The party left two soldiers guarding the platform and descended several hundred feet to the ground. Throughout the descent they remained silent, for the ruins had a heavy, solemn atmosphere. The canopy above was especially thick and blocked the light from passing into the ruins. The result was a twilight, made even darker by the fog that covered the area. Only in the center – directly above the temple – was there a break in the canopy. A single beam of sunlight fell upon it. The fog seemed to smoke as it passed through the light, writhing as if with life.
“Do not be afraid,” Alfonzo said as they came to the temple, answering his own thoughts as much as those of the others. “It is safe.” With that, he led them into the temple.
They had to pass through several smaller rooms before they reached the larger, central chamber. A thick wooden door still stood between it and the outside world. The central chamber was different from the outer ones: it had not been deteriorated by nature. The walls and ceilings still stood strong; the floor was intact, though the carpeting was mostly gone; and the furnishings remained, albeit a bit dusty. A long, narrow table stood in the center of the room and some bookshelves lined the walls. A door to the left of the entrance remained in place, but led to nothing more than a pile of ruble. A statue of a white eagle covered the wall opposite the door. It was made of diamond and grasped an altar in its claws, an altar to the god of the temple.
When the party was inside, Alfonzo spoke. “These ruins are safe, though they do not feel so. We will set two guards outside the door to this chamber. The guards above will whistle if anyone approaches on the ground. As for me, I am weary enough that any bed – no matter how hard – is a welcome one. We will gather in the evening for a council. Until then, rest well.”
Then, saying nothing more, Alfonzo sat on the table in the center of the room. He curled his body into a ball. He was asleep before he could feel the tender touch of Celestine as she laid down beside him.
Chapter 53
The evening passed, as did the night, and it was not until the next morning that the party woke from their slumber. Alfonzo was the first to wake – as he always was – but he did not rise, instead enjoying the warmth of his wife, whose caresses he had been so long without. Celestine woke soon after him, her face radiant in the morning light which somehow found its way into the room. They were silent for a moment, unable to convert their thoughts to language.
At length, Alfonzo whispered, “Have you slept well?”
“As well as I could,” she answered, “Yet I dreamed of nothing but you, and the fate to which you are predestined.”
“Do not fear, for either of us. What pains can death bring that we have not already felt?”
“None, perhaps. But who can tell?”
He laughed silently and smiled in his simple fashion. Though he was not naive – he had seen too much of the beasts of the earth – he often seemed as if he was, as if he did not understand.
“No one can know anything without a doubt, so we must have faith in every matter, in one thing or another. Did I know you continued to love me while I was exiled to the forest? Did I know you were faithful while you were imprisoned by Gylain? No, yet I had faith; and it has been shown true. Therefore, I must also have faith for the future – faith that God will arrange our paths. For if not God, than in whom do we put our faith?”
“Am I not too old for faith?” she asked, a muted sigh covering her features. “I am old now, but when was my youth? I have had faith, but for what result? Perhaps fate is but an illusion.”
“Am I an illusion, Celestine?”
“No: you are love, my love. But I am tempted to feel bitter, for throughout these years I have been strong: for you rather than for myself. Now that you are here I am allowed weakness. I am allowed to put my fate into the hands of a being I can see and feel. So let me indulge in it. After so much faith, it is a pleasure to wallow in doubt. It is refreshing to say, ‘this cannot be.’ After so much strength I desire only weakness.”
“And what of me?” he answered. “For I, too, have been strong. Yet I am not allowed the pleasures of weakness. The burden still weighs upon my shoulders and upon my conscience. I must remain strong, for there is no one for me to relinquish myself to. Would you desert me now? Would you abandon our dreams for the pleasures of failure?”
“Are you not a man and I a woman? Are you not the general and I the soldier? Strength is the curse of authority, but weakness is the poor man’s gift. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they will inherit the kingdom of God.” Celestine fell silent for a moment, but Alfonzo waited for her to continue, which she did. “I am a woman – a help mate and a being created to weakness. Yet in my youth, I thought that was my curse, and I hated it. I rebelled against it. But now I know that weakness is victory. Weakness is yielding to fate, and fate will have its way regardless of what I do.” She paused. “Yet I am yours, and I will be as you would have me be. I will be strong.”
They rose from the table on which they had slept and began to wake the others.
“We must hold council,” they said, “The toils of the future will overshadow those of the past.”
Within fifteen minutes the party was collected around the long table that ran down the center of the room. The room itself was dim, for the only light seemed to ooze through the stone walls and cast a fresh, greenish light about the room, without emanating from any certain source. The Admiral took one side of the table, with Meredith and Clifford at either hand; while on the other end Alfonzo sat with his wife on his right and Blaine on his left. Between the two ends sat Lorenzo, with Ivona at his side, facing the statue that graced the far wall. To their right sat the Fardys, and across from them sat Willard and Horatio. Next to Blaine sat his brother, Barnes, across from Lorenzo, and between him and Willard were Osbert and the venerable Vahan Lee.
Monsieur Lee was the first to speak, but his words seemed to fall out of him involuntarily, and even as he spoke his face held a grimace, as if he embarrassed himself. “Never was there a truer Atiltian than myself,” he began rather loudly, for his voice echoed in the silence. “So I do not fear that I can speak freely without being thought a spy, or a representative of any interests other than those of this fair island.”
“You need not begin every speech with a disclaimer, friend,” Alfonzo interrupted, “For it would do nothing to lessen our anger if you were speak offensively. Especially when you are already known to be an agent of the French monarch. This council is the place for you to give your master’s terms, so do not be overcome with silence.”
Vahan’sface caught fire as Alfonzo spoke and he became intensely interested with the area around his feet. The others were silent for a moment. It was the blond Fardy who was the first to speak. “Patience is refuted,” he said, “For I judged you wrongly, and may I be slapped.”
“With pleasure,” his brown brother answered, and he raised his hand in preparation of doing so.
“Why am I so patient?” The blond Fardy raised his hands in exasperation. “I spoke with poetic license, and in that I cannot be condemned.”
“Poetic license?” the brown brother shook his head in shame. “What patience, indeed, if we have allowed Gylain to control poetry with a license. What tyranny are we to expect next? Regulations on the purchase of spirits and liquor?”
“There are none as patient as my brothers,” the black Fardy said, “But perhaps you have become overly patient with ignorance?”
“It is a quality I carefully cultivate,” the brown Fardy smiled, “Lest your merits be considered less than my own.”
The Admiral stood and silenced the three with a wave of his hand. “I am becoming impatient of your
