… and a pair of eagles – gliding north to south, rising on invisible winds – and he followed them as they flew. Until soon they were dots against the twilight, and then instead of dots there was
(Chapter 1, if you missed it, is here)
The sun would sleep but this star would point.
This star he would follow.
The sword he’d lay down,
it’s point facing that star, for by morning it would be gone.
He would sleep now. Perchance to dream.
And the dream would be the same. It arrived every night like the moon in the sky.
Sometimes just out of sight,
sometimes near as breath.
She needed him. She beckoned. She sang.
And he felt – he just felt…
He felt the need to be where she was.
He had seen the crease of her neck.
He had smelled the scent of her skin.
Her hair soft as morning mist. And as golden as sunlight dancing on a lake.
He had heard the heart that beat so strongly it pounded like a timpani.
And the voice?
He knew the lilt,
he swam in the melody, his heart would feel rest, and peace.
And a part of his heart would make room.
A heart beating strong always has room.
But morning would come, and dreams do as they must,
they vanish like fog
and the memory flees
and dawn chases the vision until it becomes reflection,
and reflection becomes shadow, and shadow disappears.
And the sun beats heavy.
And the quest begins anew.
“Now move forward”, came a voice.
Not his own, this voice, for he had three who gave guidance,
three who whispered in his ear,
three who gave hope,
and the greatest of all,
It was Nadia who spoke this day. “Arise my knight. I know you are tired. I know you are empty. And I know you are needed…”
“But there is nothing inside. I have nothing to give. No strength. No blood. No fight. There’s no fight left dear angel…”
And that’s what she was,
music in movement,
light issuing forth,
and a voice – of an angel,
for an angel she was.
And her words rang out hope, chimed reason to move, singing prophesy, carrying vision on wind.
Her name was her essence, her life to bring hope, her light to shine in darkness, and show the way home.
“Only a bit more dear one, just move the feet, just move…”
And he would rise. And he didn’t know how. But her words would give strength, and the strength propelled forward.
forward led him there.
There, where tempest was gathering.
Lightning flashed from ground to sky and cloud to cloud.
And wind became sand, and rain became daggers.
Smoke and sulfhur and whirlwinds like banshees.
His sword in his hand, his shield held high, the sense that both would be needed quickened.
“What is this place angel? Where has light gone?”
Through the whirlwind of noise the angel did whisper,
“To je jeho domov. Zlý drak. Musíš bojovat.”
He knew at once what she meant.
And through the wind, the rain, the tempest, the pitch black of midnight with no moon,
there was a voice,
a voice he knew,
a song he knew,
a chord drawing near – to be near to the voice.
His heart beat stronger,
in rhythm with one,
that beat like a timpani.
The familiar lilt, the heartsound which called,
he swam in the melody, his heart found rest, and peace.
And a part of his heart made room.
A tower ahead,
in the tower a light,
in the light a stood a figure…
Love is more than romance, but romance is a tiny little division of love.
I heart me some romance.
In God’s love