Strange Connections and Coincidences

Mirti walked languidly pondering the depth of his connection to Rosamond. Scarcely a week had passed yet they conversed as ones who had been in friendship since the cradle. He walked through the entirety of the Garden of Lufituaeb, past Rada’s chambers and onto the bridge leading into the Hall of Azdeiw, a place not unlike the libraries in our world. The bridge was woven of  shimmering water threads and attached onto a marble boulder, soared towards the window of the Hall on the second floor. Moved by the purity of the sages, the god Wodwat bent the water to his will in such a formation as a gift. As Mirti wandered up it, the water was soft as a cloud yet firm and not at all wet. It seemed delighted that it was he who walked upon it and hummed. He walked into the Hall of Azdeiw through a window large enough to accommodate a biglud, one of the race of giants that inhabited the mountains; they were sons of Kamnsteon, son of Materda, goddess of the earth.

            Hundreds of amber shelves covered the octagonal room, containing thousands, possibly millions of scrolls, manuscripts, and maps. The floor was of a sapphire crystal that seemed to foam and roar as the ocean does, rippling in gentle waves but not disturbing the feet with motion nor wetness. In the middle of it, like an island, hovered a glowing moon upon which was perched a snow white owl with piercing eyes. Mirti bowed to the owl, which seemed unmoved. Perhaps he is asleep. Receiving no answer, he walked around the room overwhelmed. He wondered where the writings of Lufituaeb would be and as soon as this thought entered his mind, his feet seemed to move of their own accord. In a split second, he stood in front of a shelf that contained all of her works. He chose a random journal and flipped to the middle.

 

“ The affairs of state seem to change as the weather does in the highlands. The landscape of my mind is as dreary and barren as the Lanrete Plains in winter. I miss Evol. He would…why do I inflict such torture upon myself? He is gone. He is in a place better than this. All is not well with the kingdom and I do not know what to do. The sages sit and argue amongst themselves. I came here for peace and counsel. I might have stayed at the castle in Tsrif, for my advisors also do nothing but bicker…”

 

…I wonder who Evol is…and what the trouble with the kingdom was…He flipped a few pages further.

 

“Wise Halluwed tells me that after this life, my soul will know immeasurable bliss for ages and then in the Seventh Age, I shall be reborn as one of the purest of women. Evol too will live then his last life. Halluwed’s prophecy about the overturning pertains to him. Come, Death, let me lie in thy arms swiftly that I may lie in those of my love again…he waits for me, knave, he waits…come you then.”

 

She lived as Halluwed lived? He turned to the second page of the journal, a piece of lilac silk fell out. He stared at it distraught but knew not wherefore. He stroked it and it seemed strangely familiar. He read.

 

“After my parents were given their last farewells, I donned Evol’s favorite lilac silk for the coronation. Chief Sage Dharma placed the greenever  wreathe upon my head, handed me the oak staff, and conducted a ceremony of blessing…”

 

A fierce orange sunset ventured to swallow Mirti in its embrace. Thoughts muddled, thoughts reeling, he put the journal back in its place muttering that he would return to read further. As he glided back towards the center of the Hall, the owl threw itself at his feet, wings stretched out. Mirti knelt by it and tenderly raised it up. “Why do You prostrate Yourself before me, Great One?” “ I ought to have greeted Thee, O Sotul, O My Lord, when You entered but I slept carelessly. “ “Sotul?” “Ah…” said the owl with tears welling up in his eyes, deep as the ages “ Of course, You do not realize…nevermind it, Mirti” “And what are You, Wise One?” “I am the Guardian of Wisdom” “May I know Your name,sire?” “Call me, Guardian” “Until the next meeting, Guardian” “Farewell, my L…Mirti…” Mirti walked to his sleeping quarters beset by torrents of questions that would have to wait till the morrow.