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Thus grows the ever dark’ning gloom
From the glen to the ne’er ending moor.
And although Light has filled me
with wealth unknown,
I fear it has left ye poor.
A change slips into the forest. The tongues of shadow retreat on themselves, like water pouring in reverse. The kaligorva screeches and withdraws before it can be revealed.
All around me, the gloom starts to lessen. Still, I sing, the words coming to me out of some deep well of memory.
Long past, on that ill-fated night,
When the hearts of men grew weak,
There came by the woods a Shrouded beast,
Of which we now do not speak.
And on that day no spear was raised;
The strong did not shelter the meek.
Then all the brilliant goodness fled,
And of that light we now do not speak.
I pause to listen, forgetting the terror that had crippled me moments ago. This is something greater than my fear, a force so mighty it drives the malicious darkness away. The forest settles into its usual grayish hues.
Above me, my unseen ally continues the melody, and I spin around, looking for the brave soloist. Such a peculiar noise. No human or instrument could issue so lusty, so unearthly a sound. It streams like a river from above.
The rocky ledge behind me, dripping from the rainstorm, is jagged enough for me to climb without much danger of slipping. At least thirty feet high, it’s taller than I thought. The handholds are abundant, however, and I ascend without great difficulty. Even so, by the time I reach the top, my lungs burn, and my strength is spent. I don’t have time to consider my exhaustion, though, for what waits at the crest drives all other thoughts far from my mind.
It is as if all the light I have ever seen in my life—ignati and bolétis and sola brossa—has gathered into one single point in space and time. High up in a spreading chestnut tree, the fantastic scintillation reaches with hundreds of arms, curling around and embracing everything within a fifty-foot radius. Upon stepping within its reach, I feel all traces of wet and cold vanish.
From the heart of that glorious, blinding orb, the song continues, undiminished. I join in once more.
Lo, there will be a coming day
When bird, beast, man shall see,
For all the darkness will fade away
And all of the Vale will be free.
Thus grows the ever bright’ning day,
From the fields to the ne’er ending sea,
And the Light of Life will shine on all,
For rich and whole we shall be.
The creature repeats the melody of the last line, and everything stills.
My chest rises and falls with exhilaration as I soak in the strange light. I steel myself to look at the brilliance head on. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt my eyes—it’s just more than they can handle at once. The longer I look at it, though, the more a form begins to take shape in the heart of its crystalline flames. And I see it.
