Chapter Nine
The group bid a reluctant farewell to Baladar and the citizens of the city into which they had all entered those two scant months ago. It was a bittersweet parting, harder surely for some than for others, but difficult for them all nonetheless. Baladar stood atop the Ghost Tower, solitary and tall with his proud chin held high, though tension and sadness clearly marked his handsome features. Throngs of people gathered at the Noban gates, shrouded in the somber blankets of silence and solemnity. The river coursed by, reflecting the sunlight off of the many and varied surfaces of the swiftly flowing waters. High above the river to the north, Calista’s stone sentinel emitted a bright and matchless beacon, illuminating the companions as well as the youngling, the beautiful sapling around which they all stood. From afar, they appeared as if they were bathing in a pool of liquid silver and pale pink, humbly acknowledging the silent gratitude of the crowds.
“Come, friends. We cannot linger here forever,” Filaree of Avalain finally said.
“ Filaree’’s right. It will get no easier for any of us if we wait another day or even a tiel,” Robyn agreed as he gathered his cloak about him.
Cairn moved in front of the company and signaled for their attention in his own quiet manner. “Can we not salute Baladar in unison one final time before we depart?” he asked from his heart, moved almost to tears by the moment. “Perhaps our leave-taking will be softened for him in time by the final image we leave behind in his mind’s eye.”
“Yes, let us. It is hard enough for him to remain behind whilst we all march,” Prince Elion reiterated, feeling the mantle of the moment heavy upon his own shoulders.
Without the need for another word, the friends assembled facing the formidable tower upon which Baladar stood unmoving. From left to right was first Calyx, the giant Moulant. Next to him was Cairn. Then came Tomas arm in arm with Preston, followed by Robyn and Filaree. Finally, Elion completed the line of travelers. They all raised their eyes to look upon Baladar and they stood in perfect silence, each one remembering his or her ‘calling’, the first encounter with the Lord of the city, the particular circumstances of their own arrival or simply their weighty decision to make this fortuitous pilgrimage to Pardatha.
The events of the past months flashed before each of their eyes according to the individual’s unique perspective. Yet they were all now bound together by a common goal, one that manifested itself in the patterns they severally and jointly created, all woven from a common thread, creating the fabric’s very special shape and form, its unparalleled sheen and luminosity. They singularly recognized the enemy all too clearly and they individually knew what they must do in order to maintain the health and well being of their people and their world. Baladar in his own wise and gentle manner, set into motion the events that would change the face of the land forever, and this group of disparate confidants would now continue on the path that he could no longer tread.
After a moment of wordless contemplation, Baladar raised his right arm in salute and bid a final farewell to his friends. They responded in kind, each thrusting his or her right arm high in the air, and as they turned to mount their horses and ponies, all the people of Pardatha who had gathered in the city, on the banks of the River of Tears, atop the battlements, on the streets, in their doorways and in the fields, raised their right arms as well in silent tribute to their beloved leader and as a parting testimonial to the group whose future meant so much to so many.
With Filaree in the lead, they rode northward toward Calista’s pillar and the ridge above the river, across which they would travel to the other side of the glistening and churning water. Once over, they would turn southward and head directly for the Plain of the Wolves and the tree-top city of Seramour in the land of Lormarion; to Davmiran and to their destiny.