Across the Forling by Edward C Patterson

Author:Edward C Patterson [Patterson, Edward C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-19T22:00:00+00:00

Episode Eight

Where Lord Belmundus listens to Enitachopco’s say; and then looks at the possible reward for performing the ritual called Chewohe.

1

A million books archive the knowledge of many worlds, but it is within a single say that unleashes the true meanings — revelations unwritten and loose upon the wind. Like leaves falling from trees — leaves etched with secrets, the breeze carries them far and wide when relinquished by the knowledge master. The seeker could spend ten thousand lifetimes looking for truth in the libraries of these worlds and miss them entirely, unless a blowing leaf drifts past the eye and nose and ear and heart, revealing the truth at the secret’s core.

2

“Choice,” Enitachopco said. “Choice has been our savior and downfall since the first ember kindled in these humble bones. It is choice again which decides the contour of the tide, Lord Belmundus. Your choice.”

Harris sighed. He was in Las Vegas at the Blackjack tables, but with slimmer odds, because the upturned cards were as dicey as the downturned ones. It was unfair to place this choice on his head. At least Charminus wanted only one thing in endless supply. The fate of all existence didn’t rest on his roll in the hay with her. Yet, perhaps it did.

“It’s unfair,’ he muttered.

While the brothers grimaced, Enitachopco eased into his accustomed sigh.

“Unfair would be to deny you a choice, sir,” he replied, cocking his head.

Littafulchee grinned. Her choice seemed settled. Harris needed more information on which to base his decision, but he had a hunch this was all he would get. Still, Enitachopco, perhaps sensing needs, raised the pipe, puffed it, and then turned it toward his guest. Harris took it tentatively.

What would the surgeon general think?

Harris grasped the bowl loosely and the long stem tightly. The smoke already crept up the length, tugging at his lips. He inhaled, a cool blast filling his lungs like honey on pancakes. He grinned. He didn’t expect this. Like sqwallen, this stuff would make him high — an easy target for manipulation — putty in the Elector’s hands. Still, it relaxed him and clarified things. He returned the pipe to its owner.

“My own choice has dogged me until this time,” Enitachopco said. “Grimakadarian assured the outcome and I, the fool, followed him to this oblivion.”

“Out of darkness comes the light,” Coweeshee said.

“Into darkness goes the light,” Elejoy added.

“His choice did us in,” Tucharechee muttered, tapping his forehead. “Go with correct thinking.” He pounded his chest. “Ignore the songs of passion.”

“He must choose,” Littafulchee remarked, “but he need not choose today.”

“Still, he must know,” Tucharechee said.

“Yes, I must,” Harris snapped. “I don’t believe in buying a pogo-pogo in a poke.”

Enitachopco smiled, and agreed, his shoulders easing into his robes, his eye blinking.

“Two keepers were there,” he said. “Two. One for the keys to the door of darkness and the other the keeper of the key to the door of light.” He nodded to each brother in turn. “Grimakadarian, to darkness — I, to light. But not all things in darkness are dark.

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