Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“Believe me when I tell you that I mean no one any harm. Believe me when I tell you that I have not come grasping after power for myself. Believe me when I tell you that I want to be your friend.”

Charis was shamed by the words. She felt there was truth in what the woman was saying and she wanted to Believe. Yet… and yet, there was something in Lile that could not or should not be wholly Believed. Something darkly sinister, like the mushrooms in their fetid beds, or worse, something kept chained and out of sight-a grotesque beast which is never seen but watches from its shadowed corner. Charis could feel the presence of the beast; she could feel it watching, waiting. And this made it impossible for her to trust Lile completely.

“I would like to Believe you, Lile,” said Charis, meaning it.

Lile smiled, but the smile died as quickly as it had come. “But you cannot.”

“I cannot,” Charis admitted. “Not yet. But I will not lie to you.”

Just then they heard a light, lilting voice, high-pitched and happily out of time. A moment later a sunny head bobbed into view as a barefoot child of four came skipping out from behind a boxbush. The girl was flaxen-haired and brown as a bean. She wore only a linen skirt of sky-blue, the once-crisp pleats now hopelessly wilted and wrinkled. A single daisy drooped from behind her ear, and around her neck she wore a necklace of the same flowers, their stems broken and clumsily plaited together. Except for this necklace, her upper body was bare. In her hand she held a half-eaten greengage, the juice of which glistened on her chin. When she saw Charis she stopped in midskip and stared at her with eyes as green as the fruit in her hand, as green as the leafy hedge enclosing the strange garden.

“Come here, Morgian. I want you to meet someone,” said Lile.

The girl stepped forward shyly. The green eyes scoured Charis’ face, and she found herself unsettled by the frankness of that innocent stare.

“Morgian, this is Charis. Say hello.”

“Hello,” replied Morgian. “You are b-blootiful.”

“So are you,” said Charis.

“But you are big.” said the little girl.

“Someday you will be big too,” Charis told her. “I see you like greengages. Is it good?”

Morgian looked at the fruit in her hand and dropped it, as if a guilty secret had just been discovered. Her mother gave her a stern look and explained, “She knows she is not supposed to pick anything in the garden… Correct, Morgian?”

The little girl looked abashed and lowered her eyes. She pushed the greengage with a dirty toe.

“You may go, Morgian. Say good-bye.”

“Goodbye, Princess Charis,” Morgian said and was gone.

“What an enchanting child,” said Charis, watching her flitter away.

“She is a joy. Your father says she looks just like you did at that age.”

Charis nodded. “Lile, you asked me to try you,” she said abruptly. “I need your help.”

Lile held her head to one side as if weighing conflicting responses. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking behind those hard, dark eyes. At last she said, “How may I serve you?”

“Walk with me. I have something to tell you.”

The two women moved off together, and Charis began explaining about Throm’s prophecy of cataclysm and doom. Unlike the others Charis had told about the coming disaster, Lile took it seriously, accepting Charis’ astounding pronouncement without qualm or question.

“What can I do?” Lile asked. Her voice was steady, with no hint of apprehension or fear.

“Belyn has agreed to go after Seithenin’s fleet. There is a plan, and a small chance they will succeed. Once we get the ships- if we get them-it is only a matter of filling them.”

Lile’s eyes grew wide as she glanced around her. “It would take years!”

“We do not have years, Lile. A month, two perhaps. Not more. Annubi is trying to find out how much time is left.”

“I see.” There was such resignation in the words, Charis stopped and turned toward her. Lile was staring at the palace whose balconies, porticos, and terraces were towering over them. “We leave it all behind. We start again.”

“Yes, we start again-but we take with us what will be most helpful in beginning life anew.”

Lile took a deep breath, as if she meant to start bundling crates to the harbor at once. What an unusual woman, thought Charis. But I am glad I told her. I could not do this alone.

As if reading Charis’ thoughts, Lile turned to her and said, “You are not alone now, Charis. I will help you all I can. Where do we start?”

“I have been thinking about that,” answered Charis, and they began walking back to the palace. “Clothing, tools, food-those are all important. But I think we start in my mother’s library. There are books there that should be saved.”

“I agree. Knowledge will serve us better where we are going” She broke off with a strange smile.

“What is it?”

“How can we begin preparing for the doom of our race if we have no idea where we are going?”

“West, I think,” replied Charis. “There are lands there much like these, I am told, and little inhabited. We will be able to make a life there much like the one we know here.”

“Or better,” said Lile, and Charis noticed the set of her jaw as she said it.

“Tell me,” said Charis. “Do you believe me-about Throm’s prophecy?”

“Of course,” replied Lile. “Should I not?”

“No one else does.”

“Then they deserve their fate,” muttered Lile darkly. Her expression was fleeting but unmistakably fierce. Cold hatred gleamed in the dark depths of Lile’s eyes.

Was this the beast that watched from the shadows? wondered Charis. Have I made a mistake telling her?

But Lile smiled and the beast, if it was there, withdrew to the shadows once more. “You ask why I Believe you? I will tell you. All my life I have known that this would happen. I have carried the knowledge within me” She raised a hand to touch her heart. “I did not dare hope that I would see it, but I knew it. I felt it. Even when I was very small, I looked out on the world and knew that I looked at a world that could not last. When you told me just now, I knew that it was true, for your words merely confirmed what I already guessed.”

“This will be the trial you asked for then,” said Charis. “Everything I value in life, I have placed in your hands.”

“No, not everything.” Lile touched her gently on the side. Charis winced. “Trust me to help you, Charis. I can heal your injury. You will need your full strength in the days to come. I can give it to you much sooner.”

Charis hesitated, then relented. “What you say is true. You have your way, Lile.”

“I will not fail you, Charis. Believe me.”

“I will try,” promised Charis. “Believe me.”

Charis’ trust was rewarded and Lile proved true to her word and to her skill, for the chirurgia was flawlessly successful and Charis recovered rapidly. A few days after the bandages were removed, Annubi found Charis sitting cross-legged among a pile of vellum scrolls, her chin in her palm, scanning studiously the unrolled document before her. He watched her for a moment and then entered the disheveled library.

She glanced up as he approached. “Oh, Annubi, what word? Something from Belyn?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“About the stars?”

“No, nothing yet.”

“What then?”

“About you, Charis.”

“About me?”

“You told Lile about the cataclysm.”

“Yes, I did. Why?”

The seer sighed, dragged a chair across the littered floor, and collapsed onto it.

“Why?” insisted Charis. “Have I done something wrong?”