Chapter XXVI
The stockade stood finished, some seventeen kronyn tall, sharp points crowning each log. Only two gates broke the wall, at the least vulnerable points: The eastern side, facing the River Alluvia, and the southern, the highest point of the bluff. Jakke forged mighty bronze braces, along with hinges and latches, to reinforce the heavy wooden doors. All that the Rufoux claimed for their own, short of the water-logged fields, lay enclosed in its sturdy walls.
Andreia had recovered sufficiently to sit up and eat again, and Aachen and Humus spent much time at her side. Ingle and Mistral communed with many of the Rufoux clansmen, each on different terms, but Krait stayed to himself. The Koinoni took refuge in their ships, and the Rufoux and Bedoua gave them a comfortable berth; the Melics seemed not to care about their constant bargaining. Most of the Melics had retreated into their trees, but Theodoric and Pepin remained within the stockade. They, too, made their visits to Andreia.
“You know the secret, don’t you?” she asked one time.
“Yes,” said Theodoric.
“Will you tell me?” she continued.
“You know the secret and yet you don’t know. Great wisdom knows to believe without seeing. Each clan must come to the rescue of the others — therein lies the secret. Rufoux, Melic, Bedoua, Koinoni — even Raspar. For centuries we have maintained tense peace through distance from each other. Now all the clans of Medialia must aid the others to rid the land of the Aoten.”
“Most have already come here. Can not they agree now?” she said.
“Yes,” Theodoric looked to Pepin. “Most do dwell here now, in a fashion. What do you think?”
“I had a dream,” Pepin began. “Four rumidonts and a thylak. The rumidonts begged to lie down with the thylak, but he would not agree. Then his skin fell away, and I could see it to be a rumidont as well; and then it died, and the other rumidonts fed upon it. Very confusing. I didn’t understand the dream, but perhaps it will play itself out. It will be worth seeing, for the thylak really was quite little.”
Theodoric seemed to understand this, and set about to find Artur. Through Wyllem he discovered that the Rufoux chief had again drawn away into the trees and standancrags.
There sat Artur in the solitude, knowing that if an Aoten stumbled upon him he would have no chance of getting back inside the village walls. His heart had pulled him away, into dark separation: Lately he had spent much too much time surrounded by strangers and yammering voices, and not enough time listening to the stillness. Finally he found the blessed quiet and could sort out his thoughts as he sat against a bittereye tree.
With Andreia’s improvement, he found his old despondency had lifted. Usually in the wood he could count on the hauntings of his past to catch up with him; not so this time. He thought about her wisdom and quiet encouragement in all that had transpired since the giants’ first attack, and he considered warmly her courage and forethought. He thought about the brightness of her eyes, just now returning, and her lithe but strong figure …
A pair of feet hit the ground in front of him with a loud thump.
“I waited, hoping to find you here,” said Picta with a smile.
“Your people have a talent for appearing out of nowhere,” he said, barely hiding his irritation.
“My people, perhaps, a talent for something,” she said gaily, sitting close beside him. “What have you come out here for?”
“I came to be alone, to think. I haven’t had a minute’s thought for a fortnight.”
“Think about what?”
“The stockade, the Aoten. What makes you so inquisitive? The grain, Andreia …”
“Andreia? Who’s that?”
“Our injured girl treated by Humus and Aachen. What a blessing from Mog, if such a thing is possible. Usually, all we get from Mog comes through brute force.”
“Andreia is her name?”
“Yes, Andreia. She is beautiful —” Artur caught himself. “She was the one to make me join with your people.”
“My people!” Picta’s bright cheer had vanished. “Does she have four fingers?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yes, I suppose she does. What else does she have?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, forget it. I suppose you want to be alone then, to think about Andreia.”
“Well, I was …”
But Artur had no opportunity to choose, for Wyllem came up to him through the bracken, silent but unable to surprise him like a Melic might.
“Artur, you must come back to the village. Theodoric has something urgent to say to you. Do you know what he might want? Theodoric and Pepin, and Andreia together?”
“Oo, Andreia,” said Picta, and they prepared to return with Wyllem, Picta walking sullenly behind the two Rufoux.
The sight of half a dozen Koinoni inside the camp surprised Artur. Theodoric was talking vigorously with them, and he waved Artur and Wyllem to approach. Picta headed off to hospital to take a look at this “Andreia.”
“Yarrow here has agreed to meet with us, Artur. Pepin and Andreia agree, it would be wise to meet, men from each clan, and discuss what to do next against the Aoten. The stockade will protect you for a time, but eventually we will have to fight them together, and we must agree on this now.”
“Koinoni? Are you sure?” said Artur, his face twisted into a dyspeptic sneer.
“Yes, we must have all. Pepin hopes to persuade the Bedoua; they negotiate in your community hall even now. If they will agree to meet, Yarrow eagerly wishes to talk.”
“I’ll bet he does. Koinoni?” Artur repeated.
“We will trade for your attentions,” said Yarrow. “We offer Romana.”
“What?” said Artur.
“I will be yours, for a time, to do as you please,” said one of the Koinoni figures in a feminine voice. She approached Artur and wrapped the hems of her robes around his waste.
“Away from me. We will have no such thing,” his anger flared. “You would corrupt this Rufoux from the ways of his people!” Artur turned to Theodoric, who mused upon him. “You see? These Koinoni, they always have something up their sleeves.”
“Yarrow desires a meeting with you, Artur. Perhaps we can persuade him to take it as a gift.”
“All my good sense tells me no. If I meet with them, it will be to benefit all the Rufoux, not for the sake of my pleasures. You say Pepin and Andreia agree on this?”
“Yes. Pepin has had a dream, but he makes no sense of it.”
“Oh, that’s unusual,” Artur offered.
“He sees no meaning now, but he believes it foreshadows such a meeting. And Andreia has spoken for it.”
“Well. If that’s the case. But we will hear no talk of trade! None whatsoever, and if you try to sneak it in, I will call Jakke, do you understand?” and Artur waved a threatening finger at the Koinoni.
“We are so prepared, but one must never confine prospects of the future,” said Yarrow.
“Let’s be off, then,” said Theodoric with hopeful enthusiasm, and the group walked slowly toward the community hall, Artur eyeing Yarrow suspiciously.
In the hall they found Pepin arguing with Krait, and Krait arguing with Ingle; Mistral and Humus sat passively. “The majority wants to meet, but they cannot decide who will speak for the Bedoua,” Pepin explained over his shoulder.
“I came as-sss Dungo’s-sss emissary, and I will speak for him,” declared Krait.
“You have no authority for the Bedoua,” said Ingle, repeating himself for perhaps the sixth time. “Only Dungo will speak for the Bedoua!”
“Dungo is-sss not here! I will speak for him! We do not meet.”
“We must meet,” said Theodoric simply. “Pepin has had a dream.”
“Piss-sss! I have heard of such dreams-sss! I care not for your silly superstitions-sss! I will speak for Dungo and the Bedoua!”
“You do not!” insisted Ingle.
“We’re not deciding anything now anyway, so it doesn??
?t matter,” said Artur brusquely and sat. “Sit down! You have come to my territory, to my camp, and you will bow to my generous hospitality! Now sit down!” He could barely get the words out between his clinched teeth as he glared at the bickering Bedoua. He tried to keep one eye on the Koinoni.
They sat on each side of the fire pit. Artur and Wyllem took the head of the room, with the Melics to their right. Krait and Ingle sat across from Artur, and Yarrow knelt to his left, a Koinoni trait designed for quick escapes. The remaining Koinoni, kneeling as well, surrounded Yarrow, facing out like spokes of a wheel, to keep watch at his every side. Women brought Rufoux bread, with Bedoua butter, and steaming hot cups, and the talk began.
“Artur understands that the Aoten cannot be defeated by one clan alone,” Theodoric began. “The Rufoux — the bravest, most powerful warriors of Medialia — have fought the giants valiantly three times, and still they have not driven them from the land. Many Rufoux have died.”
“Many more will, as well,” said Yarrow.
“Already you irritate me?! Why do you say that?” Artur challenged him.
“Aoten came from the west. In the far west the Xinna built a fence against the Aoten. No Xinna have survived their fence. No Xinna left to trade.”
“Bedoua will not give their lives-sss to you,” said Krait.
“The giants came from the west?” asked Artur, and Yarrow’s hood nodded. “That means they crossed the mountains, and the territory of the scaled ones,” he said solemnly.
“Yes, they are very fierce. They move slowly, think slowly, but when they grow hungry enough, or angry enough, they are fierce and fearless.”
“Bedoua vote again-ssst the war,” said Krait.
Artur sat silently, so Theodoric continued.
“We must consider the stockade only a temporary measure. The Rufoux had to protect their supplies and families while we prepared a battle attack. The Melics will fight with the Rufoux; we bring our axes to the battle. But six Rufoux to one giant could not bring it down; six Melics more will not make the difference. We need all clans, all peoples to overcome the giants.”
“What do the Bedoua have to do with it? We have no love for Rufoux,” asked Krait defensively.
“The Aoten only take, they do not replenish. They will lay waste to the Rufoux, take the fruit of their fields and make themselves fat upon it. But they know nothing of farming; after one season the fields’ produce will be gone, and they will turn their appetites to other clans’ goods. The Melics’ trees will come down; Bedoua rumidonts will lie dead upon the desert, their blood soaking into the sand; the Koinoni ships will be torn to shreds for every piece of scrap upon them.”
“Koinoni ships will sail away, as they did in the west,” said Yarrow.
“Perhaps,” said Theodoric, “but the flying bird will one day lie exhausted upon the ground. Eventually your ships will reach the end of the world and have nowhere else to sail.”
“Bedoua have no desire to join with Koinoni anyway,” said Krait, his arms folded. “Damn Koinoni! Can not be trusted! They will sell your blood off their daggers-sss!”
“Shut up!” yelled Artur. “Nobody curses the Koinoni here but me!”
“Damn Koinoni!” Krait emphasized. “Bedoua spits-sss on Koinoni!”
“You have no authority to speak for Bedoua!” insisted Ingle.
“Rufoux and Melics agree together,” said Theodoric. “Dungo must decide for the Bedoua.” Krait threw up his hands and with loud cursings stormed out, but the others remained. “But what about Koinoni?”
“How badly do you want Koinoni?” asked Yarrow.
“We need everybody,” said Theodoric.
“Does he agree?” asked Yarrow, indicating Artur.
Artur looked to the Melics and nodded grudgingly. He could see the Koinoni had knowledge of the Aoten beyond even Theodoric’s observation. “Yes,” he said, “we need everybody.”
“So it appears we will be bargaining after all,” said Yarrow.
“What do you mean?” growled Artur.
“Koinoni owe no clan. We care for nobody. We love only money, so we will have a price.”
“Oh, I might have expected this,” yelled Artur. “Extort a price, and then skip out on us, I suppose? But what else should I expect from rotten Koinoni traders!”
“What is survival worth to you? You need us, you have already said. What would you give?”
“What do you want?” asked Theodoric.
“Rufoux always deny us weapons. Fine Rufoux weapons of metal cut like no other in the world. This most excellent blade at your side, for instance. Is your blade worth more than life itself? Or would you give a weapon for each Koinoni to save your lives?”
“Mog’s goblins! I might as well put a pack of rats in charge of guarding the grain! There’s no telling what double-dealing treachery you might inflict in the night with Rufoux weapons!” Artur blasted away at Yarrow.
“Rufoux arms, or no Koinoni! We make our offer, and a good bargain for you. Life for weapons. If you need us, you will pay for us.”
“You dirty — You know you have us over a barrel, don’t you!” raged Artur. “Well, have your weapons then, and choke on them! And if ever you plan to turn them on us, I’ll personally see you dead, and all your hooded friends! To hell with you!”
“You talk so brash, Rufoux! So greatly you strut, swollen with yourself, but now you depend on the Koinoni! Your lives depend upon us, and your homeland as well! Your homeland, so dear to you, that you would not have to wander about the world! You have a homeland to defend, a homeland to love, and you dare to judge the Koinoni? Beaten down, wiped out, driven out of our nation by hatred, sentenced to live upon the waters with no place to set our feet, no place to rest our heads! And you beg us to save you from this same end, you would deny us a few metal blades to save you from sharing our fate? Shame upon you, oh worthy Artur of the Rufoux, for you have not the humanity to offer a simple exchange to preserve your very way of life! Keep your weapons, you foul, sweating clan of brutes. We would not accept them, for they do not offer what saves us or you from the curse that pursues!”
The Tao of Zdjaman
There once was a time, many years ago, Little One, when a Koinoni said to himself, “I will walk across the Earth.” The Koinoni took up his staff and struck out upon the road, and the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon the roaring soaring shores of the far, far sea. There he stood, wondering at the waters that rippled upon the banks. And there in the midst of the roaring soaring shores stood a tree.
“What do you see?” asked the tree, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see the waters of the far, far sea,” said the Koinoni, “and all that they may bring to me from distant lands and peoples.”
“Why don’t you stay here, and eat of my fruit? For I perceive you are hungry,” asked the tree.
“What else do you offer me?” asked the Koinoni.
“Watch me bring fire down from the sky,” said the tree, and it stretched its branches as high toward the beautiful bright sun as it could. Suddenly a great streak of fire reached down, and in a breath’s moment it struck the tree’s branches with great sparks and splintering. The tree held out its branches to each side as if to say, “See?”
“You are truly a very clever tree, and magical besides,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides,” said the tree. “And I offer you my fruit. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni was disappointed, not because he desired the fruit or the company of the tree, Little One, but because he wanted to know how to pull fire from the sky. But the tree would not allow it, and so he struck out again upon the road. He wondered what the tree meant, to find the better thing, but he put it out of his mind and set his eyes upon his path. And the whole world was his home
, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon blowing flowing grasses of a great meadow. He stopped to wonder at the tender leaves of green and beautiful bobbing flowers that nodded in the gentle breezes. There in the midst of the blowing flowing grasses stood a rumidont.
“What do you see?” asked the rumidont, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see the grasses and flowers of a great, flowing meadow,” said the Koinoni, “and all that I might grow there, to cut down and sell to distant lands and peoples.”
“Why don’t you stay here, and dress yourself in my fine wool? For I perceive you are naked,” asked the rumidont.
“What else do you offer me?” asked the Koinoni.
“Listen to me bleat a chorus that calls out the small animals of the fields,” said the rumidont, and it lifted its voice to the empty air above. With a thousand voices it called, until the mice and rats and snakes of the field covered the feet of the Koinoni. On and on the rumidont sang, until moles and shrews and pictels scrummed across the land, a thick carpet at the roots of the velvety grasses, drawn out by the beautiful song. The rumidont smiled.
“You are truly a very clever rumidont, and magical besides,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides,” said the rumidont. “And I offer you my wool. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni turned away sadly, not because he really wanted the rumidont’s wool, because it was a warm day, but because he too wanted to call out the animals of the world to do his bidding. But the rumidont would not let him stay, and so he struck out again upon the road. Again he wondered what it meant to find the better thing, but still not knowing, he simply walked. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon a churning burning fire in an altar of black stone. There in the midst of the churning burning fire was a face made of coals, like the face of a Koinoni but completely of red-hot embers.
“What do you see, Koinoni?” asked the face of fire, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see the heat and flames of a billowing fire,” said the Koinoni, “and all that I might take from distant lands and peoples if I burned them with the fire.”
“Why don’t you stay here, and warm yourself by my friendly coals? For I perceive you are chilled,” asked the face of fire.
“What else do you offer me? For, after all, it is a rather warm day,” asked the Koinoni.
“Watch me fill your stomach from the folds of my flames,” said the face of fire, and immediately the fire fanned intense, brighter and hotter than before, as if the face was holding its breath and puffing out its bright orange cheeks, Little One. Then the face blew as hard as it could, and from its breath flew all the birds of the air: doves and eagles, auks and kinderfalcons, bluebirds and orioles. Then the Koinoni could see they were not birds at all, but flat discs of bread, floating upon the air. And the fire burned hot.
“You are truly a very clever fire, and magical besides,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides,” said the fire. “And I offer you my warmth. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing, Koinoni.”
The Koinoni’s face fell, not because he wanted the warmth of the fire, but because he wanted to fill his stomach, and to know how to blow bread from flames. But the fire would not share his secret, and would not let him stay, and so he struck out again. He was vexed by the command to find the better thing, for surely he thought the things he had wanted and the things he had seen were good enough, but he had no choice but to set out upon his journey again. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon a slippery glimmery flow of water, the River Alluvia. And in the midst of the slippery glimmery flow was the face of a woman, like the face of a Koinoni woman, only drawn entirely with the ripples of the current.
“What do you see?” asked the face of the water in a gurgly voice. She really was Zdjaman.
“I see the traveling strength of a mighty river,” said the Koinoni, “and where it might take me, there and back again into the riches of distant nations.”
“Why don’t you stay here, and drink of my cool, sweet waters? For I perceive you are thirsty,” asked the face of the water.
“What else do you offer me? For though I am thirsty indeed, surely there is more that you, such a mighty river, might have to give?” asked the Koinoni.
“Watch me make a crown of the finest silver and precious jewels,” said the face of the water. The face disappeared in a swirl of current, an eddy that sank ever deeper below the surface of the river. Faster and faster it turned, its violent flow churning up rocks from the river’s bottom. Then it turned itself inside out, and a point arose, spinning furiously, above the surface. The water formed a pure, crystalline crown, studded with finely polished stones. The Koinoni reached for the beautiful, silver-blue coronet, but just as he touched it the water and stones gave way, and it disappeared from sight. The river flowed silently on.
“You are truly a very clever river, and magical besides,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides,” said the face of the water. “And I offer you my cool sweetness. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni turned away very sad, not because he wanted the cool sweetness of the water, thirsty as he was, but because he was quite sure that the crown of silver-blue with fine jewels was a very good thing indeed. He began to grow angry that he should be expected to find a better thing, but the face of the water would not allow him to stay, so he set out upon the road once again to walk across the Earth. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon a towering glowering forest. And in the midst of the towering glowering forest stood a grand gray elephant, swaying its trunk and waving its giant ears.
“What do you see?” asked the elephant, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see a towering glowering forest, full of mighty trees,” said the Koinoni, “and a mighty elephant that well could pull down those trees, that I might use them for myself, and keep them from distant peoples in distant lands.”
“Why don’t you stay here with me, and ride upon the strength of my back? For I perceive you are very weak,” asked the elephant, and it scratched its back with a tree branch.
“What else do you offer me? For though I am weak and tired, I would use your strength for profit instead of charity,” said the Koinoni.
“Watch me blow upon the trees of the forest, and turn their leaves into spun gold,” said the elephant. And with that he lifted his trunk and trumpeted so mightily, so loudly that all the leaves of the trees spun about until the Koinoni could no longer see that they were leaves, only that they were spinning. And they spun and spun until the elephant stopped trumpeting, and when the leaves were still again, the Koinoni could see they had turned to gold. The grand gray elephant swayed its trunk and waved its giant ears.
“You are truly a very clever elephant, and magical besides, and I will very happily stay with you,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides,” said the elephant. “And I offer you the strength of my back. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni protested, and even threatened to sit down, but the grand gray elephant made it clear that he could either walk away or be thrown away, so the Koinoni left. He was tired indeed, and his bare feet were hurting from his walk, and he was very sure that the gold leaves were probabl
y the best thing he had ever seen. Not at all did he understand the command to seek the better thing. But he had no choice but to leave, so he set out again upon his journey. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over aching foot, until he came upon a stocky rocky mountain range. And in the midst of the stocky rocky mountain range loomed a huge stone statue, staring wisely from among the rubble and covered with gray-green moss.
“What do you see?” asked the statue, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see majestic, tall mountains of beautiful hard rock,” said the Koinoni, “and filled with gems and ores that I can trade in distant nations.”
“Why don’t you stay here with me, and know the wisdom of my unblinking eyes? For I perceive you are a fool,” asked the statue.
“I beg your pardon? You will have to offer me more than to call me a fool,” said the Koinoni.
“Watch me eat of the mountain and grow,” said the statue, and indeed the mountains began to rumble and fall. The Koinoni was shaken from his feet and fell hard to the ground, and the stones of the statue began to increase. The statue stretched and groaned, as if rising from a sound sleep, and the Koinoni was very much afraid. The mountains shrank, and the statue grew, until at last it seemed satisfied and stopped the quaking of the earth. It sat and stared into the blue.
“You are truly a very clever statue, and I admit very wise, and magical besides. Please don’t kill me,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and wise, and magical besides,” said the statue. “And I offer you wisdom. But because you sought more than the better thing, though I will not kill you, you cannot stay here with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni was upset to leave, not because he wanted the statue’s wisdom, but he did want the statue to tell him what was the better thing. He stamped and cursed as he walked away, wondering why each magical being told him to search but wouldn’t tell him what to find. He pondered why each tempted him with comfort but allowed him none of their wonders. On and on he trudged, across the Earth. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, until he came upon the soggy boggy bottoms of a marshland, and in the midst of the soggy boggy bottoms a Will o’ the Wisp danced upon the peaty soil.
“What do you see?” asked the Will o’ the Wisp, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see a vast, malevolent land that would swallow me up, and also a spirit, or a sprite, or a wraith,” said the Koinoni, “and the gold and silver coins that would pass to my hands to look upon such a thing.”
“Why don’t you stay here with me, and see by my light? For I perceive you are blind,” asked the Will o’ the Wisp.
“You are certainly a very rude sprite, for to be sure I can see you fine. You will have to offer me more than light to make me stay,” said the Koinoni.
“Watch me, then, blind man. Watch me cover the fetid moors with crystals brighter than the sun.” Immediately the Will o’ the Wisp arose from the ground, and it spun and twirled within the skies, and grew to an astounding size. It swirled over the head of the Koinoni, sweeping about the sky like a comet, trailing behind it glowing bits of radiant goo. The luminescent specks fell lightly upon the ground until it sparkled white.
“You are truly a very clever Will o’ the Wisp, beautiful to behold, and magical besides,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and beautiful, and magical besides,” said the Will o’ the Wisp. “And I offer you light. But because you sought more than the better thing, you cannot stay with me. You must continue your searching until you find the better thing.”
The Koinoni cursed the Will o’ the Wisp under his breath, cursed his beauty that he could no longer behold, cursed his command to find the better thing. Of all the wonderful things he had seen, he could not choose the better. He stepped out upon his path again, distressed that he might never know what the better thing was. But he had no choice, for none of the magical beings would let him stay with them, so on he trod. And the whole world was his home, and he had no home.
Over the land he went, foot over foot, Little One, until he came upon the towering overpowering standancrags of Medialia. And in the midst of the towering overpowering standancrags stood a man, a man in a long robe, a robe with a great, deep hood, so massive that only the man’s long gray beard could be seen hanging out of its opening.
“What do you see?” asked the man speaking from within the great, deep hood, who really was Zdjaman.
“I see towers of rock, standing out of the ground like they had been pulled from the earth, or like nails driven into the soil by the gods,” said the Koinoni, “and the fine houses I could carve out of them for any who would pay.”
“Why don’t you stay here with me? For they indeed are my houses, and I could be a friend to you, and make you a man like me, for surely I see you are but a pitiful shadow of what man was intended,” asked the voice within the great, deep hood.
“You are no doubt the most rude being that I have met upon my quest. All across the Earth have I walked, only to be belittled for the greatness of the work I have done. What do you have to reward me, for surely I deserve more than mere insults?” said the Koinoni.
“Watch me, shadow man, turn the whole of creation into living hell,” said the voice within the great, deep hood, and the man lifted his arms, draped in long sleeves, to the heavens. Fire fell from the sky, greater than that of the tree; vast plagues of vermin swarmed, greater than those of the rumidont; birds swept down upon the Koinoni with their talons, greater than those of the face of fire; stones ground together upon the swirling land, greater than those of the face of the water; whole trees spun about, faster and harder than those of the grand gray elephant; the standancrags swelled and erupted, greater than the stones of the statue; lights flared and exploded, brighter and greater than the Will o’ the Wisp. And the Koinoni fell to the ground before the man in the robe, standing with his arms to the heavens, O Little One.
“You are truly a very clever man, a very powerful man, and your magic is greater than all the magical beings I have known,” said the Koinoni.
“I am very clever, and magical besides; and I am the tree, and the rumidont, and the fire, and the water, and the elephant, and the wisdom, and the light, and the power. All the magical beings you met along your way, I am. And all the things I offered you, you have refused. And I offer you friendship. But because you sought more than the better things, you cannot stay with me. You must continue your searching until you learn to renounce the lesser things, until you find the better thing.”
“All across the Earth have I walked, and I did not find the better thing,” said the Koinoni, still at the feet of the man in the robe.
“All the way of your journey I offered you the better thing. Until you learn not to refuse it, you must continue your wanderings.”
“Do you turn me out empty, then?”
“No. I give you my robe, for a covering. No longer will you be naked without, though you remain wretched within, and you perceive neither.”
And even though the Koinoni wanted to stay, the man, who now stood with body exposed, would not allow it, so he struck out again in his wanderings, dressed in a long robe with a deep hood, seeking the better thing, but never yet finding. And the whole world was his home, O Little One, and he had no home.