XX

I had just finished an apple (they seemed the size of melons now) and was scouting the dark waters ahead when I spied another black spot approaching through the murk.  It was not long before I was able to make out its shape, dimly silhouetted against the dull glow in the east.  It appeared to be a log raft. Its square sail hung limp, for there was no wind, and I could hear the muffled sound of oars slapping the wave-tops in the distance.  Not a lamp nor a lantern shone upon it, but I was able to discern the shadowy figures of men moving about the flat deck.  In particular, I could see the man at the steering oar and hear his voice as he shouted out orders to the others.

More out of habit than anything else, for I fully expected to hear the voice of the small gray bird at any moment telling me to “let it pass,” I waved my lamp from side to side above my head and hailed the men on the raft.  To my surprise they saw me and steered in my direction.  They rowed up rather close and hove-to a short distance away.  Their faces appeared strange and ghoulish in the yellow glow of my clay lamp.

“Who are you and what’s your business?” called the steersman, leaning on his steering oar and jutting his huge bony jaw at me over the water.

“I am heading into the sunrise of Christmas morning,” I answered, shading the glare of the lamp with my hand so as to see him better.  “The Firebird brought me this far.  I am seeking him whom the Watchers say is to come.”

A murmur drifted to me over the waves from the dark figures aboard the raft.  The steersman grunted, rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, and looked grim.

“This is no sunrise you’re headed for,” he glowered.  “The sun is running away from you!  That’s the sunset – not the sunrise!  You’re travelling west – not east!”

West!  The thought of it struck me speechless.  What could I say in return?  I could not deny that my own observations seemed to bear out the truth of his words.

“And that’s not all,” he continued.  “It’s not just the sunset you’re headed for – it’s the very end of the world!  If you don’t turn back, you’ll soon fall over the edge!”

“If Leviathan doesn’t get you first!” muttered one of his companions.

“That’s right,” agreed a third.  “That’s why we’re rowing as hard as we can in the opposite direction!”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XIX

I was awakened at last by a voice whispering in my ear:

“Eat.  It is long since you have taken anything, and you must eat if you are to reach your journey’s end.

I obeyed, hardly knowing what I was doing, for my mind was still a blur.  Drawing the basket of apples from the folds of my cloak, I looked inside and found that it still contained seven apples.  But how much larger those apples seemed to have grown!  The basket, too, looked bigger than before.

Without stopping to puzzle over this apparent change in the relative size of things – for I was indeed thoroughly famished – I reached in and took out one of the bright green apples.  But just as I was about to bite into it, I stopped short, arrested by the sight of my own hand.  How small it looked with the great apple in its palm!  I wondered at the skin, so smooth against the smooth skin of the fruit, and marveled at how like the two skins seemed to have become.  This fair, smooth hand was mine without a doubt, and yet it had undergone an unmistakable change.  It seemed the hand of a small child beside the huge apple, which appeared to have grown to the size of a grapefruit.

I ate with great relish.  Again the golden juice refreshed and strengthened me, cooling my lips and tongue, quenching my thirst, satisfying my hunger, and warming me from the inside out.  The glow returned to the wound in my heart and I was comforted.

As was my habit, I would have devoured the apple completely but for a very strange thing that now met my eye.  At its core I saw a bit of paper, rolled up into a scroll, like a note thrust into a bottle by a shipwrecked mariner.  As soon as I unrolled the paper I knew immediately what it was:  the first page of the little book I had read in my room when the walls and ceiling were transformed into reflecting glass.

“Keep this paper with you,” said the voice at my ear.  It was, of course, the voice of the small gray bird.  “Hide it within the folds of your cloak, inside your nightgown, next to your skin.  Do not let go of it.”

I did as the bird said.

On and on I went, then, and just as before time passed without seeming to pass at all.  I knew that it was passing, at least insofar as I understand the meaning of the words, for I continued moving forward, carried by the current which grew ever stronger.  I went through the cycle of watching, sleeping, waking, and eating over and over again, but the light of the approaching sunrise never changed.  It seemed as if the great fire below the horizon was moving away from me at exactly the same rate as I was pursuing.

Meanwhile, the little scrolls of paper continued to appear in the cores of the apples I ate, occasionally at first, then with greater frequency as I continued on my way.  When unrolled, each scroll turned out to be yet another page of the little book.  You will have some idea how long I traveled and how many apples I ate when I say that eventually I had collected all of the pages and had the entire book tucked away inside my clothing and next to my heart.

From time to time I saw things.  As I watched, blotches of darkness on the waters ahead would grow larger and clearer as I moved closer, and then take shape as rocks, small islands, buoys, boats, ships, or the backs of great sea creatures.  In the beginning I grew highly excited at each of these sightings, desperately hoping that each might prove to be my salvation.  But always the voice of the small gray bird would speak to me and say, “Let it pass.”  And so I did.

 * * * * * * * * * *

XVIII

The great ship glowed like the sun itself with lanterns and torches and wondrous crystal lamps.  Her sails were striped with silver and gold and emblazoned in red and white with emblems of the sun and the morning star.  Very tall she stood above the water.  Along her flanks rows of ornately framed and warmly lighted windows opened out from her five lofty decks.

As she drew nearer I could look directly into these windows.  All were hung with curtains of gauzy lace that fluttered delicately in the wind and shimmered like silk reflecting the warm red light within.  Inside I saw the faces of people, laughing, smiling, talking; full, round faces, scrubbed and glowing.  The people were seated at tables laden with fruit, bread, red meat, wine, pastries, cakes, and pies.  I could see the rich clothing they wore, clean and pressed and brightly colored.

As the ship approached a cry burst forth from my cold and desperate heart:  “Help!  Save me!  I’m lost and drifting on the ocean!”  But no one seemed to hear.

As the vessel moved closer, I could clearly see the image of the sunrise embroidered upon the bosom of her cloud-like mainsail.  And now I could also make out that her figurehead was carved in the shape of the eight-legged horse.

This ship sails into the sunrise! I thought.  Her destination and mine are one and the same!  The people on board are loyal to the rider of the eight-legged horse!  Surely this was predestined!  Surely this is my one hope of safety!  I must get aboard somehow!

With that I began waving my lamp in wide arcs over my head and shouting more loudly than before:  “Help!  Take me aboard!  Take me with you to the place of the Rising Sun!”

I kept this up until the ship at length drew up alongside me, so near that she almost ran me down.  My shouts grew louder and more frantic the closer she came, but no one paid the least attention to them.  The eyes of the people who were feasting behind the lighted windows met mine, and I knew that they had seen me.  Some smiled, ever so faintly, then turned back to the warmth of their food and companionship.  One gaily dressed matron even raised her hand in what I thought might be a slight gesture of greeting.  Then she returned to the animated conversation in which she was engaged with a handsome gentleman in black coat and white tie.  After that the ship passed on into the glow on the horizon while I called after her, flailing my arms wildly above my head and kicking up the water with my feet.

The smiling faces were still visible as the gilded vessel drew away, leaving me alone in its wake.  I could make out the ship’s name now, engraved in gold script on the stern:  Sunrise.

At this my deep grief and frustration surged up into boiling anger:  anger at those smooth faces that smiled and smiled until they were lost in the distance.  They went on smiling until they and the whole ship were swallowed up the blur of light on the horizon.  I suppose they smiled until the topmost tip of the mainmast dropped over the edge of the burnished sky.

“They did not – they would not – take me aboard!” I moaned in disbelief.  “They left me outside – outside in the cold, cold sea, lost, alone, and without hope!”

Then, groaning again, I curled myself into a ball, wrapped the cloak around me, and cried myself to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

XVII

To this day it amazes me to recall what the sight of that boat did to me.  I suddenly became aware of my situation in a new way, and my mood and perspective were entirely altered in an instant.  I was adrift on the open sea, caught in the ocean current, cold, alone, lost, helpless, at the point of death!  Why had I not seen it before?  At the thought, the wound in my heart turned cold.

I must get to that boat! I thought.  Waving the lamp above my head, I cried out frantically once again, “Over here!  This way!  Can’t you see me?”

I could see the boat drawing nearer.  But just when it had come close enough for those aboard to hear my cries and see my light, the voice of the small gray bird spoke to me once again.

“Let it pass,” it said.

“Let it pass?” I nearly choked.  “My one and only hope of reaching safety?  My last chance of escaping alive?”

“Hush,” he said in a stern but even softer tone.  “Let the boat pass.  It is not your only hope.  Look – it is moving in the wrong direction!”

“I don’t care about that!” I spluttered.  “I only want – ”

But I did not finish.  Somehow I realized, without knowing why, that I must do as the bird said.  And so, lowering my lamp, I hid its light in the folds of my cloak.  Then I pulled the hood low over my face and watched very quietly as the boat crested a wave, dipped into the trough, and slipped silently past me.  So close did it pass that I could see the faces of the sailors in the lantern’s glow; kind, friendly faces I thought.  A tear came to my eye and slid down my cheek.  I felt certain now that I was utterly lost.

I drifted on.  And as I drifted, it seemed to me that not merely hours, but days and even weeks went by, and still the light on the horizon did not change.

All this while I had nothing to support or sustain me but my cloak, my lamp, and my basket of apples, and these served me amazingly well.  Not only did the cloak prevent me from sinking – it also kept me warm and comfortable despite my being wet through and through, floating as I was up to my neck in the choppy waters.  My little lamp burned small but bright, never once going out or even dimming, for the water seemed to have no power to extinguish it.  What’s more, the oil never ran low though I had no means of replenishing it.  As often as I grew cold and empty, I had only to eat one of the golden apples to be instantly refreshed and warmed from the inside out.  Here, too, was a miracle:  for no matter how many apples I ate, there were always seven remaining in the basket.

On and off I slept – this could not be helped, for as my ordeal dragged on I grew bored as well as weary – and this further confused my sense of the passage of time.  Eventually a pattern developed:  wrapping myself snugly in the cloak, I would doze for a while; upon waking and finding my stomach empty and my heart cold, I would eat one of the golden apples; then, my spirits being revived, I would raise the clay lamp above my head and try to get my bearings, hoping in my heart of hearts for a sight of another boat.

None ever appeared – none, that is, until at last there came a time when I found myself roused from sleep by a great rush as of the cleaving of many waters and saw the glimmer of lights approaching on the water.  In the excitement of the moment I neglected to eat one of the apples, so that when I lifted my lamp and turned to look, it was with a cold and desperate heart that I beheld the sight that met my eyes.

It was a ship ­– a huge, three-masted vessel, gilded and richly bedecked as a treasure galleon.

 * * * * * * * * * **

XVI

Cold indeed was the wound in my heart, yet not so cold as the waters into which I fell.  Against all expectation, I was not plunged into the icy depths to drown; for as I plummeted seaward my cloak of heaven-blue billowed out around me like a parachute, breaking my fall, so that at last I splashed lightly down upon the tops of the waves and floated there like a cork.

As it had caught the air during my fall, so the cloak continued to hold it on the surface of the water, inflating itself like life-raft or a pillow of foam.  Recovering my senses and looking about me, I discovered that my lamp and my basket of apples were close at hand, also floating easily on the face of the water.  I reached for them and drew them into the folds of the cloak, keenly aware somehow that these gifts might yet prove valuable.  Then up and down, this way and that, I bobbed over the crests of the whitecaps, pelted all the while by rain and hail, a strong current driving me along.  I knew nothing of the direction in which I was headed and was absolutely helpless to do anything about it.

Deep though the darkness was, and thick as were the mists, I was able to see a short distance round about me by the light of my little lamp.  More than once I came alarming close to jagged rocks, but never was I dashed upon them, nor could I reach them in order to pull myself out of the water.

After the current had carried me along for a while I suddenly broke out of the mists and the rain and found myself floating along under the stars.  The glow on the western horizon lay directly ahead.  Behind me the luminous blue mountains were already sinking into the fog from which I had just emerged.  It was clear that the tide was carrying me straight out to sea and on into the sunrise of Christmas morning.

Oddly enough, though the time seemed to stretch into hours, that approaching glow never appeared to grow or change in any way.  It was as if the earth or the sun – one or the other – were standing still.  Soon the light of the mountains died away altogether, but the hint of sunrise before me remained constant.  It was just strong enough to keep me apprised of the direction in which I was moving.

Becoming aware that I was ravenously hungry, I reached for the basket and counted the apples.  There were seven.  I took the first one that came to hand and bit into it deeply.

Never had I tasted such an apple!  It was deliciously ripe and crisp.  As I ate, its sweet golden juice ran around and under my tongue and dribbled from the corners of my mouth.  I ate it up completely, core, seeds, and all.  When I had finished I felt indescribably satisfied and warm in spite of the cold water in which I floated.  Immediately the warmth returned to the wound in my heart and I felt my spirits rise.

Suddenly a point of light, small but bright, appeared on the water ahead of me.  As I watched, it grew in intensity.  It was moving towards me.  Soon I could see the yellow glow of lanterns shimmering on the flapping canvas of a tall sail.  It was a boat!  I picked up my lamp and waved it above my head.

“Here!” I cried.  “I’m over here!”

* * * * * * * * * *

XV

Somehow or other the red star had reappeared, burning a hole through the curtain of rain and darkness.  Bigger, brighter, and closer it grew until I no longer had any doubt as to what it was.  I recognized it as the Firebird returning.

I bit my lip as tears began to run down my cheeks, mingling with the flowing raindrops.  “There must be another way!” I cried, craning my neck to look at the small gray bird.  But the small gray bird had disappeared.  In his place I saw three different birds occupying the spot of ground where the three ladies had so recently stood:  the first, a raven; the second, a rose-red dove; and the third, a little brown sparrow.

“Use your cloak,” said the raven, and off she flew.

“Use your lamp,” said the dove, and she too fluttered away.

Use your apples – and use them wisely,” chirped the sparrow as the wind bore her out over the ocean.

I looked up just in time to see the Firebird stooping down upon me.  I fell back a step, expecting to be snatched up in its powerful claws, as its hot breath swept over me.  But it passed me by like a whirlwind of flame and flew circling out over the valley of the Watchers.  I spun around to face it.  Bending into a steep dive, it bore down upon me again.  Nearer and nearer it came.  I cowered, stumbled backward, and then I was falling, over the edge of the cliff, down through the swirling mists, straight into the terrible darkness of the crashing sea below.

* * * * * * * * * *

XIV

Once more I looked out over the sea to the horizon.  The black speck was no longer visible, though the red star had increased in magnitude and brilliance.  At my feet gray mists curled in the darkness and the surf boiled and churned over the hidden reefs.  Suddenly the wind shifted round to the northeast, bringing with it great black clouds that blotted out the star and the ruddy glow of the approaching sunrise.  It began to rain.

“Ah!” I exclaimed with a shiver, “how cold it has become!”  But when I turned to address the three ladies they were nowhere to be seen.

I pulled the cloak closer around my shoulders and covered my head with the hood.  Then I picked up the lamp and the basket of apples.  Gazing at them, I suddenly recalled that these very items had been among the gifts I had seen in the sack through my window.  To be sure, they represented only a small portion of the bag’s contents, and yet I was no longer separated from them by the glass.  On the contrary, I held them in my own hands!  And who could tell what benefits they might bring me?

“Surely this is a sign,” I thought.  “Surely he is telling me that I must not stop.  He is asking me to keep on following him!”

The rain was coming down hard, driving before a chill wind that went howling past my ear before plunging headlong down the sheer glassy cliff.

“But where do I go from here?” I cried out in the face of the storm.  “How can I follow when nothing lies before me but a dark abyss?  What must I do?”

In answer, the familiar voice at my ear spoke once again.  It was very soft and still now in the midst of the wind and rain.  It said, “Throw yourself into the sea.”

I turned my head.  There on my shoulder sat the small gray bird with eyes of burning blue.

“Throw myself into the sea?” I shouted in disbelief.

At this moment there was neither fire nor warming glow in my wounded heart.  As in my dream, it was as if everything had gone cold and empty inside me.  The storm grew violent and the rain froze into cruel sleet and hail.  The darkness was thick and palpable.

“Yes,” said the still, small voice.  “Throw yourself into the sea.”

“What can you possibly mean?” I protested.  “How can I do such a thing?”

“You must trust me,” he replied.

“Trust you!” I wailed.  “And cast myself down into that darkness?  That would be suicide!  I can’t even see my hand in front of my face!  A leap like that is not trust!  It’s plain stupidity!”

“It is no leap at all,” he gently countered.  “It’s simply the next step.  You asked me what to do and I have told you.  I told you before that your only concern is to take one step and then another.  One step at a time.  Nothing more.  And step by step I have brought you to this place – this ridge, this cliff, this boiling ocean, this dark storm, this particular moment, unique among all others.  This, for you, is the kairos.  Where will you go now if you refuse to follow my instructions?  This is the next step, I tell you.  That is all.  Throw yourself into the sea.”

I could not believe what I was hearing.  I did not want to believe it.  I spun around, intending to turn back.  But when I saw the twinkling of the lights in the valley below and realized that all those hundreds and thousands of Watchers had their eyes fixed upon me, I hesitated.  It was a good thing I did.

I could see now very clearly that there was no way back.  The level crest of the mountain on which I stood was no more than six feet wide, and the drop on the side of the valley was even steeper and sharper than that which fell into the sea.  The way was closed and my guides had departed.  I stood motionless and horrified on the ridge as if at the top of a wall between two worlds.

I turned and spoke to the bird on my shoulder.

“Please,” I said, “all I want to do is go back home!  Back to my room, my window, my candle, and all the other familiar things that I know so well.  Christmas morning is coming as it has come so many times before, and I am afraid of missing it.  Please take me home!”

The bird blinked his blue eyes.  The tiny red flames were flickering in their depths.

“Christmas morning comes indeed,” he said.  “It comes as it has never come before. And you will certainly miss it if you do not do as I say.  Throw yourself into the sea.”

* * * * * * * * * *

XIII

Far out to sea a small black speck was moving against the glow on the horizon. “The eight-legged horse!” I said to myself, and my heart leapt at the idea. Above the speck, three quarters of the way to the zenith, a bright red star appeared, bright enough to be visible in the lightening sky.

                                        He comes! He comes!

                                        Christmas morning is soon to arise!

Voices were chanting again. I turned at the sound. There beside me on the narrow ridge stood three ladies, tall and gracious, each one exceedingly fair, each one different from the other two. I wheeled around to cast an enquiring glance at my guide; but even as I looked upon her she vanished away, her bright form dissolving into a million dancing radiant specks which in the next instant were scattered by the wind. I was left alone in the presence of the three.

“Who are you?” I asked timidly. Though I sensed somehow that they meant me nothing but good, still I felt cold with dread as well as with the east sea wind.

Without answering my question, the first one stepped close to me. “Take this cloak,” she said. She was dark as the night sky, with raven-black hair caught back in a silver circlet, but her eyes shone bright as two stars. It was in her eyes that I perceived how very old she was – older than the mountains, older than the dark sea. And yet she was breathtakingly beautiful. She was wrapped in a shroud of dark blue, like the blue of deepest heaven. The cloak she held out to me was of the same color.

“You are but a child,” she said to me. “This cloak will protect and keep you. It will cover folly and a multitude of sins. Without it you will be a helpless, naked infant. Wear it well.”

With that she cast the cloak around my shoulders and fastened it at the throat with a silver brooch. Then she withdrew a step.

“Take this lamp,” said the second, who now advanced. Her hair was dusky red, her eyes burning amber. A simple band of red gold circled her brow. Her robe was of the sunset’s subtlest hues. In her hand she held a simple oil lamp of red clay. At the end of its gently curving spout burned a small yellow flame.

“You are but a child,” she said, holding the lamp out to me (and somehow I knew that she herself could never be young or old). “This lamp will light your way and banish your darkness. Without it you will be a blind baby. Take it and use it well.” She put the lamp into my hand and touched my fingers as they closed around its ear-shaped handle. Then she stepped back.

Now the third approached. She was young, fresh, and fair as the first spring rain. Her hair was of bright gold, circled with a garland of living flowers. Her eyes were blue and shining. She wore a simple kirtle of fine white linen and her feet were bare. In her hand she held a basket of golden apples.

“Take these apples,” she meekly said, bowing and proffering the basket. “You are but a child, and these apples will serve to keep you so; for should you ever outgrow childhood, you would also outgrow him whose coming we await.” Then, with a curtsey, she too withdrew.

I looked out to sea. The black speck had all but disappeared. Something hot surged up within me.

“You say that he is coming,” I said, “and yet I have been pursuing him all this night, and still he eludes me. Perhaps he comes for you but not for me.”

Except for the whistling of the wind all was very quiet on the steep blue ridge. Then suddenly the maiden with the flowers in her hair began to laugh – a bright, merry, musical laugh.

“Have you indeed been pursuing him?” she asked with a cheery glint in her eye. “Was it not he who persuaded you to come out when you were unwilling?”

“What she says is true,” said a familiar voice at my ear.

* * * * * * * *

XII

Again we made our way through the crowd of busy watchers; and as we went, I noticed that, while thoroughly occupied with their individual tasks, these shining people kept their eyes fixed upon the highest ridge of the sheer blue wall of the valley.  It was in this direction that my guide led me.  Upon reaching the foot of the azure cliff, she stretched out her hand and touched its icy surface with her fingertips, gently, tenderly, almost as if she were touching a living thing.  And at her touch it was as if the wall became a living thing indeed.  Its color changed from blue to shades of red and rose and pink; its hard, rocky face grew soft and supple and then began to melt away, leaving a passageway into the mountainside.  She took my hand and drew me inside.

I expected to find myself in darkness once we stepped beneath the arch, but the tunnel was more than adequately illumined by the shimmering form of my guide and the glow of the rock itself.  In this light I could see that the rock continued to melt away before us precisely at the rate at which we continued moving forward.  At every step it withdrew another yard further into the cliffside.  The dead-end of the passage was never more than three feet ahead, and if ever we stopped for a moment, it too would stand still and wait for us to proceed.  The words of the small gray bird came back to me then:  “Take one step and then another;” for at any given moment we had only enough space to do just that and no more.

On and on we went in just this fashion until I became aware that we were climbing slowly upward through the heart of the mountain – not because I could see it, but because my steps became more labored.  Up and up we climbed, higher and higher for a very long time, until at last the passageway broke out into the light.

We emerged into the outer air and stood upon the narrow crest of the mountain.  A strong and steady wind blew cold from the east, whipping my hair about my face.  I put my back to it and looked out over the valley of blue glass whence we had come.  It was filled will the bright but silent shapes of the watchers.  From such a height they appeared to me no more than a great gathering of motionless fireflies.  They were like thousands and thousands of winking and twinkling candles filling up the blue basin below.  But I knew that their eyes were upon me.

“Look to the east,” said a familiar voice at my ear.  I turned to face the stinging wind.  What I saw nearly took my breath away.

At my very feet the ridge fell away sheer into a fathomless darkness of mist.  At the sight my disturbing dream came flooding up into consciousness.  But then I raised my eyes and saw below me the great dark sea stretching away to the horizon.  I could hear its breakers crashing on rocks that lay shrouded in the fog.  The luminescence of the mountains was not strong enough to penetrate the mists nor to reach very far out to sea; but along the horizon, at the very edge of all that could be seen or known, I saw a faint red glow rising.  And then I heard several voices chanting:

“He comes!”

* * * * * * * *

XI

At this, another one of the bright people approached us, saying, “All is now ready.  Come.”

Without further speech the two of them led me through the crowd to a sheltered spot beneath the shadow of the great throne.  There in the heart of this place of glassy rock and ice I saw a patch of soft green, where grass and fragile, trembling flowers grew, and a quiet spring of water came bubbling up from under the ground.

“Here in this shaded place,” said one of my guides, “you may rest yourself from all that has gone before and prepare for things yet to come.”

I was glad enough of the opportunity, and lay down at once, pressing my cheek into the young and tender grass.  My eyelids grew heavy and I felt myself slipping into sweet darkness.  Just before drifting off, I managed to ask, “How am I to prepare when I don’t know the way?”  But the fragrance of the grass, the music of the spring, and the warmth of the patch of earth on which I lay soon overpowered me, and I was asleep before I had an answer to my question.

As I slept, it seemed to me that I dreamed.  And in my dream I looked and saw the eight-legged horse and his rider galloping along the black horizon, sharply silhouetted against the rising red glow in the sky behind them.

“It’s Christmas morning!” I thought.  “It’s just about to rise.”

Then I jumped to my feet and cried, “Wait!  I will follow you if only you will wait for me!”

With that, I began to run; but in the next instant I realized that the earth had fallen away beneath my feet and that I was falling from a steep cliff into the dark sea below.  In that moment the wound in my heart grew suddenly cold as ice.  I kicked with my legs and groped wildly with my arms in panic as down, down I fell into the murky depths.

And then I awoke.  Raising myself on one elbow, I heard the gentle music of the spring and the mellow voice of my first guide saying, “Rise.  Come.”

Still trembling with the cold shock of my terrible dream, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and got to my feet.  Then I paused, reluctant to leave that place beneath the throne.  It was like a little bit of Spring in the midst of that blue and wintry world.  The throne itself was faintly radiant, though I did not think that it was the source of the warmth I felt, for its glow was cold and pure as starlight.  In spite of this, the air around it was light, warm, and redolent of the scent of flowers.  Everything within me wanted to stay, to sink again into the sweet green grass.  But as I stood there hesitating, my guide called to me once more.

“Come,” she said.  “The hour is growing late.

And so I followed.

* * * * * * * *

X

Higher and higher the bird carried me.  The earth fell quickly away and the stars grew brighter around us.  Wisps of flame from the bird’s tail and wings licked my arms and legs up and down but, to my amazement, I was not burned.  We flew so high that the moon seemed to have grown larger and drawn nearer.

But for the quiet roar of the Firebird’s flight all was intense silence.  The air was still, cold, and pure; so cold that no impurity or uncleanness could live there.  I myself would not have survived without the Firebird’s heat to warm me.

I felt that I would choke, so thin, so fine, so pure was the air, when we began a sudden descent toward a range of jagged mountain peaks.  No trace of roundness nor softness did I see in the shape of those mountains.  They were hard-edged, sheer and sharp, their summits like razors, violet-blue and transparent at the tips.

Though the dawn was still far off, there was a sense of the sunrise about those mountains.  As they drew nearer the stars faded and the sky paled around us.  Shades of blue, purple, crimson, and gold suffused the air.  The entire dome above my head was colored as the horizon at dawn or sunset, and yet there was no sun, nor any hint of it, for the light was evenly distributed from one end of the heavens to the other.  I wondered about the source of the light, and soon came to the conclusion that the mountain peaks themselves must be luminescent.  Indeed, I decided that they could best be described as mountains of frozen fire.

“This is the Land of the Horizon,” the Firebird said in a voice like the thunder of the rising sun.  “This is a place on the Verge.”

“On the verge of what?” I thought to ask, but did not, for my heart’s wound had again become inflamed and was burning as never before.  Unspeakable joy and excruciating pain were upon me, and I experienced them as one, just as I had in my reading of the little book.  All I could say was, “Let’s stay here forever and ever!”

The Firebird set me down in a valley of those mountains, a valley like a bright blue bowl of glass, scooped out like a setting for a gigantic jewel high among the uppermost clefts and crags.  To my great surprise, the place was filled with people.  I cannot describe their faces except to say that they were open and eager.  Their expression was one of pure anticipation and expectation.

One of them approached me and took me by the arm.  I stood speechless in her presence.  Her appearance was softly and quietly dazzling.  Whether she wore a bright robe or gown, or whether it were an unclothed body of light upon which I looked I could not say.  Here form was all of shimmering brightness and motion, though she seemed solid enough to the touch.

“I am glad to see you,” she said, and her voice was low and rich.  “We have long watched your doings and have awaited your coming with joy.”

“Who are you?” I asked in astonishment.

“We are witnesses,” she said.  “We are helpers of him whom you seek.  We are watchers who dwell here at the uttermost edge and tip of this world, awaiting the approach of him who is to come.”

She pointed to a great throne, the appearance of which was like a great stone of sapphire.  All around it were other people of her kind, busy, it seemed, with preparations.

“But who is he?” I asked.

“For us,” she replied, “his coming shall be as the rising of the dawn.”

 * * * * * * * * * *

IX

When they saw that I had given up the fight, they withdrew once more.  A moment passed during which I lay perfectly still.  Some of the imps looked confused, but others smiled knowingly.  All of them turned to their chief, who also smiled a grim and knowing smile.  He stepped forward, raised me up by a handful of my hair, and shouted, “Up with you!  Can’t you see what’s got to be done?  Get to it!”

“I can’t,” I moaned.  “I want to, but you – ”

“Of course you can’t,” he sneered.  “But you must!  Don’t you see?”

“You can’t but you must!  You can’t but you must!” echoed the others, laughing even more uproariously than before.  Again they seized me and set me on my feet.

I stood like a pillar of stone in the midst of their childish caperings, utterly lost and miserable. What could I do?  They would not be satisfied one way or the other.  Nor, I feared, would they be content to leave me alone.

Suddenly I was reminded of my wound.  In an instant the burning pain in my chest returned, but it was somehow different this time – more like an overpowering desire laced with a surge of anger, white-hot and pure.  My eyes were drawn upward, above the little hill, above the steadily rising moon, to where the long-tailed star had now reappeared in the sky.

“You must but you can’t!  You can’t but you must!” sang the imps, drunkenly dancing and hopping from one foot to the other.  But I saw the leer on their faces change to a look of dread in the glow of the light that was growing in the heavens.

“Maybe I must, and maybe I can’t,” I said, slowly turning my gaze from one terrified face to the next.  “But I don’t care much one way or the other, for I have been wounded by the Firebird, and I am no slave to such as you!”

They all let out a horrible shriek and fell on their faces as the flaming bird swooped down upon us, scorching the earth and sending the imps flying in every direction like so many leaves before the wind.  The great talons snatched me and held me like vises of steel, the fiery wings surrounded and covered me, and all in a moment I was swept away.

* * * * * * * * * *

VIII

I must have fallen asleep.  When I opened my eyes I was lying on my back, stretched out upon the ground.  The moon, which had returned in all its fullness and now hung suspended just above the little grassy hill, caught my eye.

“I will follow you,” I said with determination.  “I want so much to follow you now!  I’ll go wherever you want me to go!”

“Then come along quickly!”

I was startled at the sound of a new voice, high-pitched, resonant, even musical, like a woodwind instrument, but also strangely mechanical in tone.

“Step lively if you’re coming!” the voice continued.  “Don’t be such a lazybones!”

“Lazybones!  Lazybones!” chimed in a number of similar voices.  “Don’t be such a lazybones!”

A moment later I found myself surrounded by a troop of odd little men.

“She won’t!” I heard one of them laugh derisively.  “She can’t!”

“No, no!” said another.  “You’re absolutely right!”

“Certainly not!  Definitely not!” agreed a third.

“A lazybones!  A sluggard!” rejoined the chorus.

I thought of the eight-legged horse disappearing into the distance.  A new pain, cold like cold steel, flashed through my heart.  I rolled over onto my side.

“Get up!  Get up!” shouted the first of the strange little imps.  “You’ve got to!  You know you’ve got to!”

Suddenly I felt unspeakably tired and weak.  “I know,” I responded, “But I don’t have the strength.

“You must!  You must!” chanted the others.  “Come along quickly!  Come now!”

At once they were all around me, tugging at my nightgown, pulling and pushing me this way and that.  Ten pair of bony little hands laid hold of me and wrenched me upright, setting me on my feet.  I looked down at their misshapen little faces as if in a dream.

“Go quickly!” shouted the chief imp, stomping as if in a fit of rage.  “Go, go, go!”

“Step lively!” chanted the others.  “Don’t be such a sluggard!”

I had no choice except to comply.  Assuming that they wanted me to follow the eight-legged horse and its rider, I struggled against my own weakness and took a single step forward.

“Stop!” I heard some of them shout.

“Hold her down!  Keep her down!” cried two or three others.

Immediately I was all but smothered beneath a pile of scrawny bodies as the imps leaped wildly upon me and began pummeling me with their fists.

“She won’t!  She can’t!” they shouted.  “A sluggard!  A good-for-nothing!”

“Let me go!” I cried in pain and confusion, covering my head with my hands and pressing my face to the ground.

They jumped away at once, then drew back and stood regarding me from a distance.

“Please let me go,” I continued without getting up.  “I want to follow the man on the eight-legged horse.”

“Yes, of course!” piped the chief.  “What else?  You must follow him!”

“You must!  You must!” chanted the others.

“Well, then,” I said, getting to my feet, “I will, and I hope you will be so kind as to – ”

Instantly they threw themselves on top of me again, kicking, scratching, and beating me into the ground.  I began to cry desperately.

“You must follow him!  Yes!  Yes!  But you can’t!”  Shouted one of the little men.

“You must but you can’t!  You must but you can’t!”  They all joined in, jeering and laughing with glee.

Again the steel-like pain cut me to the quick.  I ceased struggling and lay limp on the ground, overwhelmed with despair.

 * * * * * * * * * *

VII

I obeyed.  I was led through the streets for what seemed a long, long time.  At last an alley between two long, low, dark buildings opened into a large, surprisingly empty space, grassy but treeless.  On a little hill out in the middle of this open place I saw him, standing, as it were, at the top of the earth’s curve, his heavy sack beside him on the ground.  I saw the tip of his slouched hat nodding black against clusters of stars.  Otherwise he did not move; but I felt him beckoning me to join him just the same.

Slowly, I began to move forward.  At each step the burning fire and comforting warmth within grew stronger and became more completely fused and melded together until they became one new thing:  an overwhelming sense of awe, a kind of holy fear.  By this time I was weary to the point of exhaustion, but still I did not stop.

And now the Firebird reappeared and hovered over the little hill whereon he stood.  Shadows danced in a widening circle, stretching, squatting, darting, leaping.  I came to him and laid the body at his feet.  He spoke to me, but his words were dark and strange.  When I try to recall them, they come back to me as a little song:

                                    Plant it, sow it in the ground,

                                                Cast it all away.

                                      In its time it shall be found

                                                And live again.

                                      Sow it, plant it in the earth,

                                                Seek for it no more;

                                      Until in death it finds rebirth

                                                And lives again.

Looking down, I saw that the shape at my feet was a body no longer, but a large sack of seed.  From under the brim of the tall slouched hat I could feel his eyes upon me, watching me patiently to know what I would do.  I undid the mouth of the sack, lifted it as best I could, and dragged it to the foot of the little hill.  Then I began to walk around the hill in ever-widening circles, throwing out handfuls of grain on my right and on my left as I went.

When at last the seed was spent and I have covered the whole of the grassy field with it, he said, “Now follow me!”  Nearby grazed an eight-legged horse, glossy white, sleek and strong, shimmering with a moon-like sheen.  In one swift motion he leapt to the horse’s back and set his heavy sack before him.

“Follow me if you will!” he repeated.  Then off he rode at a gallop four times as fast as that of any horse anyone has ever seen.  In seconds he had passed clean out of my sight.

For a moment I stared after him, bewildered.  Then I sat down on the ground with my head in my hands, wondering how I would ever catch up with him.  The night had now become very dark, and I found myself wishing for the sunrise with a longing intense as a physical pain.

* * * * * * * * * *

VI

I stepped through the mirror and out into the night. The sky was now spattered with stars that cast a cold but friendly light upon the ground. Not the slightest sliver of a moon did I see, but the star I had seen earlier soon reappeared, its glory surpassing the brightness of all the others.

As I watched, this star seemed to grow larger or draw nearer. At length I could see that it was trailing a streamer of flame like the tail of a fiery kite. Bright plumes and red flares shot straight out from its sides as it came closer. At last I realized that it was not a star at all. It was the flaming bird that had given me my wound.

Once again my heart was shot through with a searing pain as the Firebird descended upon me and its hot breath enveloped me. Frozen with fear in spite of the heat, I was on the verge of fainting dead away when a small voice at my ear said, “Be not afraid.”

Looking quickly to the right, I saw the small gray bird sitting perched upon my shoulder. His eyes burned a steady blue, penetrating my body with their light and kindling the glow within. The Firebird was nowhere to be seen.

“It is time we were going,” said the bird.

“Going where?” I asked in amazement.

“To find him. To follow him, of course. I have brought you out at last, and he awaits you not far from here.”

“But I don’t know the way,” I protested.

“Take first one step, and then another,” whispered the bird. “Go straight on ahead. I will not let your steps go wrong.” And he fluttered off.

Burdened as I was with the weight of the body I carried, I took a step forward. Above me and a short distance ahead the Firebird reappeared, gliding aloft on blazing wings, splashing a red-gold light over the earth. The stars humbly faded in its presence. Every tree and every blade of grass cowered and cast wildly flickering shadows. I followed the Firebird for I had no other guide, nor had I anywhere else to go.

Across the yard and into the street I followed the terrible Bird. The night was cold, I think, but I hardly noticed it at the time. Through dark and sleepy streets I carried my other self until my arms ached so that I felt I could not go on. Then I stumbled and fell, scraping my knees on the pavement, but never releasing my hold on the cold figure I was clutching. I found myself looking into its face, and it was as if I looked again into that awful mirror. Numb and tired, I wept.

“Don’t cry,” whispered the small gray bird at my ear. “You may get up if you want to. Only take one step and then another. The place is not far now.”

I raised my eyes. Against a sky like black marble speckled with silver, in a canyon between two rows of tall gray houses, was a spot of red light. The inner glow returned. Something or Someone lifted me up and set me on my feet.

“Go,” said the voice at my ear. “Christmas Eve is passing swiftly.”

* * * * * * * * * *