I awoke on my side, sleeping on one aching shoulder or another, but I was last to rise. Lily had stepped over my carcass only moments before, moving into the kitchen for the preparation of the breakfast experience. Appetite sprang into existence within me, a happy creation, waiting for its fulfillment so that it could cease being appetite and begin being satiation.

After an encounter with the little river water works, I returned to the sitting area to find the men likewise waiting for that moment of truth. In the meantime, I thought to engage them with the thoughts of the previous night before they faded into those clouds that caused so much of my words to seem such nonsense.

“I cannot go to the north,” I said. “My people have become barbarians.”

Lily’s father stopped rocking in his chair. Lily’s uncle rubbed his eyes. He was not quite awake, yet.

“This, dear brother,” said Lily’s father, “is encouraging.”

“And discouraging,” added Lily’s uncle.

“You cannot go to the north,” said Lily’s father. “Why?”

I repeated much of what I had brought through my mind before I fell asleep.

He furrowed his brow while Lily’s uncle continued to rub his eyes. He said, “It is good that you have recognized a reality which exists beyond your immediate senses. This kind of news is not welcome within the city, and those who repeat it are brought before your king to have it explained to them how their reasoning is faulty.

“You will do well to keep quiet in this.”

I made an oath to myself to do so.

“Unfortunately, passage to the north is very much possible, just not easy,” he continued. “It is necessary to go to the north.”

“It’s the weather, boy!” exclaimed Lily’s uncle. He was grimacing at me through bleary eyes, leaning over himself with his head cocked up to put his eyes on me from underneath his forehead and through his hair, which he had not bothered to tame yet.

Lily’s father sighed, “Have you considered the season?”

I confessed I had not.

“The sacred order which has not been disturbed—nor will it ever be—for all the ages known and unknown is the movement of the seasons. Winter will be upon you before you mark the first progress of your journey; the rains will fall and cold will possess you. What were you thinking?” Lily’s father sounded a little exasperated, like I was too slow.

“Patience, brother!” said Lily’s uncle, smiling.

I felt like apologizing profusely, but I could think of no advantage in doing so. I did, indeed, feel perfectly embarrassed because it was such an obvious observation, one I should have made. I was glad that Lily had not witnessed my foolishness. Then I wondered if she already knew my folly. Then I wondered that, if she knew I was a fool, she knew many things I did not want her to know.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said. “I don’t know why I did not think of that.” And then I added, as the thought impelled me, “My uncle never mentioned that he was restricted by the seasons.”

“Your uncle?” asked Lily’s father.

“When I was a little boy,” I said, “I had an uncle who came from far away to visit with us. He brought us sweets. He always brought us sweets, and he sometimes gave some special sweets to mother.”

“Sweets?” asked Lily’s uncle, with that half-smile on his face I was growing to know.

“Well, more than sweets, of course,” I said. “He told us stories of the north. He told us that he was from the north. My recollection of that is the reason I thought to go north.”

“As opposed to south,” said Lily’s uncle.

“Yes,” I said. I blinked my eyes while I thought, and then I added, “Why are you two so interested in my travels?”

“Oh, my boy,” said Lily’s father. “We are not interested in your travels; we are interested in you!”

I blushed. “In me? What am I to you?” This caused me to search deep, something I did not like to do because it was dark black and dark red in the deep places of my heart. I was always depressed by how little of substance was in there, how shallow the pool of knowledge was, how little wisdom bound anything together into a pillar of a person.

“Not much at all,” he said. “You are a commodity, a human being filling a need, like metal for a furnace.”

“The two of us cannot live forever,” said Lily’s uncle. “Arret has no son, and I have never been married.”

Lily’s uncle continued, “Lily can certainly inherit the business now, but who knows if legal protection will continue if a new ki—the king’s character changes again? We need the security of ownership without the burden of ownership.”

“I had no idea I was to marry Lily,” I said.

“You’re not,” proclaimed Lily’s father. He had no expression whatsoever upon his face, but behind his face was an absolute resolve.

“Well,” I said, “then that makes it easy.”

Lily’s uncle laughed, saying, “We need a partner who has youth, vigor, and is not burdened with family, farm, or business interests of his own.”

“A partner?” When I began my journey a few days ago, my mind was clear. Now, it was flooded with questions, all of them intersecting each other, like the swarms of water-flies over eddies in the bends of the river. Which question came first? How could I possibly be a partner, or how could I share ownership in a corporation if I was a subject of the King?

“A partner, in time,” he qualified. “A trip north will be a kind of test for you.”

I thought about that: yes, it was true, such a journey would be a kind of test, most certainly. Both questions were then disqualified as the first question asked; yet another question shot up out of the cesspool.

“So why do you need to go north?” I asked.

“Tell me about your uncle,” interrupted Lily’s father.

“We shall eat now,” interrupted Lily’s mother.

Thus the conversation ended; the meal immediately became the object of all concentration. While we were moving from the sitting room into the dining area, I saw that Lily was wearing different clothing. Her frock was blue, very light blue, with a shade of pale earth; it was the color of the edge of the sky. The thread work was orange, so it stood out, trimming the hems, crossing from her shoulders to her waist to create a double ‘X’, an outline for the cut of the cloth, two stiff panels sewn in this fashion to create a sleeveless shoulder strap, drawing the eye toward an illusory opening at her midriff where the material met at her waist, beginning the formation of a skirt that extended to just above her knee. There was no opening at her midriff, but the barest hint of flesh was visible at her sides above her hips, where another stiff panel of material encircled her waist as the top hem of her skirt. And then she turned around.

Truly, I was gazing at her clothing. She had transformed from a cloud of the nighttime into a vision of the morning. She looked like the morning. Her form was now the shadow beneath the clothing, like the last shadows of night are behind little clouds on the horizon just before the sun rises. When she turned around to walk into the kitchen to gather the last of the morning meal, I saw the same ‘X’ pattern upon her back, except that it crossed much higher, between her shoulder blades. However, where the material met her waist was, indeed, an opening at the small of her back. The material forming the top hem of her skirt had a sharp cut downward from the opening to make access and room for a way to fasten the entire frock to her body. I was possessed with the desire to discover just how this garment was actually fastened and unfastened and how it was that a person got in and out of it.

She walked away. I saw that the skirt was soft and loose, swaying back and forth according to a rhythm that had a relationship to the cadence of her walking. Her calves were a pure olive oil pouring from her hips into her sandals, a shimmering, transfixing movement. It was an impossible situation.

A hand possessed my shoulder, followed quickly by a whisper, “You’re not,” then a tremendous slap on my back, with a laugh. Lily’s uncle had become a true friend, having rescued me again from the certainty of censure at the hands of his brother, the dark lord of this dark goddess. There was a sting to his slap, a little more sting than just a friendly slap, something like a warning. In an attempt to deny him the pleasure of seeing that he stung me, however, I rubbed my face to help the sting subside. The thought came into my mind that I was missing something about these people, that the mystery of these people was much more than unfamiliarity or mere foreignness.

Breakfast was magnificent, as usual. After many days, I wondered how mealtime could be so remarkable, day after day. Spices and ingredients, preparation and anticipation, day after day, were magnificent. Magnificence became usual, but never ordinary. The days were clear and bright, and the sun was setting sooner, making them less than oppressive in the evening, when Lily’s father spun one tale after another, and Lily’s mother became the poet-teacher, and Lily transformed into the melody-maker. Lily’s uncle and I were mere spectators of a heavenly apparition, passive participants in a never-ending saturnalia of great things from ages uncounted and music un-composed. Time passed.

The daily routine was established very quickly: breakfast was prepared and served by the women while the men tried to awaken themselves from manly stupor. Immediately after breakfast, Lily’s father departed to his business location, while Lily’s uncle took me outside to train in martial arts, mainly in sword fighting, mainly in attacking. Naturally, I maintained a fine mental block so that I could never actually attack. Even though we usually worked with weighted sticks instead of swords, I had a tendency to feint obviously, drawing the defender to attack into my defensive strength. The heat of the day would drive us into the shade. When the sun began to show signs of weakness, we emerged to gather and prepare fuel for the winter. Lily’s father returned from his business in time for dinner. Lily stayed by her mother’s side. For days at a time we did not utter two words to each other aside from polite exchanges. There were some exceptions to this routine.

One morning, the men were in the sitting room, rousing themselves as usual. Lily’s father said to me, “It will not do for you to lie on your hide all winter.”

“Yes,” I said, grateful that someone was finally noticing. My shoulders were sore every morning. “The moisture rising from the floor will make sleep impossible.”

A look of sudden recognition came over his face. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose that is also true.”

Lily’s uncle smiled with his eyes closed and his head in his hands, still only half-awake, awaiting the morning drink.

Lily’s father said, “I was thinking more that your hide will soon wear away to uselessness if you do not fashion it into a protective armor. Winter will be a good time to have that done. Shur-qa-hil knows an excellent armorer.”

“Who’s Shurka-heel?” I asked.

“Shur-qa-hil,” said Lily’s father. “My brother, sitting in our midst, not three feet away from you. Do not say to me that you have not known, for all these days, the name of my brother, your guide?”

Shur-qa-hil began to giggle.

I stammered, “You have always referred to each other as ‘my brother,’ ‘dear brother.’ You never call each other by name!”

“And what is my name, your host?” demanded Lily’s father.

“Your name I know quite well,” I said slowly while my brain worked frantically to find his name. “And your name is Arret. You have no son.” I had associated it in my mind that way, unable to dissociate the association before my mouth could close. I nodded my head, hoping to sneak that last bit by the brothers.

“Oh, brother!” moaned Lily’s uncle. “I cannot endure such blatherskite while the sun still sits on the eastern horizon.”

No, I had not managed to say it quietly enough. Was breakfast ready? No, not for many minutes. Again, a deathly silence emitted from the kitchen where the two women, only seconds before, had been creating such a din that the sun dare not slip back into his eastern encampment for fear of going deaf. Lily’s father stared at me. He turned his head to stare at his brother. He turned his head to stare at me. He began to grow larger. The sun became afraid to shine his light into the house. His hands fidgeted. I saw that they had become massive, large enough to crush a large stone or break an old brick. How long, I wondered, would my head survive within them when he finally reached out to grasp it?

Fear, I attributed, caused me to make it worse by saying, “And it’s a good thing, too. For if you had a son, I would not be staying in your home with Lily.” Getting to the door, I observed just before the last syllable had made its way to life, to make my escape would require that I turn my back on Lily’s father, something I was not willing to do. I had made an oath to myself many years ago, as a lad, that I would face my death unflinching, if I could, but certainly not turning my back on my own oncoming demise. So I sat there without moving, finally convincing my mouth to stay shut.

I began to think, for the first time in my life, that it was not good enough to catch up with my mouth; instead, perhaps it would be better to hire two strong men to guard my mouth so that it could never escape. I also began to think, but not for the first time, that I had not had a beer in some stretch of time, too long a stretch of time.

Shur-qa-hil moaned in the agonies of his waking rituals. I thought I heard some gurgles within those moans which might have resembled laughter, but I wasn’t sure.

“My son,” said Lily’s father, quietly. “I sit here trying to make my mind work in such a way that would cause me to say the words which you said, and I cannot achieve the motive.”

“Undoubtedly, dear brother,” said Lily’s uncle, “mercy in this house is to you.”

“Besides, your names mean nothing to me,” I said. “Even if you explained them to me, and gave them added significance, I would never associate either of you in my mind without first your relationship to Lily. If you insist, I will call you by name, but I’d rather not.”

A flash appeared in Lily’s father’s eyes. I thought that, since he was a merciful man, I would elicit more mercy from him by treading with a heavy foot into his garden. I did not think thus until after I had spoken. In dice, the progression builds, sometimes very quickly, and it does well to have laid money on the table for a small gamble, even if the table stands more likely to gain. The dice had come up with a declaration for Lily and an assertion of manhood among men, a very big combination. Where was my bet?

There is a moment after the dice comes up, especially when they come up with big combinations, when bettors and spectators calculate wins and losses; it is only a moment, but for bettors, it is a flash of eternity. It was in Lily’s father’s eyes.

“Brother,” he articulated very slowly. “This man is correct; we do call each other according to our relationships.” And that was all. We breakfasted. I had won big.

Afterward, Lily’s father departed for his business, as usual. However, Lily’s uncle and I departed from our training schedule and made for the artisan district near the market. All the buildings were cramped together, far too close together. The awning of one shop crowded over the awning of its neighbor shop. The door of one shop opened into the doorway of its neighbor shop, each competing with each other in a static game of push and shove. Patrons were confused, jabbering to one another and to shopkeepers trying to find this shop or that shop, everyone competing with each other in a dynamic game of shouting to be heard. I hated coming here. The smoke here was putrid, filled with the burning of every substance known to burn. Apothecaries were here, potters, artists, cabinetmakers, toolmakers, tanners, burning wood to burn, melt, meld, smelt and evaporate everything to, from, into and out of everything. A man could put his left hand on the face of one building (if he could find a space on which he trusted to put his hand), then stretch across the street to place his right hand on the face of the opposing building, except that, if he did so, he would be immediately bowled over by someone shouting to someone else gesticulating madly, both looking elsewhere for some lost shop that has been there forever, and crushed by the ever-approaching, onrushing and shouting multitude of someones.

Lily’s uncle turned left down an alley (I was amazed that there could be an alley; perhaps this was why I had never seen the alley), which wound to the right. My shoulders were catching the occasional protruding architecture on either side of the alley; Shur-qa-hil walked with his shoulders turned sideways. A man with a basket upon his head appeared before us, traveling the opposite direction. While I squeezed myself against the wall to let him pass, putting the roll of my hide across both my shoulders, I looked up; I could see the sky.

The alley opened up, after a few more paces and a bruised shoulder (more soreness), into a small courtyard surrounded by six buildings, each a shop, each a distinct building with its own walls. There was no space between them, but there they were, independent from each other, free.

“This is the most ancient part of this city,” said Lily’s uncle. “Did you know that? Have you ever been here?”

“Well, I knew it was old,” I said. “But, no, I didn’t know that it was ‘ancient,’ and, no, I have never been here. The stench usually causes me to pass out before I think to explore.”

He paused in front of one of the buildings. It had carved into a block of wood over its entrance the picture of a lion grappling with what looked to be a serpent. The carving was very old—ancient—so I gave it my entire attention.

“A dragon,” he said. “It is the winged serpent of fire. The man who owns this carving—and this shop—will turn that leather into a fine bit armor, suitable for the kind of quick movements you shall be required to make along the way north and back. We will visit him after a while.”

He turned to the building next door, which had no carving at all, but had all the signs of tavern-ness. I was glad.

“Beer!” I exclaimed. “But it is still morning…”

“I have been anxiously desiring the barley elixir for several days,” he said. “And my brother is a wine-drinker. We will not frequently find wine upon the way,” he added. “So we should re-accustom ourselves to our coming environment, and I suggest we begin straightaway.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

“Pale,” I said, when I was greeted by the tavern maiden. “Your finest.”

“Pale,” my guide requested. Aha! A sign of good things to come. But then he said to me, “Do not insult them; they do not serve anything that would not be considered the finest, not like your favorite swill joint.” He didn’t even look at me while he was speaking. I felt ashamed.

“How does this place stay in business, so far from view?” I asked, trying to feign some level of curious intelligence. Further scorn was delivered, instead.

“Were you not listening?” he sniffed, and he shook his head. Now he was looking at me, a half-scowl deepening the cloud of shame. I grimaced.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

He smiled and said, “I do perceive what your Lily perceives; the forgiveness of youth encourages and builds up, doesn’t it? It is an innocence that you have in your naivete. Lily’s father, as you say, loves his daughter dearly, and greatly desires to perceive what she perceives, but he struggles mightily.

“Listen to me again,” he continued. “Do not insult the people who serve you here; they do not serve beer that is not the finest.”

I sighed. I said, “I was ashamed of myself; these things I don’t know. I feel like I was raised in complete darkness, so that when I enter into a wretched place of business, with a foreigner, in the city of my birth, I do not even know how to order a beer.”

Our beers arrived.

I continued, “I can’t understand how I can be so ignorant of so many basic courtesies, so I want you to think that I am less ignorant, or at least able to be less ignorant.”

I fingered the cup, a very fine bit of pottery, glazed to a perfectly smooth sheen that caused the cup to lose its own identity, its own mass, so that its heaviness was all its beer within. My fingers carved lines in the beads of beer mist forming on the outside of the cup.

Shur-qa-hil raised his cup to mine. “Pick up your cup,” he commanded, “and let us offer a toast to ignorance.”

“To ignorance,” I said.

“To ignorance,” he returned. And we drank. I drank deeply, and finished most of the draft in one pass. He finished the entirety of his cup. He raised his hand, indicating two more beers to appear with haste. And they did. The beer here was finer than any I had ever tasted in my many excursions to many different purveyors and brewers. This was pale, with a lightness and sweetness to it, complete with a stocky aftertaste in its bitterness.

I held up the cup to a flame and peered directly into the cup with one eye. Its head was still frothing, inviting me to drink deeply and quickly, so I did, then peered into it again. The flame light flickered within the liquid, sparkling throughout, from top to bottom. A third cup bumped my elbow. Lily’s uncle was making haste. A cross was glazed into the bottom of the cup, black with a red outline, the outline flared at the ends of the four arms. It was beautiful artistry to reward drinkers. I earned my reward, then proceeded onto the third. Bread had also appeared on our table, and we devoured.

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Three beers consumed so quickly was bound to cause me difficulty, and I could see that my guide was seeking to be rewarded many times, so I paused to look around. We were in a front room, near the service areas for food and drink. A door to another room was at the far end away from us. The ceiling was low in this part of the building, and the room was close. A few people were within, intimately set from each other, enjoying fine things. The wood of the posts and the framing was dark, very dark. In fact, it looked charred. I remarked as much to my guide.

“This building survived the burning of this city a number of kings ago,” he said. “But not without a fight. The proprietor brought in every boy, man, soldiers and warriors returning from the fray—and he even tried beasts: dogs, goats, oxen, but none would cooperate for fear of fire—to put out the fire, some by hauling buckets of water, others by standing nearby, liquidating beer. This was one of the few buildings to survive. The other buildings here, of course, and some others, scattered about in other centers.”

“The city burned?” I asked.

Lily’s uncle choked on his beer, and fell forward toward the table wheezing and coughing.

Once he recovered, with the help of a healthy slap on the back from a nearby, similarly large, fellow-patron, he said, “Perhaps you were truly raised in a closet, or in a casket under the earth.” And he laughed, raising his great eyebrows in great mirth.

“Do not take it to heart,” he said. “Our toast was to ignorance, and to ignorance we continue to drink. I assure you, my dear boy, this city has burned many times, just not in my lifetime. All cities burn, eventually.”

“There are other cities?” I asked.

He didn’t choke this time, as though he were prepared for something else outrageous to make its way to his ear from me, but he did burst into a kind of overcoming laughter that is reserved for men with great features under the influence of many rewarding beers. Tears sprung from his eyes into his great facial hair.

“Whereto in God’s name do you aim to travel?” he demanded.

“To another land, I suppose,” I shrugged. “I mean, I thought all crossroads led to the City of the King.”

“Dare I shatter the last of your—” he began. “Do you believe me?”

I took another tour of the interior appointments of our room with my eyes, thinking. I said, “I suppose so. Are there really other cities? Like this one?”

“There are some,” he replied, with that half-smile. “Some are greater, some are smaller; some are younger, some are older. You have a nice city with some decent laws and some fair traditions. We will pass through other cities before we find where we are going.”

I laughed, “I’m going to need another beer.” It was so ordered. “And I suppose each of these cities has a king, sprung from eternity to reign forever in peace and security.”

“Oh,” he said, “some are not so ambitious. Some claim to spring from yesterday to reign forever in peace and security. Many shards of charred writing preserve such boasts from many kings in many cities over many generations.”

“My world just became much larger and much smaller at the same time,” I said. I leaned back in my chair, stretched my feet out before me and banged my toes together. I put my hands behind my head and stretched my torso so that I could think.

“How much of the world is like this?” I asked. “Is that foreign murderer resting in a city like this one?”

“His is larger,” Lily’s uncle replied. “But it is not so bright and happy.” I was glad to hear him say that. “Poverty is the mark of his kingdom. It is very difficult to live there. He is a fine ruler of a difficult people.” I was not so glad to hear him say that.

“Have you visited there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it very far away?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“How much of the world is like this?” I asked again.

“It depends,” he said. “Some men say that the world stretches forever, with a city just beyond every horizon. To other cities, the sun rises or sets on this city, and they do not know we exist. To others, the sun burns every living thing, and they do not know we exist. To still others, great seas swallow every living thing, and they do not know we exist.”

“What do other men say?” I asked.

“Other men say that we can number the cities, be they ever so numerous, but there is an end to their number because the world ends after so many horizons.”

“What do you say?” I asked.

“I am as ignorant as you,” he said, looking at me with that same half-smile. “I have walked over many horizons and found many cities. Those who dwell within the cities at the end of the furthest horizon always point to a road that leads to still another city over a number of horizons, or they point to a harbor that holds a ship bound for another city. Who knows? Perhaps I have not walked enough to find the city at the end of the last horizon. Who am I to debate the wise?”

“We were taught as children,” I said, “that there were many towns of people, all of whom were living their lives to bring beauty, power and eternity to the City of the King, that their towns and villages and farms were arranged with respect to the city in intricate symmetries of twelves, tens, twos, threes, and fives, symmetries that only the King himself could see.”

He drew another draft deeply into himself and said, “Children believe many fantasies. How many times have you seen the spring?”

“Twenty-two times.”

“Are you a child, yet, lad?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You cannot be; no man who performs in battle as you did can be considered a child. You, nevertheless, believe that you are a child.”

“Sometimes,” I said without hesitation because it was true.

“Yes,” he said. “Sometimes.”

“And I did not perform in battle—” I started.

“An army without brave couriers is defeated just as easily as an army without brave warriors.”

I said nothing. I held the infantry in awe.

“A man can convince himself that he can hide from death within the mass and chaos of battle,” said Lily’s uncle. “And if his number grows, the army is an army of cowards, of men who fear death.”

“An entire company of men was annihilated,” I said.

“They are remembered in song throughout your city, are they not?” Shur-qa-hil said. “You are not. Nevertheless, your character was scrutinized, and it was found to be worthy of remembrance among women in the neighborhood as a tale to be told.”

I smiled, hanging over a half-empty cup of beer.

He picked up his cup, and said into it, “This is why Arret has not killed you yet, no doubt,” then finished the draft.

“Lily,” the beer made me say, “is making things happen to me.”

“Lily,” said her uncle, “Lily is a catalyst.”

“A catalyst?”

“A catalyst,” he said. “Your character is responding to her, and you are unfamiliar with the response because it is visceral and you cannot control it; it must feel similar to that day of the battle for your city.”

“Yes,” I said, pondering. “Come to think of it, it does.” I pulled my feet up under my chair. “It is a thrill to look at her—to put my eyes upon her—to imagine her form—”

“Tut!” he interrupted, laughing. “Speak carefully, O Nathet! You have a habit of speaking too colorfully.”

“Surely,” I said, shaking my head, looking directly at him from under my own brow, “surely we must be able to speak to each other colorfully if we are to be companions upon the highways.”

He laughed, saying, “Indeed, and we must be able to speak colorfully upon the wilderness roads and when we are lost, as well! Do continue.”

“It is a thrill, as I was saying, to imagine her form; it is not as though she hides her form, even though the outward effort is there, using the dark clothing as a cloud, but her form is so clearly evident,” I said, “that the imagination is forced to work in that particular direction.”

He said nothing, but he fingered his cup.

“And she’s such a mystery,” I continued. “A mystery. She has treasured up knowledge in music, especially, but she is able to speak music. Speak music. When she talks, it is the same as a song—not the music, as in the melody—it is the artistry, the wisdom, the poetry—the words, and she walks those words. I see those words in her form, and it is music when she moves it.”

He continued looking at his cup without a comment.

“When I left my home that day, I had decided to leave for the sake of leaving. Now I desire to leave, even more earnestly, not to leave but to find something.”

“Then to return?” he asked.

“Then to return,” I said.

“For her?” he asked.

“It is a mystery,” I returned. “I don’t know what I will find.”

“You will find her,” he said. “Most certainly.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“We,” he said, then sighed. “We are going to find some new routes for our trade. Old ones have closed; others yield very little profit for the price. The market has gone away for some of our imports, and the expense is too great for some of our exports. Arret and I would like to consolidate our trade; we are trying to open a route much further north, but it will come at some expense and with considerable risk of instability.”

He finished his cup.

He said, “The time of easy travel and trade is coming to an end, at least for now. Come, let us get you an armor made.”

He stood up. He reached out, taking possession of me in his usual way. “You consider young Lily according to her form or shape. Does she not have a body?”

“I haven’t seen her body,” I said, standing up. “So I do not consider it.” I sat back down again.

“You have seen her body,” he contradicted without hesitation. “So you do consider it, but not aloud.” He made his hand heavy on my shoulders and neck.

“Allow me to pause—” I belched. “Allow me to pause for a moment, at least until the walls and ceiling assume their normal relationships. They are…in…heated conversation with each other.”

He laughed and took possession of me. It no longer mattered where the floor was. We walked a few steps, made our way out the door, walked a few more steps, and I said, “I consider her body, but I do not speak of it.”

“It is good that you behave this way,” he said. “The body of a woman is worthy of much consideration; it is a truth I do not reveal to you, of course, that a man is dispossessed of his many senses by the considerations of the body of a woman.”

I felt better and better. My swordsmanship was improving, not without weaknesses, but improvement was mine. My paunch was beginning to shrink. Beers were caressing my inner course-ways. Lily’s uncle was speaking kindly to me.

“If one is dispossessed of his senses,” he continued, “then it is best to buffer the sensation.”

“With big, hard words,” I said.

He laughed. We entered the armorer’s shop. “‘Form’,” he said, “is a good first step toward poetry, which is the only mode with which to speak about the body of a woman.”

“Why is this true?” I asked.

“Because the body of a woman is figurative in its very nature.”

“Greetings!” said a man who looked as though he had been stretching, folding, poking, sewing, and otherwise tormenting hides for a thousand years, but looked to have the strength to do the same for another thousand years. I wondered if he was the original owner of the shop.

“Do you remember the fire?” I asked.

“I do remember,” he said, with fire in his eyes. “As though I were there. My daddy taught me the song, whose daddy taught him, whose sister created the song. I have taught my sons and daughters the song, and my oldest son and my oldest daughter are teaching it to their sons and daughters. We were, every one of us, at that fire, and we do not forget.”

He pointed above my head to emphasize the last phrase. His arm was a collection of sinews and bones. I was under the impression that he was not pointing at anything, but I did not have the freedom to turn my head to be sure. If I had had the freedom, I would have fallen.

“Astounding!” whispered Shur-qa-hil, looking above the man’s head.

“This is a wise young man,” the man said, “who sees that I remember the fire.”

“Rooster,” said Shur-qa-hil. “Meet Nathet. Nathet, this is my friend, Rooster.”

“Why do they call you Rooster?” I asked.

“I used to chase all the hens around,” he replied.

“Oh,” I said. “You grew up on a farm?”

Shur-qa-hil burst into laughter.

“No, son,” said Rooster. “Weren’t you listening? I was present at the fire, like my daddy, and my daddy before him.” He turned to Shur-qa-hil and said, “It isn’t funny anymore?”

“Wisdom!” shouted Shur-qa-hil. “Cloaked as the enemy. We need to cloak this one in armor, for he is wandering northward with me.”

“How much?” asked Rooster.

“We are wandering far, I should think,” said Shur-qa-hil. “So we shall be traveling lightly, with small packs and our swords.”

“Torso. Do you want to protect his thighs?” asked Rooster.

“He has seen the fair Lily,” said Shur-qa-hil.

“Ah!” said Rooster. “Then his thighs will protect themselves.” And they both laughed. I did not laugh.

“It will be wise to travel with a helmet,” said Shur-qa-hil. “If at least for warmth as we move into the highlands.”

“A cuirass and a helmet, then,” said Rooster. He looked at me, “Well, hand it to me.”

I handed him the hide, “How much will this be?”

“Seventeen hundred Marks of the Sun,” he said. I must have objected with my eyes, because he lowered his head and raised his eyes at me. “Is this deposit too much, my son?”

Deposit?

“Oh,” I stammered. “No, no. I must have misunderstood my guide; I had thought to pay you when the work was completed.”

“That is perfectly understandable,” said Rooster. “You haven’t considered, then, that I must live and eat for the next few months.”

“Indeed,” I blushed. “I have not.”

“Leave the hide; when you return with the deposit, I will begin work on your armor.”

“That will never do,” said Shur-qa-hil. “I have the deposit in his behalf.”

“On credit?” Rooster asked. “I have to have cash to live and—”

“On credit?” cried out Shur-qa-hil. “Shall I summon my brother’s manager?”

Rooster was unfazed. “I wasn’t going to add interest, my old friend.”

“The annual interest alone on your account with us,” said Shur-qa-hil, “is enough to pay the entirety of this little project.”

“I protest!” said Rooster, with a smile to counter Shur-qa-hil’s half-smile. “That is overstating the facts. My financier will have an opinion, no doubt.”

“Your financier...” said Shur-qa-hil, and he rolled his eyes. “Do you amortize according to schedule?”

Rooster checked, then double-checked, and finally relented. “On credit?” he offered.

“I will make the arrangements with my brother’s manager,” laughed Shur-qa-hil.

I wasn’t entirely certain what had just occurred, but I felt sick to my stomach, knowing that I was about to be parted with a measurable portion of my house.

Shur-qa-hil made an ambiguous gesture with his hands and head, and he gave Rooster that half-smile, “Do you still keep some on hand?”

“Near at hand,” said Rooster, with a wink. He walked behind a cabinet, then, bending his body completely in two, like a belt, he disappeared behind the cabinet, producing a clink of old jars.

“What’s the old hen going to say?” asked Shur-qa-hil.

“She’ll come home to roost,” laughed Rooster. He unfolded himself and reappeared holding a fat bottle with a label inscribed on it, a brightly painted inscription: The Magic Bottle. After blowing dust off it, he pulled off its cork and handed it to Shur-qa-hil.

Shur-qa-hil sniffed it, made a face, then tipped it up, pulling a sizable swig down his throat in one big swallow. A cough escaped from him, mostly through his nose and eyes, which he wiped with the back of his great hairy hand while handing me the bottle with his other hand. “Here,” he wheezed. “Try this.”

I received the bottle from his hand, none too pleased to be adding to a building insobriety. I sniffed it. I made a face because it did not smell good. Then I tipped it up enough to get a mouthful of the contents. It had the smell and flavor of the hay in the fields that is not fit for beastly consumption; it had a rotten smell, a smell of rotting vegetation.

“Ah,” said Rooster. “The old ‘herbal infusion.’ None to surpass its fineness.”

“What is this stuff?” I asked, wheezing and wiping my nose and eyes.

“Magic,” replied Shur-qa-hil. “Can’t you read?”

Rooster repeated the ritual, making us a trio of wheezing imbibers.

Shur-qa-hil and Rooster chatted further for a few minutes, then we departed for home. Clouds had come over the land, and a cool, wet breeze was springing up. Warmth from the south made itself into little bodies, like fleeing villagers, in flight, but pausing to look at home as it was taken by enemies, then resuming flight, reluctantly and in a hurry.

“Allow me to penetrate your armor,” said Lily’s uncle. “Have you considered—” He paused, looking for the right words. “Have you been considering, my friend, the possibilities of realities of the areas beyond the city?”

“Yes,” I said. “I have. You have been declaring the virtues of travel for many days, you know.”

“Have you come to any conclusions?”

“Sure,” I said. “Many conclusions. I thought to ask you when we were on the way; that way, your answers and advice would be fresh in my mind. I also thought that you would teach me conclusions as you saw fit.”

“Your adulation does not go unnoticed,” said Lily’s uncle. “Nevertheless, I must ignore it for the time being so that I can pursue you to an end. For example, what are your conclusions concerning our business?”

“‘Our business’?” I asked, “Yours and mine upon the way or yours and your brother’s in general?”

“In general.”

“Two years of destabilization have interrupted commerce,” I said, “making security costs prohibitive of profit margins.”

“My brother has been teaching you, hasn’t he?” he said. “This is true. Tell me: if our business is experiencing this difficulty, is it among your conclusions that other men’s businesses are experiencing the same difficulties?”

“I suppose so,” I said. “I had not considered the possibility outright, but that seems right.”

“Is it true to think that your king is also a businessman?”

In a flash, the object of his questioning became crystal clear.

“Financiers!” I exclaimed. Thirty or forty thoughts crowded immediately, jostling for the mouth cavity. “The networks will be prime!”

“Nathet,” he said, “you’re going to be just fine.”

“My token will be worthless, won’t it?” I said. “Outside the city.”

“Uncertainty is certain, if you’ll pardon the cliché,” said Lily’s uncle. “Are you willing to take that token outside the city?”

“Not a chance!” I said. “Not a chance!” I stopped short.

“No,” said Lily’s uncle. “Money, as a rule, is not reliable. Copper and silver have an infinite range of values from one day to the next, from one village to the next.”

“How are people eating?” I asked.

“They’re not,” he said. “The fields are producing abundantly, true bounty from Arret’s god, but they cannot arrange to harvest or prepare; they have no structure and no peace. Your king is isolated inside his own city, surrounded by his own people, who desire to bring themselves within the city to take peace and structure away from every one of us who dwell in peace and order. Even if it is harvested, it remains in great piles. And even if it is stored, it remains in great storehouses. And even if it is bought, it is at great cost.”

“I had it in my mind,” I said, “that living would be easy with so few people on such a great land.”

“Men are so intent to kill each other that they cannot muster themselves either to enter into the fields to make food or to enter the city to make hell. Women steal into the fields at night, leaving their children unattended, to gather a few sheaves of grain. But who will grind it? Each at her own stone.”

“This is not good,” I said, turning to face him. “This is not good at all.”

“A famine is coming,” said Lily’s uncle. “First to them, and then to the city.”

“Is the eastern king building another army?” I asked.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think that if I were the eastern king that I would be building another army,” I said. “I would be developing a propaganda campaign for all the regions from which I took men to conquer the west, especially pressing the notion that the King was weakened.”

“How is it,” Lily’s uncle asked, “that you cannot conceive of a city outside of your own king’s, but you can be so intuitive about the king of a faraway land not like your own?”

I hesitated, then said, “Beer.”

He laughed.

“What if you were in your king’s place?” he asked.

This, indeed, I could not conceive. The incarnation of God? The very presence of the heavenly judge? Me? I?

Lily’s uncle saw me pause in my contemplation and sighed. “No, Nathet, my child, not your king; try to imagine.”

I tried. “If I were in my king’s place,” I said, struggling to conceive, “I would send governors into my country to bring it under order.”

“You would be killing your own people,” said Lily’s uncle.

I saw myself raising a sword against a faceless mass. “Blood is blood,” I said. “A king’s blood is his word.”

“Well said!” said Lily’s uncle. “However, only a king believes in such a way. Have you, a lowly slave of the king, seen or heard report that your king is sending emissaries to his own country?”

“No,” I said. “And I haven’t heard that he is even building a military within the city. He has declared peace, that the barbarian threat will remain far outside and that all our foreign enemies are resolving difficulties through many treaties, especially trade agreements.”

“Those same bureaucrats who call themselves ambassadors,” said Lily’s uncle, “were the same who advised the king to send his entire army to defend the eastern wall against an inferior force.”

“The king has advisers?” I asked, once again astonished at what I did not know.

“He has many,” said Lily’s uncle with that half-smile. He began to walk toward home again. “And he agrees with all of them except one.”

“Who is that one?” I asked.

“Himself,” he said.

“How do you become an adviser to the King?” I asked.

“Blood relationships, on the one hand,” he said. “And financial relationships, on the other hand. The same way one becomes king to begin with.”

I stopped short again. “This is not what we were taught as children.”

“Again, I ask you,” he said. “Are you yet a child?”

“No,” I sighed. “I suppose not. But please allow me—”

He recommenced walking. The King, I had been taught, had, before all remembrances and histories, appeared in the midst of the city, a direct descendant of God. He never died, because he was not mortal, like us, and he never made mistakes. He renewed himself from time-to-time, usually to renew his youth and vigor, but sometimes to renew his political ideas, and we all rejoiced these occasions by remembering his enthronement at the very founding of The City.

My father’s dead eyes pierced me from deep within somewhere. I grew angry.

“Advisers are chosen,” said Lily’s uncle, “according to a formula which states that, for each ability lacking in daily life, an ability is added for court diplomacy.”

“Rejects, dimwits, and nincompoops,” I said. I was beginning to see that the palace was shrinking. “Game pieces for other people to move.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Lily’s uncle, “You cannot omit the cleverest piece of all, who moves himself: the power broker.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“One who is among those who are disguised as rejects, dimwits and nincompoops.”

The strange bottle was beginning to work its magic, like a falling stone. I began to feel dizzy. I noticed that Lily’s Uncle was laughing at nothing, and he couldn’t stop.

We struggled together up the hill. I was thankful that I had delivered over my hide. Shur-qa-hil burped and spit, and he cursed, “By God! I despise that wretched wine of my aristocratic, pompous, brother! It has made me weak, like some fat king of the west!” He put his hands on his knees and heaved a great cough. I thought he was going be relieved of a burden, but he recovered himself. Was I supposed to laugh?

“Laugh, little boy!” he roared, then he himself laughed. “We shall make a fine pair, stumbling through the barbarian hordes as one of their own!” He began to sing, like a fire consuming dry brush in the spring:

>  

>

> Down the hill from our labors we, hey!

>

> Down the hill for our capers we, ho!

>

> We turned the stone and found a hole

>

> We turned the edge and found a hole

>

> The first one filled with water

>

> The last one filled with beer, hey!

>

>  

>

> Down the hill from our labors we, hey!

>

> Down the hill for our capers, we, ho!

>

> We cracked our skulls to eat our fill

>

> We cracked our heads to eat our fill

>

> The first one was for daily bread

>

> The last one was just for her, hey!

And so forth, all the way up the hill. Passersby gave us mixed reviews: some were confused to see this foreigner clutching another one of them and shouting in an intelligible but unrecognized tune; others were delighted to hear a song of the highway; still others behaved as though they were offended. The tune was merry, no doubt, but the content, despite its subtlety, was not terribly earnest in its moral expression.

He taught me those two verses on the way up the hill. By the time we reached the house, we were a wreck, a pair of sots holding each other up. I was taking the worse of it, being the smaller of the two, having a more difficult time with inebriation, on the one hand, and holding my partner up, on the other. He had both his arms wrapped around my neck, and I had both my arms wrapped around his waist; my shoulder was propping him up under his arm so that he could stand so that he could hold me up. We were rehearsing the verses to our song when the two women spotted us.

Lily looked bemused, as one who dwells partially within eternity might do, one who sees many things for the first time as though she has seen the same thing without number. Lily’s mother, on the other hand, was somewhat cross. Fortunately, my sight was blurry so that I could not later recall to mind her expression, which was, I did not doubt, at least as severe as her words.

“You!” she scolded. “You are corrupting him!”

We stopped singing. “He is incorruptible,” I said. “He is Lily’s uncle!” I threw my hand in the air, pointing.

Lily, my nightingale, laughed, but I realized that I had become a clown. Shame began to creep into my comfortable state, but the beer and the magic bottle fought back, as a pair with the objective that I actually become offensive, more of a disease-eaten mindless fool. The battle raged; I smiled and put my hand down.

Lily’s mother spun on one heel and stormed into her domain.

“My boy, Nathet,” exclaimed Lily’s uncle. “We are in trouble.”

He deposited me to my own means so that he could make amends with Occuri, his brother’s gorgeous bride, the queen of a very large kingdom, most of which existed in the eternal realm. As for me, I navigated the unstable pathway of ancient, immovable, walkway stone until I found myself in Lily’s arms. O blessed vision!

I discovered that I was still smiling, an absolute smile, in spite of the slight nausea that was beginning to erode my happiness. I said, “We took my hide to town. It’s going to be armor. Isn’t that just the happiest?” Lily held me so that I could think about what I had just said. “Thing?” I completed the sentence.

“Thing?” she laughed.

“The happiest thing,” I said. “May I kiss you?” I said, because of the rising of the desire in my consciousness. Her body was warm, one of the bodies of the south, but not in flight; she clung to me so that I would not fall, but she seemed to appreciate the predicament.

“No, you may not,” she declared quite firmly. I was terribly disappointed. “You are drunk.”

“I’ll stop,” I promised quite earnestly.

“Eventually,” she said, “you will stop. In the meantime, I will kiss you.” And she did. She held me closer still, pressing herself into mine; I was warm and wet, completely and totally, throughout my interior, without a defense at all. I was, in absolute, at her will, not even able to press myself back into hers, nor to grasp her firmly with my own arms. She pressed her lips onto the flesh of my jawbone just in front of my ear lobe. A wisp of her breath made its way into my ear, down my neck, and, in a warm shiver, throughout the rest of my body. I was conquered, without a will at all.

“What do I do now?” I asked her.

“Stumble into the house,” she said, “and await your penance.”

I stumbled into the house, under her giggles and a sigh, to find her uncle sitting on the couch, sprawled across it. He made room for me. I let go of the door post, and fell into the spot next to him. “We must accept our weakness,” he said. “Receive our chastisement from those who love us, resolve to become stronger.” He breathed heavily, trying to stay awake to say as much.

“Can we just get sober?” I asked.

“Good idea,” he said.

Who fell asleep first is debated to this day. It was a black sleep, an unconsciousness meant for sick men, not healthy ones. Shame was awaiting us beyond this black sleep. Shame was cold and wet, standing over us, possessing righteousness, mirth, and three water jars.

Arret, Lily, and Occuri stood over us with water jars, recently emptied. A second later, realization came to Shur-qa-hil and me, about a second after our eyes were opened with a yelp of sudden startled soaked-ness. We were the object of their pouring.

“We could not endure your snoring any longer!” shouted Lily’s father. “It is impossible to eat our meal with that infernal noise hovering over my table!”

“Augh!” responded Lily’s uncle, “Augh!” We fell to the floor, trying to disentangle our arms and legs from each other. Lily and her mother were doubling over in laughter.

“We have washed the stink away,” exclaimed Lily’s mother.

“My head hurts!” I shouted. “Ouch! Stop shouting!” Then I said, much quieter, “My head hurts! Why did you hit me with that pot?”

Lily’s father laughed, roaring like his brother did while we were climbing the hill. And that was the end of that day. I learned much that day.