Chapter 8

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
Then I will lift up my face without shame;
I will stand firm and without fear.
I will surely forget my trouble,
recalling it only as waters gone by.
Life will be brighter than noonday,
and darkness will become like morning.

Could it really be morning already? From other rooms in the house, Archen could hear amiable voices bantering with one another, the treading of feet outside his door. The light coming in through the windows and the cheerful morning noises had built so gradually, they had not interrupted his study, until now. Archen turned a page and continued to read.

You have filled my heart with greater joy
than when their grain and new wine abound.
I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone, O Lord ,
make me dwell in safety.

He had not been able to sleep. Closing his eyes had only cleared the stage for chaos to perform. Try as he might, he could not escape from the images of blood-soaked forests or charred Ty’Goth limbs. In vain he attempted to stretch past them in his mind, to grasp some memory of calm simplicity, but there was nothing. Nothing apart from the turmoil of the last day, twisting and tightening his nerves.

Lighting a fire in the grate of his room, he had sighted a coat of arms and blade mounted on the opposite wall, illuminated by the flames. He had taken down the sword, testing the weight, first with his right hand, then his left. The movements came instinctively to him. Am I a soldier? He had wondered, I think I’ve done this before. Only, it was different somehow…

A muted impression rose up, of clamoring, angry voices and the clash of metal on metal. As quickly as it came, the memory vanished. Troubled, he had placed the sword back against the wall and paced the room.

It was then that his glance had fallen on the small leather book, resting on the mantle above the fireplace. Opening it to the middle, he had read:

I lie down and sleep;
I wake again, because my Lord sustains me.
I will not fear the tens of thousands
drawn up against me on every side.

Arrested by the simple purity of the lines, Archen had settled in front of the fire with the book in his lap.

A soft rap on the door brought him back to the present, announcing the girl Olivia, “Are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

“I’m famished,” Archen replied truthfully. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. Of course, lately I can’t remember anything, so that might not mean much.”

She laughed easily, “I knew I liked you. We’d better hurry, the boys tend to eat like it’s a competition, so—“ she stopped suddenly, “What is that?” she asked, indicating the book in his hands.

Archen turned the cover over, reading, “The Book of Peace. Frankly, I think it is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever read. Listen to this—“

“Wait.” She placed a hand on the book, “Archen, you can read this?”

“Yes,” he answered cautiously, surprised by the emphasis of her question. Then “What--!” for she grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her down the hall, calling all the while for her brothers.

“What’s going on, Livi?” Durran asked, looking up from the table as the two raced into the room.

“It’s nothing, really,” Archen answered, confused, “Your sister seems shocked that I can read, that's all.”

“Not that you can read, what you can read,” she explained, pointing to the book he held.

“I don’t believe it.” Durran said quietly.

“Believe it, why it makes perfect sense now!” cried Kite breathlessly, “He must be from the past!”

“No,” said Durren slowly, “No, it’s a fine theory, but it won’t work. He speaks our language.”

“Ah, I should have thought of that.”

“I’m still here,” Archen said dryly. “Would someone please tell me what you are all talking about?”

“This book, the sedja molenko, is about a thousand years old.” Durren explained, “I think it was used as a kind of prayer book for the ancient kings. But in any case, no one has spoken that language for centuries. What we are all wondering about is how you can read it, when no one else alive can.”