Chapter 10
“The City in the Lake”
[Augustine, in The City of God, has this to say about perspectives: “God is the creator of all things; and he himself knows where and when it is right or was right for anything to be created. He knows how to weave together the beauty of the whole in the similarity and diversity of its parts. But the person who is unable to see the whole is offended at what appears to be the deformity of a part, for he does not know how it fits in or how it is connected with the whole.” Book XVI, chap. 8.
Thus the creator has an Idea. He begins to tell his story, embody his Idea in words and images, creating a world with characters and the other “stuff” of which worlds are made. The creator, given his newly created world, knows where his story is going, the land of Ardor, for example, and why his protagonist is going there—seeking a lovely fairy Princess, and the creator knows the obstacles along the way, a hungry river troll, for one, a desolate war-torn land, for another. The only problem here—well, one of the several problems here—is at the heart of all good creativity: unlike God who is obviously All-Knowing, the human creator, story teller, does not necessarily know the meaning of the story until he or she (of course) tells it. If the reader understands the trinitarian nature of story-telling, then she or he (of course) must realize that this problem is that of the Creative Effect, the power of the meaning; in other words, we are in the realm of the Holy Spirit, so to speak. In the case of Christian theology, in so far as I understand it, the Holy Spirit is the embodiment of the Love between God the Father and God the Son. So to speak. Given my limited understanding of things, almost all things, truth be known, the only way the reader, not God, can understand the meaning of any story is by experiencing it. If it were math, you would be looking for x, especially if x equals a minus b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4 ac over 2a. Yes, the quadratic formula that we probably learned in Algebra 1. The only way to understand or learn the meaning of “x” is to plug in the numbers for a, b, and c and go through the process. Like reading a story. So then, once more into the breach!]
The Prince and Philip have followed the fairly straight road to the City of Ardor for the last two hours, more or less. The sun moved from overhead, down the western sky behind them, casting their long shadows onto the road ahead. As the Prince guided the horse up the green hill before them, he could see in the distance spires and towers of the unfamiliar City.
“Okay, Philip,” said the Prince, looking away from the cloud-capped towers in the distance to the black bird sitting with him on his horse. “It looks as though we are almost there.”
“Great, Boss. Your Highness,” he quickly added. “I think I’m getting saddlesore, I’ve been sitting here for such a while!”
The Prince laughed. “That’s not possible, you silly bird. It’s my butt that’s in the saddle. Not yours! Though now that you mention it, I could do to stretch my legs, while you stretch your wings,” he added meaningfully.
Philip took the suggestion seriously and launched himself into the air, leaving behind a black feather to float, like a maple tree seed, in curious spirals down to the ground. The Prince urged his horse forward, at the same time keeping his eyes fixed on Philip, now gliding, wings outstretched, in the bright blue sky above. After minutes in the distant air overhead, Philip folded his wings somewhat to glide back to the Prince. He settled into his place before the Prince on the leather saddle.
“Hey, Boss! You’re not going to believe this, but the City is situated on an island in the middle of a lovely blue lake. The thing is, there doesn’t seem to be any way to get there.”
“There has to be a way there,” responded the Prince. “More magic, I suppose! Well, we’ll see what’s what when we get there. How much farther is it? If it’s not too far, I’ll wait to stretch my legs.”
Philip chuckled. “I’d say it’s another two miles beyond the next hill, as the crow flies.” He blinked, his bright yellow eyes filled with humor.
“Clever, Philip! Clever! Have you ever heard about the fate of the four and twenty blackbirds? I think they had been witty too!” The Prince laughed and urged the horse into a gallop to the next hill, up, and then over. Coming down the other side of the hill, the Prince could now see in the distance that there was a beautiful walled City, riding tall and majestic on the clear blue water of the lake. The walls that rose up from the lake side were huge blocks of red stone that gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Above the thick red walls reddish towers and spires rose from large buildings that stood securely within the City walls. For the moment as they shortened the distance to the City, Philip was right. There didn’t seem to be a way to reach the island City, except by swimming, unreasonable, or by boat, none visible.
The road the adventurers were on led to the lakeside. The lake itself stretched out on either side of the road, making the journey end there. There seemed to be no way around the City. The road ended at the lake. The gate of the City, however, was straight out from the road, though again the Prince could see no way to get from the road to the gate.
Back slightly from the road and to the left, a massive old, gnarled oak tree stood like a sentinel, beckoning them toward it. The plentiful green leaves of the oak fluttered invitingly in the soft breeze. Philip, taking the invitation, flew to the tree and landed on one of the tree’s thinner old limbs high up but facing the distant City.
The tree reminded the Prince of the Aspen grove and the lovely fairy lady, Adriel, who lived there. He sighed and felt the heart-shaped stone she had given him against his leg. He slowly and thoughtfully turned his horse toward the old tree. Once there, he swung down from the saddle, secured the horse to a low branch, and stretched his legs.
“Hey, Philip,” he called to the black bird still sitting in the tree. “We shall make camp here tonight. In the morning we can see about getting over there.”
“Okay, Boss. I’ll be down there in a bit.”
The Prince meanwhile began setting up his camp. He untied the horse, removed her saddle, then led her to the edge of the water and let her drink her fill. He led her back to the tree and secured her again, leaving her enough slack so that she could move and graze on the grass near the tree. Next the Prince gathered enough dry wood from under and around the tree to make a small fire. With his knife he shaved thin strips from one of the thicker limbs, until he had enough tinder to start a good fire. Placing the thinner sticks on the tinder, he drew flint and metal from his canvas pack, struck the flint on the metal, sending a long spark to the shavings which immediately caught fire.
The Prince sat close to the fire, and Philip fluttered down next to him. “What’s for supper?” Boss he asked, as the Prince began setting out food, what was left of the bread, cheese, and dried meats.
The Prince broke off some of the bread and put it on the grass where Philip immediately snatched them, tearing off bits and pieces. The Prince finished the bread with cheese and meat, putting one of the wraps into the fire, which flared and burned brightly in the descending darkness left behind by the setting sun.
“I guess, Philip, you might fly out to the island tomorrow and see if there’s a way to get there. It’s odd that the people of this land would build such a City without a clear road to it. Well, we shall see tomorrow. As it is, it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I’ll put some fresh wood on the fire and stretch out on my blanket. You sleep in the tree and let me know if you hear anything untoward in the night.”
“Okay, your highness, Boss. What’s untoward?”
“Oh,” said the Prince, “anything that goes bump in the night I guess. Ghosties and ghoulies and that kind of thing. Scary supernatural things, you know.”
The Prince chuckled, stretched out on his blanket, his head against the saddle he had placed there while Philip flew back up into the tree, muttering to himself. Once settled on a secure branch, he called down, “Goodnight, Boss.” But the Prince was already asleep.
Image: not exactly the City of Ardor, but it gives you the idea. Mostly.
