It was a deep night, thick and stifling, draped heavily like velvet over the desert, putting the tired land to bed, laying it down into the soft consolation of sleep. From the grand little palace, glowing lights danced and burned proudly and ostentatiously, spinning whorls and patterns into the deep purple fabric of the sky. The Setrapes had ordered it, and so by some obscure sorcery the fires leaped and danced in all different shades and colours, wild in hungry brilliance. The Satrapes was an ambitious man, wholly devoted only to raising himself, by sheer stubbornness of willpower up above the clouds; to fight further, trade wider, be served and loved by more, and so the fires leaped and spun. But high above, they scarcely stole from the magnificent constancy in that eternal tapestry of stars.
I stood outside there as the palace hummed with music and laughter behind me, and those silent stars looked sadly down on me. It was not that I did not approve of the festival - certainly celebration is a wondrous thing in its appointed time. It had been a good year for that court, with bountiful harvests and spoils of war, and it is always wise to give thanks for what is given. But the palace was not my home, I’d only arrived on the eve of the great festival. Now I’d had my share and withdrew, letting the night draw me gently closer to whisper it’s silent secrets to my heart, deeper and deeper.
Behind me, the festivities slowly closed, the great crescendo descending to a soft purr. Night crept on, gathered all to its bosom. Soldiers, lulled by drink, sank to the floor. Young men in fine robes grew silent and retired. Their partners withdrew to recline on long soft couches, folds of diaphanous silks blossoming about them in beautiful flowers. All children finding rest in their mother’s arms. One by one the magnificent torches tired and gave in with a final exhale, until the revelers gathered about the last great fire in the main hall. Night came on. Silence descended. Shadows reigned.
But a voice called out against the midnight shadows for “A story! Let’s have a story.”
“Then let’s hear of your battles against the heathens in the east” they implored the military captain.
“And your travels among the roving tribes to the west”, turning to the merchant crew.
“How about that old tale about the woodcutter and the thieves”, and some dramatic personality leapt up to tell it.
So they dragged on, raging against the Tyrant Time. Refusing to let the celebration slip away. Savouring the last seconds as a child would lick up the dregs of some sherbet. Deeper and deeper, longer and longer.
“I also have a story to tell you, if you will listen.” A voice whispered from the shadows, weak and wavering. It was an older man, greatly regarded by all the people, even the ineffable Satrapes himself, with almost reverential respect. He was a Magi, and, of course, that demanded respect. Such were the icons of legends written into the earliest books, the power behind thrones, treasurers of all knowledge, even the elements bowed to their command, those wise men who studied the secrets hidden in the treasury of the universe. I looked to him with a careful mixture of awe and intrigue. This man, like myself, was a visitor. He had arrived the same day I had, only hours before me on the road.
I listened. The palace held its breath in anticipation, so the old man looked up to the naked sky and continued:
“I could tell you a lot from these stars, you know. Years of my life I’ve spent under them, gazing at them from ancient towers above the world. I could name everyone and all of them for you if you like and recount each story they tell, if we had nights and nights to spare. No, don’t worry, I’ll only tell you one tonight, your half-drunk and your eyes half-closed as it is. I won’t bore you with this old man’s dribble any more than you deserve. This is the story of a star I can no longer see up there in God’s great tapestry.
“It was a peculiar star, if it even was such a thing. It behaved like no star I’ve ever seen. All I’ve seen travel east to west like servants of the sun, but this one went … shall we say its own way. We saw it, one bleak midwinter night, the eve of the first moon of winter to be exact. Right there in the western sky. Simple and superb. Beckoning, perhaps one might think. A number of us gathered, discussed what was to be done. We had heard that ‘a star shall come forth’, but we had not thought it credible. Stars do not ‘appear’, that is not the way of things. We had wondered though. Yes, some of us had wondered. And we beheld this one at its rising. We are magi. We listen to the stars, and the stars do not lie to those who will listen. They told of a newborn King, ... and beckoned.
“We formed a small company for the journey, only three of us. Most were too old to face the desert. Others had more questionable reluctance. Some were not taken for nonsense; they denounced us, disgraced us as infidels. Others behaved in secret, just gave us gifts and let us correspond, keeping up their name. And fair enough, an unforgiving way was kept for us. The days hot and hateful. The nights froze to the heart. And always the thirst, cutting down to the soul. Desert land is hard, merciless, and the people even more so. For my own part I know not what kept my face to the desert wind. Perhaps fidelity to my calling, lest some other force possesed my bones.
“In time we came to a restless city and the high seat in the land. One who called himself a king. The man was a king, that is true, with a grand court both rich and powerful, but it was not he we sought, nor any of his sons. For all his welcome I found no rest there. He listened with greedy eyes to our story, and they raged at the news we brought. As we stood before his tall throne, providing audience for his illustrious speeches in dazzling robes, in my heart I was thinking of the ancient tales about the monstrous dragons that ate princesses and stole empires, sitting on gold hoards all alone forever … counting I suppose. In those stories, whole armies of soldiers would be crushed in a moment by the fierce monster beside towns incinerated in a single breath, so the people would live in fear. But after all the great and proud heroes in the land had perished to tooth, claw, and flame, a single unlikely little challenger would arise from the cowering land to trick and slay the unholy beast. In the best versions the little hero was only a child. Those tales were always my favourite, I wish you would tell those again in your courts, the unlikely ones that didn’t fear to tell truth.
“No I could not rest there. We fulfilled all policy and went on our way. But the king called us one last time to his great chamber, imploring us to return when we had found the child, ‘so that he too may come and worship’ he told us. I looked at him, a beast dressed as a saviour, and I tried to imagine a dragon kneeling.
“Beside him, his mistress stood holding his youngest son, pampered by a court of willing hands. I’ve heard that child is dead now. I’ve heard that king killed all his sons. It does not surprise me, dragons always devour the children, the family. It knows from there comes its demise.
“In only days, we came at last to a small town, but a bedlam to behold. We saw crowds of lost people and heard murmurs of ‘enrollments’, but for an emperor far-away longing for power, to raise himself higher than he deserved. No one spoke of a King. In the sweat and the dust and the concrete apathy, we collapsed. This was meant to be the place.
“But when night came the star remained, and we followed it once more, out from that busy little town, preparing for something indeed … but not a King. Out in the quiet, we came, not to a house, but our guide waited at last over a cave. And so our journey ended, under the earth.
“Now I was an old man even then. I daresay I was old before many of you were yet young, and I don’t have little to show for it. In my time, I’ve read all the lore of our people and understand all the sciences and arts we’ve developed. My life’s been measured out in scrolls and books, reading further, searching deeper, tasting, enjoying, devouring all the knowledge the universe offers. I’ve advised kings and princes, who’ve obeyed my word like dogs. Whole empires have rested in the palm of my hand, or so I believed. And how we will believe such startling fantasies about ourselves sometimes, eh? as long as they look nicer than the truth. Yes, even I, who has gazed at the stars all my life, trying to read them like you would a book. Thirsting after truth like a dying man in the desert. Not a sentiment, not a fancy, something hard, solid, that you can sink your teeth into and shatter them. All my life I’ve been following these stars. They led me here to you tonight. And they led me, all those years ago, down under the earth to the feet of my King. And in that moment, I saw all the stars, those passed, those waiting for birth, and all that was above them and all they looked down on in every age, dancing in His eyes.
“I saw all the universe, and He who sang eternity into being. And in that moment, before that simple little creature, I knew only that I knew nothing.
For a second the silent was perfect, he could have been speaking to a gang of dead men for all he knew. But you could feel everything, the stone walls, the groaning desert, the gathering darkness, and the hearts gathered all around - in the light of the dying fire, the darkness, and under the darkness - all listening to every word coming from the old man’s mouth as though they were life itself. He spoke:
“What we found down there, none of us could have prepared for. There was a man, a father; silent and strong. But it was the woman we loved first; like the star we followed, but shining brighter and gentler with the glory of a mother. And her eyes were love, pure as is impossible, deeper than the ocean. But the ocean is less than a teardrop falling from her eye. And I was there, falling, drowning, dissolving. I gave her my heart without ever a word. Now, even now, every moment I long to see Her smile once more.
“At her feet we laid the gifts we had brought, withdrawn from ornate chests. They had been magnificent, fit for a King, exquisite as dust. Had I not laid down my heart as well, this old man would have been too ashamed. But that Lady laughed, the song that makes God sigh, and from the deep warm folds of Her mantle she revealed a tiny newborn child.
“Heaven came to earth.
“It is impossible to say all that my heart burns to tell you. Forget nights, I could spend lifetimes writing it in books, spilling it out in words, and still could not communicate the slightest truth of that beauty, that love. Oh, but if I could you would laugh and weep with joy. Your hearts would burn, and then you would die, because this life would have no light for you. Ah, Mother and Child! How I long to return! How I wish I had never left. No. Instead, I must keep to this, following the stars, telling my story. Waiting. They will lead me home.
“Soon.
Out over the desert, through the darkness thick as death, the world held its breath, waiting for dawn.
