Talsy stared across the sunlit bowl of Chanter’s valley at the snow-capped mountains that ringed it like jagged white teeth. From her high window, she sniffed the scented breeze that ruffled the curtains and smelt within it the promise of rain. In the distance, herds of sheep and cattle grazed, the faint bleating of lambs mixed with the soft ringing of the cow’s bells. Her eyes never wearied of the mesmerising sight, which imparted its peace in Chanter’s absence.
Two months of gruelling travel had brought them home, battered and numbed by the horrors they had witnessed in the forest. The journey had taken its toll, and almost half the soldiers had fallen to the chaos beasts’ predations and the land’s ever increasing madness. She shuddered at the memory, still haunted by it in horrible dreams that dragged her screaming from her sleep. When they had finally quit it, Orland had led them through a narrow pass that had opened onto a vast plain dotted with rock claws.
Chanter had joined them there, the black army left behind in the mountains to struggle with the elements of a world gone mad. Although their suffering saddened the Mujar, he took no blame for their demise since he had had no hand in it other than to lead them astray. Talsy wondered at his strange logic, but remembered the time when he had disowned the soldiers from the doomed tar town, leaving their fate to the land’s mercy. As before the breaking of the Staff of Law, a Mujar would take no part in killing, but would stand by and watch unchosen die without regret.
Talsy had spent the last two weeks of the journey on a litter that four burly soldiers carried. As her belly had swelled, she found she could not stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and became so tired that she fell asleep in the saddle. When she had been awake, a terrible hunger had forced her to consume prodigious amounts of food, yet the flesh melted from her and her teeth had become loose. Her skin had taken on a pale, waxy look, and her hair fell out in hanks. Several times, she had noticed Kieran and Chanter muttering together when they thought that she was asleep, the Prince pleading and the Mujar shaking his head. Her lethargy and mental torpor had not allowed her to ponder this, and she had dismissed it as unimportant.
Upon her arrival in the valley, Chanter had taken it upon himself to raise a castle of smooth grey bedrock for her to live in, a small but elegant fortress. He had modelled it on Trueman castles he had seen, and made a surprisingly good job of it with a little help from Kieran. Sheera had been horrified by Talsy’s condition and appointed herself nursemaid. As soon as Talsy was installed in her new domicile, Chanter had vanished without farewell. This had not overly concerned her, for all her interest was now focussed on the new life growing within her, making its presence felt. All of her waking moments were centred upon it, and, when she was not eating, she talked endlessly to Sheera about it.
Kieran remained distant but supportive, and at times he sat with her when Sheera was busy, listening to her ramblings. After a week to recover from the journey, Orland had returned to his father’s city with his army, which the valley could not feed. He assured them that he and his men would not brave the forest a second time, but would take an even longer route around the woods, staying in open country where the chaos beasts could not hide.
Two months later, Chanter had returned with the fourth piece of the staff. Sorrow had haunted his eyes, a silent testimony to the horrors he had witnessed beyond the valley. Talsy had smiled at the broken piece of grey stone, but had been unable to summon any enthusiasm, the coming birth of her child overshadowing her ambition to restore the staff. The four pieces lay on a sheet of crimson velvet in an empty tower room, a five-foot broken staff missing its metal-bound foot.
Since then, two more months of balmy, sun-filled days had passed within the valley, sheltered from the chaos by Chanter’s power. Dargon had invaded the haven in increasing numbers, bringing a wealth of fecundity to the soil and allowing monstrous crops to be grown. The grass grew so fast the beasts could not crop it quickly enough, and the grazers became fat. Chanter had ordered hundreds of trees to be planted around the copse by the lake, and a young forest sprouted with amazing speed. Life in the valley remained idyllic, and nothing disturbed Talsy in her ripening pregnancy. Sheera diligently rubbed oil into her turgid belly, now swollen to such proportions that walking was a major task, and she had not seen her feet for some time.
Chanter left from time to time to fly over the mountains, returning bristling with wild beauty and burdened with intense sorrow. He had left three days ago now, or was it four? Talsy frowned. The amount of sleep she craved distorted her sense of time, and days tended to blur together with nights. She sighed and turned from the window, her feet and back aching from standing even for a few minutes. The child kicked, making her gasp and clasp the hard bulge of her belly. He kicked often now, waking her at night when she felt him pushing at her flesh. She smiled and rubbed her belly as it bulged, its small occupant shifting, maybe stretching as he woke. Tottering across the room, she sat on the bed. Hunger gnawed at her again, and she reached for the silver bell Sheera had given her to summon aid.
Before she grasped it, pain tore through her, and she gasped, biting her lip. As it subsided, she rang the bell. Sheera appeared within minutes, looking worried when her gaze raked Talsy’s pale face.
“What is it child? Has it started?”
Talsy nodded, gasping when another pain lanced through her.
Sheera turned away. “I’ll call the midwife.”
Talsy lay back as the old woman hurried out, and a twinge of fear accompanied the next crushing pain. After months of living in a happy daze, the birth pains’ onset brought the world back into sharp focus, like a rosy veil drawn aside to reveal the harsh reality she had been blind to for so long.
Sheera returned to help her get comfortable, clucking like a mother hen as she arranged the cushions and blotted sweat from Talsy’s brow. The pains came faster now, and Talsy’s fear increased. She gripped Sheera’s arm and pulled her closer.
“Where’s the midwife?”
“Coming, child. She’s on her way.”
Talsy gasped and clenched her teeth. “Is it normally so painful?”
“Yes, always.”
“Chanter said I would die.”
Sheera clicked her tongue. “Now, now, there’s no reason to worry, dear, you’re bang on time. Nine moons exactly, if you got your dates right.”
Talsy forced a rictus of a smile. “I told him, didn’t I?”
“You did, and you were right.”
“Where is he?” she demanded. “He should be here, it’s his child!”
“He went away for a while, you know that.”
“He must come back!”
Sheera shook her head. “This is woman’s work, and not for men to witness.”
Talsy arched her back as a pain shot through her, and a gush of fluid burst from her. Sheera busied herself replacing the wet sheets while Talsy writhed and moaned. The plump, merry-faced midwife arrived, panting a little from the long climb up the stairs. She examined Talsy and nodded with satisfaction, then settled in a chair by the fire and lighted a pipe.
Talsy shot her an angry glance. “What the hell are you doing? Help me!”
The motherly midwife chuckled and spoke in a thick brogue. “Nothin’ I can do yet, lass, ‘tis your job to push the bairn out, not mine. When it starts to birth, I’ll help ye. You just get to pushin’.”
Talsy gritted her teeth and growled, but another pain robbed her of breath with which to argue. Sheera soothed her and wiped her brow with a damp cloth, murmuring words of encouragement. Talsy cursed and groaned.
“I’m not doing this again,” she gritted. “No one told me it would hurt like this.”
“What did ye think,” the midwife chortled, “it’d just pop out?”
“Something like that.”
“They say the pain of birth would kill a man,” the midwife confided encouragingly.
“Tisha, that’s not a thing to tell her now,” Sheera remonstrated.
The midwife shrugged and puffed her pipe. “Tis true.”
Although Talsy did not believe the pains could get any worse, they did, growing in intensity and duration until she seemed to spend hours arched in spasms of mind-bending agony. She strived not to scream, and bit her lip until it bled. Sheera urged her to vent her pain, and eventually she could not help herself. Her screams echoed through the castle, and the first brought Kieran galloping in, ashen-faced. The midwife flew at him and beat him from the room with swings of her wooden basin, then locked the door in the face of his bellows of concern. He pounded on the door until Sheera was forced to go out and reassure him.
The daylight dwindled as the sun sank behind the mountains, and still Talsy writhed in agony. She glimpsed blood-stained sheets being whipped away by Sheera and two other women who had come to help, one of them Kieran’s mother, Queen Kamish. Lamps were brought and the fire fed to keep the room warm. Sheera gave Talsy sips of water as she sweated and strained. By the time the lamps’ oil had been refilled twice, the midwife looked concerned. She drew Sheera aside for a muttered discussion, shaking her head. Talsy groaned and cursed, her throat raw and her belly aching even when spasms did not rack it. Sheera returned to the bed, her eyes shadowed with anxiety.
“Talsy, I think you should call Chanter.”
“Why, what is it?”
“Tisha says it’s been too long, and no progress has been made.”
“No progress?” Talsy gasped. “After all that? He should be here! Maybe he’s been locked outside with Kieran?”
Sheera looked doubtful, but rose and slipped out into the corridor.
Kieran straightened from his dejected pose on a chair by the door, his hair on end from running anxious hands through it. He gazed at Sheera with hopeful eyes.
“Is she all right? Is it over?”
A hoarse scream from within answered him, and Sheera closed the door. “Do you know where Chanter is?”
Kieran glanced around, and the Mujar stepped into the light of a lamp on the wall.
“He’s been here for hours,” Kieran said, “but he didn’t want to intrude. I told him men aren’t allowed inside. What’s wrong?”
Sheera shook her head. “She’s having trouble. We thought maybe Chanter could help.”
The Prince shot Chanter a haggard look. “It’s time.”
The Mujar nodded. “Now it’s time.”
“Time?” Sheera looked confused. “Time for what?”
“Time to put an end to this,” Kieran said, starting to brush past the old woman.
Sheera grabbed his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Save her.” He pushed her aside and entered the room. Her eyes widened when she noticed the sword at his side, which he had not worn for months. The stink of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, and startled women looked up from their tasks.
“Out,” he snapped, jerking a thumb at the door.
They gabbled in protest, and Kieran grabbed the nearest, his mother, and hustled her towards the door.
“What are you doing?” the Queen demanded with a frown.
“Do you want her to die?” Kieran demanded.
“Of course not!”
“Then leave us alone.”
The Queen retreated from his frown, and the second woman followed, but the midwife had to be ejected forcibly, and her voluble insults continued long after two men had dragged away her down the stairs. Kieran found Chanter in the corridor and pulled the reluctant Mujar into the room. Chanter’s eyes flinched from Talsy’s haggard face as he came to stand beside the bed.
“So much pain,” he whispered, staring down at her.
She groped for his hand and clung to it. “Don’t let me die. You promised.”
“I won’t,” he murmured. “I’ll save you.”
“And the baby?”
“If we can, we’ll save it too.”
Her eyes grew wild. “You must save him!”
“We’ll try.” Chanter laid a hand on her brow. “Your body has decided that it’s time for his birth, but he does not wish to be born yet. We have to take him out now, or you’ll both perish.”
She subsided, her expression filling with anguish. “I want my son.”
He nodded. “I know. Sleep now. When you wake, he’ll be here.”
Talsy’s eyes closed as his command swept her away into a dark ocean of slumber. Chanter turned to Kieran, who stood at the foot of the bed, bile stinging his throat.
He shot the Mujar a furtive look. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You must; you promised.”
Kieran shook his head. “You do it. You can use the sword as well as I.”
“I cannot. If I cut out the child and it dies, I will have killed it, and you know I can’t do that.”
“It wouldn’t be deliberate,” the Prince protested.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You and your damn scruples.” His hand dropped to the sword hilt. “I love her, yet I must be the one to gut her.”
“To save her.”
Kieran’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, right. A pity all this couldn’t have been avoided.”
“Indeed.” Chanter remained expressionless, and his lack of rebuke for the unwarranted jibe shamed the Prince, who looked away.
Drawing the Starsword with a slither of steel, he walked around to the side of the bed. “I don’t know where to cut her. Maybe we should call a doctor?”
Chanter shook his head. “I’d say it’s fairly obvious.”
The Prince glanced at Talsy’s peaceful face. “She won’t feel anything?”
“Nothing,” the Mujar assured him.
Kieran lifted the sword and laid its edge upon Talsy’s swollen belly, biting his lip in a moment of hesitation before pressing down gently on the blade. The sword cut flesh far easier than stone, and sliced through her skin so swiftly that moments passed before blood welled forth. Kieran put the blade aside and stared at the incision, then pushed his hands into it with a grimace and groped within until he grasped a slippery arm. He followed that to its head and gripped it, then pulled a struggling child into the light. The baby wriggled, almost making him drop it, and he put it on the sheet beside its mother. The infant balled its fists and let out a wail of outrage.
“It’s alive,” he murmured, shooting a triumphant glance at the Mujar, who nodded. The Prince examined the infant. “A boy.”
“Talsy will be pleased,” Chanter commented.
Kieran bit back a retort and cut the cord, wrapped the child in a sheet and stepped away. “Your turn.”
Chanter approached the bed and scooped water from a basin beside it, pouring it over the long gash in the girl’s belly. Placing his hands on either side of it, he let the power of Shissar flow through him, bringing with it the soft misty wetness of its manifestation. The cut closed, leaving a long pink scar, and he straightened and placed a hand on Talsy’s brow.
“Awake, your child is here.”
Talsy gasped, and her eyes flew open to hunt for the source of the wails. Kieran placed the bundle in her arms. She gazed down at the tiny wrinkled face with awe and joy, tears seeping from her eyes. Kieran joined Chanter at the window. The Mujar gazed out at the pale streaks of dawn that probed over the distant mountains, filling the valley with pearly light. Kieran leant on the wall beside him and watched Talsy counting fingers and toes.
“She’s happy.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
“He looks pretty normal to me.”
The Mujar shrugged. “Time will tell.”
The door rattled under a thunderous banging, and Kieran went to open it, admitting a flood of women led by Sheera and the irate midwife. They crowded around Talsy to admire the wailing new-born, ask questions and give instructions. The midwife turned on Kieran and had her revenge by ejecting him into the corridor again. When her glinting eyes sought the Mujar, he avoided humiliation by turning into a raven taking wing into the pale dawn sky. Kieran went down to the kitchen to celebrate with a mug of ale, where a throng of male well-wishers from amongst the chosen joined him. His happiness that Talsy was safely delivered of the half-breed child was tinged with a dark thread of bitterness and worry, which he made a valiant attempt to drown that day.
Chanter was absent for Travain’s christening and when he started crawling at one month old. It took two extra wet nurses to satisfy his hunger, yet he hardly cried, nor did he suffer from colic. His pale blue eyes held a depth that Talsy could not plumb, and everything around him appeared to fascinate him. He slept little, and seemed content to lie in his cradle staring into space when he was not being fed. Talsy adored him, and rarely let him out of her sight, proclaiming him to be the most perfect child in the world. Kieran watched him grow with a mixture of doubt and fascination, waiting for the first signs of Mujar character. Although he did not hate Mujar, he regarded them with a deep wariness and mistrust. He had never been able to forget the scars Dancer’s apparent callousness had inflicted, even though Chanter had explained the reason.
Talsy regained her slender figure, and her hair grew back glossy gold, cut short to curl around her face. Her eating and sleeping habits returned to normal, and she took an interest in the problems of the people in the valley. As time passed, her sphere of interest increased, and she worried about what was happening outside the valley again.
One afternoon, Kieran found her in the room that housed the pieces of the staff, staring at the fragments that lay on the sheet of crimson velvet. She glanced around at his entrance, then gazed at the shattered Staff of Law again, Travain gurgling on her hip.
“We must try to restore it,” she murmured.
“How? The fifth piece is still missing.”
She frowned. “If the wind didn’t see it, then it didn’t fly through the air. If it didn’t fly through the air, where must it be?”
Kieran shrugged. “Maybe it went underground.”
“Maybe it didn’t go anywhere.”
“You mean it might still be there, in Tyrander’s castle?”
“Perhaps.”
“Just because the winds didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t fly. The winds don’t see everything,” he said.
“That’s true, but it’s the most likely place for it, don’t you think? I’ve wondered if it might be there since Chanter told me.” She shifted Travain onto her other hip. “We must search for it. We won’t find it staying here.”
“Don’t you think that’s what Chanter’s been doing when he’s been away?”
“No.” She smiled. “He’s just been running wild. He wouldn’t bother to search for it, I never asked him to.”
“He found the fourth piece.”
“He knew I wanted it, and he knew where it was. The fifth piece he always dismissed as lost, and, as far as he was concerned, that was that. He has no ambition to restore the staff. He fulfilled my Wish to find the four pieces we knew of. We must return to Tyrander’s castle and see if we can find it.”
“We?” Kieran’s brows rose. “You’d leave Travain with his nursemaids?”
“No, he’ll come with me.”
“He’s just a baby. You can’t go dragging him all over the countryside. It’s too dangerous, and besides, we’d have to take two wet nurses and a wagon of food for him.” At her mutinous look, he hurried on, “Let Chanter go. He can fly, and nothing can harm him in the air.”
She scowled, considering this. “He’d have to walk back if he’s carrying it. That would be dangerous for him.”
“Not as dangerous as it would be for you. Think of Travain. Would you put him in that much danger? Chanter knows better than to go near people, and he doesn’t need to. He can protect himself from the beasts out there even if it means flying away and leaving the stone, then returning for it when it’s safe. We can’t fly.”
She bit her lip, pondering, and he added, “The only time he needed our help was to get the piece from the Kingdom of Zare, because it was in a city. He found the stone in the ocean and the one in the mountains. There’s no one at Tyrander’s castle.”
She nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But he’s not here.”
“He’ll be back soon, he rarely stays away longer than a month, or you could call him.”
She looked down at Travain, who stared at the broken staff. “He hasn’t even seen his son.”
“He saw him when he was born. Chanter’s not interested in him. You have to accept that.”
She blinked and sighed. “I suppose I do, don’t I?”
Talsy woke to find the room filled with dawn’s soft, rosy light, and stretched, wondering what had disturbed her. Usually she did not wake so early. Two days had passed since her conversation with Kieran. Sensing a presence close by, she rolled over to glance at the window. The Mujar sat on the ledge, one leg braced against its edge, the other dangling within the room. She rose with a glad cry and went over to hug him. He held her away and inspected her with a smile.
“You look much better.”
She pulled a face. “I was a mess, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were, but you seem happy now.”
“I am, especially now that you’re here.”
Travain grizzled, and she went over to pick him up, opening her nightgown for him to suckle.
Chanter tilted his head. “He’s grown.”
She grinned, her eyes shining with pride. “He’s crawling already, and he’s so good.”
“I’m glad he’s made you happy.”
“He eats like a horse, and he has all his teeth already.”
“Strange, the way Lowmen feed their young,” he said. “Almost like Mujar eating their mother plant, but yours only eat part of you.”
Talsy laughed. “What a strange thought! But I suppose it’s true, in a weird way.” She sat in a chair and gazed down at her son, stroking his soft white hair. “He doesn’t have the mark.”
“He’s too young. Mujar don’t develop the mark until they’re about six months old.”
“Can you tell if he’s more like you than me?”
He looked away. “No, not yet. He looks quite Lowman.”
“He’s not normal. No Lowman baby would be crawling at a month old, or have all his teeth. He never cries and hardly sleeps.”
“Of course he’s not normal, but as yet there’s no way to tell if he’ll be like a Mujar or merely a strange Lowman child.”
Talsy bit back a retort, reminding herself that of all the people she knew, Chanter was the least likely to admire their offspring. “Would you like to hold him?”
“No.”
She quelled another surge of animosity at his rejection and changed the subject. “We have to find the last piece of the staff.”
He glanced around. “So you’ve regained your interest in that. I’d hoped the child would distract you.”
“His name’s Travain.”
The Mujar frowned. “You gave him this name?”
“Yes, why, don’t you like it?”
“It’s all right.”
Talsy had the impression that he had other reservations about her naming the child, but returned to the previous subject. “I think I know where the last piece of stone is.”
“Really?” He looked sceptical. “Where?”
“I think you know as well as I do. It’s not that hard to figure out. The fifth piece is where it’s always been, in Tyrander’s castle.”
“Ah.” He stared across the valley, hiding his expression.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she accused.
“As you say, it’s not that hard to figure out. It’s not certain, but that would be the logical location.”
“Will you go and fetch it?”
“To what end?” He turned to look at her. “Then you’ll have five pieces of useless stone lying on a sheet of velvet instead of four.”
“You can make it whole again.”
“Another pointless exercise. The laws are gone, and they can’t be remade except by the gods.”
“We could restore some of them,” she argued.
He shook his head. “We’ve been through this before.”
“I want that last piece. If you won’t do it, I’ll go myself.”
“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t fetch it.” He sighed. “If that’s your Wish, then I will.”
“We don’t have to be formal about this, do we?”
“No.”
“And once it’s here, you’ll make it whole again?”
He nodded, his expression sorrowful. “I wish I could restore the laws, too. The world outside is dying.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough, and getting worse.”
Remembering the journey home from the Kingdom of Zare, she shuddered. It had been bad enough then. “That’s why we have to try to restore the staff. Maybe if we make it whole again, the gods will put back the laws.” She glanced down at Travain. “I want a world for our son to inherit, a future in which he can have children of his own, not seventy-two years in which to ponder the futility of his existence, imprisoned in this valley. When you die, so does this valley, unless Travain has the power to maintain it, and his children too. But even if they do, they’ll still be trapped here.”
Chanter shook his head. “In a hundred years, not even a purebred Mujar will be able to stop the world from falling apart. There are limits to our power, you know. We’re not gods.”
“Then we have to find a way to restore the laws, even if it means spending every day on our knees begging the gods to help us.”
He looked startled. “You think this would help?”
“Yes, well, how else will they know what we need, or how we feel?”
Chanter’s eyes grew distant. “They see everything we do and know what’s in our hearts. Why do they need us to beg for their aid?”
“Well then, once we’ve restored the staff, we wait until the gods decide what to do about it. If, by restoring the laws, they can remake the world as it was, why wouldn’t they? What would be the point in letting it come to an end, and killing the good as well as the bad?”
He shrugged, staring at the floor. “Who knows what they’ll decide. I do their will, but I don’t know their thoughts. At the moment, my decisions are my own. They touched me only once, when I chose you. Since then I’ve been following the instructions they gave me and the knowledge they revealed to me.”
“Then let’s restore the staff. Perhaps they’re waiting for us to take the initiative. When you chose me, they made a decision, maybe when we restore the staff, they’ll make another.” She leant forward. “Let’s show them we care, and not just sit here waiting for the end.”
The Mujar rose and turned to the window. “If that’s your Wish, so be it.”
Talsy jumped up. “Wait! Don’t go yet. Stay, have something to eat, rest a while, there’s no hurry.”
Chanter hesitated, and she knew a part of him yearned for the freedom that beckoned outside the window, while the temptation of the comforts every Mujar craved held him back. He followed her down to the castle’s vast, warm kitchen, where Sheera tended the roaring ovens and lorded it over a bevy of women that came to help her and bake their bread. Sheera was patently delighted to see Chanter, and plied him with food until he could eat no more, her gaze often darting between him and Travain. Perhaps she looked for similarities, or expected some gesture of affection or acceptance, Talsy mused. Chanter ignored the child, and when Travain finished feeding, Talsy handed him to a wet nurse for another meal.
Law swam the ocean depths for many moons with his new, gentle friends. He found their shape pleasing and their play enjoyable. When they hunted, he left them to play amongst the waves, glided through the glittering blueness and leapt high into the cold dry void to fall back with a great splash into the swirling sea. He plumbed the depths and followed the gleam of Dolana that mapped the ocean floor, enjoying the water’s soft embrace and the soothing cradle of its cold cocoon. For a while, he joined a pod of whales and tried their form, but he found it too slow and bulky, and reverted to a dolphin’s sleek, speedy shape.
Far out in the ocean, he came across a massive food beast basking in the sun, its bevy of predators like a flotilla of ships around an island. Here he discovered the joy of communing with his own kind, a speech far deeper and more meaningful than the dolphins’ chatter or the whales’ mournful songs. He bonded with a predator and shared its gentle mind and peaceful ways, enjoying the sweet rush of emotion that was its name. Seeking to be closer still, he tried to take its form, but, no matter how hard he tried, the shape of a predator would not come into his mind. He pondered this for some time, taking man form to crawl out onto the food beast’s back and lie in the sun. He had become adept at changing his shape, and had tried many, finding some that he liked and others that were not so much fun to wear.
More than anything, he longed to join the predators in their joyful play, and wondered why this was denied him. The whispering golden light in his head had become much calmer since he joined the food beast. As the rushing wisps of words and letters flashed around his head, he strived to read them, but the angular writing defied his attempts to decipher it.
Law’s new home drifted across the sea, safe from the strange, growing chaos in the world. When he slept, the golden writing in his dreams slowed to wavering stillness, like a reflection in the dark pool of his mind.
Law dreamt of a stone staff, another of light and a third of darkness, and knew their names. He saw the stone staff broken and its words unleashed, but none of it concerned him. The joy all Mujar craved was his in abundance, and he spurned the niggling mystery of the blinding light, content to leave it unsolved.