Legacy of the Darksword Read Online Free

Mosiah appeared moved by
this speech. He did not reply, at first, but remained seated in thought a short
space of time.
    “What you say is true, Father,”
he said. “Or, rather, it was true at the beginning. We should have left the
camp, gone forth into the world. But it was not pride which kept us behind
those barricades. It was fear. Such a strange and terrifying world! Oh,
admittedly, the Earthers brought in their sociologists and their psychologists,
their counselors and teachers to try to help us ‘fit in.’ But I am afraid that they did more harm than good. The more they showed us of the
wonders of this world, the more our people shrank away from them.
    “Pride, yes, we had our share,”
he continued. “And not misplaced. Our world was beautiful. There was good
in it.” Mosiah leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, gazing
earnestly at Saryon. “The Earthers could not believe in it, Father. Even the
soldiers who had been there had difficulty believing what they had seen with
their own eyes! On their return, they were ridiculed, and so they began to
doubt their own senses, saying that we drugged them, made them see things that
weren’t there.”
    Mosiah shrugged. “The ‘ologists’
were kind and they tried to understand, but it was beyond their capacity to do
so. Such an alien existence to them! When they looked at a young woman of
twenty, to all appearances healthy and normal—by their standards—who did
nothing all day but lie in bed, they could not understand what was wrong with
her. When they were told that she was lying in bed because
she was accustomed to floating through the air on wings of magic, that she had
never walked a step in her life and had no idea how to walk, nor any
inclination to do so, now that her magic was gone, they could not believe it.
    “Oh, yes, I know that they
appeared to accept it on the surface. All their medical tests confirmed the
fact that the girl had never walked. But deep inside, in the inner core of
their being, they did not believe. It is like asking them to believe in the
faeries of which you wrote in your book, Reuven.
    “Do you talk to your neighbors of
your visit to the faeries, Father? Have you told the woman who lives next door,
who is a secretary for a real-estate broker, that you were nearly seduced by
the faerie queen?”
    Saryon’s face was exceedingly
red. He stared down at the sheets, absently brushed away a few biscuit crumbs. “Of course not. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect her to
understand. Her world is so ... dissimilar. . . .”
    “ Your books.” Mosiah’s penetrating gaze shifted to me. “People read them and enjoy them. But
they don’t believe the stories, do they? They don’t believe that such a world
ever existed or that such a person as Joram ever lived. I have even heard it
suggested that you pretend to have this affliction of yours to avoid
interviews, because you are afraid that you would be revealed as a fraud and a
fake.”
    Saryon glanced anxiously at me,
for he was not aware that I had heard these accusations. He had gone to great
lengths to spare me. I therefore took care to indicate that they caused me no
concern, which, in truth, they did not, for so long as my work pleased one man,
and that my master, I cared nothing for what others thought.
    “And herein was created a strange
dichotomy,” said Mosiah. “They do not believe us, they do not understand us,
and yet they are afraid of us. They are afraid that we will regain powers they
do not believe we possessed in the first place. They try to prove to themselves
and to us that such power never existed. What they fear, they destroy. Or try
to.”
    An uncomfortable silence fell
between us. Saryon blinked and attempted to stifle a yawn.
    “It is your normal time to
retire,” Mosiah said, suddenly coming back to the present. “Do so. Keep to your
routine.”
    It was my custom to bid my master
good night and go to my room, to spend some time writing before I,