THE CHOOSING OF THE HEART
The Jodesians knew very little about Azrael. Much of what they did know was based on stories; legends and rumors handed down by their ancestors. What could be determined as factual was unsure and, as none of the current community had met the Angel, they were not in a position to agree, or disagree, with the information that had been passed down to them.
The Jodesians had been the only race to serve in appointment. No other had ever been chosen and a number had served the Mighty Gallie Tree faithfully for the last three thousand years — that much could be determined from the "Journals of the Ancients."
"One is chosen and will be chosen forever thereafter, upon the death of the previous chosen, who will continue to serve until his own death. At that point another would be chosen."
And so it was written.
It had been a week since the death of Rift Anken. His passing had taken him into the world of spirit, ending his appointment of loyal service to the Mighty Gallie Tree. Three days had been given over as a period of mourning with a further four for the impending burial arrangements and for the completion of Jodesian affairs. He had been 304 years old — the last of the current generations to have met Azrael, that one and only time when he had been appointed to service. He had been the last chosen. Now there would be another. It had been exactly seven days since his body had appeared in the fairy glade. That seventh day was today.
After his coronation in that very same glade, nearly two hundred years previous, he left his village for his new home, where the Mighty Gallie Tree grew. No one had seen him after that day; it was not permitted even for family. His service was to be a lonely vigil and one that could not be interrupted. Interruptions only served to upset the balance. He had accepted his task proudly and had forsaken everything beyond that which was asked of him. Now he was dead and it had been seven days — not only did that mean that something would happen, but it would be happening today.
The entire Jodesian population had made preparations for their stay in the glade. Food had been packed along with warm clothing and the necessary instruments for tending the young and the infirm. Provisions would last a week, although it was uncertain as to how long they would have to wait. The "Journals of the Ancients" mentioned little other than the seventh day of absence being the day the chosen were selected. It was a ritual and one that was always carried out in the glade. It was a long-held rumor that it had something to do with the blessings of the fairies, although no one had ever seen one in the glade. None it seemed had ever been spotted, but the signs were there, if you knew how to look.
The whole community set to work putting up temporary shelters and a food area near the overhanging willows. The warmth of the mid-summer sun was welcome and all hands were busy, working with almost unspoken cohesion; a whole community acting as one in their business this day. So busy, that they never noticed the appearance of the Angel as she descended among them.
She was tall and slender, dressed in a shimmering ochre gown that cut at the ankle. The sleeves stopped short of her wrists revealing lithesome, elongated fingers and bare, sinuous feet. Long blonde braids fell softly down her back, laying gently over open wings — the feathers white and glowing. The hair was swept back over her elven-shaped ears, parting to reveal the soft curves of her beautiful face. She was a vision of pure loveliness and her supple demeanor seemed to invoke a warm friendly response from all that she met.
She spoke out quietly, in order not to frighten them, drawing their attention away from their tasks. Despite their apprehension, the Jodesian males assembled eagerly before her.
"I appear before you today, my Jodesian friends, in my feminine form as Azael. In my masculine form I am known as Arael. In my whole form I am but a truth called Azrael, an Angel of the highest order. A Solar being among the many, assigned to keeping the balance in all things natural. As such as I am today, I am the feminine face of that known as Azrael."
The Jodesians found the Angel's beauty empowering and as she glowed, her golden aura pulsating, she illumined everything around her. The colors of all living things that the eye could see were suddenly transformed, vibrant and alive, exuding newfound beauty in response. The parched summer colors, faded and starved, were replaced by the hues of spring's fresh rebirth. The very air around them seemed charged with love and life. All became at peace.
One by one the fairies appeared, unnoticed by all but the Angel. To them she stood, a symbol of all that was glorious, bathed in every color of the rainbow. They loved being near her and she loved having them near; it had been that way since time.
"In my feminine form," continued Azael, "I am called upon to protect and ensure the very nature of life. This is achieved by way of three undertakings. I have to protect and preserve the three living components of life, living symbols of the heart, mind and soul; components of that much greater mechanism making up the body of all things."
Azael looked to each of them as she spoke, holding the attention of them all as individuals, as well as a group. Despite only having to choose one in service, she loved them all. They sensed this through her words, remaining transfixed, alert; attentive to her every word.
"The mind of all living things is harmonized by the Unicorn. He symbolizes consciousness. The consciousness to explore and roam among all living beauty. Never is he surprised by the beauty that he finds and never does he cease to be surprised; it is the beauty of these things that he loves. The beauty that is found in all creation. In his horn he keeps every new child's blessing."
Azael paused, measuring her composure, allowing them the time to contemplate her words before continuing.
"The soul is represented by the Butterfly. Despite a very short existence the butterfly can always be seen. Its life may seem short but its achievement is unsurpassed. From a helpless, vulnerable, tiny grub, it goes through a metamorphosis of change, to emerge each time the most precious of beautiful things. The soul is fragile, yet ever evolving towards a more beautiful state, attained by the love of each cyclic existence. I tell you now how precious the unicorn and the butterfly are — for they are indeed the mind and soul that symbolize all creation."
The fairies nodded in agreement, criss-crossing as their paths intertwined, flying in and out of the undergrowth. They knew the wisdom she spoke.
"But, my friends," continued Azael, "it is the Heart that preserves all — preserves these. For the heart is love and love can conquer all. Love is what feeds the mind and directs the soul. Love is what makes all things possible. Pure love is the state that every living thing is trying to attain and it is for that reason I have come. Love is the concern of the heart. Today the heart concerns me."
The fairies knew where the Angel was heading with her words — they knew everything she did, almost. Joining into a number of circles they all held hands. When each circle was in place — each encompassing around another — they slowly turned, each spinning in the opposite direction to the circle inside of them, like the very cogs of time, interconnected and yet singular of purpose.
They had no need of words; their ways were simple and less inclined to mortal conditions. Their ways were the ways of magic — the magic of creation that had been imbued in them since the beginning. Language was an action, an expression. This was how the fairies liked to express their words and they continued turning, acting out Azrael's next words.
"The heart of all life passes down generations like the rings of a tree. A pool of life flowing outward; outward in the manner of an ever-growing universe. Each generation is nourished by the past and just as veins, which pass the lifeblood, the roots of the tree nourish every generation that exists within its ring. The heart of all love, all life, is harnessed in the very existence of the Mighty Gallie Tree. The tree that was last served by Rift Anken. Today another will be chosen. Today another of you will have to continue in service."
"Are we allowed to speak to you, Azael, or is it deemed disrespectful?" voiced one of the younger males, turning to comfort his worried wife who had been surprised by his outburst. "Only I would be more than happy to serve the Mighty Gallie Tree. I have spoken with my wife and she is happy to respect my wishes."
A young Kikin Dor stood tall and erect, bowing in reverence. He was tall for a Jodesian, who were only five feet by nature, and towered over the others.
"My, that is a long question from one who would consider obedience from the face of love. Your enthusiasm and heart are to be commended, but loyalty needs to be guided with temperance. Wisdom is not earned by heart alone. The heart must be strong, yes, but it must also be guided by the wisdom of forethought and instinct. You are young and your instinct is overpowered by emotion, emotions you have yet to tame. Thank you all the same, but you will have many more years of happiness with your beloved wife. Precious years where you may grow to be a king in wisdom."
"What about me then?" came a voice from the crowd; an older male stepping out into view. "I am wise with the benefit of years; years where experience has taught me to wait, not to rush in. I have learnt that action must first be thought through until there are no doubts and uncertainties. Otherwise there will be errors of judgement. May I be of service to the Tree? It would be my honor to be chosen. The young ones belong where they are, safe at home." And he turned to the younger Kikan Dor as he said it, nodding in respect.
"It is true that you have learnt much. Your age does bless you with a more stable wisdom and what you say has much merit to it. But age can be a two-edged sword. You have wisdom, but it would seem that you lack what your friend has — the fire of enthusiasm. You would be better served remaining to educate the growing. They have need of your knowledge and your example."
"This is nonsense!" shouted a stocky Red Agin, his cheeks flushed with a fire that emphasized his long, flowing, ginger hair. "First you don't want enthusiasm, you want wisdom; then you don't want wisdom, you want enthusiasm. What affairs are these? I would surely be a perfect choice. I am wise with age, yet still there is a fire that burns within me. I will not fail. I am strong and will crush all those that oppose my appointment; those that seek to harm the tree. I will be its protector. Only death will be my vancour." And Red Agin beat his chest with a clenched fist, turning to his comrades about him; his look suggesting that in their silence was their agreement. He faced Azael convinced that he should be the chosen.
"I see that you are strong, Red," spoke Azael, her voice a calm whisper against his. "But it is not strength I seek. The tree does not need a protector; it needs someone to care for it. Someone with tender qualities, someone who remembers love. Since your wife's passing you have grown to know anger, yet you were once a mild, caring husband. You would be better remaining and staying around the very young. Let them remind you of what you once were and realize that love is within you always. It does not need a wife to bring it out. It is yours to give in many ways. When you remember this you will be an example for the whole village to learn from. No — it is the qualities that you are to learn that I seek now."
"Then it is Jaor Rean you seek — there is none milder and more attuned to nature than he. He loves spending his time alone in the forest. It’s the plants he loves. He loves them so much he left the village years ago — hasn't spoken to a single one of us since the brushfire that devastated the poppy fields. He must be, then, the perfect choice!" Red Agin continued.
"It is an individual I seek, but not a specific person molded as to being consciously disposed. I am seeking qualities that are hidden yet inherent in all manner of that person's being. It is not something that is obvious, or that can be reasoned. It is an answer that is both hidden and yet plain as the clouds above us. Qualities that cannot be ignored. Qualities that nevertheless pass by almost unnoticed. Despite this, they are always there and always in service to those that look. It is not an answer I know, but one that will soon reveal itself to me. Until this is resolved I shall remain quiet. When I speak again you shall have my decision."
Azael then relaxed. Folding her outspread wings behind her back and clasping her hands together at her waist, she observed them. One of these was the right one. There had always been the right one; never had a bad choice been made in the dozen appointments since the world had been in need of the Gallie Tree. One of these would be chosen… but who? Who was she to choose?
The women of the community busied themselves at the back of the encampment, preparing the tea and tending their babies. In the corner a solitary male remained, shuffling to and fro, attending to the sick and the infirm. He was short and stubby and spoke very little, his duties keeping him preoccupied, but he managed the odd gesture and word of encouragement to the many bodies spread out before him, some in very obvious pain.
All the remaining males strutted around, nervous and unsure. Some tried to remain composed, assuming that the uncomfortable silence was part of the testing process. Some puffed up their chests, proud and strong, yet trying to remain thoughtful and kind-looking. Others had seated themselves, dutifully and respectfully, like eager apprentices awaiting their master's bidding.
Meanwhile, Azael the Angel remained as she was, calm, composed, and watching. She seemed at ease with everything. Nothing about her seemed unnatural. She was calm yet decisive; wise yet kind, and above all she combined love with truth. It was someone like her that was needed. But she was an Angel and they were mere mortals by comparison. Never though, had she failed in her duties — one would be chosen. One would be the one!
It was nearly two hours later when she spoke again. As she did so, all the Jodesian males reassembled to attention. Those that had retired to the food area to refresh themselves returned and those that had remained seated rose to hear Azael's decision, praying it would be them.
"I have found the chosen to serve the tree!" she announced. "The answer has come to me naturally and for that I know it will be the right choice. It has not come by word or by the passing of any form of test. It has been the revealing of these hidden qualities that I have observed that have made my decision and despite the fact that it has happened almost unnoticed, like all natural things it has shown itself to me."
"Who will it be?" voiced Red Agin before anyone else could interject, determined to be the voice of his community this day. "Who is the chosen one?" He looked around him in a last-ditch effort to show humility.
"I have chosen you," and she pointed towards them, but above, suggesting someone at the rear of the group.
They all looked at each other before turning to those at the back, who then in turn rotated to see who was standing behind them. It was none of them, they noticed, as they all came to view the solitary male standing alone.
"Grandabill?" exclaimed Red Agin incredulously, his surprised tone disturbing the Jodesian from his duties.
Grandabill stopped as he turned to see who had called him. Everybody was looking at him. Everybody was looking and the Angel Azael was pointing his way.
"Is somebody calling me?" asked Grandabill rather sheepishly, bending to wipe the brow of the fevered man to whom he was tending.
"I have chosen the next person to serve," voiced Azael in his direction. "That chosen one is you, Grandabill!" she proclaimed, loud enough so as not to be mistaken, her words resonant.
"Me?" questioned the astonished Jodesian, continuing the treatment; wringing out the cloth before applying it again. "But I has so much to be doing, surely there is a bettering choice?"
"No," replied Azael. "There is no better choice — you are the chosen one whose destiny has already been mapped. It is a destiny you must now fulfill. There is far more for you to do, far more for you to give to. Now you must come forward and accept your path."
"Forgives me for saying, but I is not so sure about this," voiced Grandabill, questioning the wisdom of the decision. "These poorly people is needing me — they have the sicknesses and are in a lot of pain — I is needing to be here to care for them. Could you not be choosings another?"
"These people are old and have been sick for some time, Grandabill. Your caring does nothing to cure them, for they only get older. Yours is a futile task, yet something you so fervently carry out. Their death is almost imminent and their pain continuous, yet you do not stop from trying. There is no hope for them, yet you do not give up hope. When they cry out you come and yet you remain only long enough with each to be able to care for all — you neglect none. No, you cannot do anything to save them, yet save them you do. Despite their pain, despite their inevitable passing, you remain with them and care for them. You give them the one thing that they need. The one thing that will help them pass gently to the next world and the one thing that is the very essence of life itself. Even in death you give them life — life of the richest living. Grandabill, it is your love that is needed, but not for these. There are others who need you now!"
Grandabill stood still, knowing that the Angel was serious. He felt compelled by her words, yet those lying around him, those in pain, those in discomfort — those, he couldn't seem to leave. He stood there unable to move.
Red Agin was alert to it all; he knew what was happening. His disappointment subsided as he observed the predicament he saw before him. He knew Grandabill better than any; they had been lifelong friends and he knew what was being asked here. After all, he had wanted it as much as any. But his nature was being tempered by the look on his friend's face. He moved towards him, unable to remain still any longer, his forceful nature bidding him forward.
When he reached Grandabill, he embraced his friend in a warm hug, squeezing as he realized this was the last he would see of his friend. After a silent minute, he broke away, grabbing Grandabill gently by his shoulders.
"Goodbye, my friend," he spoke privately, "I will miss you — deeply." He faced his compatriot squarely, looking him straight in the eyes. "Don't worry about these who are sick, I shall attend to them in your honor. I will not let you down. If I am to remember love, it will be from remembering what life is all about, and through the caring for those who are dying may I find what I need. My wisdom tells me this is my destiny now. Azael has told you yours. Go, my friend, go! Go in the knowledge that you are needed and that those who have remained believe likewise as the Angel. Go now!"
And he used his strength to gently pull Grandabill so that his balance shifted, tilting him towards the awaiting Azael. He watched as Grandabill quickened his short stride. He watched as the ceremony began. They all watched, awe-struck and silent.
An hour later, Red Agin was still watching. The Angel rising towards the heavens, carrying his friend to the faraway falls. He watched as he mopped the brow of the sick man before him. He watched with tears in his eyes, telling him that this was the last time he would see his friend. Tears that told him the Angel was right. Love did still exist inside him. He could deny it no longer; he just had to learn how to embrace it again.
Meanwhile, the other Jodesians prepared for the journey home. All that was, except Grandabill, who was on a journey of his own; a journey east. A journey that would see him serve in his new appointment. His duties now were to the Mighty Gallie Tree.
The fairies, however, were nowhere to be seen. They too had departed, back from where they had come.
And so the story begins…