LOVE'S JOURNEY

The waning sun swaddled the late autumn sky in a patchwork of red-orange nightclothes when Love noticed the two men up ahead. One of the men ambled along with the cautious steps of the aged while the other, balancing a hoard of books under his arm, nodded occasionally as his elder companion spoke.

Quickening his pace, Love came up behind them. "Pardon me, sirs," he said, offering a tired smile as they stopped and turned. "I have been traveling for a very long time. Is there a lodge nearby where I might rest?"

Shifting the pile of books to his other arm, the younger man opened his mouth, but the elder spoke first. "Don’t get many strangers through here," he cackled.

Love waited for him to continue, but an amused look was all that came. The younger man hefted the books in his arm, "getting late!" he barked as he turned away. The elder did not move.

Feeling the old man’s gaze burn into him, Love turned his eyes to the ground. "I’ve been searching for months," he muttered, "searching for someone, and I…"

"Who’re you looking for?" the elder blurted.

Love’s head lurched up. He stood dumbstruck as the realization washed over him that he was not prepared to answer that question. A hint of twinkle glowed in the old man’s wizened eyes. "No matter," the elder continued as he turned and began walking, "come along with us, young sir."

Each step along the pocked and rutted road felt somehow familiar as Love followed the two men through the village. The shops and dwellings on either side rested beneath a veil of deterioration and repair knit by the comings and goings of countless generations. "Just around the next turn," the older man chortled.

As they made the bend, a massive stone façade filled their view. The colossal pillars and mammoth archways offered a daunting prelude to the enormous structure behind. "What is that?" Love wondered aloud.

"That," the elder answered, accenting his words with a reverent wave of his arm, "is Librio!" Love was captured by the comfortable and oddly familiar smile that creased the old man’s face. "Many people come here,” he continued, “and for many different reasons."

"But, why?" asked Love, watching people of all ages, some in fine garments and others in workaday clothes make their way up and down the immense stone stairs leading to the enormous portico.

"Some are here to meet with others," the younger man piped in, "and some are seeking information or assistance."

"But the question here," the elder interrupted, "is why have you come to Librio?"

Love’s eyes stared at the elder, but his gaze went deep into himself. He was at home. His room high in the east tower glowed with the soft light of an early spring morning. “Love,” Queen Empatia called from beyond the door, “are you alright? We became concerned when you did not attend breakfast."

"I am not ill, Mother," he mumbled, "you should not be troubled."

The latch turned and the door creaked open. "We have been concerned for quite some time," King Loyale said, stepping into the room. "It’s been months since you’ve joined me for riding or hunting. Your books and scrolls that have always drawn your interest lay unopened and gather dust.” He drew closer, his mouth next to Love’s ear. “Even the young ladies who seek your attention," he whispered with a wink and a click of the tongue, " have wondered why you’ve stopped attending the social galas."

The queen slid into the room beside her husband and leaned on his arm. "Oh, Love,” she sighed, “the palace is mournful and dreary without the music that flowed so beautifully from your lute.” She turned her face into her husband’s robe, “and your friends ask why you have stopped smiling."

"What have I to smile about?" he asked. "Can books or horses share my joy or sadness? Will the lute listen to my tales of wonder or have any care for my misery? He raised his brimming eyes to meet theirs, "will the flitterings and flirtings of one twittering girl or another,” he whimpered, “fill the emptiness in my heart?"

The king’s arm snuggled around the queen when, from far away, a screeching voice shrieked, "where have you gone?" Love blinked, then held his eyes shut.

"You there, boy!" the voice bantered again, followed by a rap on the side of his head. Love’s eyes jolted open to the wrinkled and weathered face of the elder, his gnarled hand ready to rout him again if he didn’t snap to.

"Oh!" Love started, "I am, sorry. I was lost in remembering, for just a moment." He looked again toward the looming facade of Librio. A man bustled out through the massive door, bathing the portico in a warm glow.

"More than a moment," the younger man snapped. "Come now, sir," he said, softening his tone as he addressed the elder, "we must hurry in before the last hour."

"Yes, yes," the elder nipped, his eyes set on Love. "I know its late. But I think our young friend here," he said as he turned and began walking, "is seeking something, or someone that…well, let’s get inside." Love followed the pair like an obedient servant at the heels of his master. These were his father’s subjects, his people, yet he felt comfortably humbled to be with them.

When they had scaled the mountain of stairs, Love gently laid his hand on the elder’s arm. "Sir," he said softly, his eyes glistening in the twilight. Suddenly, the door trundled open and a woman ruffled out with two young boys tussling along in front of her. The younger man held the door till they had passed, then he and the elder went in. "Don’t wait for an invitation, young sir," the elder cackled from inside. Love caught the door before it closed and followed.

Throughout the cavernous room, huge wooden racks reached toward the high vaulted ceiling. Each rack supported dozens of shelves holding scores of books, maps and scrolls, all arranged in meticulous order. In the center of the room, a gigantic wooden island corralled a bustling platform where attendants sorted and organized the books and materials. People were scurrying everywhere, belying the lateness of the day. Some went weaving through the labyrinthine passageways between the racks, climbing on stools or ladders to get things from the upper shelves. Others approached the island with questions or to borrow items, while attendants pushed carts full of items back to the racks.

In one corner under a vast chandelier, a group of children sat crosslegged on the floor listening and chuckling as a storyteller thrilled them with tales of dragons and knights and fair maidens being rescued. Along a far wall, a group of men gathered and talked in front of a gigantic hearth. Their quiet discussion grew to hearty disagreement, each rant booming louder than the one before. Their large, comfortable chairs scuffled on the marble floor as they became more animated. Suddenly, one of the men roused up from his chair, sending it screeching backward. "I say that we must, absolutely MUST," he bellowed, knotting his hands into fists, "be prepared to…"

"Elbert!" a silvery, crystal voice rang out."

Elbert looked up as the rest of the group turned to look at the center of the room. A small, lovely girl smiled sweetly at him from the island.

"But, they are not listening to me," he whined, "they just won’t…"

"Elbert," the girl chided in the clear, pure voice, "do we need to have this discussion again?"

Elbert sank back into his chair, mumbling while untying his fingers out of fists. Love gazed at the girl, amazed that one voice cold be so exquisitely powerful yet so wonderfully sweet. He looked back to where the elder had been standing and found that he had melded in with another group of men and women, all talking quietly. He sauntered over and stood behind the elder’s chair.

"So tell us," the elder said, looking up at Love with a familiar wink and click of the tongue, "have you found why you’ve come to Librio?"

Love stood amazed, staring at the elder in the rapt attention of the group. "Forgive me,” he quavered, “but you just reminded me so much of…"

"Yes, yes, I know," the elder blurted, "and you are so much like him when he was just a ruddy pup."

"You…," Love stuttered, "you know my father?"

"Of course!" the elder cackled. "You don’t think a young prince would be out wandering the far reaches of the realm without the king keeping watch do you? So, Prince Love, have you found the answers to your questions?"

"Who is she?" Love asked, turning his eyes to the center of the room.

"Answer that," the elder chuckled, "and your journey may be at an end."

Love walked humbly over to the island. His eyes met hers as she offered a warm, hopeful smile. His heart jumped in his throat as his joyful smile returned itself to her. "I know you,” she said. “You are Love."

He looked at her, amazed. "But how do you know me?" he asked. "I've never been here before, and surely I would have remembered having met you."

The lovely girl smiled ever more sweetly and touched the back of his hand. His breath caught in his chest and his legs wavered like fragile stalks of young spring wheat. "I know you," she said, "because you are me."

Love's eyes glistened and spilled onto his cheeks. “You are the one I've been searching for,” he whispered. “You are my soul, my heart and my life."

Her lovely eyes glimmered like polished jade through her tears. "And I have been waiting for you," she said. "You are my spirit, my desire and my hope. For so many years I've waited, I've trusted you would come."

Love tenderly caressed her soft, gentle hands in his. “I have journeyed long and far to Librio,” he said, “and I see that everyone may borrow what is here.”

“One thing here has never been borrowed,” she blushed, “nor has it wished to be. Yet, it is now ready to be taken and kept forever.”

He leaned forward, his lips approaching hers. The melancholy he had worn like a shroud wafted away in the anticipation of her kiss. He inhaled and tasted the sweet perfume of her breath. His hands trembled with hers as they came together. “Hah! young sir,” a voice behind him cackled, “I know well of another youthful prince who once journeyed to Librio.”

Love swam out of his reverie and turned to the elder. “A prince?” he asked. “But, from where?”

“Yes, indeed!” the elder cheered. “When you return home, please tell him that his father’s knight-in-arms, Sir Truste, sends greetings.”

“My father?” Love queried. “But, this lovely girl,” Love stammered, gazing back at her, “who…how did you…?”

“Ah, yes,” Sir Truste chortled, “my sweet daughter, Grace.” He took her hand and folded it into Love’s. “Only one thing to say about that!” he said with a wink and a click of the tongue. “Live well, love richly, and remember that wonderful things await those who come to Librio.”