Farber's Jewel
by J. T. Wheeling
Genre: Fantasy/Sci-Fi
Swearwords: None.
Description: It was a ring of exquisite beauty, but that wasn't all...
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Swearwords: None.
Description: It was a ring of exquisite beauty, but that wasn't all...
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One night I made the magic ring,
And later heard the Elltings sing;
Beware the song of truth, my friend,
For it will find you at your end.
And later heard the Elltings sing;
Beware the song of truth, my friend,
For it will find you at your end.
It was long ago and in a distant land that Farber carved the Damascus jewel and made the ring to hold it. This was his masterpiece and, as he looked at it in its pristine glory, he knew that it would long outlive him. A shaft of light fell upon the jewel—and shattered into a kaleidoscope of colour, shimmering and dancing on the white linen.
Suddenly, and for no explicit reason, Farber knew fear; a fear so intense that he lost awareness of his surroundings. Yet all he saw was beauty, perfection, dancing on his table, colours sparkling in their purity.
Yes! That was it! The purity, the perfection, rebuked him for his life, lived for his own ends, with little thought for others. It was ironic that, nearing his end, he should have produced this thing of exquisite beauty, which would give only passing joy to him, but lasting delight to the world.
He picked it up carefully and carried it upon its mount, a ring of slender black ebony, into his storeroom, where all his great creations lay. He placed it upon the central stand, where a light could display all its grandeur, then, filling his glass with an ancient brandy, sat down to admire his possessions.
Time passed, and outside the moon rose to gaze upon his garden, where the scent of rose and jasmine intermingled and drifted gently into the house. The hour of midnight approached and still Farber gazed on his creation. As he refilled his glass for the second time he became aware of a distant singing. Far away it was and faint, but it had the same clarity as the jewel in the ring.
Far from pleasing him, the melody brought acidity to his thoughts. None of these things he had made before had the quality of this artefact before him. They did not deserve to exist in the same room, the same building!
Finally, reaching a dramatic decision, Farber rang for his servants. Regardless of the hour (for was he not the pre-eminent artist in this old city, deserving a level of service as perfect as his art?) he commanded them to make a series of small parcels, sixty-six in all, and address them to the most deserving, poor citizens of the town. Into each parcel he placed one of his creations, having its details and addressee recorded by his scribe. He also had the name of the messenger entrusted with each delivery recorded, for Farber was a careful man.
‘In the morning,’ he said, ‘all I ask is that each of these gifts be acknowledged to me in person by the receiver. Each of you has six parcels to deliver and I hold you personally responsible for your duty.’ Farber knew well, none better than he, the cupidity of man. ‘Go now and complete your task by sunrise.’ The eleven servants (did I not say he was a man of means) then departed to their task and the weary scribe to his bed.
Again Farber sat and contemplated the ring he had formed to hold the great jewel, carved so carefully by him over many days. Now it seemed to him that the distant music was a little sweeter than before.
By noon next day, sixty of the recipients had called to express their thanks, being careful, at the same time, to repress their amazement at such bizarre behaviour from the city’s greatest miser. It was easy to establish that his servant Mephy had been the one who had foolishly sought to cheat him, and enquiries soon established his attempt to leave by the north gate before dawn. Suspicious guards had stopped him and, when his possessions were found to contain six parcels of fine jewellery, word was sent to his master.
Trembling, Mephy threw himself upon the floor before Farber and begged for mercy.
‘You fool,’ said Farber, ‘you have destroyed your future, for I have resolved to leave this place for ever, gifting it to the faithful servants who have suffered my whims for many years. They may choose to keep you as a slave, though I would counsel against it, for it is as dangerous to keep a dishonest slave in the house as it is to keep a poisonous snake. It is for your new masters to decide; I leave today and shall never return.’
Farber left by the west gate some hours later. He carried little with him save a money belt, a backpack and a stout stave. His last creation hung round his neck on a chain of silver, but hidden from view. He could not understand his own decisions and actions over the past hours. It was as if he were merely a puppet controlled by some unseen hand yet, incomprehensibly, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt young again, vigour flowed through his veins and he lifted his head and sang as he strode forth, going he knew not where.
Food, shelter, care—these were all bagatelles—life would provide!
In the years that followed, Farber became a legendary figure, a traveller who resolved disputes, who separated warring tribes and became a kind of roving arbitrator, whose services were sought for, far and wide. It came about in this fashion.
Not long after leaving his city, word of his strange behaviour had spread to reach the ears of a group of bandits living in the hills to the west of the city. Farber, a renowned and very rich man was walking, unprotected, on the great west road! With fierce cries and anticipatory smiles the outlaws set off in pursuit.
Their ponies made short work of overtaking the old man and soon they persuaded him to return to their camp. That night he was treated well, an honoured guest of great, if as yet only potential, value. Farber found himself, sitting round their camp fire, entertaining them with stories that just flowed from his tongue. Next day, word was sent to the city demanding ransom from his house, but the response was disappointing. ‘Farber?’ said the new masters of the house. ‘Oh, he has gone forever and we are the masters now, earned by years of servitude. Do with him as you will, for not a penny will we pay for his return. Keep him with our blessing!’
‘This is most disappointing, my friend,’ said Johan, leader of the outlaws. ‘Disappointing to find so little gratitude in the world!’ He sighed lugubriously, shaking his head. ‘Upsetting to us who have cared for you during the last few days, but alarming for your future which I fear must be short! Of what use are you to us, other than as a good storyteller? You are an extra mouth to feed and that we do not need. Best we just cut your throat! First we will search you, a thing we would have done before, had you not been our honoured guest.’
Eagerly the dozen men gathered round, sensing some rough entertainment. Farber scrambled to his feet, curiously unafraid.
‘Let me save you the trouble,’ said he, lifting the chain from his neck and holding it high so that the sunlight struck the jewel. There was a loud gasp as the men fell back, gazing upon the jewel as though it was Medusa’s head. They sank to their knees and gradually, one by one, started to shake and wail. By some strange alchemy the light from the jewel revealed to each of them their past misdeeds and hinted to them of what they might have become. Remorse and despair seized them, and they stayed unmoving for a long time listening, perhaps to a distant singer and a song of unattainable beauty.
Farber stood up, left them to their thoughts, and walked out into his future.
So it began. Farber, bearer of the jewel of truth, walks the world forever, and wherever he goes he carries the uncompromising light with him. Meetings between entrenched enemies become moments of realization when Faber lifts the jewel, and bigoted men suddenly are able to perceive wider horizons and know that they need each other’s goodwill, locked as they are into one land, even one planet.
Be careful as you go through the world, my child, especially if you meet an old man bearing a strange ring; gaze upon it, and you may see yourself. You will have to live with the consequences!
About the Author
Born in Airdrie and now living in Edinburgh, J. T. Wheeling retired from venture capital work after forty years to write primarily for youngsters. In his own words: “My main purpose in writing is to encourage youngsters to take a more positive view of the future and develop a constructive and tolerant attitude with which to tackle their lives – if that doesn't sound too pompous!”
Visit his website at http://jtwheeling.com to find out more about his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children.
Visit his website at http://jtwheeling.com to find out more about his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children.