The thunder was rolling in the distance when we got on stage. By the time we raised the warehouse gate behind us to reveal our singer – the lightning was exploding across the sky. Then came the rain. A torrent of rain.
But that didn’t stop the party – it just intensified.
Our first visit to the medieval city of Visby exceeded our expectations. The ruins of medieval churches, walls still erect but overgrown in the middle of the old city, took our breath away. And of course – the great city wall, built in the 13th century. During the warm nights in this Swedish summer paradise among politicians and peddlers, we tried to imagine the Battle of Visby in 1361, and the dreadful day of July 27th when 1800 peasants were killed by invading Danish forces outside the wall.
Naturally, the city was lost.
Nothing is as blind as the mind that convulsively holds on to deeply ingrained ideas, prejudices and preconceptions.
My skepticism was repeatedly transformed into wonder as the depth of the Yamarillian science, culture and tradition was revealed to me.
One such occasion was during the first luneact. My captivity was through, I was once again a free man, but this was before I met Anchiamo Amboise and was truly initiated in the hidden nation’s secrets. My belief in the superiority of our civilization had yet to be broken.
It was late when I was walking through the streets of Sclater, the port town equally known for its beauty and concealed encouragement of loose living. In the distance I heard the clattering sound of stray helichons waking slowly, as the sharp light of the day gave away for the forgiving darkness of the night.
I still didn’t know enough to be afraid.