On the appointed day, when the warring kings came with all their troops, they were both disgruntled and mortified to find that other kings had come to seize the City of Dreams as well. They thought they were being made fools of by their viziers.

The kings fumed and sputtered till they resembled a patch of purple cabbages. But when pressed to confess, the terrified viziers pled ignorance of the other kings’ plans.

The kings eventually got over their embarrassment. Since there was no help for it, they agreed to a joint attack on the City of Dreams, with the spoils to be split equally among them.

Just as the kings were preparing to make their charge, they were startled by the solemn and steady tolling of the City’s bells. Soon after, walls of water began shooting from the ground around the city.

The kings were surprised but assumed that this was some fanciful new fountain created by the Dreamers. They spurred their horses forward, eager for a quick victory. But the horses reared and neighed anxiously, and no amount of kicking, whipping and cursing could induce the poor beasts to move. They stood their ground resolutely, obeying some silent warning that only animals can sense.

Then, right before the eyes of the horrified kings and their assembled armies, the earth appeared to part its lips, and the City of Dreams slipped down its throat. Slowly and gently, they watched the city descend into the belly of the earth, like a precious child wound down a windlass.

After the City had disappeared, the ground shut itself up again with a satisfied boom, and in the great empty bowl of land where the city had been, water was rapidly taking its place.

That was how the Enchanted Lake came to fill the space left by the City of Dreams.

The warring kings, deeply frightened and shaken by the magic of the Dreamers, nervously rubbed their eyes and tried to make a joke of the whole thing.

“What a queer dream I’ve had,” said one of the kings, “I actually dreamt of a City in which a money tree grew, and I thought I was coming here with my troops to seize it!”

“I wonder what wicked enchantment this was that made me think there was a golden city here,” said another.

Yet another king whose ego was much bruised for not acting sooner, suggested that the Dreamers were selfish cowards who had gone into hiding with their City so that they might hoard their great wealth for themselves.

The others murmured in protest and insisted that it was all a nightmare.

Relieved that they had come to a common conclusion, the kings persuaded themselves that the City of Dreams had never existed except in their dreams. It is human nature to explain the unexplainable by pretending it is a dream.

One after another, the warring kings slunk back home defeated. But being men of war, they occupied themselves later by going to battle with each other. It was the only thing they could think of at that time to amuse themselves.

However, for all the talk about the City of Dreams being a wild fantasy, it was discovered that the Dreamers had left behind a prophecy inscribed on a massive rock by the shores of the Enchanted Lake.

It read:

The City of Dreams lies buried at hand,
Till the Chosen One comes twelve millennia hence.
Then what treasure was hidden shall be revealed,
That which sleeps will find new sense,
      and the City of Dreams once more will breathe on land.

The One who finds the City shall be pure in soul,
And on foot will journey from its dwelling place.
On the waters of the Enchanted Lake the One must walk
To the island at its heart where the Guardian holds space,
      else shall at water’s bottom forever lie cold.

The prophecy later acquired such a degree of notoriety and significance, that the rock on which it was written got to be known reverently as just The Rock.

Many years later, a hot-blooded king, plagued by fevered dreams of treasure buried beneath the Enchanted Lake, ordered the waters of the Lake to be dredged and its bottom excavated until the City of Dreams was found.

But no sooner did anyone come close to the lake’s waters, then they were washed into it and drowned. Enraged, the king ordered fresh reinforcements of slaves to the Lake, but not one of them returned alive. Only after the foolish king lost half his army did he think to desist.

Since then, all attempts to find the City of Dreams have been in vain, and while most people have come to regard the story as a legend, others await the coming of the Chosen One of the prophecy who will find the lost city and restore it again to its former glory – on the surface of this island.

      The Storyteller ceased to speak and stared thoughtfully into the distance, as though trying to remember something of great importance.

Beside them, the river burned gold-bright in the last flames of the sun’s cremation. The cicadas too had begun their shrill, insistent hum.

“I don’t understand some things about the prophecy. Who is the Guardian? And why is the lake enchanted?” asked the child, her bright voice cutting into the descending gloom like a wand wielded by a woodland sprite.

The Storyteller started. “What’s that? Oh yes, the Guardian.” From the knowing look on his face, the child could tell that another story was coming, this time with regard to that curious personage.

“As you know,” he began, “while there are Guardians for everything – the clouds, the trees, the sky, the earth and its waters, even people and animals – this particular Guardian is well known to all the inhabitants of our island because of the legends that have sprung up around her and the Enchanted Lake that is her home.

“Now, even as I call the Guardian a ‘her,’ no one has ever been able to determine whether the Guardian is really a him or a her. Not that it matters very much of course. The Guardian is like the Great Dreamer who created all of life, in that they are genderless, and it would be rude of us to try to label them as either one or the other.

“You may well wonder how the lake in which the Guardian lives came to be known as ‘enchanted.’ The Lake is enchanted for many reasons, not least because the water has special qualities that make it very popular with some people.

“For one thing, the water in the Enchanted Lake is said to heal the soul of anyone who bathes in it. And indeed, because I have tried it myself, I can say that the water makes you come alive in a most marvellous way. It is as though the real you becomes so much more animated, until it jumps out from wherever it was hidden inside, and becomes who you are on the outside as well.

“All of us”, he continued, gazing intently at his young listener, “have an invisible orchestra in our hearts that plays a song most people do not reveal. Until that is, they step into the waters of the Enchanted Lake. Then the song becomes your life, and no longer remains hidden. It cannot remain hidden, in fact! The water brings out who you really are, and magnifies the form inside you that is most alive, that has been growing in you all this while.

“This can be a good thing for people who are full of good inside, because then the good is magnified and you become so much better. But for those who are rotting away inside, all the badness of that rot is also magnified. So the water does not really make you better or worse. It just helps people become more aware of what is in them, of the essence of who they are.

“If this isn’t enough, the waters of the Lake are also enchanted because of the extraordinary effects they have on the Guardian herself.

“You must know that one of the peculiarities of the Guardian is her ability to change her gender at will, and even her form, just by submerging herself in the waters of the tide pools that feed her island. She wears her form the way we wear our clothes, and she changes her clothes according to her moods.

“Sometimes, she appears as a lithe, striking boy; sometimes as a beautiful young woman who charms the fishermen who fish in the lake. Yet at other times, she appears as a great serpentine dragon. There are possibly many other forms she takes that I am not aware of. The Guardian is known by many names therefore, but they all refer to the same person.

“The form most favoured by the Guardian though, or at least, the form she is most often seen in, is that of an astonishingly lovely woman graced with an otherworldly beauty, whose face sets men dreaming and leaves them witless for the rest of their days as they stumble through life, her name on their tongues even as they draw their last breath.

“Many foolish men have set out for the Lake hoping for a glimpse of the perilously beautiful Guardian, seduced by her beauty even before they have seen her.

“But the Guardian was not born to decorate a vain man’s arm like a prize trophy, nor to satisfy anyone’s desires. Oh no, not the Guardian,” and here, the Storyteller chuckled wickedly. “The Guardian has a much higher purpose in life, and that is to guard the Enchanted Lake, and beyond that, the City of Dreams which lies beneath it, still as alive today as it was so many thousands of years ago, when the waters of the Lake first took it under.”

“And what is the meaning of the prophecy on The Rock you spoke about earlier? How is the City of Dreams to be found again?” asked the child, her golden skin flushed with unusual radiance.

“The prophecy says that a Chosen One – some of our elders have said it will be a child of pure heart – will need to walk from its dwelling place to the Enchanted Lake, and then must find a way to walk on the waters of the Lake itself, if he or she is to reach the Guardian’s island.

“Presumably, there is a secret doorway on that island to the City of Dreams. What’s more,” he added, his voice now hushed with reverence, “the Chosen One who successfully gains entry to the City of Dreams will cause the earth under the lake to open up, and the City of Dreams to rise again to the surface of the earth…”

The child’s blood jumped. She thought about what the mysterious woman had said to her about the Chosen One. Could she be the one the prophecy spoke of? She dared not hope so, yet hoped very much that it might be her.

“Has anyone tried to walk on the water, or to reach the secret doorway in the Guardian’s island by boat?” she asked. There was a barely perceptible quiver in her voice.

“Yes, indeed! There have been many in the past who have tried to reach the Guardian’s island, lured either by the beauty of the Guardian, or by the promise of gold in the City of Dreams. But no one succeeded,” he announced darkly.

“Those who tried to walk on the water found their feet sinking to the bottom of the lake like everyone else. They either drowned or were rescued from the water very nearly drowned.

“As for trying to reach the Guardian’s island by boat, don’t even think of it! The Enchanted Lake is as temperamental as a skittish lady – she can behave like an ocean in a tempest when she wishes to, especially when anyone draws near the Guardian’s island. We believe the Lake is in a conspiracy with the Guardian to prevent anyone from reaching her island uninvited.” He paused, his eyes flickering warning in the light of the newly lit fires.

The child shuddered involuntarily.

“The Guardian is careful with her duties, as I said before, a very good gatekeeper for the City of Dreams indeed. Anyone who tries to land on her island will find themselves engulfed in tidal waves that roll suddenly from the shores and threaten to capsize any boat that tries to draw near.

“Some of those who survived to tell the tale say they saw a beautiful goddess looking grimly at them from between the waves. And we can be sure that was the Guardian herself, guarding her island until the right person comes along who will be allowed to enter the City of Dreams.”

The child fell into a glum silence as she agonised over the seeming impossibility of finding the City of Dreams, an idea that had been festering in her heart like a wound that wouldn’t heal, ever since the mysterious woman had appeared to her.

“Come now, why so gloomy, Zayoni?” asked the Storyteller.

Even if she risked being told she was mad, something in his kind, grave eyes persuaded the child to confide in him about the strange woman who had spoken to her over the last three days.

To her surprise, the Storyteller looked at her with a sort of awe new to her.

“There was something I forgot to tell you about,” he said slowly and with great deliberation.

“At this moment, we are only three months away from the twelve thousandth anniversary of the City’s first disappearance into the earth.” He paused and looked meaningfully at the child.

“The prophecy states that the Chosen One will come twelve millennia hence.” He paused again, checking to see that the child understood the significance of the timing.

She did, and her heart trembled violently.

A huge smile cracked his face and he embraced the child tightly.

“Perhaps you, little shaman, are the Chosen One, come to deliver the City of Dreams,” he breathed. “If so, we have been waiting a very long time for this to happen…”

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