Prologue
It moved silently, plowing through and gliding over the waves, a growing shadow from over the horizon. The sea was calm, the wind silent.It came from the east against the faintest of the early morning sun’s rays gradually enveloping the world in a golden soft embrace, driving the darkness westwards across the waters as the ship continued in its seemingly set course, heading straight for the not too distant shores, and its presently unsuspecting human inhabitants.
But it was not the only vessel out in the waters. Aboard a much smaller ship, a hand appeared suddenly to grasp at its deck, then a second hand, and both followed by their stupefied owner’s head, a bearded and thoroughly unkempt face grimacing, eyes nearly shut with excess wine. The inebriated man paused for a while exhausted from the effort of his movements, but, keenly aware of the urgency of his immediate need, the rest of the fat drunken shipmate rose as he wobbled to his feet. He took just a small step, and awkwardly collapsed in a heap. Cursing and grunting, he fought his way back up to his feet, paused, and willing himself to walk, teetered forwards towards the deck. All around him on the deck lay his mates and their women where they had respectively fallen in drunken stupor, and more. He grunted, smiling approvingly. Then he suddenly seemed to realize something, and peered down at an object his left hand was clasping. He stared hard at it, vaguely remembering he had grabbed it for support as he rose the second time. He smiled more, pleased with himself. It was a jar of wine, the last of several sources of his present condition. He shook it, affirming appreciatingly the substantial slush of its contents. He reluctantly resisted the urge to deliver it to his lips. At least for now.
The people of Mesobena were accomplished sailors and ship builders, as could be attested to by the quality of their ships which they built and sold to larger port cities and those further inland with water ways and navigable rivers. This small but successful kingdom had carved a niche for itself among more powerful neighbors, ensuring its own survival through forged alliances through trade as wonderful ship builders, a most valuable need to the others who themselves could not afford to seize her without drawing the combined wrath of the other competing kingdoms. Neither was Mesobena itself, from historical antecedents, an easy picking for that matter.
Mesobena’s famous docks rolled out mostly merchant ships for long perilous journies, a variety of battle ships, fishing ships, and other specialized vessels. They were particularly notorious for their ability to turn smaller, unimposing ships, even boats, into formidable war weapons. The drunk’s ship was a single sail, decked rowboat with arched bow and stern. It was a craft shared with none of their clientelle, a nimble secret weapon primarily designed for the very purpose that it was out in the sea; to detect, pursue and intercept any strange or enemy vessel as fast as possible while warning others of the intruders with onboard metal gongs that carried through great distances when struck. It was an oared vessel that could maneuver and attack when there was little or no wind to drive the sails. Oars permitted its warriors to easily maneuver the ship within torching, arrow-shooting and javelin-tossing range of enemy ships and just as easily beat a retreat when enemies threatened back.
Still again it had an unseen very effective weapon lurking just under the waves in the form of a battering ram armed with a supremely pointed tip that extended forward of the ship well below the waterline. Cast in iron, the ram could be driven into an enemy vessel to disable or sink it, detaching upon impact to allow the little vessel withdraw for armed warriors to press their attack with torched arrors. This addition transformed the ship itself into a weapon, not just a carrier of warriors who fought at sea. This and its sister ships could boast of about fifteen to twenty-five oars per side, with decks at the stern and bow, and measuring about a hundre meters in length.
However, the day before, this particular ship’s crew had secretly loaded brew, and women, on board the ship to celebrate a mate’s marriage on land to which they could not attend being, as they were, still on duty, but surely not wanting to miss an excuse to celebrate. Nor the opportunity for that matter. Their captain himself had conveniently excused himself from the ship to ‘attend to very urgent matters of Council.’ All knew whose bedchambers he was ‘meeting in Council,’ the estranged wife of a Lord, a situation he had more than just his large, coarse hard hands in occasioning. And so the shipmates seized the chance for an orgy and drunken party far out at sea.
In the meantime, the drunk made his way through the bodies, vases, small drums, and numerous wine flasks that littered the deck to reach his goal, the ship’s bow. He had another struggle, indeed the very reason he was awakened, that he had been enduring inside him as tugged at his draws with one hand while the other held the wine flask clasped to his ribs as if it was some priced animal threatening to escape. Finally, he succeeded in freeing his loins and commenced urinating, a sharp fart escaping from his other end, followed by another long, rumbling one. He gave a long sigh of pleasure and relief. With the other hand, and tilting his head back, he gulped down some more wine from the flask. He let go a loud appreciative belch. Someone nearby farted as if in reply. He turned in drunken annoyance.
‘Keep it in, you drunken fool,’ he snapped. Then he paused to consider what he had just said.
‘Drunken fool?’ he asked himself, gave a weak, moronic laughter, and shook his head.
‘Me toooooo ...’ he purred in ecstasy, took another huge gulp and gave another loud appreciative belch. He was feeling very merry and soon burst into a happy ode, his indistinctive, very lustfully sung words rising into the dawning sky.
But his song did not last. The very first rays of sunlight were breaking through the heavy mist and he turned to bathe in its warmth. He was very much unprepared for the next thing that greeted his drunken, hazy eyes coming from his right and almost behind his ship. A shadow seemed to suddenly blot out those precious rays, making him open his eyes some more. He instinctively turned his head towards the great shadow coming out of the mist that existed both inside and outside his head. He stared mersmerized at the immense object his instincts told him should not be there. He continued to stare as the towering hull of a strange new ship with huge black sails passed him and his tiny vessel, narrowly missing ramming into the latter.
He continued to stare stupidly as the huge ship sailed by, sails fluttering against the strong wind. At first, he thought it was a mere shadow, or a product of his wine, for that matter. He grunted in self-mockery and continued to sing. The sun’s rays were back. He resumed basking in it arms spread out when, finally, a light pierced through his foggy mind and lit it up. He froze and his song trailed off and stopped, a cold chill running the entire length and branches of his body. He farted again, and the flask dropped from his grasp and rolled towards a nearby head. Then his eyes began to widen in alarm, his jaw dropped and he turned to run but stumbled on a woman’s outstretched, naked leg. But he was up on his feet much more quickly this time.
‘Oh no, oh no, no, no, no…,’ he kept saying in growing dreadful realization of what was happening. A steady flow of curses trailed off his lips as he not so successfully hopped over bodies on his determined way towards the metal gong whose sharp ring when struck would reach the shores if struck hard enough.
He spotted someone and deliberately kicked at another discarded flask which, in turn, connected soundly to the target head, whose owner snapped awake, swore and began to rise angrily, cursing dangerously and briefly looked for whomever woke him up so rudely. The ill awakened mate was fit to kill, and not at all a comforting sight to an opponent, a bull of a man. But he quickly abandoned his rage for surprise and then shock when he turned and saw the side and back of the strange ship heading for the shores, and the back of his mate in alarmed flight. His shipmate, now clearheaded, stumbled on and began yelling indistinctly. He spied the ships’ first mate along the way and gave him a sharp kick to the ribs. The other woke up cursing too, then seeing his friend in full panicked flight, he realized this was no prank. Many were thus alerted on the ship as the watchman ploughed through bodies, drums, oars and other similar obstacles on to his goal. He eventually got to the tall huge gong and, picking up a roundheaded rod, and delivered the first ear splitting bang whose acutely sharp, piercing metallic sound ripped the silence of the dawn like lightening across the sky. Hitherto sleeping or semi-awake crew literally bounced off the deck and wherever else they had fallen, instantly and agonizingly wakened to their full, painful senses. The watchman up above on the tower was so startled that he fell off his tower, screaming all the way down. He survived though. Such was the effectiveness of the gongs.
Almost immediately, aboard the neighboring ships other gongs were sounding their alarm. The crew of one boat with its back to and in the path of the huge vessel frantically tried to steer it away from the large ship’s bow. And just barely managed to. Soon a trail of smaller ships gave chase, or rather escorted it inland, as they just could not catch up with the other’s speed.
On the shores, bells and gongs could be heard and warning fires had been lit as the sentries gave warning to their fellow citizens. Torches danced all along the stretch of the beach, hurrying in all directions as the city’s defenders prepared for battle. Men scurried with weapons of all sorts and sizes to face the threat. They were now fully alive as to the perceived danger that threatened them.
Only few of the sentries charged with scanning the seas on ships, smaller boats and on observatory towers on the lookout for raiders and other pirates, had ever experienced an attack from over the sea, though they had been well trained for it. But a third of the populace still recalled the last and only attack by the greatest and most dreaded enemy of all island and seashore peoples. It was these few from whom the ranks of ship Captains and Generals were usually chosen for their bravery or, at least, survival of that enemy attack. An enemy, whose tales of slaughter, rape, looting and annihilation of known settlements struck terror in the heart of all. An enemy known to the locals simply as people of the north or the Northmen. That day Mesobena swore it would not happen again.
The younger majority were not entirely unaware of the reality of the Northmen’s reign of terror for, every few years, reports come about plundered towns and villages far and near. The city would go on high alert only, after a few months, to settle back down to their routine life, leaving the rest to the sentries and the standing army ready to confront the Northmen menace.
The Northmen, over the ages, held the sole notoriety for repeated successful sacking of the cities and settlements along these coasts, including this Mesobena, plundering them from over the seas and disappearing just as mysteriously without trace before any help from over land could be rallied. And, though the sentries had almost failed in their duties, this time the locals were just about ready, though acutely worried of the famed and superior fighting skills, weaponry and sheer eager barbarity and blood lust of their enemy.
But not all were as brave as the settlement’s defenders. Women and children cried in terror as they fled, most heading further uphill away from immediate reach of any invaders. Their husbands, sons and brothers, ordinary citizens of fighting age all quickly donned armor, swords, bows and spears.
The lone growing bulk of the ship approached, all its sails flaying strongly against the strong winds. And as the day brightened, a few ships managed to come close on either side of the threatening ship. Its fighters could see no tell tale signs of life on it. And onward it came. Its speed showed no sign of reducing. The huge vessel simply hurtled on. Many on the beach wondered now if it would even stop. At this rate its crew would surely wreck it on the beach, run it aground. It almost did.
The big ship then seemed to begin to quickly slow down and came to an abrupt stop just short of the jagged rocks of the beach, mysteriously anchored. And there it stayed. No sounds. No other movements, except for the gentle way it bopped up and down with the waves.
The other ships loaded with fighters approached on each side and behind, archers all lined up behind other soldiers with shields ready for action on command to either hurl boarding ropes and ladders, or torches.
For the rest of the morning the tensed, wary villagers watched this strange ship, and scanned the seas and plains all around as they waited for it to discharge its roaring armed cargo of death onto the beach. But this too was unusual for their known enemy. The element of surprise was long lost. This could very well be a ruse.
Nothing happened. Still sentries reported no sighting of invaders or pirates all around. They continued watchful. Others studied the lone ship.
The object of this entire disturbance looked rather less sophisticated from the outside than any built on their shores, a regular foreign ship of two masts that carried a single, square sail each, and elevated decks at the bow and imposing stern. And this was clearly not an attacking vessel. It was a cargo ship, one which, from its size and design, was large enough to carry more than a few dozen tons of cargo. This was clearly no stealthy Northmen ship.
The impasse gradually gnawed away at the inhabitants’s patience. A few high ranking army chiefs gathered on the beach in debate as to what to do next. At that moment, their king arrived the shores in battle gear, escorted by more fighters. He was a middle-aged warrior with an eye patch testifying to a battle active life. He walked briskly towards his generals, scarcely acknowledging their slight bows along the way. His commanding general, followed by other lesser generals came up beside him as King Sinos, also called the ‘one eyed,’ stared intently at the ship with his single eye.
‘Details as usual, old friend.’
’My Lord it’s a lone ship. No crew in sight, but it couldn’t have sailed itself here, my Lord.
The king, grunted and peered questionably at his general. ‘The day ships sail themselves I would take a seal for a bride. What do you think?’
‘My Lord, we suspect a ruse of...’
‘I mean about taking a new bride.’
The General stared at him in confusion.
‘I ...’
‘Oh go on...’
’Er, yes sire. I suspect a ruse to draw us out and around this ship. But the scouts report nothing at sea and on land. In the meantime I say we burn the
ship, flush them out.’
‘Maybe,’ Sinos said. ‘Yes we may be looking at the wrong ship. Or place. Are you sure again there are no others, some devils creeping up on us overland?’
The general shook his head. Bailen was the chief of army, his extensive experience beside his king etched on his face in the form of a broken nose and several deep ugly battle scars. Several warriors in past battles had disagreed with his looks and surely tried to slice his face off. And when he spoke, a gap indicating missing front tooth was immediately apparent. He surely had earned his position as a dependable, dedicated, hard working friend to Sinos. Both had a closeness rarely seen except among equals. They were friends from childhood. And both had witnessed and endured the last Northmen attack as very young boys, little more than toddlers.
‘My Lord, the sentries on all outposts have not sighted any other intruders. They yet remain watchful. We are sure now it is just this one. We await my Lord’s orders. I have men ready to burn it.’
The king too had been considering this.
‘That is if there are any on board.’ Then, very casually, he asked;
‘You are keen on burning it. You must have more reason than what you have said so far to me.’
The general was looking more and more agitated. ‘Yes, my Lord.’ But he was not thinking about their infamous enemies from the North.
‘It do not think it’s Northmen, at least not in that ship. It looks to me that what we are looking at is a cargo ship.’
‘That is obvious enough even from this distance.’
‘That is why I have issued no orders to have it rammed, my Lord. We had to be sure. Like you said my Lord, it could be the wrong ship. We had to inform you first.’
The king nodded in agreement.
‘But how ever did it get past our sentries in the first place?’ he asked, giving him a quizzical look.
This temporarily took the general’s mind away from what was bothering him. However, he did expect this question. He looked at a deputy, who wished he could disappear into thin air. Most by now knew that the huge ship had slipped right through their sentries posted far out in the sea and on islets. This particular commander was in command of those sentries and now found his throat rather too unwilling to utter the next words. The king looked at him too.
‘My Lord we were, eh… surprised, my men…failed us all.’
Seeing the dark look come to his king’s face, he quickly concluded,
‘I shall personally see to their discipline, my Lord.’
‘Yes. And yours’... er ? Sinos asked with a sardonic stare that made the commander’s face fall in dread. He after all was in charge of the watches and their folly was his.
‘I will, sire,’ said Bailen, and gave the lesser general his own disapproving, knowing look, which assured the other of very hard times in the gallows and possible death at the end of the saga.
‘Good.’
Sinos turned his mind back to the ship and asked his chief of army,
‘But why have you not had men board it yet?’
The chief and the rest of the generals exchanged worried glances. Bailen’s face clearly mirrored the decidedly disagreeing look the rest wore.
‘My Lord, we needed your counsel first. We have archers ready.’
‘Now you have me confused. You don’t think it’s the Northmen, but this is clearly a cargo ship. So why the hesitation to board it? And you seem more eager to burn it. And the lot of you look like your wives are giving birth, yes?’
The general took a step closer to the king as if to whisper to him but his words were audible enough. ‘Sire there is evil on board it. It has the likeness...’
There was some commotion, shouting and a lot of finger pointing. Someone was paddling a canoe furiously towards the ship from shore. Another, a wailing old woman, was wading into the waters trying in vain to stop the first, a young male. She was obviously his mother.
‘You sent someone then. But just one?’ Sinos asked.
‘My Lord I…. did not,’ said the general in some kind of distress. Then he suddenly stepped forward and leaned towards his king in confidentiality and said that which had been troubling him for so long.
‘It has a statute of a Quoharen.’
The king froze, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at his friend, grabbing his shoulders in shock.
‘What! An elf kind?’ he whispered.
The former nodded gravely. Only a handful of soldiers around already knew this, but not the inhabitants as most of those who had seen the statute in question were still out into the sea herding the ship. And the ship was too far out for the rest of the defenders to discern the shape. It was part of their legend that elves once lived along these shores as friendly neighbours with the earliest human inhabitants here. Indeed their forebears learned most of their craft from persons directly taught by the fey people. Until things went horribly wrong, the summary of which was that the elves left, but not before massacring half of the human population in a blood feud that suddenly erupted between hirtherto good neighbours, something to do with the sacrifice of a Fey maiden by their ancestors to beseech the gods over a plague which seemed to only affect the humans, and not the elves. The latter unleased hitherto unknown magical powers on the former, sending most of the populace temporarily mad and then slaughtering many.
Another obscure general spoke this time;
‘It still could be enemies using it to frighten us into believing the elves are back. Or it may be just a mere figure head. It could still be an abandoned ship. And whatever sent the crew running may not be what we want to meddle with.’
‘So many questions, very few answers. We must make sure first, lest it get worse.’
Just then, a rider came galloping to them, dismounted and ran up to the king. He bowed.
‘Speak, soldier,’ said the general.
‘My Lord, it is Meriot the tramp! He’ s headed for the ship, fit to board it alone!’
Both king and generals’ eyebrows went up. The king considered this news and they all looked out towards the ship and watched the tiny shape rapidly approaching it.
‘How convenient, and useful for once in his life! A foolish scoundrel doing generals’ work, er Bailen? You’re getting old!’
Bailen was also head of his king’s personal guards and had been with him until after he had seen to the safety of the royal family before dashing to the shores to take command. However, this was not going to be a good day for himself and his deputies, epecially the heads of the sentries and their general. First for their laxity and indecisiveness.
The general acknowleged the rebuke, but meekly protested.
‘My Lord,’ if he returns alive, he must be ostracized. He could return ensorcelled and bring evil into the city. We chose to await your orders lest we offend somebody or something on board it by attacking it. We cannot ignore the legends of the Quoharen.’
‘You will do no such thing, and I’m not in the mood for legends,’ said Sinos. Then addressing the messenger he said;
‘If he survives, bring him to me.’
‘Yes my Lord,’ he replied
‘But sire…,’ Bailen began but Sinos cut him off.
‘Have men board the ship and search it at once!’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ bowed the chief.
Meriot was the town’s local clown and tramp, a grown man still living with his mother, the city’s clown and jester, beloved of the children, scorned by the adults, utterly lacking in social ambition, lover of revelry and women. The son of a historian, he was regarded as too useless to do business, too weak to be in the army. Even some beggars considered themselves better than him.
He seemed a much grown man with no future, nothing to offer to his people, nothing to be remembered for. Until this day. For him it was he, and so it would be told of for generations, who bested the entire warriors this day in courage, though some would say it was just foolishness and luck. Either way he paddled on with determination, ignorant of his poor mother’s receeding entrities as she was hulled out of the waters in her attempt to pusue her son.
But none knew that his single-minded purpose was not born of foolishness. Indeed, he was well aware of what he was doing. He paddled on to the ship.
Meanwhile people talked and murmured many cursing, some mocking his attempt at bravery. But when he reached the ship, all went silent. Where courage mattered, one whom they considered good for nothing had beaten them all. The king once again threw his generals a reproving glance.
They all watched the fool repeatedly swing and then hurl a rope attached to a hook over the ship’s side and began to precariously climb his rope and eventually board the ship rather awkwardly and disappear. All waited to see what would become of him. It was a long wait. Dawn had come and gone. It was not until around mid day, that they noticed a lone figure appear above the ship’s bow, gesticulating wildly in excitement and screaming triumphantly at the top of his lungs. He was alive!
The ship was empty of fighters, a fact the remaining boarders quickly found out as they searched and took control of the ship. Later they and Meriot would tell of the wonders they saw in the ship’s cargo hold; gold, pearls, ivory, great numbers of the finest wool and of fur of both strange and familiar animals, coveted silk, and all that a very successful trading vessel could ever boast of.
But most of all they and later generations of their countrymen would tell of the legend of the ship’s most definitive feature, a shape to recall the ancients back to life, and fill the souls of the living with awe, fear and sheer wonder. It was cast in bronze and rose from the ship’s bow as if she was ascending in flight. It was a figurine so beautiful that it struck all who looked at her with awe and breathlessness. She was young, lustful and very eye catching. It was a stature of a young elf maid, a kind not seen in many generations but whose tales were part of the peoples’ lives in lore and religion, albeit with distaste, respected, feared, and hated.
The ship bore one more treasure more important to Meriot than the bronze statute. Meriot found it in the arms of the white bones that held it, remains of a long dead person lying in burial posture on a narrow bed. Meriot wondered greatly why rats had not done the usual damage. He had made his way to this room, cautiously opened the door amidst loud, threatening creaks of wood joints. The room, as was the entire interior of the ship, was heavily coated with several layers of dust, prompting repeated sneezes from Meriot even as he forged on. The room was wide, with light coming in through a window barred with iron rails. Also notable were a dust covered medium-sized mirror, a water closet, a clothing cabinet which he opened to reveal clothes heavily dusty but otherwise neatly folded. He turned away from those to focus on the remains on the bed. Whomever it had been was dressed in weather worn clothes which he examined and judged the remains to be those of a woman. Then he turned to the large, red, scroll cone made of thin metal. He was immediately enchanted by it. He stole it. And he did manage to sneak it away unobserved by all.
But there was no escaping his furious mother. He sat at the dinner table while she stood her back lightly resting against a wall as she silently, menacingly regarded him. She looked fit to give him the hiding of his life even for his age. He had to wait for her to exhaust herself scolding him for his actions all the way home before he could tell her. He had never hidden anything from her, good or bad. He wasn’t going to start now.
‘I took something from the ship.’
The old woman stared at him, still silent. But now her eyes wore a more fearful look.
‘No it’s not what you think. Not gold or any of the sort.’
With that, he went into the inner room and, after some ruffling, he reappeared carrying the heavy cone in both hands, carefully laying it down on their little table by the lamp. Then he opened its cap and bent the cone. A thick scroll slipped into view.
‘See!’
She looked. And blinked. Though relieved it wasn’t precious metals, she was decidedly perplexed.
‘You stole a scroll?’
‘Would you have had me steal something else? I just had to take it.’
‘A scroll.’ She looked bemused. Then it seemed to Meriot that the room suddenly began to be enveloped by thick, gloomy clouds. He could feel her rising fury. However, calmly, she asked,
‘And there is no other reason why you risked your life to board a strange, possibly accursed ship, apart from that scroll. I sure am eager to hear how personally satisfying this great performance has been to you. Then I just might tell you just how I feel. Or rather show you.’
Her son eyed her warily. He knew that, old as she was, she could try to pounce on him if given the chance. Or throw something at him. He casually rose and strolled round and behind the central table, putting it in between him and his mother as a buffer.
‘You are mistaking the point, ma. Should I have taken something else of your fancy?’
‘At least a thief would steal something reasonably linked to his needs.’
She slowly rose and then, in a flash, she rounded the table before he could flee and was on him with her hands round his neck grabbing fistfuls of his collars and squeezing.
‘You put me through the worst pain and fear since your father died for a stupid scroll?’
Though he could have freed himself, he surrendered. It wasn’t like she was really choking him to death, though she did put quite a squeeze on him.
‘Temper, temper ma! You didn’t raise me to be a thief, I mean that kind of thief, you know.’
She sighed and released him.
‘I know what came over you. It’s all those myth books I let you read all your growing years.’ She looked fit to swallow a horse.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have married a historian who left you all his books.’ He walked up to her, bending to her eye level for she was considerably shorter than he was. He seemed to be waiting for something, a reaction from her. She stared puzzlled. Then he gave her a rather triumphant grin. Her eyes furrowed in still more confusion.
‘I recognized the ship from one of father’s books. A tale about a lone ship sailing the high seas with no crew. It is said that it sailed the seas for years, and the shores on which it would eventually settle shall own a great treasure the likes of which is unequalled. Father always told me tales of past worlds, wars and people, especially the elves and the other races who once lived with us but are no more.’
Then, more enthusiastically, he said,
‘Mother I recognized the ship. I even dreamt of it a few weeks ago. It’s a ...’ he hesitated, and decided not to tell her yet lest things turned for the utter worse with her, considering her more recent display, and her health. No, he wasn’t going to tell her about the ship’s sole occupant. At least not now. And the fact that no mention of it, nor the figurine, had been said in the city made him worried, for surely many knew, not the least the king himself. Yet no one was speaking. Indeed in the whole excitement, he distinctly noticed that a large thick cotton fabric had been dropped over the figurine, and at that moment he decided to slip away with his catch.
‘So that’s the source of the so called courage you displayed today.’ She pretended to think deeply about this, and asked,
‘And you did not see some abandoned gold necklace lying around which nobody would miss, just a scroll for your efforts and risks, eh?’
‘You should have said so.’ He gave a triumphant grin and walked to the table where he had left the scroll. She followed him to peer at its contents as he unrolled it. It was thick and written in small black characters against a brown paper.
‘It is not in our tongue,’ she noticed.
‘I already know that.’ And he knew just which tongue.
‘It is long.’
‘Yes. Will make quite a good reading, if one can find an interpreter,’ he said and rolled the scroll back and returned it into the preservative cone.
‘And it belongs to the king,’ she said.
He stopped in his tracks.
‘No, mother. Its mine. What would the king want with…’
‘You and I well know our laws about treasures and land,’ she said quietly.
‘Well, um, this is not the kind of treasure the king will be interested in, and I assure you, he has his hands and whatever else full of treasures.’
‘So there were treasures inside eh? But its all his. All things are his and we own under his authority and permission. It also came from a foreign vessel.’
‘So?’
‘You stole from the king,’ she repeated quietly.
The way she said this last point, and her choice of words made him freeze, for he had not thought of it that way. But he instantly knew she was right, though he now resented the very idea of giving it up.
‘You stole from the king. You did a good thing telling me, as always. In fact, you did a brave thing today, though you nearly killed me for it. But we have to return it back. It does not belong to us. What did you hope to get from it?’
He eyed her.
‘Oh you and fables,’ she said in exasperation.
‘Imagine what it has to tell us! It’s a ship that’s travelled many worlds. Its from the past, right out of the legends. Ma, the legends just came alive again. Its time I become like father.’
‘But first imagine what a few nights in the dungeons might be like, or what a noose around your neck might just feel like.’
Then an expressions of terror rose in her eyes and face. She clasped her hands to her cheeks.
‘What is it ma?’ he asked now alarmed.
‘It is a grave thing to steal from the king. It is punishable by...’
‘Death,’ he completed for her. ‘And they would want me for more than that. I know something that only they know, and no one else is to know. Mama I shouldn’t be here. We have to leave, now!’
They heard the sound of running boots and shouting approaching their door. Then came a loud banging on their door. Meriot gulped. They stared at each other, as dread crept up their faces in unison.
‘They are here already,’ he exclaimed, staring at their wooden door and then turning to his mother in fright. She too was wide-eyed with fear.
It took a while before the soldiers outside saw the door open inwards and a petrified Meriot said, rather unconvincingly, ‘Welcome g..good sirs!’
In not too long a time he and his mother were shuffling through the Guest Hall in the palace to meet the king in person. The palace was of moderate decoration; polished walls and floor, light streaking in from beautiful windows made of colored glass and imposing wood and metal doors, the modest grandeur of the palace where neither ever dreamed of ever seeing the inside of it, much less entering. Guards stood still at intervals along the hallway to the king’s court chambers. Two guards stood there with spears crossed blocking their path.
The guard leading the pair motioned to the other guards who then parted spears, ushering the reluctant guests in.
Meriot tried to be brave. But his bravery lasted only for as long as it took him to stand before the king. And it wasn’t only the kings eyes on him that shook him so visibly, for he now was before not only the king, but the entire council of elders.
Both pairs of eyes bore identical dread of being in their presence. They bowed their heads before the assembly. But their eyes wandered about furtively until they settled on something lying on the king’s laps as he sat on his throne. Their hearts sank. It was the scroll.
‘Your son has done you proud today. When we were unsure and, even fearful,..’ he turned again to look at the particular general ‘… he alone was resolute and brave. But, he, well, went on to do just what any other thief would do. He stole from me. Not just from anybody, but from me!’
The woman quickly threw herself on the polished ground.
‘My Lord be merciful. My son erred in judgment. I made him that way.’
Sinos’ eyebrows went up in mild surprise, and the assembly murmured.
‘You taught him to steal?’
A few council members murmured, but the king leveled the pair with a very stern look.
‘No, my Lord. I put in him a taste for reading lore from ancient records and books. He sees myth as real.’
‘And didn’t you, a historian and record keeper’s wife, teach him that it is a very, very bad thing to steal from your king. It usually earns the culprit a severed head.’
The weight of his words brought Meriot down to his knees and he threw his mother a beseeching look. She too began to weep. At this, two soldiers marched forward to take him into custody and to a fate he truly dreaded. His mother broke in a wail, rose and ran towards the throne. Her path was quickly stopped by four of the kings guards, swords drawn.
‘Wait!’ Sinos called out to the soldiers who held up Meriot but complied. The nearest council member approached the king and whispered something to him, to which he nodded. The noble withdrew.
‘Of all the treasures you found, it is this scroll you chose to keep from me. Or will we find other valuables hidden somewhere?’
‘My Lord on my life there is nothing else,’ cried his mother.
The general now spoke, for he too did not want to see the lad die.
‘We searched thoroughly, my king. He took nothing else.’
The king nodded.
‘Then his death will not be worth his crime.’ He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘And the people will not be happy with me killing our very own brave hero, even for his momentary madness. Actually, I think we should reward him for his deeds today and his honesty so others may learn from him.’
The pair blinked, and only believed the words they were hearing when they looked at the king’s face and saw the truth of it.
‘Indeed my Lord has a merciful heart,’ said the noble, obviously a high-ranking one. Sinos nodded. He turned to his trusted chief and indicated the scroll be opened again. The chief and another soldier took hold of each end and began to roll it out from left to right. Both soldiers ended up spanning the the room to about nine meters. The suspected beginning was brought near his face. Sinos peered at its markings, and his face became puzzled. Also at the same time he felt his heart quicken. A sense of anxiety and eagerness swept over him, seizing him with unseen hands. His countenance visibly changed, even more noticed by Meriot himself, because he was sure the feeling was the same that had seized him when he too had touched the book.
‘The writings are very strange, not our language,’ said Sinos almost to himself.
He touched the remarkably thin paper divided by vertical lines into pages.
‘Very fine quality. Must be foreign, elfin. Do we still have any elfin written words anywhere?’
‘Yes, my Lord. I brought one,’ said Meriot, surprising most. He produced a
book that looked recently cleaned but not so well. It was an old book. He quickly flipped to a page he had already dog-eared and presented it to another guard who took it to the king.
‘It’s a reference, my Lord, but was not interpreted. But the markings are the same. It’s a story of…’
‘I know the tale, son.’
‘Oh,’
The king soon confirmed this as he compared both documents and saw the same characters in the scroll but in separate sentences. Then finally, he closed it and looked at Meriot thinking deeply while the other looked down. Then he decided.
‘Your father was a historian. I remember him, Ilfong, a very knowledgeable man. Now you seem to have taken to his ways with books. And, you have shown yourself capable of reckless bravery and curiosity. You have proven yourself worthy of the king’s praise, and instead of stealing the usual things one would have expected a common thief to steal, like gold and other such things, you rather took a scroll no one can read. You sought knowledge over wealth. I find this very remarkable a quality in a man.’
He leaned back on his throne and studied the young man.
‘By your own hand you have chosen the task ahead of you. And by my order I charge you with it.’
He rose from his throne and walked down the few steps towards the perplexed pair below, holding the scroll in his hands.
‘Today’s events need explaining. Many questions need answers, and I believe in this book we can find them. And we need to act quickly, lest we miss something that could someday harm us.’
He turned round, taking in his entire counsel.
‘As you all know, this ship is an elf ship. We cannot take chances with the Quoaharen. It may have been a few hundred years ago when last one was ever seen, but I would hate to be taken unawares by them. It is my sworn duty not to allow harm come to Mesobena. Maybe the elves sent it here for a purpose. And that purpose we must find. I hereby charge and commission you, in the name of your king, which is I, and in the name of Mesobena, to find an interpreter and unravel the mystery of this scroll.’
With that, he stretched out his hands, offering the scroll to Meriot. Appreciative sighs and murmurs arose from the council members. Meriot and his mother raised their heads in disbelief. Sinos continued.
‘You shall have everything you need for this task. You are hereby made captain in charge of ships and crew and guard soldiers of your choice. Will you do this for your king and land?’
Meriot and his mother were now beside themselves with wonder. They could hardly contain themselves and Meriot began to blabber.
‘Just say yes,’ Sinos said half irritated.
‘Oh yes my Lord! With my life, my Lord,’ he straightened up like a soldier, bringing his right hand sharply against his chest.
Sinos indicated to him to take the scroll from his hands.
‘Oh, yes!’ and Meriot took it.
‘And the ship shall be preserved and repaired, just in case the real owners come asking for it.’
However, it would take many years and a lifetime of travels for him to do this. Under the king’s mandate, he researched and travelled with two copies the book’s first page copied in large prints, which he silently displayed in market squares in hope of getting one who could read it. Its discovery had now made an enlightened scholar of ancient histories out of the tramp.
And, finally, as an old man of sixty-one, with a loyal crew of true wanderers who didn’t mind not ever seeing home again, blundered into the city called Aedersrothel in the far near frozen lands of the north where no big trees grew. This time they were all aboard the Elfmaid under a hunch by Meriot. He reasoned that after journeying partly unmanned, it could somehow provide clues of its own, and better lead them to its home. And soon enough, each night for the next three weeks, they found themselves completely off course heading due east. They would change course but it would veer off the next night. Then something strange happened. All their navigation instruments stopped working rightly. They tried relying on the stars, but clouds made them invisible. They only had the sun to guide them. And that was not enough. It was as if the elements were conspiring to lead them to an unknown destination. At least it convinced Meriot, and he ordered that the ship’s course should stay as they found it in the mornings. Then again, it kept changing course repeatedly.
Finally it settled down to a course due northeast. But it was through a misty ocean with nothing in sight. And so they sailed for the next one full year.
And then, one morning they woke up to the sight of gulls and a clear sky. Two days later they found the island, the city and Meriot’s prize in its portside market.
Swathed in very thick sealskin and wolf fur he sat in the seaside market watching idly as traders went about their business. It was his third day on this spot since he arrived five days ago.
The market was particularly busy as new ships had just docked, and more could be seen waiting for the opportunity to do so as the harbor was already lined up with ships and other smaller vessels. Crates and boxed cargoes poured forth unto the harbor, carried by laborers on their backs and with donkey and horse drawn carts. As some ships disgorged their cargo, others were busy being loaded. Among the day’s offloaded cargo were all sorts of sea creatures, slaves from conquered people and bought by merchants to be sold for profit here, to garments, livestock, and visiting nobles. It was a noisy affair as people yelled instructions and advertised their wares and prices.
Meriot watched it all with mild interest. Four of his slaves held wooden boards on which where inscribed the opening letters of the scroll. They formed a small outward facing circle at an intersection of roads leading in and out of the market. With them stood a dozen or so of the city’s guards from the city’s Lord whose permission they had sought and obtained to carry out their search. At first, he was wary. However, an assurance that they were not spies, coupled with generous gifts of gold, he consented but with the condition that his guards protect them. Meriot was sure he actually meant them to be monitored. Meriot took four of his own guards too.
The ground was muddy and heavily littered with discarded or fallen off wares and food, added to which was a few animal dung, mostly horses. The air was chilly and windy. He shivered and hugged his fur clothes closer to himself and turned to his right. It was then that he noticed the old woman. She had been standing there for a while, with her full concentration on them. Meriot pretended not to notice her, casually starting a conversation with one of his companions, a soldier named Tuldin, the head of the city’s guards.
Furtively glancing over the other’s shoulders, he watched the woman carefully studying him and his men. Then she began to walk straight towards them. He raised a grey eyebrow.
‘Someone is approaching. This time try not to scare her away.’
The guard smiled. He was a burly man, wide girthed and eager to assert his authority. He clearly belonged to some battle charging around roaring and wielding his sword wildly at anything that opposed him. He had severally cuffed a few pretenders who clearly knew nothing about the inscriptions but sought to fool them for easy gain. And failed.
The soldier chuckled.
‘This one is too old to knock down, my Lord. Maybe I’ll just give her a face and she’ll fall over.’
He and his colleagues laughed as the woman continued her steady but slow progress at them. Meriot rose from his seat. But she walked straight to the nearest slave bearing the page. She stared at the markings, her face just inches from it as if to see it clearly. But it was the look of genuine wonder on her face that set Meriot’s heart pulsing. Could she know?
Her eyes followed the letters line by line downwards. But strangely her eyes were moving right to left. Meriot thought this rather odd. Then she suddenly gasped at something, then turned to Meriot, rightly guessing he was in charge, and stared at him with the strangest of expressions; shock. She nodded to his unasked question, which his face bore. The two grey headed oldies held each other’s eyes. Meriot approached her.
‘Woman, can you read it out to me, in its language of course and then in our tongue?’
She cocked her head, and then shook it.
‘Oh,’ said Meriot raising an eyebrow.
‘I will not read it till you tell me how you came to possess it, and I see the book itself. That way I know it is true.’
Meriot frowned and exchanged looks with Tuldin who derisively said;
‘You have not even tried to convince us and you are demanding for the book? What next, money?’
She silently produced a worn papyrus sheet from her pouch and, without looking at the pages, copied out the characters quickly. Then she began pointing at the letters in both copies one after the other. They were exactly alike! This is encouraging, thought Meriot. But, he thought, she could have simply memorized it too. And, by the look on Tuldin’s face, he too was not convinced.
‘Cheap trick,’ said Meriot. She persisted and said;
‘This is elfin language.’
‘Elfin?’ Meriot began with start, wondering how she knew. Or was she a book keeper too?
His heart was now racing with hope. ’Do…’he began but she cut him off.
‘Did you get this from a person or a ship?’
Meriot gaped at her. ‘How do…’
‘Which one?’ she demanded impatiently. And to force him to tell she continued;
‘I alone in this parts can read your book or scroll, whichever it is. The few others alive other than me who can you will never find on your own. You found me by chance.’
Meriot hesitated, trying to decide if it would be too much to tell her. After all these years, he would not want to make a grave mistake if she truly was who she claimed to be. And she looked harmless enough. He nodded to her. Then he noticed her smirk, and quickly began to doubt his conviction all over again. So did Tuldin who reverted to his threatening posture and voice.
’Still is a cheap trick. Be off old woman, or I’ll…
‘Oh shut up,’ she retorted, throwing him a momentary side glance and turned back to Meriot.
Both men and the slaves gaped at her. Tuldin’s mouth hung half open with unspoken angry words. The woman continued.
‘Will you tell me or not? And if you do not, then I will make sure you do not leave this island ever. And I mean it!’ With that, she stepped up to the scholar toe to toe, face to face though she was a good foot lower. They faced each other, daring each other to back down, and soon were drawing curious stares from people moving along. Meriot was acutely aware this might not be to his favor. After all, he needed her. She was his key to something much more. He shrugged and offered her a smile indicating a truce.
‘A ship. And a person, a very dead person.’
She exhaled and nodded, confirming what she suspected. Then her face fell and she looked sad. Then without warning, she placed her head against his chest for consolation and sobbed. Meriot stood perfectly still in shock. Carefully he put an arm around her. That should be the right thing to do. Ever since his mother’s death, he had not held a woman this close. He had remained alone and unmarried. This he was not prepared for. He was relieved when she withdrew and wiped her face with her hands and sleeves.
‘A ship with a strange female stature?’ she asked, still wiping her eyes.
Meriot grinned to himself with pleasure. You do know! ‘Yes’ he replied with increasing anticipation and a questioning stare.
The woman half said to herself, ‘I know its author. Or used to. An elfin woman.’
Meriot was utterly convinced now. He and others had studied the bones in the ship, and it was definitely those of a female, even if elfin. He nodded continuously. He need not waste time.
‘Send word to the king. We have found an interpreter,’ Meriot said to one of his compatriots who promptly left them.
Meriot clapped his hands and stared at her with sheer delight, as one would a long lost but now found treasure.
‘I will pay you almost anything you ask.’
‘I’m not asking.’ Then her face brightened up.
‘Actually, you are now my guests. My house is not very far from here, just over that mountain over there,’ she said pointing at the white mountain in the distance. Meriot nodded.
‘My king too will be your guest tonight.’
‘As you wish, and I am honored,’ she said bowing stiffly.
He had initially resisted the old king coming on this journey with them. But who was he to stop the old, lonely man whose son had quickly forgotten he was ever a king. Court had become too unbearable for him, with all the rash youthfulness and lack of respect and wisdom. The king had come along on this particular journey to seek one last adventure before he answered death’s call.
And so, the party made their preparations and followed the mysterious woman’s donkey driven cart on their noble steeds. It was not the bad ride the visitors half expected. Indeed the road was paved with stones right up to the mountains. Then came a surprise.
‘The road leads right into the mountains!’ exclaimed Sinos.
And as they and dozens of other wagons paved their way into the wide maw cut right through the immense rock, they found themselves staring at much more than a paved road. The walls were smooth, plastered like a home. The road was cut in an almost cylindrical fashion, with only the road itself being straight. And jutting out of the rocks at regular intervals were polished rocks, strange giant shells, and drawings.
The visitors peered at the drawings. Stout looking men engaged in various preoccupations; building, farming, digging, a few standing dignified and Lordly, some in battle with war axes and battle hammers against taller men…Then a question which had all along remained unspoken on their tongues was answered. The woman enjoyed the look of shock on their faces.
‘Dwarves built all these, and left it all to us as their legacy. Quite a heritage, don’t you think?’
‘Heritage? You mean these people have dwarf blood?’
‘Yes, we do. But not one to be noticed, until you get into a fight. I hope, for your sakes, you have no such intentions. With me, you are safe. I am still partly of your kind. But then again, our bloods are not incompatible.’
Meriot understood. That had been her threat earlier in the day had he refused to disclose information about the book.’ The woman currently smiled at him, reading his thoughts.
Remarkably, the tunnel was not dark. And that again had something to do with the material with which the walls were plastered. Meriot made a mental note to ask.
The tunnel was not too long, but it had several turns. Soon they could see the exit and the lights of the village beyond, with numerous little houses spreading out in all directions covering the valley. It was dusk now.
It was a quiet village-like city, surreal. It was presently covered with ice for it was deep in winter.
‘Welcome to Eshang, your new home.’
Neither visitor took note of the unusual look she gave them, nor understood the true meaning of her words.
They retired to one of the little houses to the far eastern corner, right up against the mountain walls. Their host offered them a meal of hot, spiced fish soup with bread and brew. It was a simple but very enjoyable meal. Soon the two old men, king and former vagabond turned scholar, sat before a fire like children about to be told a heroic tale would. The woman faced them. They were alone all three swathed in new thick seal and fur skins. The woman had her eyes fixed on Meriot. But it was the king who reached into a sack he had carried himself and produced the heavy cone. They stared intently at her as she took it from him and gently laid it on her laps. Then she opened its cap and tilted the cone forward. The scroll, once again, slide forward into her laps. Then she took hold of it, closed her eyes momentarily as if in disbelief, opened them and began to unroll it little by little. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes again and her mouth muttered something inaudibly. They watched her with growing impatience as she mentally prepared to read the scroll to them. The two nobles also noticed the look of awe and reverence on her face, and a barely contained enthusiasm in her outstripping their own curiosity. Then she bent down to peer at the first page that looked like a cover page or introduction of its author. She even seemed apprehensive of the book’s contents.
She must know more than the language, thought Meriot. Even the words. He observed the way she held and caressed the scroll, like a long lost but now found treasure. Suddenly she looked strangely at Meriot’s face. Then at the king.
‘You are a descendant of Rouknao, are you not?’ she said to the latter, but both gave a mild start and looked at each other. Then the king leveled his one eye sternly at her.
‘You know too much, old woman. Might not always be to your own good for I may have to find out why.’ This was clearly a threat. But she ignored it.
‘Does your family send off your second girl child to lands far east from which they never return? It is important that I know. And please give me a name too.’
The king this time faced Meriot, suspecting him to be the source of her information. The latter shrugged in innocence and shook his head emphatically in denial.
‘Elrinna,’ Sinos said finally in defeat, and she simply nodded. She turned to Meriot who involuntarily leaned back defensively.
‘That was her name.’
Sinos gave a start. ‘You knew my sister?’
‘Yes. She is still alive. It is strange that you are still alive, for a king of Mesobena.’
‘So I have been told. It runs in the family. Please where…’ he suddenly froze and stared her straight in the eye with his widening. A long lost memory began to return, blurred faces but with clear voices, tears. He looked intently into her face. She smiled.
‘It’s good to see you again. It’s been…ages.’
Meriot looked from one face to the other, then he realized who she was. Indeed even he had once heard that the king had a twin many years ago who vanished and was never found. Now he knew why.
‘How…’ Sinus began but she raised a hand and he went silent. She turned to Meriot, who unconsciously leaned backwards.
‘You have a family mark almost under your jaw,’ she said. ‘Looks like a scar but under special glasses and mirrors there are actually two well measured marks.’
He scowled and involuntarily reached out and touched the barely perceptible family markings that felt much like moles, a tradition from his earliest ancestors over the generations.
‘And you have good eyes for an old woman,’ he replied.
‘Is it really you? What are you?’ asked the king rather accusingly. People had become wary of witchcraft and their practitioners. Most of whom had it had been killed or driven into exile.
‘She must be a sorceress, my Lord,’ suggested Meriot.
‘I’m no such thing,’ she snapped, rage flying into her eyes. Meriot held up his hands again in a plea of calm.
‘Ok, ok. But then who are you and how come you know so much…’
‘A historian.’
‘Oh!’ scowled Meriot.
‘Yes,’ she said almost absentmindedly, and abruptly turned back to the scroll, signaling an end to the current debate.
To her it bore a name that told the story of the ship’s nude figurine, arched upwards as if in flight, achingly more beautiful than any living being men ever lusted after. It was sheer beauty at its quintessential best. An elf maiden.
Sinos and Meriot could hardly contain their eagerness and glee, like little children gathered around a fire under the moonlight to listen to tales. She smiled watching the looks on their faces.
And the book’s opening words were those of a female reaching over through the mist of time, over snow-capped mountains, rivers and vast oceans into obscure lands, and as read by the strange woman. Words spoken from ancient lips of one deep inside the ship. The words spoken and written by a woman. An elfin woman. A very old elfin woman. She wrote as she spoke the openings of a great tale, sitting before the early rays of the rising sun flowing through the window of her cabin. Her gray hair covered and shielded her entire face. Her hands were very wrinkled and gnarled. But her fingers were rock steady as she wrote with an ink horn and a feather.
Their host sat and spoke to them, first in the ancient language of the elves, and then translated thus;
Haslun mai tu bren sut alanin trol bainsat aumuna amin. Endo les vin breg ol. Endi lol alsungtis un...
There is a fabled world beneath the ground on which we stand. A fascinating world. A terrible world.
Where the sun has never let shine a glorious dawn. Nor the moon ever bathed its rocks with her alluring beauty.
A world created in the forgotten ages of the great chaos of the world’s birth. When countless mighty rivers of water and molten rock relentlessly gorged their way through solid rock thousands of miles deep under the sea beds and continents, leaving in their wake an awesome, vast maze of canyons, plains, caverns, chasms, gorges, caves and tunnels all underneath the sea bed.
A realm inhabited by the worst of horrors any child could ever conjure. Where, even in its beauty, death is more present than life, haunting its air, its rocks, every bend, and every dark corner.
A place where only the most adventurous, or them who seek glory, riches, their own death or to quench their taste to kill dared to go. Never to return, except for a spared few.
This is Tartar‘us, our world. And this is our story. Only the wise shall discern, and the chosen shall take heed. And live.
