Legends of Luternia (7 page)

“I don’t know,” Ulrik answered. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Mage send me out to get the ioni flower’s juice and send pirates after me? Did you hear what he promised them? The Mage doesn’t give up his treasures lightly. Somehow, he knew we made it this far and I don’t think he’s happy about it. This is so confusing.” With that he sat on the rain-soaked beach. Cold, wet, confused, and not sure of what to do he cried out, “Dear God, what is going on? Nothing’s right.” He remained sitting on the beach with his legs crossed and his head in his hands, staring off at the distant horizon. Edgar edged towards him.

“Uley?” Edgar said. The prince ignored him. Again he whispered, “Uley?” Still no response. Edgar knelt down in the sand beside him and clamped his hands together.

“What are you doing?” Barty asked.

“Edgar pray for help. God will hear me. God will help.”

“This is ridiculous. We’re out here in the cold, soaked to the bone, scared half to death, not knowing where we are, chased by pirates, and you’re praying? Ulrik, let’s go home.”

Ulrik said nothing, but shifted to his knees to kneel next to Edgar.

“You’re both crazy.” Barty walked off, shaking his head.

No prayer came to Ulrik’s mind, only tears of confusion. “Dear Father in heaven . . .” His mind wanted off “why am I here? What is going on? What am I supposed to do?” Then he realized he had to go on. Hope against hope he needed to see this through. The image of his father’s eyes, the sound of his pleading voice rose again, resurrected in his mind. He stood up, shook Edgar’s shoulder and helped his friend to his feet.

“Come on, let’s go. This way,” he said, pointing up the shore, away from where they came.

Barty protested, “Why? What happened? Did you get a special message from God?”

“No I didn’t, but we can’t go back like this. I don’t know why the Mage sent the pirates or what kind of twisted plan he may have. I don’t trust him, but I have to go on for my father’s sake. You don’t have to come along. You can go back, or you can stay here. I’m going on.”

“Me too,” chimed in Edgar, moving closer to Ulrik. The pair turned from Barty and began walking down the shore. Barty called out after them.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? They’re looking for the two of you,” he said and then broke into a run to catch up with them.

“Are you with us?” asked Ulrik.

“Ulrik, they’re looking for two of you, and the pair of you stands out like a pair of women’s bloomers hung out on a windy day. They’re looking for the two of you, not the three of us. Where are we going, do you know?”

Ulrik took the map out from his shirt. The map was undamaged from the soaking it had taken. Gently, he unrolled it so they could all study it. “This is where we’ve been.” he said pointing to the words, “Sleepers Awake,” which were beginning to fade, and tracing a line with his finger, “here are the two rocks, and here, I guess, is where we are.”

“What’s this, Uley?” asked Edgar pointing to a row of jagged lines lying in the direction they were heading.

“Mountains, and plenty of them. And there, further up the coast, it looks like a town of some kind. I can barely make out the name, ‘Aeolioanopolis,’ I think. Looks like that’s our destination.”

“Why there?” asked Barty.

“Do you see anyplace else?” answered Ulrik.

No one did. The mountains soon came into view. While they tried to stay as far from the shore as possible, the only open path lay along the beach between the sheer mountain cliffs and the sea. Vulnerable and feeling naked to all eyes which might be watching, they walked on.

Like swallow nests covering cliff walls, the city of Aeolioanopolis clung to the sides of the mountain to escape falling into the sea. Generations earlier the inhabitants pulled the city’s small harbor from the sea by building a great scythe-shaped breakwater. As Ulrik, Barty, and Edgar approached the city, its most remarkable feature came into view. An enormous gap, like a gash severing the mountain, divided the city neatly in half. This rift was the only opening in a mountain range stretching as far as the eye could see. While nature provided the original rift, the inhabitants straightened the sides and widened the opening until it looked like a polished doorway into the desert.

As they walked through the city, they felt every citizen’s eyes burning holes in them. The days of wandering over rocks and sand, through storm and sun, had left their marks. They began their journey disguised as beggars, but now they were bedraggled beggars, with few resources. The city’s inhabitants hurled a continual stream of derisive slurs at them: “Bum. Beggar. Scum.” The slurs drove them out of the better parts of the city down to the wharves where their appearance matched that of most of the tenants. With no other place to go, they sat at the end of a rotting dock, picking bits of decaying wood off the boards and aimlessly tossing them into the water.

“What a horrid place for the crown prince, a royal duke and  . . .” Barty said, and then looked at Edgar. “ . . . and a friend.”

Barty took a studied look at the surroundings and said, “I’ve an idea; do you have anything valuable?”

“Only my mother’s cross,” Ulrik replied. Barty asked to see it, and Ulrik slipped it from around his neck and put it in his cousin’s outstretched hand. Barty gave it a close look.

“This is silver, but very, very old silver, I think. Let me borrow it for a couple of hours.” He stood quickly, ran down the dock, and out of sight before Ulrik could say no. Ulrik and Edgar stayed at the end of the dock where no one bothered them. They watched the harbor’s life: ships being loaded and unloaded, crews making repairs on the docked ships. Especially entertaining to them was a sailor working high on the main mast of one of the ships who appeared to float on the air as he fearlessly moved about the rigging.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not up there?” Ulrik asked as his finger followed the man working high above them.

“That’s scary. I don’t like to go high,” said Edgar.

“Too high for me, too. I’d rather keep my feet on solid ground.”

A ship hove into the harbor, looking remarkably different from the rest, like she had caught the wrong end of a storm. Most of the once beautiful paint had flaked off and was replaced with a rough paint job covering the bare wood like a battle-scarred crocodile. All that remained of her former glory were her graceful lines showing that she was built for speed. She sailed into the harbor with a practiced quietness. Because of the stillness, their voices carried over the harbor. To Ulrik it was the gibberish of sailor-talk: starboard this, port that, stow the line, heave to. No words that mattered to him. Suddenly, he snapped to attention.

“Edgar, listen to them,” he pointed to the ship. “Their voices sound familiar.”

“But Uley, we don’t know nobody here.”

“Be quiet and listen.” They both leaned toward the sailors’ talk.

“Uley, they sound like . . .”

“
. . .
the men at the beach who were looking for us. Let’s get out of here before they see us.” As carefully as they could, they ran atop the rotting pier and made their way into the maze of tackle shops, ships chandlers, saloons, and boarding houses lining the wharves and searched for some alley to hide in. The densely crowded harbor had a business tucked into every nook and cranny, some shops no wider than a doorway. Every type of person imaginable jostled along the narrow streets, crowding out Ulrik and Edgar’s chance of finding a hidden refuge. Finally, the pair broke free of the crowds and made their way up a steep street when they heard someone running up behind them. They looked for an opening but found none.

“Here’s your cross!” Barty yelled, holding out the necklace for Ulrik to grab like a relay runner passing the baton. “Hurry, we need to get out of here!”

Running after Barty the best he could, Ulrik panted along, dodging shoppers, vendor’s carts, and passers-by. “What happened?” he said.

“Sore losers,” Barty replied.

“Barty, what did you do?” Ulrik accused.

“I played fair. I even used their dice. Let’s find a better part of town.”

Their legs ached after the hard climb up the cliff-side streets of Aeolioanopolis, Exhausted, they found an inn with the sign: “The Perch- Lodging, Meals, Hot Baths at Reasonable Prices.” They stopped, breathing hard. Between gasps of air, Ulrik said, “Looks like the place. Hope they let us in.”

“I’ve got a key that opens many doors,” said Barty as he jangled a make-shift bag of coins. “Let me handle it.” He went in and within a few minutes a serving girl came out.

“This way, please.” She kept her eyes cast down to avoid looking at them. Instead of taking them through the front door, she led them around the back through the kitchen pantry and up the back stairs. “I hope this will be to your liking, sirs,” she said after opening a door and directing them in.

Steam poured from the room she showed them. From within Barty called, “The water’s great, come in and have a good long soak.” Ulrik stripped and joined his cousin immediately; Edgar hesitated.

“It’s all right, Edgar, it feels great,” reassured Ulrik.

“Never had a bath before,” he said. “Might hurt.”

Barty rose from the water, steam pouring off his body. He wrapped a towel around himself and crossed the room, “Edgar, you did a great favor for me once, and I didn’t deserve it. Let me repay in a small way. Believe me, you’ll never be the same after a good long soak.” He carefully helped Edgar out of the rags he wore, handing him a fresh towel to hide his embarrassment. Edgar, not used to the lives of the nobility, grew red, clutched the towel in front of him and refused to let go of it as he stepped into the water.

“It’s hot,” Edgar said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Ulrik said, coaxing him in.

Edgar attempted to sit down but as he neared the water, he stood up. Once, twice, but then the third time he sat in the tub. A sigh of gentle relief eased from the big man as the water pulled the ache and tension from his bones.

“Barty, what did you tell the innkeeper?” asked Ulrik.

“I told him,” a broad grin covered his face, “as little as possible. Like I said, some keys open all doors. The innkeeper let us in, but I don’t trust him.”

“Why were we brought in through the back?” Ulrik asked.

“I said you and your servant, Edgar, were painfully shy and discretion would be richly rewarded.”

After a few minutes of meditative soaking, Ulrik pondered aloud, “How much did you win at your gambling?”

“The value of half a ship’s cargo,” said Barty. Ulrik’s jaw dropped.

“And I used their dice, not mine,” added Barty

“We certainly were blessed by that bit of luck,” said Ulrik

Edgar chimed in, “Helga always told me that there’s no such thing as luck.”

With their newly gained wealth they bought new clothes to replace their rags. Much to Barty’s chagrin, Ulrik insisted that they dress plainly to blend in as much as possible. Dressed in their new clothes, they set out to explore more of Aeolianopolis. No longer did the jeers of “beggar or scum,” greet them at every turn.

No one noticed them as outsiders because the city was filled with people from many lands, different types of people dressed in a great variety of styles. Ulrik could spot the merchants and sailors easily enough, for all sailors carried a certain swagger and the merchants wore a hunger for profits. Ships of all sizes and shapes had begun filling the harbor so that even the rotting wharf they had once sat on was pressed into service for the ships arriving late.

“I never knew the world was filled with so many kinds of people,” Ulrik said to no one in particular.

“You haven’t seen half of it,” a gentle voice commented. A middling man stood next to him, of middle age and middle height. Little distinguished him from the rest of the people that they had met on the streets and markets during their past two weeks in Aeolianopolis, except for the aura of peace around him. “You’re new, aren’t you? If you were from here this would all be familiar to you. And you’d know why the harbor is so busy this time of the year,” he said as he turned to go. “If you need help, maybe you should check your map. Pax et Bonum.” The crowd absorbed him and he disappeared from sight.

“How did he know about the map?” said Ulrik, worried over the stranger’s suggestion. His worry, however, didn’t prevent him from taking out the scroll and looking at it.

Aeolianopolis appeared larger than when he last looked at the map. The gap in the mountain appeared in greater detail. The vast area beyond the gap bore the label, “Desert of Hope” and beyond the desert a second mountain range appeared faintly.

“The map looks different,” Edgar observed.

“You’re right. This is very peculiar. Look where we came from; some of the markings are barely visible and where we are going is bigger than it was.” said Ulrik.

“Where did the map come from,” Barty asked.

“The Mage said he took it from the castle’s archives. I don’t think he had any idea what it does. I’m thankful we have it,” said Ulrik.

“Amen,” added Edgar.

“The map is directing us across the desert,” Ulrik said. “I don’t know what’s on the other side of the desert, but that’s where we’re being led.”

“How are we supposed to get across this Desert of Hope? Strange name for a desert,” said Barty.

Without a real plan they went to explore the greater parts of the city in the hopes of discovering something that would answer their questions. On their wanderings through the city they kept hearing bits and pieces of conversations that enabled them to piece together what they needed to know. They learned that once a year a great storm struck the coast, headed by a forceful wind. The mountains funneled the storm through the gap. The people of the city had learned to harness this wind by sailing upon its front edge in ships that floated through the sky like giant dandelion seeds. The silken sails of these ships were the size of clouds. The ships suspended beneath these sails were made like baskets that, despite their appearance, were extremely strong and could withstand the impact of landing on the far side of the desert where Aeolianoplis’ older sister city, Ruachlahem, lay.