The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (11 page)

As the days past, she noticed that the vast majority of the wizard’s human patients were pregnant and nursing mothers and it became obvious that child-bearing in the Water-Realm was a far more difficult and dangerous occupation than on the planet Earth. Indeed, the mothers and young children of the Water-Realm appeared to run a far greater risk of sickness and premature death even than the unfortunate families who dwelt in the fever-ridden slums of Manchester. She often assisted Thom in the nurturing of farm animals and quickly noted the sharp contrast between the difficulties suffered by birthing mothers, and the comparative ease experienced by the egg-laying narr in reproducing themselves. She was swiftly forced to conclude that the strange environment of the Water-Realm was definitely unfavourable to mammalian life-forms. The old wizard had readily agreed with her deductions and he drew her attention to the fact that the ‘Do fowl’ a relative of the Earth bred domestic duck, plus some small birds and a few minor species of plants and fungi were the only life-forms from Earth, to have successfully adapted themselves to life in this portion of the Water-Realm.

“But remember child.” The old man had warned. “This world is immense and who can tell what manner of creatures have succeeded in making their homes in its furthest reaches. It has even been rumoured that a strange blue-skinned people dwell far beyond the Northern Sea, people who ride terrifying creatures with cavernous jaws and six pairs of legs” He had laughed aloud at his own words. “I do not believe they exist, but I don’t discount the legend entirely.”

Darkening had followed darkening and the young witches’ occult powers continued to grow, aided by the strict disciplines imposed upon her by the old wizard, and her senses became so finely attuned that she doubted if any danger could possibly escape detection by her inner-eye. In addition, she began developing an almost uncanny skill in predicting events that were due to happen in the near future.

One day, Myra had retrieved the grimoire of Rose Littlewood from her belongings and showed it to the wizard, but the old man has simply shaken his head as he leafed through its pages, for like all of the Narrs-folk, he was completely illiterate.

“I can only enlighten you on one point.” He said. “Your mother was wrong in believing this volume to be written in some form of code, for it is mostly scribed in ‘Temple script’a type of ancient written language now used only by the priestly sects who dwell to the east. I cannot read a word of it, but it resembles a short prayer-text that I was once shown by a wandering monk who dwelt amongst us for a while, until he insulted one of the narr-riders and got himself speared.”

“Perhaps I will strive to read this script,” the young wisewoman surmised. “For my inner-eye tells me that we must soon leave this hospitable valley and continue our journey far to the south.”

“Aye, your mind’s eye does not deceive you.” The wizard agreed sadly. “You and your two companions will soon be capable of continuing your wanderings beneath the five suns of the Water-Realm. Tomorrow we shall hold a feast beneath my roof and Noor-Balsam and I will advise and direct you as best we may. Afterwards, you and your comrades must begin making plans for your journey through the vastness of the Water-Realm and my obligation to your mother will be discharged in full.”

Thom belched and wiped the narrs-fat from his mouth, “Erda my beloved mate,” he said, playfully slapping his wife’s ample bottom with the palm of his hand. “The Gods take me if that wasn’t the best meal that I have ever tasted. Now let the unseen ones have their portion.” So saying, he tore the remainder of the joint from the spit and dropped it into the midst of the fire burning in the hearth. He then turned his attention back to the three crewmembers, who, apart from Noor-Balsam, where the sole beneficiaries of the old couple’s hospitality.

“Honoured guests,” he began. “Almost half a cycle has passed since you arrived in the Valley of the Fruitful Stream. Now only four and a half cycles remain for you to discover an exit that will allow you to re-cross the curtain and regain the shelter of your own reality. I tell you plainly, I have no idea where this exit portal is located.”

He paused.

“However, traditional folk-tales suggest that it can be found at the foot of a stupendous mountain, that stands alone and in perfect isolation, far beyond the waters of the Southern Sea.”

The wizard paused again and took a long drink of herb wine from a tumbler standing at his elbow.

“Only the priests, who dwell in the ‘Palace of the Ancient Lore,’ in the Holy City of Ptah, can furnish you with the necessary information. The journey to Holy Ptah is both long and extremely perilous. Even if you should reach the city in perfect safety you will be required to offer the priesthood some fabulous gift, or render them some inestimable service; in order to win the privilege of questioning those priestly clerics, for their greed and avarice are said to know no bounds.”

The old man shook his head. “Even so, you have no choice but to go hence and beg their aid.”

Thom laid his hand upon the old mercenary’s shoulder.

“Of all the Narrs-folk,” he said quietly, “Only Noor-Balsam has looked upon the Holy City of Ptah and returned alive to his own land. He will now furnish you with whatever advice he can.”

The old soldier cleared a space on top of the dining trestle and unrolled a large map.

“This,” he said. Is a map of the Water-Realm, or such portions of our world as are generally known to us.”

“As you can see,” he said, indicating the position of the Valley of the Fruitful Stream with his finger. “We are presently located upon a tributary of the Exit River that runs from the ‘City of the Ancient Dead’ to its junction with the ‘Great Life River’certainly the largest and most important waterway in the whole of our world.”

He swept his hand across the face of the map.

“The Great Life River is connected to the Northern Sea and continues southwards until it meets with a similar stretch of water that is located far to the South.”

The mercenary pointed again with his finger. “Here is ‘Holy Ptah’, standing on the banks of the ‘Life River’at approximately the mid-point between the two great seas.”

Darryl peered at the map with interest.

“Where exactly does our own Exit River connect with this Great Life River?” he asked.

“Here is where the waters unite,” answered the old soldier and he pointed to a river junction, that lay at no great distance from the place where the Life River met the Northern Sea. “Nearby lies the great trading city of Calar… Calar of the Mighty Walls. Jarl is the prince of Calar and rules over a city that is renowned for the size of its markets and the cunning of its many merchant’s. At Calar, the narrs-wool from our western plains is exchanged for Thoa flour, sweetener and also the metal products that we cannot produce for ourselves.”

Noor-Balsam took a mighty draft from his tankard of herb wine and then resumed his speech.

“Yes my friends, to Calar come the white-skinned people who dwell beyond the Northern Sea. They exchange their fine iron and timber for pretty slave girls and the like. Aye, rich is the city of Calar and so are its merchant’s who travel the length and breadth of the Water-Realm in search of profit.”

The old soldier ran his finger from a circle on the map, marking the position of the city of Calar, to a huge rolling plain lying upon the eastern side of the Great Life River.

“This plain is the home of the Saxmen tribes who dwell under the stern rule of their brutal warlords; here chaos and constant warfare prevail. Once, long ago, the Saxmen crossed the Great Life River and put Calar to the sword and the torch. Afterwards, the citizens of Calar surrounded their city with walls of enormous height and strength and garrisoned it with many fighting men. In addition, the princes of Calar periodically carried fire and slaughter into the lands of the Saxmen to keep down their burgeoning numbers.

Forty cycles ago,” he mused. “I took service as a mercenary in the army of Prince Jarl’s grandfather who was planning a great incursion into the Saxmen lands. “Arr.” He growled. “For five terrible cycles, we marched and counter-marched through the territory of the Saxmen and countless were the numbers of people that we butchered, until we finally returned home and celebrated our triumph in the streets of Calar.

He paused again and drank deeply from his tankard. “It was during the fourth year of that frightful campaign that I gazed upon the shining walls of Holy Ptah for the one and only time, although it was from a distance, for no body of troops are permitted to venture close to the holy city.” He sighed. “How brightly the rays of the five suns shone from the polished yellow metal of the city walls? Never shall I forget the wondrous way the bright sunlight glinted in the waters of the great protective moat; a body of water fully a thousand paces wide that surrounds the entire city and is said to be inhabited by terrible flesh-eating monsters and other frightening creatures…”

“But what lies beyond the City of Ptah and the plains of the Saxmen?” Myra asked.

“The Empire of the Kaa-Rom lies to the south,” the mercenary answered, “of which I know little, however, to the east, far beyond a mighty belt of Thoa forest, are situated the barren wastelands of the Hix where none may venture and return alive.”

The old fighting man slammed his empty tankard down upon the top of the trestle with an air of finality. “This is all that I can tell you,” he said. “Further knowledge you must gain from others!”

The wizard refilled his guest’s tankards with wine and turned his attention to the three travellers. “My friends, only one course of action lies open to you if you seriously wish to regain your own reality. You must re-embark upon the craft that brought you to this world, and then you must navigate down our little stream and then the Exit River until you reach the city of Calar. You must then sail down the Great Life River until your craft lies under the walls of Holy Ptah and somehow persuade the priests to furnish you with the help that you will need to cross into your own world.”

He looked into the eyes of each of the travellers in turn. “I repeat. No other course of action lies open to you!”

George was the first of the newcomers to reply to the wizard’s suggestion and made no attempt to disguise his fear and apprehension.

“In God’s name,” he breathed. “How can anyone possibly survive a journey through lands and peoples as barbarous as those our armsmaster has just described?”

“Simply by remaining upon the waters of the Life River,” The wizard answered.

“The first law of the ‘Ancient Lore,’ imposed by the priests of Ptah upon pain of death, states. That no king or chieftain may interfere with, claim or control, or in any way attempt to impose his jurisdiction over the traders who navigate the waters of the Life River. Nor must traders who come ashore be molested unless they stray over a thousand paces from the bank!”

The old man paused and drew breath. “Commerce is necessary for human survival in the Water-Realm and the high priests of Ptah will not have it interrupted by over ambitious warlords. However, pirates and thieves desperate enough to break the priest’s lore are said to be a constant menace.”

“Do the craft, which navigate the Life River proceed under sail?” The boatmaster inquired, anxious to gain as much knowledge of navigational matters as possible.

“No,” broke in the old mercenary, “shipping movement is assisted by the fact that the current of the Great Life River flows in both directions. From the North Sea towards the south, it flows close to the western shore. Whilst the current from Southern Sea hugs the eastern bank until it reaches the waters of the Northern Sea.”