Abbalar Tales ~ 11

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 11 Jellonan 

By Len Morgan 

"He's not really a bad man you know, honourable after his own fashion, just trying to make a living as best he can."

"That is true," said Aldor smiling as he turned to appraise Orden.  "You are not so strange," he said, "In fact, I have several half-sisters uglier than you."

Orden smiled back "That's the best greeting I’ve had in centuries.   It’s a shame about your kin though."  They both laughed.

"Wizomi thinks we can make a passable co-ordinator of you, what think you?"

"I could answer better if only I had an inkling as to what a coordinator is.   But, to be honest he gave me the impression you would be able to assist me in gaining my birthright, for I still intend to be the next Caliph of Corvalen."

"Fear not, we will certainly help you to reach your potential, whatever that may be.   You could never achieve it without our help, if you tried for Corvalen now, you would almost certainly find yourself back on the wheel of life within days rather than weeks.  There are dozens of bands, just like Skaa’s, hunting your kin even as we speak.   Whereas give me but two weeks of your life and I will give you eternity, a prize to make Corvalen pale in significance."

"So where exactly, on this pile of rocks, do you live?"

"Two days brisk walking and one more significant obstacle away,” he replied.   “Come let us walk sprout," he said slapping Aldor playfully on the shoulder, stepping out along the narrowest of footpaths.” 

Aldor sagged momentarily under the weight of his hand.

"You’re not human," Aldor commented in exasperation.

"You noticed."

"Neither are you dwarf nor Troll."

"Thank you for that dubious observation."

"I have never seen nor heard of anybody like you before; I should like to know where you are from?"

"I am a Jellonan, my people live a great distance from here.   There is no other like me on Abbalar."

"You talk as if there are other worlds.   You spoke earlier of centuries as if they meant nothing, I think you have a lot to explain on this journey we are embarking upon."

"That is the truth," he raised a hand to place on Aldors shoulder, the boy ducked neatly aside avoiding it.   Orden nodded his understanding.   "Mayhap we should start with astronomy…" 

.-…-. 

   Two days can pass in an instant when you are in the company of an intellectual giant.   Aldor soon realised how small Abbalar is and, how diminutive was Corvalen.   Weeks earlier it had been the centre of the universe, now it seemed as insignificant as a pimple on his buttocks.

"Wizomi knows all you have told me?   Of science, chemistry, physics, metallurgy, magic, & mechanics, all that stuff about travelling the airways at incredible speeds?"

"He does."  

"Then why does he waste his time telling stories…"

"Instead of?"

"Well, Improving things, inventing, teaching and such."

"He had a more important task he was performing for me."

"What could be more important than bringing about change?" he asked.

"Why, he was looking for you sprout, seeking you out!"

   They stopped early on the second day, at the foot of a climb, they would be attempting the following morning.   As he drew his blanket over him he carefully reviewed his impressions of the Jellonan.   He had taken an instant liking to Orden 'the rock' which was how he had increasingly begun to think of him.   He was unlike any adult Aldor had ever met before in his short life.   His mind seemed totally unaffected by the ravages of time as if he were in a state of eternal youth.   He looked the man over critically.   He was squat and muscular, almost as broad as he was tall.   His deep gravelly baritone voice boomed out, every inch the equal of Skaa's, as it re-echoed from the surrounding hills.   Somebody less enlightened might be excused for describing him as dwarfish, in truth he was anything but that.   He was a giant!  What he lacked in stature he more than compensated for with physical strength and intelligence.   Neither man nor myth, he defied definition.   When he looks you straight in the eyes you can either answer honestly, telling him what he wants to hear, or you act dumb and look away, one thing you cannot do is lie.   His deep violet eyes flash with life and smoulder with an inner fire, iridescent flecks of yellow and red made them both hypnotic and fascinating.   His skin is elephantine the texture of hard leather, a deep mahogany tan.   His hair is sparse and wispy grey-blue, and when he smiles the image is complete.   He is transformed, becoming totally childlike, full of mischief, vitality and curiosity, qualities totally absent in adult humans.

"Years have no bearing on age," he said.   "When you cease to seek the diversity of life and fail to gaze in wonder at its creations, you start to reject them and the ageing process begins."

"But, life is so complex, what is there to reject," asked Aldor.

"If you live as long as I, you will see that variety is overwhelmed by repetition.   Seeing the same mistakes, endlessly repeated is the greatest source of frustration and sadness, for me."

The young man became silent and reflective and remained so for some considerable time before asking a question.   "What then, in your opinion, is the answer?"

"A very perceptive question," it was Orden’s turn to pause, in deep thought, "Progress!   Building on past failures, to prevent the seeds of repetition from germinating."

"Meaning?"   Aldor persisted.

"Learn from mistakes and prevent them from happening again by providing viable alternatives whenever repetition is imminent."

"But, if a situation is new to me, how will I know what has been tried before, which will be repetition and which innovation?"

“Wizomi chose well, you have potential.   History can provide a guide only because it is a view seen through the eyes of the victor."

Aldor did not answer; he waited until it was obvious Orden would not enlarge on his statement.

“The stories are true, are they not?”

“Stories?”

“Wizomi tells stories of ancient kingdoms, brave new worlds inhabited by long-dead races.   He retells the deeds of the great and wise kings, of lands where the succession goes automatically to the firstborn who inherits from his father by right of birth.   Think on that.   Think of all the lives lost in the Kull that could have been spared, all the knowledge and experience that is lost, all that wasted potential.”

“But, it is your Birth Right sprout!”   Orden smiled smugly.

Aldor sneered, “I begin to wonder.   Each of my brothers has his own unique talents for which he is renowned.   Each has given a lifetime of study and dedication, yet many of them will die, and for what?   I must return to Corvalen, I must put a stop to this madness!”

“As you are you can do nothing, their best chance for the future is for you to learn what I and others can teach you before you ever consider returning.   Then you must tell the stories where they can do the most good.   Spread them throughout the known world.”

They walked on a while in reflective silence.   Both lost in their own personal vision of the future, of how Abbalar could be changed for the better, reflecting on their own personal involvement in bringing that about.

“Have you ever played Kingdoms sprout?”

“It is just a game for old men!”

“It’s applied strategy, and mirrors life.”

“Thirty-two pieces on a chequered board?”

“All the elements are there.   If you can find solutions in the game, you can find them in life.”

“Impossible!” Aldor replied in a dismissive tone.

“Strip away the dross; the trimmings, the superfluous, and what remains are real problems awaiting solution.   Kingdom’s is a useful aid in problem-solving.”

“No!   It’s a game, just a boring game and that is all.”

“Why so anti sprout?   If it’s just a game why is it so important that you avoid it?”

“Back home in Corvalen, my mentors attempted to force me to play the game.   They used threats, and bribes when that didn’t work; they took away my favourite horse.   But I still refused to play, because I did not enjoy it.”

Then you were a fool.   But even a fool can change.”

“Not me.  No!”   He said with finality.

“There have been places where people ceased fighting wars, where all disputes between – houses, towns, cities, and nations – were settled by champions.   They employed their athletic prowess, horsemanship, and their expertise at games, to resolve disputes.”

“That is crazy.”

“Is it?   Think on the lives that were saved, and the advantages of teaching people to play the game well.   Its strategies range far beyond a board of sixty-four squares.”

“It could never work in reality, at least, not for long.   Another race from over the mountains, who did not know the rules, would come and simply conquer the lands by force of arms.    They would take all the wealth accumulated, during the long period of peace and stability. Then enslave your populace and the grand experiment will be at an end.”

“Again you point out the flaw in the theory,” Orden chuckled.   “That is in fact what happened, in at least one instance, where the grand design was attempted.”

“So what then is your point?”

“The game ‘Kingdoms’ is a tool used to train the mind, to improve concentration and promote right thinking.  It provides techniques that enable people to select the best course of action in any given circumstance, for their own good and for the good of all.”

“But most people simply want to live their lives in the easiest and most uncomplicated way possible,” Aldor argued.

“I agree whole-heartedly, but in order for that to happen, their leaders – and somebody has to administer things – will have to concern themselves with the more weighty problems of existence.”

“Yes.   That is why we have administrators in our courts, to ensure things run smoothly.”

“Who then ensures they do their jobs well, that they all work together towards the same goal, instead of needlessly wasting scarce resources?”

“The King, Khaan, Caliph, Emperor, whatever you call your leader…”

“I call him the co-ordinator, and you said yourself it was your birthright!”

“But you said you would not help me become Caliph!”

“I said I would help you to reach your true potential.   Were you really so bad at Kingdoms, that you could not bear to play the game at all?” he asked, his face revealing his disbelief.

“No!   On the contrary, I was very good at it, in fact, I have never been beaten,” he explained with an unaccustomed look of modesty on his face.   “But, after a while, every move is so obvious and predictable.   The most infuriating thing was, my opponents always looked and acted so surprised when I beat them, ending the game with what seemed an obvious sequence of moves.   At first, I thought they were deliberately letting me win.   Then one of my instructors accused me of cheating, and went for me with a cane, he said there was no way a ten-year-old could execute such moves, I was being helped somehow.   That was when I refused to play.   His moves had been so obvious, totally lacking in subtlety…”

“I’ll make you an offer.   Play one game against me, just one.   Then if you win, and still feel the same way, I will never ask you to play again.”

“Done!”   Aldor replied at once.

“Good!   Now we are getting somewhere.”

“Does that mean we can stop walking in circles around this damned mountain?”

Orden smiled, shaking his head in amusement “follow me,” he said and they climbed down to the lower Plateau.

   Within half an hour they came in sight of a cave complex faced by a small clearing.   It was around five in the evening of a fine summer’s day.   Autumn was still a few months away, and the now-familiar sounds of insects and birds intensified as the day approached its end.   They were fifty yards from the cave, as they entered the clearing, the sounds of life persisted then suddenly they were behind instead of all around.   Within that clearing there was nothing, not even grass grew, it was as if there was an invisible barrier separating outside from inside.   As he crossed the divide he was at once conscious of an intense prickling sensation down his spine and experienced a deep sense of foreboding, coupled with an irresistible urge to turn and flee from that place as fast as he could go.   He did not and the fear intensified becoming terror, almost impossible to resist.   He hesitated as his confidence ebbed away, his mind became set on leaving, just one more step and it stopped, as if somebody had slammed a door shut.   “Uh!” he cried out involuntarily, in shock, and stumbled.

“Only a very special kind of creature can penetrate the veil, but once you have done so, you have immunity for life.   Unlike your captors at the foot of this mountain, who could no more enter the foothills, than restore life to the dead.”

“Skaa?”

“He knew that where you went he could follow, but he could never return alone.” 

(To be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan