Abbalar Tales ~ 5a

 

 Abbalar Tales ~ 5a Mandrell

By Len Morgan

  They slept most of the time, snug in their sand-covered igloo, despite neither being able to move a limb.   Within hours the air became stuffy, stale, and hard to breathe discouraging talk.   But, in the late afternoon, the sounds of the storm abated and, after preliminary checks, they burst forth from their nest none the worse for wear.   They were then able to eat, drink, and continue on their way with the fear of imminent pursuit lifted from their minds.

 On the morning of the third day, they finally hit upon the main road to Mandrell, the road surface appeared little different from the raw desert except it was hard packed, rather than soft, and the going became easier at a stroke.

"What is your name," she asked without preamble.

"Ahlendore" he replied.

"No, no, no!"   She rounded on him angrily, "Only if you want to leave a trail for Faziel’s dog soldiers to follow.   You need to pass unnoticed, so think of a nondescript name like Haydore, Lenda, Garochic, Dorael, Aldor.   Aldor - has a ring to it, a similar sound to Ahlendore, so if you inadvertently answered to it you could claim to have misheard!   So, where are you from Aldor?"

He scrutinised his recent memories, his mother was from Pylodor a state to the nor-east of Corvalen.   She had been a treaty settlement, cementing good relations between the two states.   He'd frequently visited her family when he was younger, and the plan had always been for him to return there when his father died.   But, on his last visit six months earlier he had become involved with a young woman and been forced to leave under threat from her family, they told him if he ever returned…  

"Pylodor," he said.

"So!  Aldor from Pylodor, how do you earn your living?"   She asked looking into his eyes.

"Well, my friends say I'm a pretty good singer."

"So, let me hear you sing."

"As we travel these go-o-ld-en by-ways in the dawns…"

The smile on her face shrivelled like a dried apple.   "Quiet, qui-et!" she yelled.    "Some friends you have! You’re no singer, not at all, take my word on it, that’s for sure."   She shook her head vigorously a pained expression on her face.

"Mayhap if I had a lute…?" he suggested.

"No, no, no, no!" she yelled.

He thought a moment, "I could be a warrior," he raised the stave taking up the 'en garde' stance.

"Not without a sword," she said pushing the stave aside.   "Besides you’re far too young to be accepted for training in the martial arts unless of course, you are a prince.   Best avoid princely pursuits like plague," she said after a moment’s contemplation.

They walked on, trying to discover a talent he possessed that would enable him to earn an honest, and plausible living; they failed.   As they neared Mandrell, they were still no closer to discovering his calling.

"You could be a writer, a scribe, a student, book-keep, or priest" in desperation, she blurted out every conceivable profession that came into her mind… 

They took lodging at the 'Travellers Rest' it being the cheaper of the town’s two Inns.   They stowed their meagre possessions and bathed.  

"Here's half our money," she said handing him what he would until recently have considered a paltry sum.   She then took him out into the market and proceeded to select various conservative but suitable articles of clothing.   "You need to look scholarly but not too pretentious."   Finally, she picked up a belt and sheath, testing the balance and inspecting the steel blade of the knife critically, shaking her head.   She discarded several others selecting a plain but serviceable dagger that obviously passed her critical inspection.   She handed the items to him, "there!" she said with satisfaction.   She haggled unmercifully, then finally he settled the recconing and they returned to the Travellers rest.

They slept in their room for the remainder of the day, rising in the evening in response to the call of nature and an irresistible aroma of food, their stomachs had received nothing but dried ration for days other than the pasties they'd purchased from a street vendor in the market place that morning.   They feasted on the house stew, tender goat’s meat, dumplings, a variety of vegetables and beans, fresh-baked bread with good sweet ale to wash it all down.   They stuffed until they could eat no more, and then sat in the easy room belching and laughing contentedly.   For Aldor it had been a symbolic meal, one he had never expected to eat four days earlier but, he had survived and it tasted good!

"I trust the food was to your liking?" the inn-keep enquired.   They nodded their appreciation as he simultaneously removed the plates and refilled their tankards.  

"I hope you have not travelled a'far to hear our celebrated storyteller?   His father has recently returned to the wheel, so he had to travel home to Chinake to pay his respects and see to the disposal of remains.   He will be but a week, and in that time I will probably be ruined by the loss of revenue.   All I can hope is that some of our homegrown stories, told by local amateurs - and guests - will suffice to prevent all my customers migrating to the 'Potters Wheel', the alternative hostelry near the centre of town, their food is inferior and their ale is watered but their entertainment is excellent.   Without the silky tongue of our celebrated resident, I fear, we will not retain the custom we currently enjoy.    May I enquire if you know any stories madam, sir?" he asked hopefully.

Genna shook her head.

"Yes, I know a few…"

"Sir, if you would oblige us, you and your lady would, of course, dine as guests of the house this evening."

"Thank you," Aldor replied.

The Inn-keep departed with their empty platters considerably more cheerfully than when he’d arrived.

"May I remind you that we are trying to remain anonymous?   That was our sole reason for coming here.   Why are you taking this unnecessary risk by volunteering to perform in public?   Are you trying to avoid paying me what you owe?" she said.

"I'm sorry, I cannot explain it, save to say it feels right.   It's something I can do."

"Do?   I don't understand," she shook her head in disbelief.

"This is how I could earn a living."

"Yes?" she looked doubtful.

"I am a good teller of tales, it is what I can do well.   Is it likely a prince would become a storyteller?"

"Well…  Did your friends say you were good?" she tapped her foot in exasperation, lost for words.  She breathed out sharply, shaking her head, “I hope your stories are better than your singing,” she was clearly still agitated.  Then fixing an exaggerated grin on her face she breathed in slowly and deeply 'It's going to be a long night' she thought.

"Don't worry," he said hoping to placate her.

"It's your life, but I just wish you'd paid me what you owe before taking the risk."

He laughed.  She did not. 

.-…-. 

When the Inn-keep announced that Wizomi the storyteller would not be performing, his announcement received derisive, jeers, and abuse.

"Gentlemen, ladies, please.   We still have a number of good tellers, and tales for you."

The first two, amateurs as he called them, told stories know to all and received polite if subdued applause.   Then the audience became restless, some prepared to leave.

"Please be patient friends," the Inn-keep pleaded. "We still have a very accomplished young storyteller from Pylodor.   He is celebrated in his homeland and has come south seeking new stories, and to regale us with some amazing tales of his own, tales from his homeland.   Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Aldor from Pylodor." 

There were a few half-hearted claps but, to the Inn-keep's relief, no further customers left the establishment.

Aldor sat a short while, composing himself, his audience went quiet in expectation, then when all were conscious, of the stillness of the moment, and becoming aware of their own aspirations, he began:

 

 He sprang to his feet, throwing his arms wide in a dramatic all-encompassing gesture.

"Picture the world - as it was before men built towns and cities.  A time when this world was young.   A world very different from the here and now.   A  world of contrast - a fearful place, two worlds in one.   One of perpetual night, the other one of day.    A world - where night was filled with total darkness, no moon or stars to light the sky.  It was a black so complete - it seemed to take on a life of its own.   Solid and palpable - filled with potency and evil!" he yelled dramatically, painting pictures with words.   As he spoke, the lamps were trimmed increasing the intimacy of the moment, filling the Inn with a magical atmosphere.   All eyes were on him as his voice became a slow seductive whisper, they leaned closer, conspiratorially.   "This was of course long before the gift of fire.   Sinister sounds shook the stillness, so terrible, mortal blood turned to ice!"  The silence was complete, he paused, “Aaargh!" his audience started from their seats in shock, surprise and fear, two at least fainted clean away, and they were paid no heed.   "Creatures of the day huddled together, shivering and trembling with terror, waiting for an end that was close at hand. His voice rose to a crescendo.   "They whimpered and pleaded to their god for deliverance from the hidden denizens; creatures that hunted them devouring their flesh taking their souls as a tasty relish, silent and unseen.  Only brief pitiful cries marking the passing of lives, magnifying the terror of those that remained a hundredfold.   The hunters moved amongst the hunted, selecting a morsel here, a mouth full there.   There was no escape from the horrors of the underworld, not until the break of dawn, when the miserable survivors would look around and mourn those they had loved and lost.   Of their tormentors, there was no sign.    Of those who had passed, there were no remains, not even a droplet of blood on a single blade of grass."   He paused and looked around him, an anguished look on his face, 'he knew he had them in his spell.'   With the coming of dawn, the priests broke into a litany of prayers, beseeching the great sun god Phaedra, who lit the days and kept them safe.  But, there was no answer.  

Their high priest called out to the heavens, "oh, beloved Phaedra ruler of the day, each night you abandon us to the creatures of darkness.   They grow stronger and multiply they grow fat on the flesh and the souls of the faithful!    Soon there will be none left to give thanks for the light of day, and to offer worship."  

Phaedra saw their plight and took pity.   “I cannot destroy the creatures of the night, for they worship my sister Lyandra.   But, if none remain to worship me I will cease to exist."   He thought long and hard, then he gave them his answer.   "There is a way to save the multitude of the faithful, but it will require the willing sacrifice of two, a man and a woman, who love each other truly and without compromise.   Love is the greatest power in the universe and therefore the greatest sacrifice."   But, of the hundreds that remained none came forward, that night, the creatures returned.   In the morning, their numbers had dwindled even further, so the high priest beseeched them in a loud voice "is there no loving couple, no two people who are prepared to give their lives to save their family and friends?"   His plea was answered with silence.   As evening drew nigh and darkness gathered he cried aloud to the heavens, "if only I were young and my wife had been spared…" tears covered his cheeks for the love of his people.  

A young woman stepped forward, hugging him to her breast, she had been moved by his sincerity "father, deny you love me truly and without compromise, and I will leave never to return - for that perfectly describes my love for thee."

The priest took his daughter, his only love, into his arms and the heavens were sundered by bright blue ribbons of flame bathing and caressing them with ethereal light so bright none could gaze upon it.   When the light of their love, for that is what it was, faded from the earth, it was reflected still, in the sky.   The priest and his daughter Vexen and Veinen, and the love of the faithful, whose lives ended prematurely before they could profess their love, shone brightly in the night sky as the two moons and the myriad stars.   Their love for the people of this world was so strong so powerful and true, it shines still, and never since has the night been truly dark.   The denizens of the underworld are held at bay, unable to return to this world.   Now whenever a truly good and loving person returns to the wheel of life, you should look to the sky, for it is said a new star will appear in the firmament at the moment of their passing and it will shine until the end of time.

 

He stopped speaking and there was total silence that extended far beyond the moment.   He gazed into Genna's tearstained eyes, "they didn't like it?"   She said, her face filled with incredulity.  

He smiled back at her; he knew otherwise.    She kissed him, and the spell was broken, the crowd went wild cheering and whistling their approval.   She hugged him tightly.   In moments his elated audience would be baying for more.

 

(to Be Continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan