The Chronicle of the Golden Orb: Chapter 9

[cinzazul]

Chapter 9
The ship rocked on the stormy waves. The dark water surrounded the boat like pudding as it made its long journey. Below the deck of the ship the immigrants went about their lives. Some played card games and tried to keep occupied while the winds blew above. Some tried to fill the hunger in their bellies with the meager provisions that they had been able to pack before setting out on the perilous voyage. Many huddled together for warmth. Coughs and cries could be heard everywhere. It was a time of difficulty, but the promise of new beginnings were enough to pull these desperate souls onward into a future that might erase the memories of hunger and sorrow.
Justice and honor had long since been replaced by greed and cruelty in the lands these travelers were leaving behind. Arthur and his band of justice-seeking knights were believed to be little more than legends. The age of Camelot came to an end not due to the interference of jealous gods but from the spite of jealous kings. A hopeless quest had thinned the ranks of faithful knights and Pips was away when he heard the news of Modred’s triumph. The hope of past generations had turned to despair as those in power fought petty wars over the right to exploit one group of people after another. Once kings had been chosen by the people as individuals who could best lead through strength and virtue, now the “leaders” claimed the support of heaven in their every decision, and paid off the clergy to teach that their word was law, the only law.
Heroes who fought tyrants and brought freedom to the people were few and far between. Magic had left the land of men. No longer were tales of ensorceled maidens and princes common fireplace fare. Old wives’ tales were looked on as only suitable for the youngest children, and the adults smiled indulgently at the seriousness of the elders who persisted in teaching the young such nonsense. It is a foolish time that ignores the wisdom of the aged. It is a wicked generation that refuses to see the magic inherent in the fabric of the world.
The ship sped across the dark waters. Through windy days and nights it crossed the empty watery space between the continents. A New World awaited, a world fresh with new magics and mysteries, teeming with unknown tales to be told to eager ears and hidden cities ready to be explored by tentative feet. Might not a few of the old powers seek sanctuary among the uncut forests of a pristine wilderness?
In a corner of the ship a large man sat on a brown duffel. He softly sang to himself a song that was popular in Britain at the fall of the Roman Empire. There were many things stowed away in his duffel, more than anyone would suspect. Some of these things lived and breathed, some never drew breath yet possessed life all the same. His fingers played with his long twining beard and he smiled to himself as he sang. His foot tapped against the wood of the hold, and he touched the grain of the wood against his back like a blind man feeling his way across a new texture. The tone and volume of the song he sang changed. The fast lively tune he had sung to himself was replaced by a slow mournful tune loud enough that those nearby put aside their distractions and tasks to listen. One man reached into his pack and pulled out a small red violin. Another man produced a rustic pipe and began to blow. Soon a small band of instruments joined with the strains of the man’s song. The instruments had fallen out of tune from being packed up tight and moved about, they should have sounded terrible, yet mixing with the song they created a beautiful melody that caused tears to swell in the eyes of many within the hold.
“I will tell you a story,” the big man said. “To pass the time and give your hearts cheer. For our journey is long and we leave much behind us, both good and ill.”
Groups gathered closer to the man and arranged themselves before his broad feet to hear the story he had promised. Children pushed to the front and for the first time in weeks smiles appeared on pale tear stained faces.
“This is a tale of the old land, I tell it to you now so that you might not forget what sort of tales were told in the old land. Do not worry, there will be tales for the new land when we reach it. This is a tale of the land and the water and the air and of those who inhabit each realm. There once was a young woman of the water people. A maid of the sea with long black hair and a noble bearing. She swam through the waters with her long tail reflecting the light of the great sun. She knew that her beauty would spell doom for any sailor who chanced to see her beautiful form in the water, and therefore always swam away from any ships that came near her home. One day, after a long storm, such as the one we are now in, she was surprised to see a small craft directly above her sea dwelling. It was a small craft of tied together wreckage and a single survivor clung to its ramshackle surface. Surely, she thought, this man has been through much. I shall help him, for we are all creatures of this world though he be of the land and I be of the water. The sky darkens a little every day that we do not reach out to help those who need our aid.
“So she took up one of the dangling ropes that led down into the water, and checked to be sure that it was fast around the makeshift ship’s middle she pulled it along behind her as she swam towards an island she knew of close by. All the while she swam with powerful strokes the man on the wreckage hardly moved. The sea maid could not know if he was asleep or awake, for he made no movement at all that was observable from her vantage in the water. Coming close to the shallows of the island the maid let loose the rope and trusted to the current to take the craft the rest of the way to shore. Unable to contain her curiosity a single moment longer, she swam close to the wreckage and pulled herself up so that she could look full upon the face of the land man she was saving.
“She knew that sailors could fall in love with the sea maids they happened to see in the deep waters, but perhaps she should have thought that the attraction might go both ways. However, she had never given much thought to love and to the fickle aim of cupid’s arrow. But now she was faced with a love that she had no precedent for. The man was asleep, passed out, spread-eagle across the surface of the wreckage. His face was kind in a way that the faces of sea men were not. He had lines around his eyes and next to his mouth. How very different from the smooth features of her sea kin. From deep inside her welled feelings for this soft, pink land man. She willed him to wake so that she might know his name and thereby put a name to the feelings within her. He floated on the raft, just beyond the damp sand of the island's beach. He moaned and rolled onto his side. She could see his other side now; see how his hand clutched at his middle and the red slash there.
“She gasped at the blood.
“‘Will he die?’ she murmured to herself. ‘Will he die before I even know his name?’
“It was a jagged seeping wound, open to the elements where his shirt was torn. Forgetting herself for a moment she reached out and touched him. His eyes snapped open and he groaned. The sea maid drew back in alarm for a moment and then putting aside her misgivings she reached out to him once more. ‘Are you badly injured, man of the land?’
“‘It came out of the darkness.’ the man said, his lips drawn in by prolonged exposure to the salt water. ‘I still hear their screams, and it's all my fault. This once I should not have followed where it led.’
“‘It what, what led you?’ she asked, alarmed at his fevered ravings. ‘What happened? What came out of the darkness? How might I aid you? For although it has been long since our peoples spoke one to another I would do all in my power to see you healed.’
“The man nodded.
“‘It was a huge monster. It towered above my ship with its hundred flailing arms and thousands of snarling teeth… or perhaps it was a beak that tore the mast from the ship... It had uncountable mouths that much is sure… I follow the will of the Orb, but now it has been stolen from me. The beast from the deep, even now its terrible eyes seem to be upon me. The many mouths and sharp snapping teeth. I'm ashamed to say I trembled as it tore the Orb from my grasp with its many hooked arms. The boat was mine, bought for this single voyage. The men were mine, selected and trained for one purpose, to take the Orb and myself across the waters. I took every precaution for the dangers that I knew we'd face. Uh!’ He gasped as he shifted his position. ‘But how can one prepare for the dangers of the unknown? I had faith that the Orb would lead me, as it has times gone by when the unexpected occurred as it always does. But now for the first time in six generations the Orb and I are separated. And I am cast adrift without a star to set my sights upon.’
“‘I am here, my name is Elaris,’ Elaris said. ‘Let me see your wound, I have some talent at healing.’
“‘I am known as Pelaquin,’ Pelaquin replied. ‘Unless the Golden Orb of wonders is returned to my care, no power of healing in all the world will be sufficient to save me. I am the caretaker of the Orb and it is by its power that I have been sustained these long years. I had waited for the day when my duties would be discharged and another would take on my role as guardian, but I never thought that I might be the last of my line. The Orb must be recovered or a thousand lives have been spent in vain. I cannot bear to face my peers in the afterlife with the shame of my failure fresh upon me.’
“Elaris pushed the raft the rest of the way to land. Pelaquin shuddered at the impact and crawled from the debris as some of the pieces of the raft stuck in the sand and some loosened from the ropes began to drift away on the currents around the island.
“‘I will find the Orb and return to you,’ Elaris said as she turned to swim away. ‘Hold on until I return.’
“‘The glimmer of hope you offer is all that sustains me, fair maid.’ He stared after her gleaming hair as she dove beneath the surface. ‘Godspeed.’
“The sea maid swam deep and deeper, down and down past cities of crystal sparkling brightly on the darkness of the ocean's floor. Palaces of coral and towering volcanic mountains passed by as she swiftly swam leaving frightened schools of fish and thwarting wide mouthed predators with her speed. A deep valley opened before her. She slowed to a stop hesitating just a moment as if some new thought or last moment doubt had entered her mind before plunging forward and down, throwing bubbles loose with her tail. As fast as those bubbles rose to the surface, expanding subtly as they came to areas of lesser pressure and joined with other similarly speeding pockets of gas, so too did Elaris speed down into the valley. At a certain cave she stopped and rapping thrice on the smooth stone plaque set before the entrance she parted the curtain of sea weed and entered.
“‘Daughter, to what do I owe this visit?’ a voice called out from the room beyond the underwater foyer.
“‘You know all, wise one.’ Elaris spoke softly.
“‘Yes, but I still like to hear it from you,’ a wizened sea woman appeared at the entrance to the room, her long white hair floating behind her like a school of albino baby eel. ‘Sit, daughter.’ The way she said it made the command seem almost like a request.
“‘I have given my word to help a surface dweller.’
“‘Why would you do a silly thing like that?’
“‘He needed me… And I think I love him.’
“‘You do not know what forces you are meddling with here, but luckily for you the fates are on your side in this instance. I foresee a happy ending to your story.’
“‘He spoke of a creature I have never seen nor heard tale of, I who know all the sea kings by name and who played with the princes of the fish in my youth. In size it resembled a whale for it dwarfed his ship, in face it was a shark or kraken because of its teeth or its beak, he seemed confused on this point and claimed it had innumerable mouths, although I know of no beast with more than three mouths. But it had too many arms to be a kraken and I have never heard of one of these attacking ships. They keep to themselves in the deep waters.’
“‘Child, child, the innocence of youth is refreshing to see in my old age. You have seen but a slice of the wonders the world has to offer and you think you know it all.’ The old sea witch swung her front door closed and applied a set of complex symbols upon it with a brush that now left black, now red, now glowing purple lines. ‘Some things are not for the ears of the world,’ she muttered.
“‘Some say that any god that can be named is not a true god. The gods of men are shallow gods. There are other gods, deeper gods. It is whispered that the gods did not create men... but were created by man's need for gods. If this is so, what of the rest of nature? Should there not also be gods for the birds and the trees to worship? What if there were gods for the smallest things, the microscopic life that teems beyond the seen. Gods of the basest things, that upon which all else is built. What is the point of reference for a single-celled organism? It has no eyes or ears, all it knows is hunger and pain. So it cannot imagine a god of storms, or a god of wine; all it knows are gods of hunger and of pain. These gods are not shallow, they do not interfere in the petty lives of men, they are the elder gods and they still wait in the darkest places, in the deepest places.
“‘The Orb your young land man possessed is powerful enough to bring relief from pain to a god of pain, or bring fullness to a god of hunger. It would be against the order of things for such a powerful relic to fall into the hands of such a creature, but there are hands and servants in multitudes eager to answer the will of the ancient powers. I can assist you in you retrieving the Orb, but not because the life of your man depends on it, because the lives of us all hang in the balance when one of the great nameless gods stirs in its sleep.
“‘Go to the whirlpool of Sadarnalia, there you will find the horn of Felinith. Take the horn to the top of the great mount Silerat and turn to the north, blow the song of Melacatrix and wait. The answer will come to you. Do not be afraid, but be careful.’
“Elaris set out, and soon came to the whirlpool of Sadarnalia. She allowed herself to be pulled within and there she found an ancient treasure chest. Whereupon opening it she discovered the horn of Felinith, long thought lost after the battle of Calendir. With the horn slung around her graceful neck she turned and swam to the very top of the undersea mountain, Silerat. The mountain stood in the center of a deep chasm rising almost to the surface of the water. Its peak had beguiled sailors for centuries, standing as it did in the center of a busy trade route commonly thought to be a clear traffic way. Boats traveling when the winds blew from the east faced no difficulty, but westbound ships often clipped the highest rock and took on water. By the time the wound in the ship’s hull was discovered the mount was left far behind and the mystery of the collision was never solved.
“Elaris turned to the north and placed her lips against the horn. From the round aperture a long mournful note blew. It seemed to twist in the water spreading out and resonating with the very tip of the mountaintop. The horn knew the song to play and its music filled the sea.
“Melacatrix was once a religious order whose adherents worshipped the color indigo and believed that those arrayed in vestments of that color would receive special powers when the Day of Judgment came. They felt that no color better communicated the oneness of all existence and pointed to the fact that anyone who closed their eyes and pressed their fingers to their eyelids will see indigo colored bolts of power and veins of shimmering webbing. It was said that through certain bizarre rituals the high priest of the order was able to ascend into a plain of pure color, merging his consciousness with the ideal form of indigo. This accomplishment was widely derided by the leaders of rival cults who felt that the worship of indigo was rather silly, especially when there were more deserving wavelengths of reflected light. Specifically the Mauve cult of Karathepi and the Puce acolytes of Blairath were very vocal in their criticism of the Melacatrix believers.
“As Elaris finished the song she became enveloped in a shimmering purplish-blue cloud. ‘You have called and we answer. State your request and it will be fulfilled. For there is nowhere Indigo cannot go. And nothing Indigo cannot do.’
“‘Bring to me the Golden Orb of wonder championed by Pelaquin.’
“‘It is as good as done.’
“The cloud of indigo left her then and focused together into a single ray of invisible light passing quickly down through the deep waters, flowing around the swimming things and filtering through the odd bit of living matter and the great wet emptiness in between. Through a crack in the ocean floor past swirling minerals and geothermal heat the ray of indigo slipped into a cavern where slept a creature of nightmare and darkness. Its many eyes were closed and geothermal warmth washed over it causing its many long arms to twist and float in strange waving patterns. Beneath the unspeakable mass of fishy tissue the Golden Orb pulsed with a sickly light positively dripping with revulsion for its predicament. The indigo reached out and squeezed beneath the creature to touch the surface of the Orb. Immediately the Orb blinked and was gone. The Golden Orb traveled faster than thought along the particle trail of indigo light leading out of the crevice and all the way back to the top of Mount Silerat.
“Barely had the words, ‘It is as good as done,’ faded from the ear drums of Elaris when she found herself with the Golden Orb in her hands. Amazed at the swiftness of the act she turned to thank her benefactors, but they had already left, dispersed back into the visible spectrum. She removed the horn from around her and placed it on the top of the mount. Towards the island where she had left Pelaquin she now turned and swam with great speed.
“Pelaquin stood, his back against a palm tree for support, looking out across the blue waters as his life slowly ebbed from the wound in his side. Elaris surfaced at the edge of the island and Pelaquin made to rush towards her, but he stumbled and fell. Elaris cried out seeing him fall and tried to move towards him, but when she reached the beach she could go no farther. Her tail flopped uselessly on the sand, and she was forced to claw herself painfully forward in order to reach him.
“‘Elaris, I had faith you would succeed but I fear you come too late,’ Pelaquin croaked through pain clenched lips. ‘Guard the Orb.’
“‘No! I’m here, so near. It can’t end like this.’ She clasped the Orb to her sandy breasts as tears began to stream down her face. ‘If only I could walk to you.’
“At that moment a transformation began to take place. The scaled fins that were her body below the waist began to change color and split apart at the end. The fins straightened and soon Elaris was lying on the ground stretched out with a complete set of new legs and feet. Tentatively she pushed herself up into a sitting position and rose to stand upon her feet.
“She walked to him and pulling him to her held the Orb between them. A link forged stronger than iron fused in that instant, knowing that once together they would not be parted. The ragged wound in his side healed and the scar faded away like footprints in sand removed by the rising tide.
“I must end my tale now,” the soft-spoken giant said. “For it grows late and the children already begin to droop under the veil of sleep. If you like I will tell more on the morrow, how Elaris and Pelaquin fared on the island and became parents to a strong son they named Paul. His story is one that it will take another long day to tell, and it is a story of the new land.”
The immigrants thanked the large man for his tale and drifted off to their possessions to sleep the night away. Sometime between when the last light was extinguished and the morning, the storm stopped and the big man disappeared. They were still far from land and many wondered that someone so full of the joy of life would go overboard like that.
When they came to the new world many of the immigrants established homesteads and set off into the uncharted wilderness. Many more stayed in the cities and helped communities grow and prosper. They welcomed more and more immigrants to the land they had chosen to adopt as their own and passing on stories one to another. In time tales began to filter back to the cities of a man named Paul Bunyan, a twenty foot tall giant with a golden axe leveling trees and opening up trails for settlers throughout the new world.
The children who had been aboard the boat that day smiled to themselves when they heard the stories of the man’s incredible deeds, for they remembered a taller than average man sitting on a brown duffel telling them a tale of magic.