Category: Other Page 133 of 177

Benda rode behind one of the knights of the Guard who had discovered him, parched and bewildered on a trail along a beach of Devera.

Though a lush ancient forest prevailed here in the time of the original Drynareans, during this time, few trees were to be found. And the ocean breezes swept as far inland as the Castle of Devera, to which they were en route. As the trees had dwindled, so had the dwellers amongst the trees, and the province was only sparsely populated.

As they approached the castle, though it stood in good shape, it clearly told its age as one of the most ancient in the Kremellian peninsula. What had once been a thriving village around it was now nothing more than a few half-inhabited hovels which sometimes sheltered shepherds and passers-through.

They entered the outer wall of the castle, and dismounted. A stable boy appeared, and led their golek* steeds to rest and feed. The three — Benda, and the two knights of the guard — crossed the yard, and entered the small door of the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was a moderately sized square chamber of hewn stown, whose floor was checked in a curious pattern of black and white squares. Shields bearing coats of arms festooned one wall, and a large tapestry depicting the entirety of ancient Drynarean woodland tribal territory adorned another. The two decorated walls formed a corner around a very modest dais, raised only one step up from the checkered floor. A simple wooden chair sat upon it, made of wood from a legendary tree, the Helemba.

Onto this dais ascended the knight behind whom Benda had ridden hence. With a single flourish, he both removed his hood and flung his cloak behind his shoulders, sitting down upon the throne of Helemba.

Though amnesiac as to his own identity, Benda recognized still the grandeur of a king in his own hall, and bowed to one knee.

“That is unnecesary,” said the first knight. “You are my guest and equal. Rise.”

Benda rose, and the second knight brought him a chair to sit.

“I bid you sit, friend traveler,” said the first knight to him. “I can see you’ve journeyed far, and seen great trials. Be at rest.”

“Thank you,” Benda stammered, sitting down.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Eradus Drynarus, First Knight and Protector of the Realm of Devera, Fifth King of Kremel, and King Under the Wood.”

“And this is my brother, Emlad, Second Knight and Protector of the Realm.”

Emlad bowed to Benda. “At your service,” he said, smiling broadly.

“Would that I could return such a fair introduction in kind,” Benda said. “Think me not impolite, but my name now is lost to me.”

Eradus considered for a moment, then said, “Then we shall call you Lost, until your true name be found.”

Benda smiled, “Let it be so, my king!”

“If you would have me be your king,” Eradus said, “then I bid thee, play a song with this magnificent harp of yours, and perhaps it will discover us something of your past. Unless Lost is not just your name, but your music too.”

Benda closed his eyes, sensing deeply within. He unstrapped the harp from his back and took it into his hands.

“I think not,” he said, and began plucking the strings of the magical instrument, Eril.

As he played, the vastness of the Great Hall seemed to increase dramatically in all directions, and into this unbounded space, the knights listening felt themselves tumble.

Benda, at length in a trance brought on by the charms of that instrument, lifted up his voice in wordless harmony with it. Eradus felt the pool of his heart open like the Full Moon had revealed itself suddenly from behind clouds and reflected in it. Emlad stood by in silent wonder.

Words came then to Benda’s lips as he sang, in a language he knew not, nor had ever recollected singing. Though in hearing them pass out of his mouth, he recognized that he once had sung in a foreign tongue, seemingly long, long ago…

Though he himself recognized not its significance, Benda’s song told the tale of a people who had had to leave their homes long ago, setting sail in despair and longing only to return to more untroubled times. Eradus and Emlad, neither of whom understood the words of the song, felt themselves transported nevertheless to a far off land, and felt that same despair and longing communicated with perfect crystalline clarity that moved in waves through them physically, and seemed to connect them to something beyond themselves, and their own place and time. Both men wept openly.

At length, Benda’s song ended, and he put down the harp, Eril, wordless onto his lap.

“Lost be thy name,” said Eradus. “And lost felt I in your song… Are you able to render the lyric into our common tongue?”

Benda shook his head, “Would that I could, my king. For lost too was I — in another land, far away. The words came unbidden to my lips, though I felt the truth of them in heart and in my spirit.”

Emlad replied quietly, “As did we.” He, and his brother the king looked at one another and both nodded.

“Lost be they name,” Eradus repeated. “And let thy station be First Minstrel of Devera.”

Benda got up from his chair, and bowed low before the dais, at the honor bestowed on him.

Eradus continued, “For here, we have found ourselves together. Here we have heard the Great Mystery. Rise, First Minstrel — ”

Benda stood up.

“ — And let us go together toward it. Though none of us three gathered here know these ancient words — for their antiquitity is clear — there is one who may. He who is wiser than I. Let us go together to him.”

So it was arranged that Eradus Drynarus, the Fifth King of Kremel, would set out with Benda Lost, his new First Minstrel to the court of the Fourth King, in the next province over. Benda was given several days to rest and recover his strength. Good simple food, and forest elixir were his in abundance, and Emlad gave him a replacement set of garments in the fashion of the Drynarean woodsmen, and a Cloak of Becoming.

“Draw the cloak around your shoulders, and the hood up over you in time of need,” instructed Emlad, “and you might vanish before the eyes of all but the most skilled watchers.”

Benda bowed low, accepting this gift.

“Should you so desire, I have for you a sword as well,” he held up a short, and beautifully inlaid Drynarean forest blade.

Benda’s eyes fell upon it, and his hand rose up, fingers stroking the inlay gingerly. Suddenly, there flashed in his mind an image as much as a feeling… of himself, but not himself, clothed in mail, and helmed, staring into the eyes of another man, shocked at sudden pain.

He heard in the ear of his mind, words in another tongue which he somehow understood, “You should have dropped your sword — ”

And the vision vanished just as suddenly. His hand dropped from the Drynarean blade offered to him so graciously by Emlad.

“I — I had better not,” Benda said. Thinking better of it, he added, “For what need has First Minstrel for arms of war. That is not his function. I shall keep to my harp.”

“As you wish, First Minstrel,” responded Emlad smiling.

On the third day after, Eradus and Benda set out. Emlad stayed behind to mind the castle and the affairs of state brought to him by such villagers and peasants as remained in the realm. To Benda, Eradus loaned the golek* mount Dema, normally ridden by Emlad, his brother. Eradus himself rode Selef, who was the mate of Dema. Thus equipped, they set out by the High Road to the Fourth Kingdom.

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*(A golek is a type of approximately half-rabbit, half-horse animal endemic to the peninsula of Kremel, whose intelligence in certain capacities surpassed even that of their human charges, over whom they saw themselves as guardians.)

Benda lost track of all time after the storm at sea. With his companion Ofend washed overboard, and the barrels of provisions they’d brought from Quatria similarly lost at sea, Benda went without food or water. For how long he did not know.

Down to only one oar and his single square sail in tatters, Benda gave himself up for dead. And in this hour of darkest despair, the will of the sea brought him to currents which carried him aground in a small cove on the far north shore of the Kremellian peninsula. Though his memory was as tattered as the sail of his poor vessel, and he knew it not, this was the realm of Devera, the Fifth Kingdom, and ancient homeland of a tribe of forest-dwellers called the Drynareans. He was still a long way from home, he sensed, and safety.

He feebly climbed out of the boat, his feet touching down onto hot sand, for it was a little past midday. Before departing it, he kissed the side of the boat which had carried him hither — alive, if not intact. He recalled not from where. But he spied the harp which had been given to him by… someone he could not recall. Strapping it to his back with a bit of cord, he set off.

Though Devera was once home to a great forest primeval, by that era, the woodlands had retreated well back from the shores. And there was no cover he could see, though he sensed perhaps the odor of a trickle of fresh water somewhere nearby. He crawled on his belly in the hot sand toward the direction his intuition inclined him, his harp strapped across his back.

It was thus that, some hours later, when the sun had begun to lengthen shadows, that two Knights of the Guard of the Fifth Kingdom found him, insensate and muttering, stretched out on the road along the sea. At the sight of this poor, miserable wretch, the two knights dismounted.

“Ho, there!” the First Knight saluted him. The Second Knight fondled the pommel of his sword under his traveling cloak in readiness.

“Water,” Benda managed to croak out, just barely.

The First Knight readily obliged, seeing the sorry state of the man whom, judging by the instrument strapped to his back, he took to be a roving minstrel. He produced a skin filled with revivifying herbal water, a family variation on an ancient Drynarean recipe, and handed it to Benda. He drank deeply, and after a long moment, felt the strength to sit upright, and attempted to hand the water back to the First Knight.

“I am in your debt,” he said, hoarsely.

The knight waved his hand away at this, and with another gesture encouraged him to keep going. “Drink your fill, my good minstrel,” he said to Benda, looking back to the Second Knight, who released his hidden grip on his sword.

“Pray, tell me your name,” said the First Knight to Benda. “And from whence you have come, in such a state.”

Benda drank more of the liquid, which he found marvelously refreshing. And he thought for a long moment, trying to recollect the answers to these questions set before him.

At length, he shook his head, saying, “Forgive me, good sirs, but I know neither who I am, nor from where I have come. I know that I came by sea, and my vessel ran aground on these shores. Beyond these most simple facts, I am at quite a loss. My apologies.”

He handed back the near empty cask to the First Knight, who this time readily accepted it.

“Apologies are unnecessary, Harper. You have obviously traveled a great distance, and suffered much. Any one can plainly see you are in need of secours. Come, ride with us if you are able. We shall take you to a place where you can rest, and recover yourself. And when you are ready, you can tell us your tale in full, and perhaps sing a song of your travels on that great instrument of yours.”

At this, Benda smiled tenderly. “I humbly accept your offer, though it may be I lack the strength to rest astride your mount.”

“I will see that you fall not,” said the First Knight, who helped him up into the saddle, and took his place behind him. The Second Knight mounted his steed, and they set off at a trot.

“Whither do we go?” said Benda.

“To the castle and court of the Fifth King,” replied the knight.

In Ancient Quatria, there was a secret castle located within the ring of mountains which guard the entrance to the Hypogeum.

Knowledge of this Secret Castle was forbidden to all those entities who do not have the right or the means to traverse the worlds.

Many magical beasts and therianthropic magicians populate and pass through the environs of this castle on their way into, out of, or around the Hypogeum as part of their ritual pilgrimage and circumambulations.

Among those denizens, which are known through the scant and secret tales passed to outsiders, are said to be the alpaga (common to all of Quatria and its colonies), the landwhale, and the eohippus or so-called “dawn horse.”

Benda silently treaded water for a time in the dark, while a bedraggled and waterlogged Tob crawled out from the folds of his cloak, and perched himself on Benda’s shoulder. Benda drew his cloak up over his head for added cover, but after many long minutes, no challenge came at them from the sky. Though they did not yet breathe a sigh of relief, Benda began to get the sense that the eagle who was Murta had abandoned the hunt – for now.

Tob whispered in his ear though, “He’ll surely be back at first light.”

Benda nodded somberly, but was at a loss for what to do. He could not see more than a short distance in the dark, and as far as either could tell, they were somewhere in the middle of a giant featureless lake.

While mulling this over, they heard a splash behind them, which chilled them to the bone (even though Tob did not have ‘bones’). Benda held his breath, and sunk down into the water until just his eyes peered out into the darkness. Tob scrambled up to the top of Benda’s head. They waited for several breathless moments, until suddenly just in front of them, a set of big round eyes materialized, curious. Benda exhaled bubbles into the water in surprise, and was forced to surface.

The eyes were attached to a round furry face, and it mirrored Benda’s movements, rising when he rose, gasping when he gasped. And after a moment, it seemed to chitter with a kind of quiet animal laughter, and dove below the surface.

Benda and Tob looked around studiously, and from his vantage point atop Benda’s head, Tob suddenly exclaimed in a loud whisper, “Kumbio!”

And as if reciting from memory an encyclopedia entry regarding the animals of Kremel, he continued in a hushed voice: “A large aquatic rodent native to the central lakes region; a close cousin of the caproms of the nearby plains.”

“Friendly?” Benda whispered nervously.

“Playful,” Tob corrected. “Perhaps there’s some way…” Tob began.

Before he could finish though, the kumbio had returned and was looking at them again with its big round eyes. Suddenly, a second animal appeared.

“Hail, gentle kumbios!” Tob offered in a loud whisper.

They seemed to take no notice, and chittered quietly to one another. Suddenly, one of them vanished, while the other swam in a gentle circle around them, rolling over onto its back to paddle, showing its plump wet furry belly. In a moment, the second creature had returned, dragging in its mouth a water-logged branch, somewhat longer than a man’s leg. It swam back and forth in front of Benda, as if offering the branch to him. Benda seized one end of it with both hands. Without warning, the two kumbios swam off, one pulling the branch in its teeth, and thus Benda and poor Tob along with it. The other continued diving and reappearing at various distances, as if standing watch. Benda kicked with his feet to follow, and Tob simply wound his little rootlets into the cap of Benda’s cloak and hung on as best he could.

After some minutes of this, Benda could make out the shore of a small island in the lake. The kumbio towed them toward it, and Benda felt a wave of relief and exhaustion wash over him. As they made their approach, though, the first kumbio, who had been swimming in a protective ring came over to Benda, and looking at him face to face, sank below the water with what seemed like a smile. He popped up again, repeated the maneuver a second time, and then a third, nodding his head after each reappearance.

Tob whispered, “I think they want us to follow them underwater the rest of the way.”

Benda nodded silently in the dark, and said to Tob, “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” whispered Tob. They both inhaled deeply, and in a flash, the first kumbio dove and swam off, while the second, still dragging the branch tenaciously in its teeth, looked back at them once, and plunged underwater.

It was not long before they reached the underwater entry to the lodge of the kumbios. Called a kiwot in the local Squamat language, the lodge consisted of a a mound of sticks and mud, and a hollow cavity within, into which Benda, Tob, and the two kumbios entered. The air inside, Benda was surprised and pleased to discover, was warm and fresh. And he lay on his back, completely soaked, while exhaustion overtook him. Tob, meanwhile, looked about their surroundings, taking off and wringing the water from his purple hat, while the kumbios licked themselves and one another clean. He noticed that here and there, woven into the branches which composed the kiwot were a kind of luminous subtance. He inspected it closer, stroking some with a rootlet. Seaweed, he realized. They must harvest it from the lake, he thought.

The next morning, Benda woke to find the kiwot empty, except for Tob, who was rolled over onto his side, and snoring loudly. The kumbios were nowhere to be seen. Benda pulled off his cloak, which was nearly dry, and hung it from the end of a branch in the vault of the kiwot’s ceiling. He took stock of himself.

Though he had lost the harp Eril, an object of whose value he was still only dimly aware, he still had on his belt the thunderstone knife of Banarat. And he still somehow had the goblet the old man had given Eradus, and which Eradus had given to him, on their parting in the place below. It seemed odd the Xenarths had taken neither, but he got the sense perhaps they were not the brightest. In any event, the little remaining bread and cheese he kept in a pouch had turned into watery mush and slime, respectively. His stomach growled.

The sound of it was loud enough, apparently, that it even woke Tob.

“Ho there,” he said groggily. His many eyes blinked in the shafts of sunlight which penetrated through the cracks in the kiwot lodge.

“I owe you an apology,” Benda said, embarrassed.

“And let’s not forget a thank you!” Tob laughed.

“And a thank you for saving me,” Benda added.

“Twice, in fact!” corrected Tob, in a jesting manner.

“Yes, twice,” said Benda, penitently.

“And,” Tob added, “you owe me a tale – or several, I should say. When I rescue someone, it’s nice to know from what I am rescuing them.”

“Of course,” said Benda. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Benda proceeded to explain why he had crept off that morning after meeting Tob and hearing his many tales: that he was weary, and just wanted to get home to his family the quickest way possible.

“If you call this quick!” laughed Tob.

Benda smiled, and went on to tell him all that had passed since his departure, with the Xenarths, and with Murta. He told Tob about the passage through the world below, their visit to the Cloud Spire, and everything else. All the way back to his adventures in the land of Quatria.

“Mm,” Tob said excitedly, upon mention of this ancient mysterious land. “Mm, indeed.”

At that moment, the two kumbios returned, splashing up from the watery entry into the kiwot. They seemed to smile broadly, and licked themselves and one another clean once more. One of them – Benda could not really tell them apart – deposited a bit of fresh luminescent seaweed in front of Benda, bowing its head, baring its teeth instructively toward the plant matter, and nodding to Benda. He understood, picked some up, and chewed it. The taste was remarkable, and unlike anything he had eaten before. He felt renewed at once.

“You were saying about Quatria,” reminded Tob.

“Yes,” Benda agreed. He was not sure whether the kumbios understood human speech, but he addressed them each in turn as he went on.

“The giant eagle,” he said, and he flapped his arms to mimic the great bird. The kumbios seemed impressed, and he thought they might understand. “He wants me to reveal the way back to Quatria. Though, I’m certain I don’t know it. If I won’t do what he wants, he’ll use me – my mind – to unlock the way, even if I’m destroyed in the process.”

The kumbios looked at one another, and nodded somberly amongst themselves.

After a time, Tob spoke, “So, we get you to your family. And what happens then? What about your king?” he said. And unthinkingly, he added, “What about the other men seeking you?”

“Other men seeking me?” said Benda. “Who? How do you know this?”

It was then Tob’s turn to tell Benda of his vision, of the eagle with a fish in its talons – which is what had given Tob the idea to try the spell of transformation in the first place (which he was not ready to admit had never worked before). And he told finally of the riders from the east, over the mountains, bearing the red banner of the citadel.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Benda.

“Neither do I,” said Tob, with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Neither do I.”

The two kumbios shook their heads in agreement.

Before the Five Kingdoms Period, the Kremellian peninsula was inhabited by dozens of tribes over thousands of years.

The traditional tribal territories of the Twelve Major Tribes are depicted in the map above, and the names of those same tribes listed below, following the commonly accepted list found in Redgraves [1]:

• Ardeid
• Bovini
• Cannaxid
• Chiropt
• Drynarean
• Holmat
• Hyloceran
• Icthyomid
• Lagomid
• Metailurian
• Squamat
• Xenarth

Where is Kremel?

Kremel is the generalized name of a former peninsular landmass in the South Pantarctican Sea, which was subject to subsidence flooding during the Lesser Upheaval event of 20,139 T.C.E., and which vanished beneath the floodwaters shortly thereafter.

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Etymology

The word Krem-el is derived from the Ancient Proto-Kremellian term for citadel, reflecting the stonework fortification around which the larger City of Kremel formed, and for which the surrounding principality was named, as well as the peninsula as a whole. The term is also less commonly used to indicate the Wall of Kremel which separated the south-east portion of that lush province from the harsh desert and its roving denizens beyond.

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Pre-Historic Tribes

In the pre-historic period, it is said that over a hundred different tribes co-inhabited the Kremellian peninsula at different times more or less peacefully for several millennia. Though their names and make-ups changed over time, the major ancient tribal groups of Kremel were:

• Wood
• Fisher
• Fire
• Stone
• Cart
• Arrow
• Feather
• Song

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Colonial Period

During the ascendancy of the Song tribe, which originally hailed from the mountain lakes region of the province of Cannaxus, a flotilla of four foreign ships appeared on the horizon. Apart from simple fishing vessels, the people of the Kremellian peninsula at that time were not sea-goers. Evidently, the foreign ships had been drawn hither somehow because of the incredible music which was an integral part of the religious life of the Song tribe. It was said they heard it all the way in their homeland over the seas.

The People of the Four Ships settled on the Kremellian peninsula, building their Four Colonies, close to the shores in Cannaxus, Kremel, Devera, and Ur-Holmat (the province originally encompassing the mainland and island parts of Edebia, and Holmat as depicted in the map at top). They politically, economically, and musically supported the Song tribe, spreading a blend of Song and Four Ship culture, technology, philosophy and music to the entire Kremellian peninsula.

Hundreds of years later, the Song tribe was sundered and driven into the sea by the Stone tribe and Arrow tribe in alliance, and the Four Colonies were abandoned. The People of the Ships returned to their ships, and departed for their homeland over the seas. The Four Colonies collapsed politically, and were taken over militarily by the tribes ascendant in each region during the following Dark Age.

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Pentarchy

The height of medieval Kremellian culture saw the consolidation of tribal power around the hubs of the former Four Colonies, which became cities under that new order. During this period, Ur-Holmat fractured into Holmat and Edebia, and the Twin Cities of Edebia were founded (one on each side of the Edebian Passage). The Fire tribe was extinguished by the Stone and Arrow tribes, and the Feather tribe driven off over the Wall and mountains and into the harsh deserts southeast of the peninsula.

The tribes were governed by tribal chieftains, who styled themselves after the legendary kings of old in the mythic sagas of the now-departed People of the Four Ships. As these tribal kings rose in stature over successive generations, the territorial borders more or less stabilized into the forms depicted in the map at top. The Five Kings sat together in High Council five times per year to make collective decisions which impacted their kingdoms as a whole.

Passing the uninhabited island of Gilla, which sat at the mouth of the Bay of Erasure, Benda and Ofend sailed quietly out to sea in the direction of Kremel.

Though Benda was accustomed to navigating by the stars, his method was confounded in this region, on account of what seemed to be different stars. Instead, he followed the directions of the High Augur, which had been to head towards the rising sun by day, and by night, towards a constellation which was new to Benda, the Five Sisters.

Thus they sailed for three days and three nights. They supped lightly from the preserves they had brought for the voyage, and talked only a little. After their first joyful song on the instruments given to them by the High Augur, they did not again make music, but passed their time quietly: looking off into the distance, napping, and, Benda increasingly found, trying to recollect the memories of Quatria which he was now aware were slipping away from him.

On the third night, as they pointed their vessel toward the Five Sisters, and the sea was calm, Benda finally broached the subject with Ofend, his traveling companion.

“Tendar,” he began uncertainly. “Do you… remember?”

Ofend gave him a puzzled look in return. “Remember what?”

“The place,” Benda said. “The people… where we were.”

Ofend looked thoughful, “I remember the music. Music everywhere you went…”

“And someone we left behind,” Benda was shocked he could not recall their name.

“Yeah, hm… Tall guy,” Ofend said. “Very dry sense of humor. Yes — where has he got off to now?” He looked genuinely confused.

“I wish I knew,” said Benda. “I wish I knew.”

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On the third morning, their routine was interrupted. Though Ofend was supposed to be keeping watch, he too had fallen asleep. Benda awoke with a start, internally recognizing that it was — or should be — well past day-break. But the sun had not risen.

He shook Ofend awake, pointing to the sky.

“No stars. No sunrise,” he said, worry mounting.

A thick mist began to roll in, making it impossible to see. Though there was nothing to be seen. All was black, blacker than night. But for the mist, which seemed to hang bodily in the air.

And then the wind started. A quiet whistling far off, a whispering whoosh, which rapidly turned into gusting and then a gale. The sea rose up in troubled response. Their tiny vessel was tossed about like a toy in the tempest on the giant swells which swept up, crashing. Waves roared over the sides of the boat, hurling themselves across the deck, seeking to sweep over anything not already sufficiently lashed down.

Ofend spied a knot coming undone, which held one of their barrels of food. Instinctively, he got up to fix it.

Benda shouted at him through the waves and water, “Leave it! Get down!”

No sooner had he said this than a great wave crashed over the side of the boat, sending Ofend off his feet, and tumbling over the side into the raging waters below.

Benda raced to the side, took up one of the two long oars with which the vessel was equipped, and angled the broad end of it down into the water near Benda, who was yet within reach — if only he could just get a little bit further…

With one hand, Benda gripped the oar, stretching to his maximum to get it to Ofend, and with the other held on tightly to the side of the boat. Another swell hit their broadside and a wave crashed violently over the deck. And though Benda retained his grip on the boat, he lost hold of the oar, which slipped into the water.

As he righted himself, he saw that Ofend had managed to grab hold of the oar finally, and was using its natural buoyancy to help him tread water. But the current by now had carried him well out of the distance of even the throw of a weighted rope, Benda judged. And there was precious little left for him to do but watch as Ofend was swept out to sea, and make sure at least that he himself hunkered down and withstood the storm. This he did, though he wept bitterly for the loss of his friend, the salt of his tears mixing freely with the salt of the sea which took him.

Benda left his audience with Emachus, the High Augur, in good spirits. He returned straight away to the private apartments he shared with Tendar and Ofend, his countrymen, attached to a prominent inn on Temple Mount.

Finding them both there at their leisure — an unusual occurrence recently with their busy schedules participating in the endless pageants of the Temple — he enjoined them to listen a while by the fire as he related all that the High Augur said to him.

When he was finished, Tendar spoke first:

“It is good, Benda, that you return to the Five Kingdom to retrieve your family. But as you know, I myself have none. Though I will be saddened at your departure, I elect to remain here. These people have become as much my family as I’ve ever had.”

Ofend nodded vigorously at this last statement, adding, “For my part, I whole-heartedly agree. Never have I known such joy as on these gentle shores. But I would be sorely aggrieved were I never to see my poor elderly mother again. I will accompany you, dear Benda, that we may all return here after, and settle on the island of Ovarion which has been so graciously granted to us by our hosts.”

“It pains me to part company, Tendar,” Benda said. “As I see myself responsible for our having been lost in the storm at sea and landing here. Will you not reconsider?”

Tenda replied gently, “Trouble yourself not, dear Benda. For though your strengths are many, you control not the storms at sea. It was my choice to embark with you both to begin with. And if you feel yourself responsible for our current predicament, know that it is indeed not a predicament at all, but a delight. To the extent you can claim responsibility for my present state, claim it surely for that.”

Benda smiled. “That is very generous, old friend.”

“After a time,” Tendar responded, “I will go first to Ovarion, and begin preparing a place for the happy return of you both with your families, and perhaps I with my own, with any luck!”

“In this, and in all things, I wish you then good fortune, dear friend!”

“Then, it is settled,” he continued. “You shall have our brave fishing vessel which brought us here in the first at your disposal. Though she has seen one too many storms at sea, I have no doubt she may still ply the coasts of this country without disturbance.”

The day of departure was planned, and within a fortnight arrived. The Quatrian vessel granted to Benda by the High Augur himself, though small, proved to be quite trusty. And it was laden with supplies to weather the voyage back to Kremel. Ofend and Benda made their final preparations, while Tendar looked on, with Emachus, the High Augur, and Garth Al Elum, who was among the first to welcome them to this land.

“May your voyage be uneventful, and your return swift,” proclaimed the High Augur.

“Thank you,” said Benda, standing on deck, looking down at them on the docks.

“Though it bode not well for us, your desire to be reunited with your family is a testament to your character,” Emachus said. “I ask you only consider one thing…”

“If it be within my power, and my reason prove it out to be good counsel, I will obey,” Benda replied.

“Your reason may well abhor what I am about to ask,” said Emachus. “But I beseech you once again: return to your country, and retrieve your family. But do so in stealth. Take the guise of simple merchants — from any land but this one. And report back not to your king, nor any of the Five Kings. Put your honor for a moment aside, return here in all haste without revealing the secret of our continued existence. In this manner, we may elide the vicissitudes of fate’s passing footprint in the coming moments…”

Benda was silent a long time. “Were it asked by any other,” he said. “I would not for a moment consider forsaking my duty to tell my king all I’ve seen in this fair land. Further, it is my firm belief and certainty that our peoples would both be enriched by renewed contact after these countless generations sundered from you, our own lost cousins… Though I cannot promise you I will go against my honor and deny my king of this amazing and joyous re-discovery, I will deeply consider your request as we sail homeward. And I promise that so long as I live, no harm shall come to Quatria.”

Emachus smiled, for he knew that once the Kremellians learned again about the lost land of Quatria, the promise Benda made would be no longer within his power alone to keep. Still, he admired him for the purity of hear which caused him to make it.

Emachus pulled then from the folds of his cloak an instrument, a small harp. He held it up before him, beckoning to Benda:

“Take this then as a parting gift, the harp Eril. So long as music is played upon its strings, the spirit of Quatria shall remain. And you and yours shall ever be able to find your way back here again.”

Benda accepted it solemnly with a great bow.

“Though it has been restored and tuned to suit your voice, its heart comes from a much older instrument, the tale of which I will tell you in full when you return hence.”

For Ofend, meanwhile, he produced a simple but beautiful flute of the kind so frequently seen in that country. He handed it to him, saying:

“Play it and all doors shall be opened to you in time of need.”

“I humbly accept,” Ofend said, himself bowing low.

They each embraced in turn. Benda and Ofend boarded the vessel. And no sooner than had they re-boarded than a gentle wind picked up. Benda unlashed the vessel, and they slipped silently from the dock into the Bay of Erasure.

As they floated softly out toward the opening of the Bay, and the sea beyond, Benda plucked gently at the harp named Eril. Hearing this, Ofend took up the flute to accompany him. While they played, they passed without incident through the gates of the Bay of Erasure, between the towers of Raggath and Jyagar, into the sea beyond. And though they did not yet realize it, their memories of the weeks and months they had spent in that land began to slip silently away from them.

Elum pierced the surface of the waters with barely a splash. Such was the power of the old-path he had activated, that the somatic memories of his Buorthern sailor-diver ancestors coursed through him as he descended into the depths.

Though Lux had broken his fall enough that his bones were not crushed on impact, he had still enough momentum and technique that his body offered precious little resistance to the already turbulent waters. He plunged deeper and deeper, until he reached a level of profundity where all appeared calm. There was an all-encompassing darkness, but it did not smother. It was an empty space, and though his inner ear told him the truth that he was hurtling forward through space, he felt at once suspended in that vastness.

For a few brief moments, he saw himself as from outside himself. His body an object under witness and guidance of the ancestral paths he had called down. In the distance, he thought he heard the patient, furtive steps as of a doe in the forest, and the peal of bells.

He returned to himself, and quickly saw approaching what seemed a tiny islet in the dark abyss which continued on unfathomed below. He knew it to be rather the top of an outcrop of rocks below, and assumed it meant his death.

But instead of impacting with force, his body of its own accord turned slightly, hands flaring, and he slowed to the subtlest halt, his face nearly touching the sand coating the tiny protuberance of rock. On it grew a small, but lusciously foiled plant with many waving branches, which seemed arms beckoning him to say hello. It glowed slightly.

Without thinking, he reached out both hands, and plucked several branches from the plant. Two in his left, one in his right. And just as suddenly, he kicked and flapped slightly, and found himself expertly hurtling back topward with great velocity, his tiny branches securely in tow.

Meanwhile, far above, Lux circled the area around the falls, and its lower effluent, hunting for her human companion with keen eyes. Finding nothing, her worry increased.

Elum surfaced, gasping, much farther down-river (he assumed) in an area he knew not. His life prior in the Great Forest had not taken him down into the Cyric Cleft and beyond. Though this patch of river at first seemed calm, he knew his life was in danger. The area immediately preceding the Break Water, an impassable rough, large water-course which was fed by not only the Weeping Waters, but many other smaller expulsions from the vast cavern system linking to the Hypogeum. He called out to Lux on their light channel, and she responded at once, speeding to reach him.

As the waters picked up force, Elum sputtered and spun, and in an effort to right himself, he lost hold of the branch of the magic plant in his right hand, and it floated away and out of sight. He gripped still carefully the other two in his left hand, and set his resolve to not lose them.

Just then, Lux arrived, and swooped low to clutch at his wet shoulders and clothes which clung to him. He trapped one of her claws in his free right hand, and together they flapped and sputtered and struggled in to the shore.

Elum crawled up, and lay on his back, nearly passing out from the exertion. Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he looked down at himself. Clutched still in his left hand were two branches of the plant he’d retrieved from deep beneath the Weeping Waters. He knew not then its name, only sensing dimly and instinctually its importance. It’s name was axla (one of its many names). It was a plant the Majonans had brought with them from the Buorth.