Category: Other Page 140 of 177

Tob clung for dear life to the shaggy mane of the gurjuk, streaking across the plains to the south, in search of Benda, and the vision which had been revealed to him in a dream. In the vision, a great silver fish – which he somehow instinctively knew represented his friend – had been caught up in the claws of an even greater eagle. The two struggled, resulting in the eagle dropping the fish into the deep dark waters of a lake, which Tob took to be Lake Squamat, on the southern borders of these plains.

As is too often the case with neighbors, the Squamats were bitter rivals and on-again off-again enemies with the tribe to the north of the plains, which occupied the lake shores, river valleys, and meadows around Lake Holmat. Tob was dimly aware of these facts in a broad way through the tales and rumors told by the animals and other passengers upon the Great River which he had followed into this land. He did not know what kind of welcome – if any – to expect when he arrived on the shores of Lake Squamat, he a lowly tuber astride a feral plains-scavenging gurjuk. But he felt his new friend, whom he’d dubbed Benda the Just, was in trouble, and perhaps in all the Wide Lands, he might be the only one in a position to help.

Though he had intended, following his vision, to make haste for the lake settlements, his gurjuk steed had other ideas. It was now too dark for Tob’s meager tracking skills to be of any use, but the senses of that beast were only heightened in the dark, its natural time of activity. As they ran, Tob sensed the animal’s sudden change in attitude. Slowing to a trot, it sniffed the air, and the ground, twitched nervously, laying its ears back in a slight whine.

“What is it?” Tob asked.

The gurjuk came to a halt, and sniffed hard the ground in a widening circle. Tob had no choice but to go along for the ride. The animal had heeded his call, certainly, but was following its own volition and instincts beyond that. Tob might nudge it along the way, but he could not control this terrific beast who, presumably, could chomp him to pulp in a single stroke of its jaws.

The gurjuk stopped and stiffened, each ear tracking in a different direction independently. Suddenly its body tensed, and it bolted off in a new direction. Tob began to feel dizzy.

Out of the darkness, they began to hear curious yowls and yips, and at the periphery of his poor night vision, Tob’s many eyes caught sight of two lean, large bodies, one running up along one side, dropping off, and being replaced by another on the other side. Tob suddenly realized what was happening: it was a hunting party. And they were the prey. Tob’s gurjuk ran for its life, zig-zagging this way and that, trying to outpace the great gurjuks who chased them, whose stride was nearly double its own.

The poor beast was frightened and exhausted, and when one of the great gurjuks lunged and barreled into him from the side, Tob’s steed was knocked clear over, and tumbled end over end, rolling in the long wet grass. In the confusion, Tob too was thrown loose from his precarious hold in the creature’s mane.

Not far off, he saw the two great gurjuks close in on the smaller one he’d ridden. The creature was so frightened, he put up no fight, but rolled over on his back, submissively exposing the soft flesh of his stomach, stubby tail curled up between its legs. One of the great gurjuks looked down on him, as though laughing. The second came over, to mock-bite his neck. Then they let him get up, and the three played a furious three-way game of chase off into the darkness, leaving Tob all alone.

Tob, however, was nothing if not resourceful. During the scuffle, he laid low in the tall grass, and hoped his vegetable nature would not arouse the natural curiousity of these bloodthirsty scavengers. It did not, and by the time the three had ran off to play, Tob’s eyes and nose (in the sense he could be said to have one) had pin-pointed the soft light of a small camp-fire not too far away. Creeping still through the grass quietly, so as not to arouse undue attention, he made his way toward it as best he could.

Due to his small stature, and slow, careful pace, it took him quite some time to get over there. Twice during his trek from where he had fallen, the three gurjuks streaked past him, taking no notice. But each time, he fell flat against the earth, trying to will himself invisible. Eventually, their game took them elsewhere, and Tob’s little rootlets took him to a bit of cover in the form of a not very large rock. He crouched behind it, for he could now see the beings by the fire. Two creatures like men, but not like men, with long snouts, and hard natural protuberances, like armored, segmented shells covered much of their bodies. They gobbled away hungrily on what appeared to be small roasted game, then argued, laughed, and gambled for a time, before falling asleep.

Tob did not understand their language, but by their gestures, they seemed to keep indicating a third person in their party. And before long, Tob realized another figure lay sprawled on the ground, on the far side of these creatures. Hope rose inside Tob it was his friend. But he had to wait until the two captors were asleep – and the gurjuks far off – before he would chance crossing over there.

Eventually, his moment came. Snores rose heavily from the soldiers, for heavily armed and armored they were. Tob counted the long moments since hearing any sign of the great gurjuks, which he now understood to be their mounts. He could have circled round the sleepers the long way, and perhaps should have. But he felt another choice opportunity like this might not come along again, and it must be seized at once.

Wobbly though he was, getting up onto the ends of his rootlets, he made a calm but calculated beeline right past one of the sleeping Xenarths, and past the fire. Once there, he saw laying on the ground, propped up against some saddle bags, the brilliantly illuminated magnificent harp Eril. And he knew their prisoner could be none other than Benda. His heart leapt into his mouth, figuratively speaking, for what kept him alive and active was not a heart at all, but more like a fibrous kernel at the core of his being.

When he was past the first guard, and had rounded the far side of the fire, the flames betrayed him. A tiny tongue of flame, little more than a spark, leapt out of the crackling log, and landed on Tob’s purple hat. Even though he knew he should not, he panicked, and pulled off his beloved hat, and stomped it furiously onto the ground in an attempt to extinguish the flames.

He made not much noise, but as career soldiers, Xenarths are notoriously light sleepers, and the second guard awoke with a start, hand reaching to the hilt of the weapon on his belt. But his eyes did not immediately land on Tob, as his brain was expecting either Holmat or Squamat raiders – men, in other words. Tob had time to deftly pick up his hat, and squeeze by the second soldier and off outside the circle of the fire’s light. By the time the first was awake too, each had their arms drawn, and were facing out in a ring from the firelight, back to back, slowly circling.

They did not see Tob still, by luck, or perhaps by the enchantments of Makkarin, he never knew. But in the dark, he scrambled directly to where the third sleeping figure lay, evidently bound hand and foot, and without hesitation, dove inside the folds of its cloak.

And it was only just soon enough, for as soon as he did so, a piercing cry shook the very air itself, and a huge form blotted out the stars, descending rapidly on the Xenarths, who raised their weapons to ward it off.

It was no use though, for its talons were out, and they slashed cut easily through even the hard armor of their Xenarth flesh. They yelped in pain. The great wings pulsed once, and they were thrown heavily off their feet, and the small fire scattered into a field of small burning debris. The dreadful bird screamed again in rage, and the Xenarths cowered in abject terror. In a flash, before Tob even knew what was happening, the eagle who was Murta, had caught the sleeping form of Benda up in its claws, and Tob with it. With a great leap, it took to the air.

Jerusalem is in the centre of the map surrounded by the three continents of Asia, Europe and Africa, comprising three leaves of a clover shape.[2] The top-right leaf-shape coloured in green represents Asia, the top-left one coloured in red represents Europe, and the bottom one coloured in yellow represents Africa. The three continents include captions of their various countries and illustrations of some of their cities. Asia includes illustrations of nine cities, Europe includes one illustration of the Italian city Rome, and the continent of Africa includes illustrations of three cities with one being the Egyptian city of Alexandria.

The clover is surrounded by the ocean, with its surface including illustrations of sea creatures, monsters, and a ship. England and Denmark—as perhaps the tip of the entire Nordic countries—are represented as two island-shapes above Europe’s leaf. The Red Sea is illustrated between Asia and Africa, painted in red. America is represented as a separated, mostly unrevealed shape at the lower left corner, coloured in green like Asia, with the caption Die Neue Welt (The New World).

Source: Bünting Clover Leaf Map – Wikipedia

Sand dollars, like all members of the order Clypeasteroida, possess a rigid skeleton known as a test. The test consists of calcium carbonate plates arranged in a fivefold radial pattern.[2] In living individuals, the test is covered by a skin of velvet-textured spines which are covered with very small hairs (cilia). Coordinated movements of the spines enable sand dollars to move across the seabed. The velvety spines of live sand dollars appear in a variety of colors—green, blue, violet, or purple—depending on the species. Individuals which are very recently dead or dying (moribund) are sometimes found on beaches with much of the external morphology still intact. Dead individuals are commonly found with their empty test devoid of all surface material and bleached white by sunlight.

Source: Sand dollar – Wikipedia

“In our language, we called them Vespers. When Elgorra struck into the deep muds of our seas, the crystal embers containing the sleeping fire of that people were buried deep in the most unreachable places. And the Vespers, though insubstantial in form, ruled that dry part of the new continent not submerged beneath the waters. Invisible by day, their apparitions became visible at night, as they walked their continent to the edges of the sea, looking for the crystal embers.”

Source: The Isle of Edeb – Quatrian Folkways – Medium

“My people are Seftari.”

“Seftari?” Benda asked.

Eradus waved his hand bluntly, “A far away and ancient land, across the desert of Ner. But, there’s no way… Seftar was — ”

“Pulverized in the shock-wave when Hard-Hammer struck, and obliterated by Sea-Rise. Aye.”

“And by your reckoning, this was…?” Benda quizzed him.

“Long ago,” Banarat said, sipping from the goblet, adding mysteriously, “In my youth.”

“Seftari, then,” Benda said, “must be long-lived.”

“Apart from me, their light was extinguished. I am the last.”

Source: The Isle of Edeb – Quatrian Folkways – Medium

Benda woke up with a splitting headache, and immediately tried to put his hands up to his face to rub his temples and eye sockets. But he found he could not move. He was bound hand and foot, and evening was settling in.

Not far off, a small fire gave off light, warmth, and some smoke. His two Xenarth captors huddled round it, cooking on sticks what looked like skinned wild game they had presumably hunted on the open plains. Benda’s stomach growled, but he said nothing, and tried to give no indication of having come to. He looked around, but in the dark of the open plains could not tell whether they had moved at all.

In actual fact, a gurjuk – even the great gurjuks, such as Xenarths were known to train as war mounts – were neither large enough nor strong enough to carry both a Xenarth and an adult man on their backs. So while he was unconscious, Benda had been tied up to their satisfaction, and they made camp while they quarreled about what to do with their prize.

Even if he had been awake to hear the bulk of the argument, Benda would not have understood it, as the Xenarth tongue was alien and strange to him. But one of the soldiers thought they should return to Holmat territory with their prize, and use the hostage to negotiate an even greater share of the plundered treasure. The other however said that if the Holmats had sent out this spy after them to waylay them, then it was certain the tribe meant no good, and they would be killed by them on sight. But we would take a great many with us to the land of the shades, was the first soldier’s counter-argument. And as they roasted the small caprom rodents they’d caught that afternoon, just prior to encountering Benda, they both seriously considered this option. For Xenarths, to die in battle, with the corpses of tens of your enemies at your feet was one of the best possible ends to their short brutal lives.

The second soldier, however, was older and more cunning. He said instead that they should take their captive to the Squamats, and attempt to trade him there, where their mortal enemy would catch a higher price. This seemed like a good idea to both, as the only thing Xenarths cherished more than dying a glorious death in battle was being lavished with immeasurable wealth, precious metals, and jewels of all descriptions.

They talked this over a time, and the first soldier eventually pointed out the obvious: whether or not they brought the Squamats a captive member of their enemy tribe, the Xenarths themselves had been participating in raids against Squamat villages in the river valleys coming out of the mountains. And it was likely that word had reached their capital to the south already in Lake Squamat. And that there too, they were just as likely to be killed on sight.

Less likely, corrected the older, craftier soldier. For if they approached the Holmats, they would certainly be recognized at once. But if they approached the Squamats, it was entirely possible their recent deeds would remain unknown. In the end, the deciding factor boiled down to whether a friend or a foe would pay a higher price for a hostage. The first soldier said one’s countryman would pay the higher price, for the lives of one’s enemies are valued not at all.

Unless, said the second, the captive was a man of rank, which they both esteemed Benda to be on account of his fine camouflage cloak, and the harp which they had found and pulled from him when they searched his unconscious body. Therefore, said the second, the enemy Squamats would pay the higher initial price, because they would understand the significance of this hostage, and his value to their Holmat enemies.

So, even if the Holmats would pay the higher end price, the danger to the Xenarths was greater if they returned to Holmat territory. And they could use this higher estimated final value as a bargaining chip with the Squamats, who they presumed would simply see the whole thing in terms of a profitable economic transaction, as they themselves did. And they could be easily brought to understand that whatever price the Xenarths demanded, the Holmats would certainly double it when the Squamats later went to trade Benda back.

Whether this logic was entirely valid under the norms of Squamat culture is outside the point, as this chain of reasoning and argumentation was typical of Xenarths. And to a certain extent, this pragmatic, profit-driven hard-headedness – along with their natural toughness, strength, and, of course, their armor – was what drove their success as mercenaries across Kremel, and even into the Ner desert, and the regions beyond. So they decided to head due south to Lake Squamat, where they would try to trade their prisoner to whatever local chieftain they could find who seemed amenable. But of course, as Benda could not ride, they needed him in walking condition.

After their course of action had been decided, and their caproms nicely roasted, the younger of the two went over to where Benda lay (who had shut again his eyes to feign unconsciousness, still not understanding what was happening, or where they were headed). The soldier kicked him once hard in the ribs. Benda groaned and opened his eyes.

“Awake?” the Xenarth said in the common tongue of the plains, which Benda understood enough to nod. “Eat,” the soldier said, and threw a hunk of roasted caprom meat onto the dirt near Benda’s face, and walked away. Though he had to wriggle somewhat and roll onto his side to do so, Benda took it in his mouth, and chewed it hungrily.

After this, the Xenarths went back to laughing and cavorting, and gambled for a while using some golek-knuckle dice before falling asleep. The gurjuks, which had been untied to go hunt for themselves, were nowhere to be seen, and Benda too fell back to a dark and dreamless sleep.

Signature to Asclepeion was the practice of incubatio, also known as ‘temple sleep.'[3] This was a process by which patients would go to sleep in the temple with the expectation that they would be visited by Asclepius himself or one of his healing children in their dream. During this time, they would be told what it is that they needed to do in order to cure their ailment. At the very least, they would wake up having not been directly visited by a deity and instead report their dream to a priest. The priest would then interpret the dream and prescribe a cure, often a visit to the baths or a gymnasium.

Source: Asclepeion – Wikipedia

An immram (/ˈɪmrəm/; plural immrama; Irish: iomramh, pronounced [ˈʊmˠɾˠəw], voyage) is a class of Old Irish tales concerning a hero’s sea journey to the Otherworld (see Tír na nÓg and Mag Mell). Written in the Christian era and essentially Christian in aspect, they preserve elements of Irish mythology.

The immrama are identifiable by their focus on the exploits of the heroes during their search for the Otherworld, located in these cases in the islands far to the west of Ireland. The hero sets out on his voyage for the sake of adventure or to fulfill his destiny, and generally stops on other fantastic islands before reaching his destination. He may or may not be able to return home again.

Source: Immram – Wikipedia

Historians have conjectured the “Devils” of Satanazes might be a reference to the Skraelings (indigenous peoples of Greenland and Vinland) reported in the Norse sagas, notably the Grœnlendinga saga and the saga of Erik the Red, which began to filter south around this time. Pizzigano may have constructed Satanazes island to capture their rough geographic location.[6]

The possible connection between the Satanazes and the Skraelings was first proposed by Nordenskiöld (1889), his attention drawn by an inscription on some islands between Newfoundland and Greenland in the 1508 map of Johannes Ruysch, which notes how ‘devils’ located there attacked sailors (See Isle of Demons).[7] The connection need not require direct knowledge of the Norse sagas themselves, e.g. Fridtjof Nansen has drawn attention to how Norse encounters with North American ‘demons’ were adopted in Irish immrama,.[8] Given the tendency of the legends of Atlantic seafarers – Norse, Irish, Arab and Iberian – to move quickly and cross-fertilize each other,[9] the news of an Isle of Devils out in the North Atlantic may have arrived to Italian cartographers via several channels.

Source: Satanazes – Wikipedia