Chapter 10: The Ordeal

Berin and Glavino cross the sea and close in on Rini's location. However, no guide will take them over the mountains. Something lurks there, something unmentionable.

The Ordeal

There was no sign of Rini’s ship, let alone the three captives. Berin and Glavino searched the docks for the three. They were nowhere to be seen.

“Must be on ship already.”

Berin was unsure on his next course of action.

“I want to follow the path the trader said,” he whispered as they dove behind sweet-smelling crates. Here was his dilemma: his wife was traversing in one direction and his children in two others. To chase after his wife would mean returning through the Orguein, the Alangan islands from where he had escaped in his youth.

“But she is your wife, Berin!’ cried Glavino.

“I know, Glavino.”

“She saved your life.”

“I know.”

“You love her much.”

“I know. There is something, deep inside of me, something telling me. Maybe it is the gods. It is telling me too…” he trailed off. He drooped his head and drew a breath. It had been a long day.

“Perhaps I go after your wife.”

“Yes, a simpleton can weave his way through the perils of the Orguein.”

“Simpleton?”

“Does not matter.”

“So shall I go?”

“No. I need you.”

“Thank you.”

Berin did not dwell on niceties. “We must follow the trader who bought my children. I would pursue Juolo later. She can endure longer than my children.”

I hope.

“But which way do we travel first?”

“We have to move south. I cannot pass through the islands of Orguein.”

“Because there you are a wanted man?”

“Yes, Glavino, because I am a wanted man.” Berin rolled his eyes.

Glavino inquired some dock workers early the next morning. A ship had already left for Kiriath, much to Berin’s disappointment.

“That had to be have been Rini’s.”

As for the others, they were unsure. If Rini’s had already left, surely the others had left as well.

“We have to pursue Rini.”

“Good. I will find a ship.”

Glavino hurried back to his newfound friends, the dock workers. He soon returned, his mouth muttering the one phrase he had to repeat to Berin.

“The only ship leaving tonight is going to Goiim. Sorry, Berin.”

“But Goiim is to the north of Kiriath �" it is on the same land.”

“We can go on it?”

“Yes! It will take us closer!”

“Is there a better way?”

“We could wait to find a ship going through the Midran Passage.”

“But…?”

“The Midran Passage, I hear, is an evil place.”

“Is that where monsters are?”

“So I have heard. No, we go to Goiim first.”

“Good!”

The two waited nearby at a local tavern throughout the day. They stole some bread, easing the pains ringing through their innards.

“Fine to take these?” asked Glavino.

“We must eat.”

“Fine.”

Some men offered to buy them a drink.

“Fine.”

The mead hit Berin’s throat hard. The taste left his lips more parched.

“Do not like the taste.”

“Yes,’ agreed Glavino. ‘Not like Vergaran wine.”

In the dead of the night, Berin and Glavino crept aboard the merchant ship bound for Goiim. Finding a hole in the cargo hold, not too moist and damp, they settled there for what they presumed would be a six-vero journey across the Pachuca Sea. Though hungry and overthirst, both did not make a sound at any point for fear of being discovered.

“We do not want a walk off the ship into the dark depths of the Pachuca Sea.”

“Correct.”

“No sense in dying aimlessly. Perhaps fighting against the Bacana, the Keturah, would be worth our lives.”

“Stop talking like that, Berin.”

“Fighting especially the thieves of my family,” he continued, ignoring Glavino.

“Stop it.”

“What I mean is, I am not going to die because of a loud cough or splutter.”

“I understand. Now stop.”

“You surprise me, Glavino.”

“Too loud! You said to whisper.”

“Fine,” Berin complied with his own rules.

“What you mean?”

Berin paused. How could he explain to Glavino?

“You understand the circumstances nowadays.”

“Circumstances?”

“Well, you know when to be quiet. Far better than that first encounter with the Bacana soldiers.”

Glavino grinned and looked away. “But how you mean?”

“Well, mostly there is no need to explain to you. No, you are not a simpleton.”

“A simpleton?”

“Yes, you are, or shall I say, were, a simpleton.”

“I am not!”

“I think not anymore. It is how everyone at home thought of you…”

“How do you mean?”

“Like your mind struggles with things. Like your simple, I mean, your easy way of speaking. Like you living by yourself.”

“No choice of mine.”

“I understand. But many people back home think you are simple.”

“Does Juolo?”

Berin’s eyes glanced into the adunai corner of his mind. One eye closed ever so slightly as he sought to correct phrase.

“I think not. No, Juolo would not think you a simpleton.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, all I am saying is you surprise me with your actions and your knowledge. You are no simpleton, Glavino. And best of all, you are a help to me. No, more than a help. You are my friend.”

“You are friend as well.”

“And I need you,” Berin said as he scratched at the wood of the hull.

“Thank you.”

The two had no troubles from the ship’s crew, nor the wind and the waves. Shipping at this time of the year was calm, in comparison to the headstrong Zimu winds that rocked these waters in the winter. The cargo hold, where food for the sailors was stored, linked to the galley area. As often as they could, Berin and Glavino crept into the storeroom and pecked at food, taking only what they needed.

Water was a little difficult, being carried in barrels nearer to the sailor’s quarters. They managed to creep to them only once without being seen, but the danger seemed so high Berin decided never to do it again.

“Perhaps there will be enough moisture in the food so we do not overthirst.”

Fortunately, the ship covered the distance between Akola and Burun, the major port of Goiim, in a little over four vero, unlike the six they anticipated. As they neared the harbour, they stole a boat on the side, releasing the ropes holding it to the ship and rowing away as fast as possible. From the deck of the ship, sailsmen yelled at them in an uncommon tongue.

“Keep rowing. Do not look back.”

Instead, they gazed forward, noticing the town of Burun before them.

“Sounds like your name,” said Glavino.

“Indeed.”

“You own the town?”

“Ha! I wish.”

Huts dotted the shoreline. Behind that in the distance raised a castle-like structure, tattered on one side.

“War?”

“Juolo did mention there was a civil war.”

Berin paused for a moment. His throat constricted to the point where it was impossible to swallow, the dry, salt-air taste overpowering his tongue. Tears welled in his eyes.

“She will be fine, Berin.”

“I know.”

The two safely rowed the short distance to the harbour and climbed aboard the wooden dock. As they threw the oars back into the boat and allowed it to drift in the lapping waters towards the shoreline, Glavino cried out at the same time as a sound of wood splintering. Berin turned around. His friend’s leg was caught in the wood. Glavino had stepped on a soft plank, shattering it and wedging his leg.

“Help!”

“Hold on a moment,” Berin breathed. He crept around him, shifting his weight on the other planks.

“The rest appear steady,” he said as he edged closer. The hole was not an even circle. Jagged pieces of wood pierced Glavino.

“Hurts!”

“I can see.”

“Get me out!”

“Raise your arms.”

Berin settled his arms under Glavino’s armpits and crouched down. Glavino’s placed his hands back on the dock. With Berin’s leg power and Glavino pushing, they managed to free the bulky man.

“Thank you.”

Blood trickled down Glavino’s leg. He brushed away the red river until he realised the current would not cease. He clasped his hand over the wound.

“Try this,” Berin said as he tore off the lower part of his upper garment. He wrapped it around Glavino’s leg, nearly catching his hand in the knot until Glavino realised what Berin was attempting. His ruby-red hand raised towards the sky, causing a drop of blood to land on the bridge of Berin’s nose.

“Careful. I do not want that in my eye.”

“Sorry.”

As Berin finished knotting tight the material around Glavino’s leg, a cry rang out from the end of the dock. It was the harbourmaster hurrying towards them, yelling in the local Goiim tongue.

“Run!”

Berin and Glavino ran towards the harbourmaster. The latter opened up his arms, as though he was herding sheep into a fold.

“Look out!’ Berin shouted as he saw men behind the harbourmaster. ‘We cannot go that way!”

“Back to the boat?” Glavino puffed.

They turned, only to see their boat drifting away. Berin and Glavino looked at each other, their eyes widened.

“Jump!” suggested Glavino. Berin obeyed. They dove off the side, hoping the water was deep enough. It was. The cool water enveloped them, causing their haste to slow as they scrambled for air. Resurfacing in unison, they began swimming towards the shoreline. Glavino was a far stronger swimmer. He neared the shoreline, while Berin struggled to gain any rhythm.

Suddenly a whizzing noise flew past Berin’s head. He submerged like a duck, waiting for the last possible moment until his lungs cried for air. Raising briefly his head, he glanced back to the dock. The men behind the harbourmaster had spears raised, ready to pierce Berin’s head. He plunged his whole body under the surface again, swimming as best he could until he realised the sand grew nearer and nearer. Lifting himself upwards, he placed his feet on the bottom, its softness seeping between his toes and around his feet. He brought one leg up and outwards, followed by the other, as he ran as well as he could manage towards the edge of the waveline. Glavino was ahead of him, overbalancing with every wave.

“Run!” Berin cried as they reached the hot sand together, Berin pulling Glavino with him until he found an even rhythm of running. At least even enough to run.

“My legs!” cried Glavino as he kept bumping into Berin.

“This is worse than when we landed in Akola.”

“Why?”

“I know not.”

Their legs wobbled away from the harbour, in search of a way out of the port town.

“Stay away from the castle.”

“Good idea, Glavino.”

The two men ran down the side of the huts, eager to put some distance between them and their pursuers. At the end of one hut, Berin motioned for Glavino to change direction. They ran away from the shoreline, towards another structure, one with a minaret on top.

“In here!” cried Berin as they reached the building. It was locked. Glavino drove his shoulder into the door. It was solid; the lock was hefty and would not budge.

“Hide somewhere else?”

“Yes.”

The two carried on, hoping their pursuers would lose sight of them. They weaved like busy spiders through the huts of the common people, stumbling over buckets and clothes and animals Berin had never set eyes on before. The two rounded a corner and stopped. Glavino bent over, gasping for air. Berin did the same.

“We…we must hide.”

“Where?”

“Over here.”

They hid from the harbourmaster and his workers behind a house. A window was nearby. Glavino climbed inside.

“Wait!” Berin cried as he realised the actions of his friend. It was too late. Berin turned to see if anyone outside the house could see them. There were none.

“Nothing in here,” came an echoed voice from within. Berin joined Glavino inside the house, empty, like a barren womb. The two sat on the floor in the shadows.

“We wait here until the night reaches.”

Later, when darkness became their friend, they stole away from the empty house. Passing a marketplace, where the air was filled with joyful music, music that reminded Berin of his children, they placed their hands on some bread and a small vessel of water.

“Drink this. We will need it.”

Berin let Glavino drink until he stopped and snatched the vessel from his grasp. He tipped the water into his mouth until it had all gone. He kept the vessel as they strode away from the marketplace.

“Know which way?”

“I think so. We follow where the Lucky Arrow is pointing.”

They left the town of Burun behind, following the signs of the stars as they entered the bowels of the land known as Goiim.

“For beyond here, so they say, are the vast and perilous mountains of the Kiriath.”

“Been here before?”

“No, Glavino.”

“Oh.”

“No one from home, either the Orguein or Vergara, has apparently been to these mountains. I have only heard great and difficult stories of these lands; bad stories of plundering and murdering and much grief.”

Berin had not thought much of the stories when he was younger, but being in the same land as such tales made him shudder. The Goiim and Kiriath folk were savage people, or so the stories said.

“Why are you shaking? Cold?”

“Yes,” Berin lied.

Berin felt a growing pain inside him, right at the base of his chest. Later, he learned it was the need to emit a brooding eldritch scream. There was pain he had suppressed, growing day by day inside of him. Release was necessary. He needed to find his son, rather than burst with emotion. Somewhere in or beyond the mountains he would discover where Rini had been taken.

They travelled for some veros across the grassy plains of Goiim, picking juicy fruit off trees that dotted the edge of the plains. They found ponds as they edged away from the coast. The water, though, tasted as though metal had been poured into it. It made Glavino’s stomach twist inside out.

“I hate the taste, but my stomach is fine,” said Berin.

“You are fortunate.”

“How can your stomach not take the water? I thought where you live, you would have to take whatever water you can find.”

“Ah, I have secret water back in Vergara.”

“Secret water?”

“The place is secret. The water is so pure.”

“Ah.”

The veros strode by easily as the two men passed near Lake Lach.

“Did you hear the story of Bohumil?”

“Melchiorre told us eklars before, yes.”

“About him being drowned in the lake?”

“Yes.”

“I do not want to remain here long.”

“Why?”

“It frightens me, that story.”

“Me too.”

“About why he was held under, all because of lost love.”

“True.”

“Let us collect some supplies and continue towards the mountains.”

The two begged for food and water. The locals, with ridged, frowning faces, gave Berin little hope they would be assisted.

“I wonder, are they fearful of all foreigners?”

“Would you not be, with another war on?”

Berin and Glavino managed to collect enough food to place in a haversack they found on the side of the path as well as water in two vessels, water that was not as metallic in taste. As they continued south, they entered farmland where the crop was chiefly zingre and hakkas.

“Is that why the town ahead is called Hakkas?” Berin wondered half to himself.

“Yes. One man told me. He knew Akola language.”

“Who?”

“The bread man.”

“You mean the baker?”

“Yes.”

Feeding on the crops and saving their supplies, likely to last longer, the two encountered Hakkas at the fringe of the mountainous region. It was a minor town, compared to Burun, with only houses bordering a series of pathways running perpendicular to one another. These houses had the look of being built hastily; the structures were swaying in the slight breeze, the wood creaking with every lean. Berin decided to pause for some time in the town.

“Why?”

“Glavino, we must determine our next course of action.”

“Fine.”

Berin sought assistance from various townsfolk, going from house to house and shop to shop.

“Can you help me?”

But no one would help him - they would not speak to him except in grunts.

“Why do they not speak to me?” he wondered aloud.

“No trust,” suggested Glavino.

Finally, one woman spoke to them, except she only knew the Goiim dialect.

“Why do they not know the lingua franca?”

Soon, Berin managed to decipher a few utterances of the Goiim folk here and there. He gestured to his olive skin, then using the word for boy, he indicated a pair of shackles. The locals, now growing in number outside their own houses, giggled at him. They gestured towards the two foreigners before continuing their business.

“Here,” came a grunt from beyond the last house of the pathway, or so it seemed to come from there. An elderly man lazed in the gentle breeze on the paved frontage of his house. This house structure was a little more fortified, not shifting in the breeze. Berin noticed bricks surrounding the sides of the house. Wood only catered for the roof. Berin and Glavino wandered over, stepping slow like hunters stalking their prey. Or, prey inching towards their hunters. Berin could not tell which fear he felt welling inside him.

“Akola?” the man asked.

Berin nodded.

Glavino asked if he knew anyone willing to take them there, via the coast.

“No travel that direction,” the old man shook his head.

 “Why not?” asked Berin in his broken Goiim, before asking the old man to revert to speaking in the Akola pidgin tongue.

“Kedemah and Hawr folk control Midran Passage.”

“I remember now,’ said Glavino. ‘Many eklars ago, the head of Kedemah, Majada, built great fleet.”

“One that rivalled the Orguein fleet?”

“Think so. Is the Orguein fleet massive?”

Berin nodded.

The man piped in, “Ships stop against anyone trying to cross passage. Ships float in complex pattern. Passage guarded.”

“The Kedemah became kings of the sea!” said Glavino.

“So what you are saying is they know every ingas of that passage, every inlet, cove, tidal change, wind change?” said Berin.

“Yes.”

“So no sea monsters?”

“No.”

The man stood out of his chair.

“Looking for child?”

“Yes.”

“Boy?”

“Yes.”

“Skin like yours?”

“Yes.”

“I saw.”

“When?”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“Many men come from coast. They have slaves with them. One looked like you. Smaller.”

“Where did they travel?”

“No sure. Maybe Tubal.”

“Tubal? The gold fields?”

“Gold!” cried the man before sitting down again.

“Thank you, sir.” The man nodded. Berin and Glavino turned away.

“We cannot reach the other side of the mountains via the sea.”

“Why not?”

“If Rini’s owners cannot pass right through the Midran Passage, then what hope have we?”

“Oh.”

“We must cross the mountain.”

Glavino glanced at the cordillera before them, stretching as far along the southern horizon.

“Can we go the other way?”

“The other way round? I think not.”

“So through?”

“I have to be reunited with Rini.”

“You afraid?”

“Yes. But my desire is far stronger than my fear.”

“Good. Let us go.”

“We must find a guide,” Berin said as he returned to the main section of the town. Asking for further help and attempting to describe a guide with his body language, he only received more fits of laughter.

“No,” was the common response once the locals discovered what he was asking, looking upon him with shock and disdain.

“You will be paid handsomely.”

For some reason, no one wanted to pass through the mountains.

“Monster,” a man eventually said in the Akola tongue, coupled with a gesture of a gangly beast with an almighty roar and gnashing teeth ready to gobble its prey.

The elderly man walked up to Berin and tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

 “Monster dwells there. Enter woods but never come back.”

“What sort of beast?”

“A dragon with seven heads.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The man who had first responded about the monster shook his head.

“Bear.”

The two men switched to their local tongue and raised their fists at each other. Soon more of the townsfolk exited their houses and shops and watched as the two men verbally attacked one another. Glavino stepped in between the two and turned to the elderly man.

“So if no one has seen it and lived, how do we know what it looks like?” asked Glavino. The elderly man did not respond. His eyes shifted to the ground where he kicked at a large stone.

“Fine, we will go alone,” said Berin.

There is no sense in forcing a local to come.

Berin could see it in their eyes, the thought of a monster so ruthless that even grown men drooped their shoulders at the thought of it. That was no way to live. Then again, Berin felt it daily, that fear reaching from deep within that threatened to invade his very thoughts and actions. He hoped it would soon be over. All of it, the unknown, the separation from his family, the inability to hold them close to his heartbeat and forever tell them they were loved. He closed his eyes and longed for the three most important beings in his life, dreaming of them in his arms, their joyful laughter soaring into the air and above the clouds towards the gods.