Chapter 19: The Past

The trio join a ship, the Bogopol, to cross the Midran Passage. They learn of King Labar's lust and quest for glory.

The Past

The three travelled without rest for three veros towards the coast, not only to distance themselves from potential pursuers in case the master lamented his decision, but also in the direction of the region where Erinu had been taken.

They had returned to the farm. The aftermath was unbearable for Glavino, who shied away from the site. Most of the residents were dead, sliced bodies lying on the dirt, facedown. The buildings were, on the whole, damaged, though Berin sensed in this weather they were still somewhat liveable.

“Help!” came a cry from the main house. Berin ran inside. It was the master himself. He weakly glanced from his crouched position to Berin.

“What is the matter?”

He was injured, a broken arm from what Berin could see, and scratches across his face.

“Is it…”

“It is dead.”

The master said no words, but his relieved sigh showed he was grateful the beast was no more threat.

“Can I help?”

At that moment a few women arrived in the doorway. They carried all kinds of equipment, mostly tools Berin had never encountered. They whisked Berin away, muttering in their native tongue.

As Berin left through the doorway, he heard the master. “Thank you for killing the beast. For that, would you like a share in my farm? For your heroism?”

Glavino overheard the request.

“No, sir.”

“All I desire is my son.”

“Your demand is granted,” said the master, weakly, and the three northerners turned from the abysmal sight and stole away towards the rising sun.

Now close to the coastline, the three exchanged stories of their travels.

“The night we were taken from home was the worst I have ever had,” said Rini.

“What happened?”

“Well, in the middle depths of the night, I got up to collect a drink. I came to ask one of you to come with me to the creek. Mama said you were out.”

“I went to see Glavino’s house. It had been burnt to the ground.”

“That is what Mama said. After we returned from the creek, we went back to bed. I was nearly asleep again when I heard a loud bang. The door was knocked open. We had soldiers, wearing their red armour and carrying torches, yelling at us in uncommon words. They grabbed Erinu and me and brought us outside. Mama soon followed. They bound us with rope and led us away. I was crying. Erinu was crying. Mama was not, though.”

“Why not?”

“I know not. She had this clenched look on her face, like when she gets angry with you when you forget to wash yourself after a few days out in the wild.”

“Ah, I know that face all too well. I have to be careful with my words when I see that face.”

“Right. They led us away and sent us on a cart. For four veros we rocked back and forth, our rears getting more painful. Because we were bound, we could not shift our bodies, so the same spots grew red with pain. Finally we reached the coast. There was a ship there, full of other Vergarans. Mama called them prisoners, though I know not why. All of us were loaded below. I will not mention how bad it was. I want to forget about it. There we spent three weeks until we reached the port of Akola.”

“What happened next?”

“Bit by bit the Vergarans were sold off as slaves.”

“By whom?”

“There was a man, a soldier, I think he was selling us off. He would sell a few here, a few there. I know not why. We were one of the last ones to be sold. The vero we were carried onto the stage to be sold was so painful to my soul.”

“We saw you there.”

“You were there?”

“Indeed.”

“Why did you not save us?”

“How could we? There were guards present. They would have killed us.”

“But you should have tried.”

Berin shook his head.

“I am sorry. I am here for you now.”

“That is fine,” but it was clear Rini was hurt, his eyebrows burrowed deep as he remembered that woeful day.

“Please, continue,” said Glavino.

“So, then, we were sold off. I thought we were going to be together, but after we came off the raised platform, I have not seen them since.”

“They were taken to other lands.”

“So they are not near here?”

“No. Erinu is somewhere in Hawr, we believe. Mama is somewhere around Zoar.”

“And you mean to liberate them, as you have me?”

“You are my family. I can do no else.”

Rini’s eyebrows relaxed as a smile eased onto his face.

“Tell us about your trip here.”

Rini struggled to remember the trip from Akola to Kiriath.

“They fed me some strange tasting mint leaves. I think they made me drowsy. All I remember is we stopped off on some land with mountains to…I forget which direction. I think it was south.”

“It must have been the other side of the Kiriathain Mountains, near Hakkas, where we were!” said Glavino to Berin.

“Hakkas �" the name sounds familiar. From there we rode on horses through the mountains to the farm.”

“I knew there was a route through the mountains!”

“Indeed, Glavino.”

“Yes, but it was one you would not have found unless you knew it was already there.”

Berin altered the subject. “How did your master treat you?”

“I was not ill-treated. By him, at least.”

“By who?”

“Nobody.” Rini looked away, glancing into the far distance.

“Really, Rini?”

“Well, I did gain these scars.” He pointed to his face and back. Berin inspected them. They seemed superficial.

“Who did that?”

“The other farmhands I worked with.”

Berin whispered something only the gods could hear.

“I also noticed you have a limp.”

“Only a small one. That one was my fault. I stepped on the side of a rock and twisted my foot.”

“Does not hinder his running,” said Glavino.

“Yes, it is healing well.”

“I think your running has improved,” said Berin.

“Has it?”

“Indeed.”

Rini smiled.

Berin was keen to hide his own injuries and the impact they had on his ability to walk, let alone run.

Perhaps I hide it from my son so I can remain strong for him, and for Glavino. Anyway, there is far worse pain etching deeper into my soul.

“Ever wanted to run away?” asked Glavino.

“Of course. It was like your worst nightmare.”

“I think we have lived out our worst nightmare.”

Berin wondered if Glavino referred to the recent beast encounter or the first one.

“No, I was threatened. My master would slit my throat if I ever ran away.”

“What a dunderhead,” said Glavino, the way Rednikov said it, as he rose to collect more crackling for the fire.

“Dunderhead is not the word I was thinking of,” said Berin.

“Papa, I am not certain if this was true. The other farmhands said this. I was not going to take any chances.”

“Tell us about the others.”

“They were a mixture of slaves and workmen. The workmen kept an eye on the slaves, but they did the same work as us. The difference was the workmen were paid; us slaves only received food and shelter.”

Rini paused, gazing into nothingness.

“What is it, Rini?”

“Nothing. I am remembering something that happened. My master’s right hand man is, or shall I say, was, a brutal beast. I saw him kill a slave because he irritated him.”

Berin shuddered.

“It is wonderful to be free, Papa.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Thank you for…for….”

“You are my son. I would travel the world to save you.”

Rini chuckled, “Father, you have done exactly that.”

“Yes, of course.”

They both laughed immensely, making Glavino peer over and shake his head. Glavino’s physical pain was far more obvious; he walked awkwardly and seemed these past few veros to want to sleep endlessly.

Rini finished giggling first before asking, “Papa, where to now?”

“Hawr. We must return our Erinu to us.”

“I cannot wait to see her again.”

“Same.”

“And Mama too.”

Berin did not respond. His mind whisked away with thoughts of his wife.

It is my destiny to retrieve her, to retrieve all my family.

He had found his son. Surely this was the gods intervening on his behalf. They would continue to do so for Erinu and Juolo.

Oh how I long for the four of us to be together again, he thought as he stroked the beaded necklace tied to his belt.

“I think it is time to eat,” he said as he returned to reality. The three ate vigourously the gebbat Rini caught with his bare hands before retreating for the night, Rini curled inside the body of his father.

 

The three travellers reached the coastal town of Orageux on the fringe of the Midran Passage after an eventless ride from Krast across glassy sea.

“This is the city that nearly won the first Iastuf Cup, was it not, Papa?”

“Indeed it was. That was nearly twenty eklars ago. I remember the stories as a boy. All my friends were eager for our teams to compete well. Instead, it was the Sonderya teams that dominated.”

“Who won?”

“Ribeir from Igis Tarar. They have won both tournaments. I wonder, with the war, will there be another tournament in eklar 702?”

The question brought no answer, only silence.

“Will I be old enough to compete, Papa?”

“I think you will be too young, Rini. Sorry.”

“Aww.”

Berin did not want to tell his son his skills with the rounded ball would never amount to much. Perhaps in ten or twenty eklars, when he was about the same as age as Berin is now, perhaps the skill would develop enough for him to represent Ariquemes.

“Is Iastuf a big thing in the Orguein Islands?” asked Glavino.

“It is the sport every boy plays. Any moment of freedom, and I was off with the other boys kicking anything round, from a rock to a leathered pouch.”

“Were you skillful?”

“Not like some of the others. We all wanted to play for our town. I wonder, if my life had taken a different path, whether I could have played? I will never know.”

“You could play for Ariquemes in 702.”

“Maybe. We shall see. Would you, Glavino?”

“I was always hopeless with the rounded ball. Could never palm or kick it properly. Hitting the post was impossible. The boys never let me play, either. So I went and found other things to do.”

They hoped to find a shipping captain in Orageux with a set rhumb or route, willing to ferry them across to opposing port of Zuzi. The captain who ferried them across the bay from Krast was not willing, nor had the vessel or manpower, to cross the dreaded Midran Passage. It was a dangerous waterway - not because of the sea itself but due to the Kedemah fleet controlling it. Luckily, the war sounded in the favour of the three for the first time. Or so Berin hoped.

“The Kedemah fleet are engaged in a maritime broil with the Bacana,” said one captain as he charged his sailsmen with various tasks in a deep, hefty voice.

“So you will take us?”

“Certainly. For a price.”

“How much?”

The captain murmured the price.

“We cannot pay that.”

“Well, I leave in fourteen veros. You will have to find the money, or find someone else to ferry you.”

But none would. Each captain was wary of the current war. A far worse predicament hung over them.

“We cannot take passengers. We are cargo ships only. Although the Kedemah are busy, we know the Zuzi harbourmasters will fine us if we are caught shipping passengers as well as cargo.”

Despair came over the three.

“How will we ever pay the captain the fee he demands?”

“I know not, Glavino.”

They returned to the captain, who was fixing tattered ropes with his first mate.

“Is there any way we can work out something?”

The captain stroked his salty beard.

“If you help me load the cargo every day until we leave, and promise to help offload in Zuzi, you shall climb aboard.”

Berin looked at his companions. Glavino needed time to heal his wounds. He was spent of energy. Rini, on the other hand, was eager to help.

“How about me and my son?”

“You will have to do the job of three men.”

“Papa, we will manage. Trust me.”

The two began work immediately, Rini taking to the physical tasks with fervour.

“My word, Rini, what has happened to you?”

“I like working with my hands, now, Papa.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Good to hear.”

Rini beamed a cheeky smile and collected a container in his arms.

“Are you sure you have hold of it?”

“Yes, Papa. Do not worry about me. I will be fine.”

After fourteen veros the two had sore yet renewed muscles. More importantly, they had passage across the Midran.

The ship, known as the Bogopol, was a sturdy ship. Its sails were larger than any Berin had seen in his travels. The craftsmanship of the wood was impeccable.

“Trees from the Wald Forest,” said the captain.

“They are the best,” said his first mate.

The sailsmen were well refined.

“Not like the wretched crew that took us from Vergara to Akola,” said Glavino.

“Indeed.”

Rini sidled up to the first mate when they had left the harbour and open waters were before them.

“What is the meaning of the name Bogopol?”

“It is the name of the town where the majority of the crew were born.”

Berin remembered passing through Bogopol near where Rini was rescued.

“That is what we do, we recruit men from the same towns and they work on ships together. That way, there is little animosity amongst the crew.”

“Why?” asked Rini and Berin at the same time.

“All men of Goiim and the Svedniy are fiercely loyal to their birthplace. Especially lately.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it is common to develop a fear or hatred of men from other towns. So if men from different towns worked together, there would be constant riots.”

“That is ludicrous, because in Vergara, we are all Vergarans. Sure, we may joke about those who live west of Ariquemes, calling them Esfera, which means flower men. But they are Vergarans and we would welcome them if they came to our house.”

“Indeed. From where I come, it is much the same. Not so in these parts. You must be from that town or you will be treated with disdain.”

“There is a little of that in Vergara,” said Glavino.

“How so?”

“There is hatred, not because of where you were born, but because of who you are.”

“Do you mean your bloodline?”

“No, if you do not follow the traditions of your kin, you are cast out of society.”

Berin nodded in agreement.

The first mate scratched across his chest.

“Where there are men, there is hatred.”

 

“The stories we are told must be false,” said Berin to one of the sailsmen at mealtime.

“What stories?” he replied quizzically, ravenously eating his flea-ridden soup.

“About the difficulty of crossing this passage.”

“Ey, it is difficult. Near impossible.”

“But why is it easier now?” asked Berin.

“Because of the war,” said the seamen. Other men gathered around.

“Here goes Tikvah, off on one of his tales!” said another sailsman.

“Get away from the old man, before he starts talking about Kenan!” said a third.

Tikvah ignored them. He leaned closer to Berin, squinting his eyes.

“I wonder, what do you know of the war?”

“I know…” but Berin was interrupted, so he settled in to hear the tale of the historical Keturah army.

“The first and valiant king of Keturah of the Third Age was Kenan, son of Hirsut. Kenan had the bravado of a cheetah, sleek and silky. His subjects and his people loved him immensely, for he ruled them with a firm yet fair hand. His queen, Abimael, was the daughter of the late king of Orguein, Xedon, and sister of King Feing.”

“I hated King Feing,” whispered Berin.

“Why?’ asked Glavino who had joined them on the bench. ‘No, tell me after the story.”

Tikvah continued as though their interjection never occurred. “Abimael’s beauty enhanced the appeal of the royal family, and they were greatly admired throughout the kingdom and beyond. Abimael’s green eyes pierced the very souls of man, harnessing honesty from their lips whenever in her presence. Such truth allowed Kenan, also the judge of his kingdom, to weigh accusations and claims with fairness. For during his time, there was relative peace.

“Kenan’s rise to kingship was rather peculiar. His grancestor, El Attar, had developed a system to determine the wisdom, power and strength of the princes to snuff and separate the incapable princes from the future king. Hirsut’s sons Revil, Eliezar, Javan, Esek and Kenan were subjected to one-on-one battles against their brothers in a contest to see who would become the new king. This was to occur when the father was at the age of zirsut, the time when old age would start to frail his body and mind.”

“A bit like yours!” joked a sailsman, but his comment was ignored.

“At this time all sons were mature, full-grown men, and able to participate. Having the conquest closer to the king’s elderly life left little time for an act of jealousy to occur. I think this has occurred in previous Ages, from memory.

“Such a contest paired the brothers off in a secret selection by the King’s Council, but in the case of Kenan and his brothers, the youngest son would battle against the father.”

“Why?” asked Berin without thinking.

“Presumably for him to be eliminated early in the process. The secret council also decided upon three stages of contesting. The first, and Hirsut believed the most important, was wisdom. Wisdom and true character are all brought out of a person in a game called Galamaica.’ Tikvah drew imaginary pictures in the air with his pointy fingers. ‘Played only by the nobility and on an elongated diamond-shaped table with glass pieces fitted around candles, it is designed to use light reflection and refraction to deceive the eye of the opponent. While the basics were straightforward, one wrong movement of a dwarn or torz piece could finish the game in the winking of a Manas Hu eye.”

Glavino chuckled, though Tikvah frowned slightly. The remark was not designed for humour. Tikvah continued.

“It was a wrong choice made by Hirsut as the game entered its fourth hour, and Kenan, under immense mental pressure, took out his father’s final torz piece, and remained in the hunt for the Keturah crown. In the other contests, Revil defeated Esek, and Javan beat Eliezar in a lengthy contest lasting seven hours.”

“We need not the particulars. Tell us about the war.”

“Shush. All this is relevant to understand the war.”

“Fine.” Berin shifted his weight as his rear was starting to go numb.

“The second contest was a test of body power. The three brothers remaining were forced through a run of ten delarii, before a rope ascent of the castle walls. At the top stood three boulders of slightly differing sizes, to be pushed over half a delarii. The benefit of reaching the boulders first was the choice of the smaller rock. The last brother to cross the line with his boulder in front of him was eliminated.

“Kenan knew the boulders would demand all the strength his heart and body could offer, and so his running of the ten delarii was eased. While his brothers ran like the wintry wind of the goatzart, Kenan remained behind. As he reached the castle, he slithered easily up the stony wall and into the view of the cheering crowd. Such a tactic proved effective, as the relaxed muscles of Kenan easily rolled the boulder into momentum and into second place, thus eliminating Javan.”

Berin caught a yawn, fearing the frowning face of Tikvah.

“The final battle the following vero was literally a fight to the death with gleaming contour swords and rustic diamond-studded shields. Kenan was not swift with the yataghan swords from the island of Kutno, which required much skill of the wrist and elbow combined. This was the ultimate battle: the firstborn against the runt. However, fate, which the Keturah believe in unswervingly, changed history once more.

“Kenan knew Revil’s weakness was his endurance, and so as swords were thrust and shields guarding, Revil grew a weary heart, whereas Kenan’s heart glistened with confidence. With one final smote, the head of Revil was slung across the dirt, and Kenan was crowned king of all Keturah two months later when his father passed to the other side.”

“I do not remember King Kenan’s reign,’ said Berin. ‘Tell us about King Labar.”

“He is getting there! Listen!” cried Glavino.

“Kenan believed his brothers would rebel against him to regain power of the land. He gathered the best smithies from the vast countryside and brought them to his castle. Here they worked endlessly, developing grand Keturah weapons. He also commanded builders to fortify his section of the castle.

“For eklars this continued, but the brothers constantly cried, ‘Peace, for we are not desiring the power that fate has given thee.’ But Kenan would not believe them, for he knew Revil was the favourite brother, and Kenan had slain him. Still, as the arms development continued, so did Kenan’s immediate clan, aided by his queen, Abimael. She bore him four sons, Reube the Brave, Terse the Witty, Rodanim the Quiet, and Labar the Zealous.”

“The Zealous?”

“That is the name King Kenan gave him.”

“What? I thought it was Labar the Luster.”

“That is the name the peasants call him in the villages.”

“And the name the rest of the world calls him by.”

“That is true. Now, back to the story. During the increase in arms, various neighbouring lands grew anxious of a secret army brewing in the north. And so the leaders of these lands gathered together at the golden sands of Cuha. The Council of Defence concluded that peace talks, rather than an arms race, was needed. The elder of Vergara was sent to speak with Kenan. Now Kenan greatly admired the Vergaran elder, and the Vergarans in general, for they are a homely group of peasants.”

 “We are more than peasants!” cried Glavino.

“Exactly,” agreed Berin.

“Ah, but you have no king.”

“We do not need a king when all we need are elected Counsellors from which the elder is chosen!”

“Still, you have no lords, no nobles. You are all peasants.”

“I will argue that to my grave.”

“Your only specialty is wine, which Kenan imported into Keturah.”

“So? Everyone knows that.”

“Look, we can argue about national pride later. Can I tell the story?”

Berin waved him on.

“When the elder arrived, pleading for peace, Kenan was forced to observe his boyish ways, even though he had not built his military strength for land domination. Still, he was compelled to halt the increase of his armament. The elder gladly returned to the Council, proudly proclaiming peace in their time. Kenan was not interested in increasing his influence across neighbouring lands.

“However, Abimael’s desire to expand her influence on more than Keturah began to harvest. The seed was sown when her father Xedon had expanded his kingdom of Orguein from the isle of Aleutian and Vinues to the west, and Balleny, Noronha, Annobon and Corse to the northeast.”

Berin growled under his breath.

“The memory of Xedon’s dominance and ever-expanding treasury still dwelt inside Abimael’s heart.

“As Labar was her favoured son, Abimael told him the tales of her father and her race. And as a seed had been sown in her, so the seed was lain in Labar’s heart. As the young boy became a young man, his heart grew to dislike the Manas Hu, for they were a unique race, and lived in tight spaces. He also heard of the great mass of weapons accumulated by his father, Kenan. How he longed to use them to conquer lands!

“After spending time with the Manas Hu in their own land, and in Xedon’s opulent palace in Orguein, Labar desired conquest. He put this forward to Kenan and the other princes, who flatly rejected the idea. Kenan wondered if Labar was attempting to be humorous like his other son Terse. Labar, on the other hand, was disgusted. He immediately began plotting his father’s downfall.

“When I heard this, I immediately left Keturah.”

“You are from Keturah?”

“I am. I worked in Kenan’s court before Labar overthrew him and took the crown.”

“How did you end up here?”

“That is for another time, another story.”

Berin turned to the other sailsman.

“Do you trust this man?”

“Oh yes,” came the cry from several men.

“He saved our lives. We know he will not kill us.”

“Berin, not all Bacana are alike,” said Tikvah.

“Some are good people,” said one of the sailsmen.

“Just not all.”

“Yes, just not all.”

“Do you remember Shirin, the prince?” asked Berin.

“Shirin? Of course I remember Shirin. Where did you meet him?”

“In Skarbor. He escaped there.”

“Lucky man! When I worked in the courts of the Keturah royal family, I used to care for Shirin. We became solid friends. There was not a whiff of the class etiquette between us. He thought of me as an uncle, or an older brother.”

“He is working at the metallurgy factory.”

“I knew not what became of him. I am glad to hear he is safe. Skarbor is perhaps the best place for a Keturah prince to hide from his kin.”

“Are you sure we are all safe? The Keturah army continue to follow us,” said Glavino despondently.

There was no response.

Berin wondered the same. Were they safe, or should they have stayed in Skarbor?

I am a filling in one of Juolo’s tasty sandwiches, wedged between the Bacana from behind and the seemingly unknown ahead of us.

Only the gods from above knew the location of his daughter and his loving wife. In the past, Juolo had rescued him from seeming despair and a life alone in the Vergaran forests. Now he began to doubt if he could rescue her.

But hope tendered his sullen heart. He already had his son returned to him. The females he so dearly loved would be too, surely. The gods were on his side.