Pagewalker

by C. Mahood

  "Yes, yes, and you likewise," said Penla. "Where are you from traveller, what brought you here, and what is your craft?"

  “I travelled from the stream of earth. Through bogs and steams and pits of terf, A night from once the moon was born, from on the cold hillside with waves to my back.

  "Ah HA! A traveller that speaks with the tongue of a Bard, a poet telling tales of adventure from afar? What a great traveller you must be," said Penla. "Maybe you've learnt something on the road, but I ask again, WHY are you here?"

  "I am a performer, I am travelling to learn skills from the major races in Northland. I am sure there is lots I could learn from a dwarven king such as yourself. Although I notice you are tired great king, would you permit me to entertain you?" said the lank grey beggarman, "and for five pieces of silver you shall see a trick great of mine."

  "You shall have 10 if you can bring light to these halls again. I feel blind with exhaustion. Years of work and worry have drained the colour from my eyes." said Penla; the lank grey beggarman took three large axes from the weapon rack at the side of the hall. They were Dwarven forged axes, crusted diamond and hardened, varnished bog wood with stone grip and jewelled heads. It took three trips to carry them one at a time as they were too heavy for him to carry together. The Beggar man placed them on the floor.

  "The middle one," he pointed, "I'll blow away; the other two I'll leave."

  A crowd had begun to gather as the commotion and laughter grew as people gathered to watch the old skinny beggar try to drag a heavy axe to the throne room floor.

  "There is no way in 3 hells you can do that human," said one and all.

  But the lank grey beggarman put a finger on either outside Axe and, whiff, away he blew the middle one.

  The crowd gasped and cheered and an astonished Penla took to his feet!

  "'Tis a good trick," said the king; and he paid him his ten pieces of silver.

  At that moment Penla realised he was laughing. It was the first time he had laughed in many years.

  “Thank you traveller, this hall has not heard sounds of joy in many a long year, we are in your debt. Please tell me what we can do to repay you for a gift as good as this.”

  Suddenly the spell cast on the story-teller began to wear off, he burst to full size once more and fell to the floor on the court room! The Dwarves fall back in excitement and dismay, amazed at yet another trick played by the beggar. As the storyteller made his way to his feet he knew of nothing that would be said to explain so he simply bowed and so did the beggar, playing along that this was another planned trick.

  “Come forward new one” Penla gestured towards the story teller. “You wear the robes of a well-to-do man but on you cloak I see the Seal of Sáann. My friend, King Dertrid does not award those lightly. Do you sit in his court?”

  “Yes great king, I am his Story Teller and Bard. However I regret that I am a story teller that has run out of stories, please tell me a great dwarven tale so I can bring that to my king and stay in his court for another short while.

  Penla sent for his librarian and told him to bring a book of dwarven tales to the travellers.

  “This book contains the very history of our people. The stories and tales contained in this book should keep you in good stead with King Dertrid for many years to come!”

  “There is one more thing I would ask of you King,” The beggerman whispered.

  “Yes, my friend what will it be?” Penla replied. The begger man simply passed a small note of parchment to Penla. He read it and passed it to a court assistant, who in tern scuttled behind the throne to collect whatever he had requested. Penla looked to the beggerman and simply nodded, then turned back to fix his gaze on the story teller.

  In total awe the story teller accepted and stayed in the hall for a great feast where he told them many of the tales he had written for King Dertrid, much to the amusement and enjoyment of the dwarves. After a full day and night of feast, festivities and drunken foolery the two travellers left the dwarven city and headed south along the coast of the Black Panint toward The Dark Elves home of Xill.

  Xill was a large city built into the very ground of a large peninsula, wrapping itself around the Elf Gulf. The Lough here was said to have magical waters and the Story teller wished very much to bathe in it, but on their arrival they were escorted through the massive gates, built into the stone with woven tree trunks and ivy, and ordered to bow in front of the Prince. The halls of Xill were vast but dark. All stone was made of dark, emerald glass. The little light there was illuminated a dark bottle green. Everything seemed as though looking through emerald tinted spectacles. The skin of the dark elves was a charcoal grey but the tint of green turn the reflection of their faces a reptilian shiny shade. The story teller was made to stay while the beggar walked with the prince. He could not hear what they spoke about but the two spoke as old friends. No hostility could be sensed but the storyteller got the feeling the Beggar was frustrated with the interaction.

  Once the Beggar returned he told the story teller how he had asked to buy the book of secrets from the elves to read and learn many tales. The Prince elf said no money could ever buy the words from this book.

  The Story-teller had researched and told many tales of the Dark elves before and was aware for Dark Elf customs. They were a race of pride. Games and competition was vital in their culture. No Dark Elf could refuse offers to these events. So the Beggar and Storyteller challenged them.

  “I wager that I can play a better song, on an instrument of your choice, better than anyone here in Xill who dares to challenge me? Declared the storyteller

  “What is the wager?” said one of the elves.

  “I will trade you the knowledge of the dwarves if I lose, if I win you must give me a book of tales from the history of Dark elves,.” He replied.

  “And one other small token” Interjected the beggerman. Without looking to the storyteller.

  The Elves agreed than informed the travellers that the defender would be the chief musician in the court of Xill and has played for Dertrid many times in the throne room of Sáann.

  The Beggar did not seem worried. “In that case let us raise the wager.” The story teller was caught of guard by his companions claim. His concern was raised, as he only knew a few Elven songs. I challenge you to another wager. If you can carve your name in this wall, using only your fingers, faster that I can you will gain all the money I carry with me, which is vast.”

  The Master of songs agreed to both wagers. On the count they both proceeded to carve names in the wall using only the hands. In a very short space of time the Elf has carved a beautiful name in stone and the beggar had only managed a few letters.

  “I win” claimed the elf now give your money and be gone with you!

  Here you may have my money but we still have a matter of songs to see to you agreed on your word that we would engage after this wager. The Master of music agreed again and accepted the bag of money from The Beggar. He winked at his companion to start the second wager.

  As the beggar only wrote a single letter his hands were fine and clean however the elf had dirty damaged and sore fingers. He had carved such a beautiful rendition of his long elven name into the stone that he had damaged his nails and his hands ached in pain. The Elven master played a soft melody beautiful and calming. Slow and sensual although his fingers were so sore from the previous wager that he missed many notes and stopped before the end as the pain was too much. When he finished a tear rolled of his chin and fell silently to the floor. The Storyteller was impressed and bowed to the Elf. He was not going to play a soft song. He knew one song that would blow the elves away with amazement. In Aondor, every month they have a town Ceili. A gathering where they play reels and jigs and the town dances. It was told that there was magic in the tunes that could force any man to dance. This was the case in Xill too. When the Storyteller had finished the reel the entire court of Xill was dancing and cheered with communal excitement once it had ended. The story teller
surly won this second wager.

  After the dust had settled, the elves reluctantly handed over the book and the traveller handed over the money.

  “Who said I could not buy the tales from this book. Do not worry you are not a fool, I am only smarter.” Exclaimed the beggar. The story teller noticed in that moment that after this game of out-smarting Elves, the years seemed to fall from the Beggar. He had a skip in his step, he moved faster and his voice seemed younger. His eyes glistened the same as a child’s eyes widened when they received a gift.

  At that they left and returned to Aondor. When they arrived back at the Story tellers house the Beggar stopped at the end of the path.

  “please hold onto these two items until I return” was all the beggerman said. Then he simply whistled for his dog, left the sac of items they had collected and began to walk back into the bustling town. The storyteller had not noticed at first as he was overcome with excitement as he embraced his wife but he turned in time to call to the Beggar before he blended into the crowd.

  “Please, I do not even know your name, what can I call you? How will I know it is you when you return?” he shouted.

  The beggerman did not turn but tilted his head back slightly, “You will know me when I return with two very important prophets, as for my name just call me friend. Then he was gone. Much to the dismay of the Storyteller.

  “It was you, wasn’t it!” Sarah shouted forward, not moving from my lap. Her head not even tilting. She had a talent for guessing the killer in the first few moments of a CSI, Colombo or any detective show. The Danish and Swedish crime novels she read were wearing thin on her as she was always guessing ahead. Nothing was lost on this girl.

  Oisin didn’t not answer. His back was turned to us but I could see him smiling from the side of his face as he looked to his left. I just knew then. It had to be him! Escaping from a prison? Returning with two prophets? It just had to be.

  “We are approaching Aondor now, I shall leave the kart on the outskirts. I will need both of you to meet me in the square by the first bells of the evening. I will send word to Dertrid's Court in Sáann, calling for the storyteller to return. I have to signal the keep then stay out of sight. I hope you understand but I am still a very wanted man.” Oisin had wrapped himself in many layers of robes, shawls and hooded capes as he spoke. He looked like a hermit ready for the coldest winter.

  “Aye, we get it.” I replied, “town centre, evening bells, got it” Sarah, Tessa and I descended from the kart and readied our things. On our trip Oisin had supplied us with garments and clothes suitable for a wanderer of Northland. Nothing fancy, nothing flash, just practical and passable for every day clothes to aid us in blending in with the people of Small towns and big cities alike. We gathered everything we needed. Some coins Oisin had given us, some water in the canteen and a few bits and bobs for trading and bartering. We made our way into the Town of Aondor. It was once more like returning home, although, it was more spectacular and much more welcoming that I ever imagined when putting it on page many years ago.

  Twelve

  Aondor

  The town of Aondor had grown considerably since I first described it. It is understandable however. I created a town rich in trade. A town growing and prospering, well situated and protected by Sáann. To expect it to stay the same was ridiculous. Of course it would grow! Any town with such potential would flourish and expand as more and more people came to live there, to set up home and business. In fact, to describe it as a town still would be a bit of a stretch. It had suburbs, trade districts, entertainment districts even a whole quarter described as a monk we met as the Corner of Gods. There were no slums, no poverty or beggars, no trouble. The people were all friendly, kind, helpful and fair.

  While making our way on the kart with Oisin we had watched the surroundings change. Rural tiny pig farms with low stone walls, fields of corn growing high behind log fences, the sweet smell of spring onions growing a thick dense green. in miles of farmland turned to smaller closer nit groupings of cottages with communal gardens and community crops. The houses grew closer together and the farmland faded away in favour of workshops and stores until the kart stopped and we parted ways with Oisin.

  We walked as a very leisurely pace From the outskirts of the town. Hand in hand and with a leather leash around Tessa to keep her close, we browsed stalls and wares sellers had on tables and blankets on the ground.

  One particular seller had the most exquisite glass jewellery handing from branches beside a small stool and tree stump on which he was creating more. Sarah fell in love with one particular necklace that hung from a branch coated in silver.

  “This is beautiful” She said as she lifted it down from the branch and held it up to the light. There was purple glass inset amongst an intricate design of curves and circles. It looked like the intertwining of twigs but it felt heavy as though made from iron.

  “That's the Siegel of the forgotten jungle, just past the dwarven hills, North east of here. It was smelted from a young tree in the iron woods.” The shopkeeper said, as he lifted it From Sarah's hand and slung it over her head around her neck. It hung perfectly on her chest, framed by her bottom lip bitingly good cleavage. “Looks well there my dear” He continued, “Dont have many like that myself, hard to come by, Ironwood. Cant be cut and needs a flame so hot it melts the bark from the tree. A heat not made without magic.” Something in his voice sounded rehearsed. I will say one thing for the people of Northland, they are very like the people of Belfast, great storytellers and even better sales people.

  We haggled over price for a while. Sarah turned an off colour of red, she always gets embarrassed when I barter or haggle. I love it, she doesn’t.

  In the end we got a fair price. An hour or so passed as we browsed further and walked towards the old town. Crossing over old stone bridges onto cobbled streets, through wide open arches, through the trade districts and docks, looking at the many different types and styles of fishing boats, and fish. Past a cattle market bustling with eh sound of callers and bids. Up the long main road past many inns and pubs serving food to men and women smoking pile tobacco while relaxing on old hollowed out whisky barrels with cushions sewn into the side of them.

  Tessa walked beside us and watched the ducks and birds swimming on the low river we walked parallel to. The road seemed to climb up softly to a large square. In the square there were even more traders and entertainers. Jugglers, comedians, acrobats, fire breathers and musicians. We sat on the stairs of what was once, and perhaps still is a stone theatre. Reminiscent of a Greek amphitheatre, where scholars discussed theories of democracy, religion and astronomy. A stall was selling pastry not too different from baklava. Dripping in thick honey. Tessa lay at our feet drinking from a bowel of water I poured for her. The sun was high in the sky but not too warm. A cold breeze blew through the streets, reminding us were on a northern coast of a much larger continent. Taking in our surrounds we laughed at the clowns, tapped our feet along with the musicians and gasped in amazement as acrobats preformed stunts involving knives, ropes, heights and fire.

  I couldn’t help but notice a hustle and bustle going on at the far side of the open theatre. I could see from between the crowd several people holding what looked like spears. There was a lot of shouting and yelling that seemed to get louder and closer. People were pushing, shoving and arguing. From amongst the sea of bodies I locked eyes with something that sent a shock down my spine. My muscles contracted, my mouth went dry and colour drained from my face. Two dark and deep inset eyes were gazing and burning into mine. The eyes were not what shocked my idyllic dream of a day into a cutting cold nightmare. It was the pigs snout at the end of his face. I had seen this mask before. In Renir.

  “YOU” the voice bellowed. The massive man was pushing people out of the way. I mean like, lifting people and throwing them as he made his way towards me. Sarah jumped to her feet and grasped my arm. She knew he was coming for me.

  “Babe, who the hell is that?” She
whispered in my ear.

  “Never mind, lets go, come on, quick.” She was pulling at my arm but I didn’t move. I may have looked brave and everything, standing up to a pig faced man twice as large as I was but it was not bravery or pride holding me in place. It was fear. Tessa began to growl. I gave the lead to Sarah.

  “Babe, run, please listen to me, I will meet you back here once I’ve lost him. But you need to go now!” I said to her softly while I peeled her fingers from my arm. The look in here eyes was that of 'we have only just found each other again, like hell I'm leaving' But I wasn’t going to negotiate. I had killed this man's partner, friend, brother lover? I didn’t know, but it didn’t look like he cared. Eye for an eye, is what he thought. And yes, pun intended, pun very much intended.

  “YOU MUST PAY!” the voice bellowed again, approaching even closer now. Reminds me a little of that massive guy in that movie about those kids finding the pirate ship? You know the one? Only this big giant isn’t friendly and I cant imagine him eating candy bars instead of human flesh.

  “SARAH GO!” I screamed at her pushing her back, I bolted towards the giant pig faced brute. I could see a grin appearing from underneath his mask. He must have been tracking me for days. But how? It didn’t really matter now, he was about to get his prize. If he could catch it. I turned hard to my left, only seconds before we met. Ducking under his hand I skidded on my knees for a moment then pushed myself up again. Almost directly behind him now. The brute tripped over his own legs as he tried to reach out to grab me. His arm reaching out and missing what he grabbed at. Now listen, I’ve said it before, I am no athlete, I have a good beer belly and plenty of spare weight. I may lift some heavy weights from time to time but this guy looked like he could bench press trucks! Banging out sets of ten at fifty reps per set. So yea, that’s a lot! Any way, getting side tracked. Yea the chase. So I just managed to miss his grasp. He toppled, if only for a second. Looking back at his body face down on the ground I could see Sarah and Tessa standing behind on the far side of the clearing. Fear on both of their faces. I winked at Sarah then turned and ran. The big guy had pushed himself to his feet now. He slammed his fists on the cobbled floor and let out a clattering roar as he perused me. Like something from a computer game. If it were a computer game then this guy was the end boss and I had no restarts or extra lives. He may have been slow as he chased me but nothing slowed him any further like a cargo ship blasting through ice. I kept toppling things behind me hoping to slow him down but nothing. He pushed through tables and stalls like a 747 through white clouds.