by Peter Yard
When the ship docked at the northern port he wasn't sure of his next step. He approached the Captain who was starting to relax now that the heavy cargo was on shore. His first mate a woman of loud voice and quick wit was organizing the loading onto wagons below on the dock, her black hair just poking out under her cap.
"My first mate, Dana, will be taking the cargo via the wagons. She is very capable, I'm surprised she hasn't applied for her own command by now. Be that as it may. We won't be following her, we will be taking a small boat over to the Delta."
"So is it just passengers to the Delta port then?"
"Transport to the Delta port is much more expensive and it would require extra handling for the cargo. So, more complicated and more expensive, and probably slower to take the cargo with us."
"Then why are there two ports?"
"This one, the Northern Port, is deep water, but as you can see there isn't a lot of hinterland to develop a sizable town, it'd be squeezed right up against the cliffs of the Rim. The Delta has a lot of flat ground with rich soils, suitable for a city and farms, but the river is very shallow, with shifting sand banks, nasty to navigate."
Mikel and the Captain crossed over to a smaller boat with a single sail. Dana waved at them and yelled, "See you later, Dad." The Captain waved back and gave Mikel an almost tender look.
Just beyond the port, to the North, there were hills making up the crater Rim, about fifty to a hundred meters high; compared to the imposing snowy Cantas far to the east they were insignificant, though still an impediment. At the Northern Port there were houses stretching all the way up the Rim with the best ones at the top. He knew there were roads that crossed the northern and southern rim to communities up and down the coast but he couldn't see them. He was originally from the North, somewhere, it gave him a strange tingling feeling.
East, beyond the city of Bethor, there was a large gap in the mountain range, the Bethor Valley, visible from anywhere in the Bay. It was a wide pass that split the Cantas in two and linked Bethor to the inland regions of Arva. North of the Bethor Valley and the Bethor Pass were the Northern Cantas, and to the south the Southern Cantas. Both mountain ranges showing white tipped peaks that towered above the bay. East of the Bethor Pass the countryside opened up into the famous Great Plains. In the center of the Plains was Lake Baikal, and around it the ancient and legendary Cities of the Plains. To the East beyond the Lake, somewhere in the Great Desert, it was told, was the half-mythical Trader city of Tanten.
When he finally arrived in Bethor, Mikel's doubts about this mission just got stronger. Did the Center really know what they were doing? He was stunned by the masses of busy people. Too many to note, analyze and observe. Too many to get to know. Lind, including the Artist’s Enclave, was just too small. He felt like a country hick. The docks were full of life and activity, there were horses and other animals of burden and people working to take goods off some boats and load onto others. There was constant noise, strange smells, and colors that he had not seen or experienced in such profusion before.
He saw a team of men naked to the waist, sweating, carrying things on their back off another vessel to the right as he walked up the gangplank. He could think of ways to save them some effort, he thought about having a talk with them when they stopped for a break. Then he noticed the well dressed man looking at them and the heavy set overseer beside him with a whip at his side. Slave owners and slaves. Ugly memories mixed in with sweet. This was best forgotten, he had a mission; he took a deep breath and moved on.
He walked with Captain Woran through the crowd at the docks. So many people with different clothes and styles, different smells, unknown lives. He felt very plain.
He remembered that the Council and Enclave often recruited promising candidates from Bethor and smaller towns, including himself. They must have intimate knowledge of the mainland cities. He wondered if relatives were passing him on the street without his knowing. This gave him strange uncomfortable feelings, yet there was simply no way to know who his family were, even if they were still alive, which he doubted, or maybe the doubting was just convenient denial. He dismissed the train of thought, it just wasn't helping him.
He ‘got a lift’ with Captain Woran into the city. The good captain had decided to leave the cargo handling to his first mate, his daughter, when the cargo wagons arrived, he had business in the city. Their open air carriage was pulled by huge black animals called horses. Mikel had never seen such creatures before, though he had heard stories that The Center was trying to breed them on one of the islands. The carriage started with a jolt and the horses leapt forward. He had ridden on some bullock carts but this was wonderful. The carriage slowed down once away from the docks and made its way through the crowded, muddy streets, narrowly avoiding low overhanging drapes of various colors, and balconies decked by faces peeking over looking at them with curious but impenetrable expressions. He was let off at a street corner.
"Be careful, Mikel. There are many pickpockets in Bethor, we don't have them in the Farrel but we don't have much wealth either. Just take care even if you do look pretty poor."
He looked about at the crowds, many in exotic clothes of different hues.
"By their standards I probably am poor." In Lind, he and his fellow students thought themselves special. White knights of knowledge, who would free the world. Now it seemed more like an adolescent fantasy.
Captain Woran pointed down the nearby street, and rattled off some directions, that went over Mikel's head, then he was gone and Mikel was by himself surrounded by Bethor.
Eventually, after all the hustle and bustle, seeming to not know where he was going, and his incessant questions he now stood by himself before a strange wooden building three stories tall. The external structure of the outside was painted dark brown and black in places, the walls in a fading white that he recognised as lime, with the bottom of the building edged in green by algae. A sign outside announced that this was “Ted’s Haven and Inn - Finest in Bethor”. Mikel was sure the building had a lean to the right. Didn’t these people know anything about statics? No, of course they didn’t. But they should at least have decent eyes.
He didn’t quite regard them as barbarians. The Center was scrupulous about that. “We serve the people by improving their life and their future.” He found himself mouthing the words, deeply ingrained into his thinking and habits.
He hefted his backpack to reposition it on his shoulders. Set his staff in what he thought was a confident pose and walked through the door. The building was made of wood but had a large front window that let in light. Although it was common in Lind, window glass of this quality seemed quite rare in Bethor. He could see reasonably well in spite of having just come in out of the sun. To his left was a polished bench like fixture which he had been told was a ‘bar’.
“On your left will be a bar. Talk to the owner Ted, he's usually doing barman duties.” Master Samuel had advised him.
The bar seemed to be where alcohol was served. He knew about alcohol because the Islands exported wine and spirits, and of course every kid at some time brews beer and eventually builds a still, at first to make alcohol and later to make more interesting things. A man behind the bar was pouring a beer from a keg that was against the wall. He turned and saw Mikel. He looked to be over 50, loose wild gray hair, sunspots on his face and freckles, dark brown skin. He obviously did a lot more than stay in this place.
“What will it be?” He asked, with as much carelessness as if good manners had to be paid for, in advance.
“I was told I could get a room here.” Mikel said.
“That is correct. The rate is two silver dollars per night, in advance.”
Mikel realized his uncertainty was obvious. But he didn’t know if he was supposed to haggle or not.
“New from the College?” The barman asked.
Might as well be honest he thought, “Yes. Just here to see Bethor and learn about the trade routes.”
“Well, the standard rat
e is two silver a night. The Center knows me, and they know I look after my charges.”
“Charges?”
“Yes, young Mikel. My charges. I was told of your visit in advance. The Center and I have an — arrangement — which I honor.”
He didn’t know what to make of this. The man knew his name. Was this innkeeper privy to the workings of the Center and its plans or did he get wind of some details from the Port somehow, and now using it as a ruse to get more information? His head was filled with multiplying possibilities, bizarre, and contradictory. He decided a bit of caution would be wise.
“Thank you. Yes, my name is Mikel and I am from the Center. Just landed from the Wavesprite. Here to get to know Bethor and the Plains.”
The innkeeper turned to get a key and gave a momentary glance upwards, which Mikel understood as adding a touch of mockery to his action. He had seen the caution many times before.
The Inda River opens onto the Eastern side of the Bay of Pennit. The official population of the city is 50,000, which is an old joke since it changes seasonally as the various caravans bring trade riches to the city and take other riches to remote places; at its smallest it is much larger than 50,000. Historically, Bethor Island, the main island of the Delta, was chosen for defense purposes, it is now the site for many of the public buildings of the city, easily distinguished because they are built of stone rather than wood. The city has grown and spilled out onto the flood plain to the north and south of the river. A series of wooden bridges link the Delta islands to the mainland and the southern bank to the north just east of the Delta.
This much, a crude map, and not much else, was in the brief pamphlet he was given in Lind.
As soon as he had secured his things in his room he quickly washed and left the inn to explore. He started wandering around the Island looking for sights, not even sure which direction he was walking, and he still felt a bit strange walking on a surface that was not continually pitching, but more walking would surely fix that. He was particularly interested in the Library and Museum. He found the Museum, an imposing stone building, a few minutes after he deliberately started walking east. He stood still looking at it, trying to guess or deduce things from the outside. He soon saw that he had become a small stationary island in a river of people. A sea of browns, black, gray and here and there bursts of color … reds and yellows and blues. He wondered what kinds of dyes they used, what ideas they had, what their lives were like. He wasn’t surprised by the mix of people since many different people came to Lind to train, the clothes and fashions were unexpected, but it was the large numbers of people that surprised him most. People everywhere.
From the outside, the Museum was not as impressive as the Center on Lind. But it was completely unknown to him and that made it an adventure, his heart even started to race. He walked past the entrance guards and gave the seated official a silver dollar as required. Inside there was quite a bit of natural light and some lamps clearly of Lind design brightening up the hidden corners. He saw many things, some from the early history of Bethor and some things that were just strange. These objects were made of odd gleaming metals or perfect glass, but the plaque said it was not glass. The Ancients had “made these things” the text went on. Which meant nothing since all that meant was that these things were made by someone older than the historical records.
As an apprentice he understood the language on some of the artifacts, in fact it festooned the Main Hall in Lind. But the words here made no sense. What could you make of: “F3N CRYO Rack”; “Comm Crypto Unit 5”; “Library Neural Cortex”? It turned out most of these items were taken from the Cities of the Plains during the time of the Fall of the Cities, when a very young Bethor sacked the Cities. He looked about and understood. The museum was popular and well funded because it celebrated conquest, not knowledge.
The next day he located the Library which was on the southern side of the Delta, just by the riverbank. The path there meant he passed by both spectacular opulence and heartbreaking squalor. He had never seen either before, it was depressing, the contrast between the two enhancing the emotions. He noted it but postponed judgement, he would write about it later after he had time to evaluate what he had seen.
The Library was a stone building less well executed than the Museum. It was also located in a fairly run down side street, grass grew between the stone slabs that made the entrance, the sign was faded. The area seemed almost deserted, there were few people in the streets, adding to an impression that the Library was forgotten and dejected, soon to become derelict. Entry was free. There were books in Bethorese, a dialect of the common tongue, which like all dialects was based on Ancient. The books seemed to mostly be about heroic adventures and deeds. There were some very basic books from the Center. There were also some old crumbling texts in open boxes with lids. He presumed at night the boxes were closed. Their titles were strange but he could understand them. Some of them were definitely unknown to the Center. In Lind these books would be priceless, here they weren't even worth the effort to lock up. He looked at the case plaque to see if there were more details. There was no translation because no one knew the language, yet he could read it and one of the loose pages that was pinned right beside it. So close. He looked at the bored official who was sitting nearby leaning against a column, as if sitting wasn't relaxing enough, listlessly picking lint off his mock-military uniform.
“Is there a translation of this?” He asked in good Bethorese. He remembered the accent from childhood.
“No.” The guard said, but in a way that also said, “and I don’t care.”
Mikel decided to persist. “I’ve heard that the Wizards at the Center can translate this. We would then be able to read it.”
He sneered. “Wizards! Hah! No, we won't take any notice of that scum."
He stood up, excited, glad to share this one idea in his humdrum life, shaking his finger at Mikel.
"You watch, one day Bethor will take them down a notch. We'll burn their Center and string them all up. Watch them twist in the wind. Maybe the two of us will be there to hold the ropes.” He laughed. Then sat down chuckling to himself.
Mikel gave a nervous smile and excused himself. Outside he stood in the sun, he had never experienced such raw, irrational hatred towards an entire people. His people. It was scary and somehow familiar.
Now as he walked through Bethor it didn’t seem so interesting or colorful. He started to see the unusual numbers of armed soldiers; dressed in their red uniforms with black trim they looked impressive, but there were so many of them. The colorful banners he first admired, he now saw had highly stylized phrases written along their sides; proclaiming the superiority of Bethor. “Retake the Cities”. “Bethor, Born to Rule”. This city was a very bad place for someone like him to be in, it was just waiting to explode. It was drunk on pride and arrogance, he knew those were the reasons, but not why he knew. He now could guess why the agents had died. When they came here the signs would probably have been much less obvious and the agents would have triggered too many alarms with their questions, now it was clear that Bethor was intent on war. Bethor wanted to rule all of Neti, and probably kill all they didn’t like. Their navy, if it could be called that, was pitiful but they didn’t have to take Lind. All they had to do was shutout all trade routes and ports. Soon, Lind would have to negotiate.
By the time he got out of the district containing the Library he was hungry and the sun was low in the west. He stopped by a roadside merchant who had a stall selling food. He just followed everyone else and ordered something that seemed popular, thinking, “well, if it's poisoned then I'll have company in the hospital,” only later bothering to wonder if Bethor had such a thing as a hospital. It looked like meat wrapped in a pale cloth that was, on examination, a kind of bread. Anyway it tasted pretty good. Different, but surprisingly good.
Now, with a new appreciation of the city, wherever he looked he saw the slaves. It wasn't like the poor, or the people of Lind who were never rich. Ther
e was a look of dejection that made him shake inside, he thought at first that what he was seeing was fear but he knew pretty soon that it was frustrated anger, as much in himself as the others. He was surrounded by the Bethor dialect, an accent so strong as to be almost a different language with its own meanings for familiar words. The more he heard it the stranger he felt.
He sought refuge in a small park by the water looking out on the bay. He tried to calm himself leaning against a waist high weathered gray stone seawall, the sound of waves lapping the rock like lifeless clapping. He felt as if he was going to panic. Breathing the clean salt air deeply to calm himself. It all went back to when he was a kid. No doubt about it.
He had forgotten it all, pushed it out of the way, making a new life by denying the old. Now immersed in this all too familiar culture and accent it came back in a flood. There were tears in his eyes and he struggled to know why.
He remembered he had been playing with Aleis and Tomi, his older sister and brother. They had all just had a great morning with their older cousin Ayo before she left on one of her trips. The children idolized her and thought of her as so grown up even though she was just out of her teens. She went on long trips with her father to mysterious places; he wasn't a fisherman like Mikel's father and Mikel didn't know what that meant; to Mikel being a fisherman was everything — and exploring, always exploring, or thinking, or making things. It was the exploring and thinking that saved him yet again. Ayo had left and they decided to play a game, Mikel had thought of some new rules, there were many places amongst the rocks to hide, it was his turn. He gave them cryptic clues where he would hide, then they would turn, hide their faces and count up to twenty. All of his family could count, his mother had insisted on teaching him much of the 'old knowing'. She said that the Wizards knew of the knowing and had special magic and could do things like the stories she sometimes told him. They were to be respected and feared and maybe one day her children could be like the Wizards, and meet them face to face, though it was said that if they looked at you straight then you would die or at the least lose your soul. Others said that the Wizards moved about us invisible, observing and acting without our understanding.