by Guy Antibes
“We believe in a Great God who organizes the world and takes our souls into His care when we die. That’s about it. Some people go to weekly meetings to worship Him. Religion isn’t too organized in Diltrant. In other places, there’s the Grethian Religion. They still worship the Great God, but believe that the Grethian priests are special emissaries.
“Even though we call our world Grethia and our continent Grethia, we are not Grethians, only the priests. I am a Diltrantian. At the time of the Great Destruction, the Grethian religion supposedly began based on the worship of relics from Heaven. The center of Grethian worship is the temple at Port Alchant. The Hand of Grethia is the holiest relic said to be deep within the Temple.”
“The Hand of Grethia?”
“Yes, the Hand of Grethia. It is only to be seen and touched by a Grethian priest. The Hand is the symbol of the Grethian priesthood. It looks like this.” Garst held up his hand, palm facing Jan with his thumb at the side. “It has been described as a block of diamond with the hand miraculously appearing inside.
“Legend has it that the Hand is the key to the return of Browngoat knowledge. The Grethians don’t exactly know what this means, but King Somilan thought he knew. There is something deep underneath the Royal Hunting Lodge, which used to be a Grethian monastery before he kicked them out of Diltrant. Obsomil’s grandfather found a hidden stairway that leads to a set of large metal doors that no one has been able to open.”
“There are other ways to break into a vault besides opening the door,” Jan said.
There is a box inset by the entrance that is believed to be the resting place for the Hand. The King thinks that if the Hand were placed there, the door would open. I don’t know if I believe it or not. Regardless, all priests wear a Hand amulet.”
“But what do the Grethians believe?” Jan asked.
“They believe that they have a special Path to Heaven. A Grethian priest can go to Heaven and converse with the Gods. He can see and touch the marvels the Gods have made while there, and then the priest can return to the temple.”
“I thought you said there is a Great God.”
“There is, but those who left behind the relics are also considered gods by the Grethians and those relics are in the temple.”
“Is there only one temple?” Jan said as Garst handed him a steaming cup of brew.
“No, there are a few of them. What makes a temple special is that it supposedly contains one of those pathways to heaven.
“Since there isn’t a temple in Diltrant, the Grethians have never been really popular here. At one time, there were Grethian Wardens from monastery sent out to watch over Diltrant. For centuries, they had armed men that would collect money for the Grethian priests. Diltrant received nothing in return for the offerings, so King Somilan kicked them out for good. About the same time, the grandfather ordered work to begin on the motion device for the ships,” Garst continued, “The priests went crazy when the first Diltrant ship entered Port Alchant with the sails down and not a single oar dipped in the water.
“They have outlawed learning and technology development in all of the other countries of Grethia. King Somilan made an end of that! Now we don’t have a state religion. We have what we call devotional societies, like I said, that believe in the divine organization of the Great God, but we have no set precepts, just a bunch of opinions.” Garst laughed and shook his head.
“My wife likes to go to meetings, but I generally ignore them. I do my devoting on nights like last night, out in the open just looking up at the canopy of stars and thinking. Let me look at one of your tools again.”
Jan passed an electronic sextant over the Garst.
“You know, I was in Ilvant, Murgrontia’s capital, once, long ago, when the priest showed a Heavenly Object. As I look at this, I think that Heavenly Objects are a something like this. Not all of the relics are made of metal.”
Jan smiled. These people didn’t know what synthetic materials were. “We don’t have Heavenly Objects where I come from or Pathways to Heaven. We do have a lot of technology. That’s where this is from, a factory. We have carts with no wheels and carts with wheels that move without animals. We have ships that take us between the stars. We have cookers that will heat brew without coals or a fire. In fact we have cups that will heat the brew itself without a cooker because of special materials inside the cup. We have devices that will carry a person’s voice and picture around a planet to another person just like the pic-cube, but talking to someone else and having them talk to you at the same time. We have little calculating machines that can revolutionize your already efficient shop, in fact I’ve got one built into my watch. That is all man-made technology.”
“Obsomil will have quite a time with you.” Garst smiled as he sipped his hot brew. “The magic that the Grethians preach is similar to what your objects do. We need to start traveling. I don’t like meeting strangers when I’m not moving on the trail.”
Jan and Garst loaded up the wagon and set off into the thinning haze. They traveled along a valley route that, according to Garst, was one ridgeline off the more normally traveled road. They met a few fellow travelers each hour. In the end they came to a small village that was dominated by a smoking pottery factory.
“The reason this pottery is so fine is because of the colors of the glaze. They found a way hundreds of years ago to create a range of colors. The mines the local villagers work contain some of the minerals used to color the glazes. These are absolutely unique in Grethia. But not only are the minerals used in the glaze, but also in the clay and that makes the pottery strong.
“In any event, we part here. There are two ways to get to Diltrant. The well-traveled way and there is a roundabout way that will offer you a more discrete entrance. I suggest you choose discretion. We will buy you some common clothes here and get you moving on to see Lord Bloodin and, hopefully, our King. Here is the village store. Not as nice as mine, but it’s the only one in town.” Garst grinned and pulled the wagon up and jumped off. Jan did likewise and the two entered into the little store.
The local pottery lined the shelves of one side. Brilliant blues, greens and yellows sparkled as the glaze dripped over the light gray pottery. The colors seemed incredibly deep. A good off-world export product came immediately to Jan’s mind. Garst selected a nondescript outfit for Jan that seemed sturdy and would certainly fit in well with the locals. Jan traded the bag he took off of the ship with Garst for a locally-made travel bag to carry all of Jan’s curiosities. Garst helped Jan pick out enough supplies for the journey to Diltrant.
“It’s time you got started. Here are 500 tarns to get you there. Think of it as a loan,” Garst said. “There is more than enough light to get you out of here and just over the pass. That’s the way to Diltrant.” Garst pointed down a road out of town. “You’ll go by way of a trail up over Dungheap Pass. It used to be the only way from here to the capital until the boys at the University figured out how to blow up half a mountain to open up the way here. Life got a lot better all of a sudden. Since then, the old road, such as it is, has gotten grown over a bit since it’s now mostly used by those on foot.”
“I appreciate all you have done for me, Garst. Will we see each other again? There’s more to tell you and quite frankly, I enjoy your company.” Jan said.
“So do I, Jan. Something tells me we’ll run into each other again. I’ll have my associates keep an eye out for you. I’ll have a message to Bloodin in four days. It should take you six or seven days to reach Diltrant on foot. A little seasoning on the trail won’t do you any harm. Don’t hide from people. Talk to them and really listen to what they have to say.” Garst pulled a sword out from the bottom of his wagon and presented it to Jan.
“Practice swinging this around a bit on your way and take this knife as well. Do you know how to use them?” Garst said.
“I’ve got some aptitude, but a little practice on the local vegetation won’t hurt. It’s been a few months.” Jan said as he put the knife on
this belt, wrapped up the sword and tied it to his bag.
“Very good, Jan. I didn’t even have to tell you to hide the sword. I sort of thought I wouldn’t have to.” A smiling Garst extended his hand, Grethian-style, and gave a little bow. “Good luck and may you be protected.”
Jan repeated the gesture with “And may we meet again to talk about the stars. Something tells me you’d like to know more.” Jan grinned, and then started off down the cobbled street and off into the hills.
~
Jan traveled towards the saddle in the mountain range that split the path the Diltrant. The trail wound back and forth switchback fashion, but Jan didn’t mind the slower route.
He took out his sword twice a day and when he stopped at a stream to eat, he practiced his fighting forms. Jan always led his Space Quest classes in ancient weapons because it gave him a chance to concentrate on using his body for protection rather than just his mind.
As he practiced in the wilderness, he found himself realizing that the concentration was a great diversion from his predicament. He kept reminding himself that if he didn’t take everything seriously, he might not survive.
He crossed over the high range and noticed the sea sparkling off to his right. He could also see Diltrant as a distant gleam off in the distance. Jan spotted a small ridgeline that led off to the sea and through another village. He could go to the ocean and return in a day. After his first encounter with the Diltrantians, Jan felt he could use more practice with interacting with locals before his entry into formal Grethian society.
The trail expanded back into a road that forked with one branch leading to the ocean and the other continuing towards Diltrant. He turned towards the ocean. The village he saw from the pass wasn’t far from the crossroads. Some farmland had been carved out of the little valley, a sight that now seemed common to him. Jan walked into the village inn and sat down.
“A jug of water and some bread please,” Jan said to a young waitress—probably the owner’s daughter. He looked around the inn.Smaller, but cleaner than my first encounter, he thought. The owner came in with the bread and water.
“My daughter said a stranger asked for some food. Bread and water is a little too severe for my establishment, so I have added a vegetable or two and some fruit. Hope you don’t mind.” He sat down with Jan and took a morsel from Jan’s plate. Although he looked relaxed, Jan could sense some anxiety behind his cheerful demeanor.
“No, I don’t mind. I’m just passing through. I’ve never been through here before. I’m heading for Diltrant. I’m from Tryst, up in the highlands.” Jan replied.
“Ah, Tryst. Know a man named Garst?” the innkeeper said with squinting eyes.
“The shopkeeper? Yes, I know him. I worked for him once. He’s not exactly an easy person to work with. But I will say he is a fair man and brings in good quality goods for the village.” Jan said, confident that he spoke the truth.
The innkeeper visibly relaxed. “Yes, that’s Garst. Sometimes he even comes through here on his travels.” He paused to take a little bite from the food in his hand. “If you need to wash up or spend the night, I can give you a good rate,” the innkeeper said with a smile, patting Jan on the back. He walked back behind the bar and on into the kitchen.
Jan finished his meal by himself. There was no one else in the inn. The waitress came out and took Jan’s money. “Thanks, “ Jan said to the pretty young girl.
Too young for me, he thought as he headed down the street. This time, Jan felt at ease. He was dressed right. It felt good to know the local language and keep up a decent conversation. On he strolled to the sea… a lot more confident.
He found a path down to the shore and walked down to the water to wash his face. Saltwater. He walked along the beach, stopping to talk to a local. He told him the same story that he had told the innkeeper. There were no large oceans on Impollon IV. Evidently, Jan was not the first and wouldn’t be the last young highlander to make it to their village to see the ocean.
He rounded a cliff along a small edge of sand leading to a small bay that looked serene with a pretty little waterfall falling down the cliff into a tide pool and then out into the sea. He filled his waterskin from the falls and looked around at the interesting rocks on both sides of the inlet. The cliffs created some interesting shapes.I like this place, thought Jan as he headed up the pathway that paralleled the falls.
‘Smuggler’s cove’ suddenly came to mind as Jan looked down at the little bay once he reached the top of the sea cliff. And indeed, it appeared that the path at the top of the cliff was as well traveled as the path leading down from the village. He shrugged his shoulders and took the smuggler’s path inland.
Jan became a bit lost as he followed the trail and took a faint path that he thought would lead him back to the village, but it didn’t. As he walked he could hear voices. He stopped and listened to a dialect that was a little different from what he had heard Diltrantians speak. He walked a little further through the brush and came across a lodge of some sort. Six men sat outside the door to the building and were engaged in a conversation.
Jan did not want to eavesdrop, because he could see that these men were not the type to surprise. In fact, a few were sharpening swords and spitting into the dust. A few words came through. He noticed the names of Wilton, Alchant, Grethians and Habamil mentioned a few times accompanied by curses. Jan saw no horses or animals about. It all seemed so strange.
Maybe these men came from the sea? Jan looked around and could see nothing else of note except for a curious metal disk at the center of a trampled down section of grass between him and the lodge. He quietly withdrew, following the trail back to the road and came out about a hundred yards further along from the fork he took to the village. Another two ruffians sat like guards on two rocks on either side of the track that probably led to the lodge.
“Good day,” Jan nodded amiably to the men as he passed. They grunted and grasped the staffs they each held a bit more tightly. Both had swords strapped to their sides. Jan breathed easier the further away he walked from them.
Hills hemmed in Diltrant on two sides with the sea on a third. Most of the buildings ran along the river that ran through the capital. Timber and stucco dwellings made up the bulk of the structures with tile or slate roofs. A palace dominated the skyline sited on the knoll. The bird’s eye view of the capital city from his watch didn’t prepare him for the difference in height of various districts of the city accentuated by banners flying from the top of every tower. The buildings closer to the palace tended to be a weathered gray or white stone, although there were some colored plaster buildings in what seemed to be newer residential areas upslope of the main town. The river became an estuary as it approached the sea and docks lined the shore.
It seemed Diltrant was just on the edge of industrialization. There were factories utilizing waterpower and metalworking enterprises by the look and smell of the fumes that sometimes wafted down to where Jan walked. As he passed factories, he could occasionally hear pulleys and belts whir and clatter along with other mechanical sounds. Jan walked through a large gate that guarded the older part of the city from the direction of the Diltrantian forests and river valley. Farmers, hunters, and miners bringing goods into the city hemmed him in as he entered his destination. He saw a cart full of pottery, but it wasn’t Garst.
No vehicles. No communications. This was still a horse and cart society. Jan had less than three days of resources left, if the prices weren’t too much higher than Tryst. He needed to make contact with Bloodin as soon as possible.
Jan wandered in with the flow of carts flowing into one of the market areas Garst had talked about. Guildhalls lined the major square in the city. Taverns and a larger city government building took up most of the opposite side from where Jan stood. He walked right through the square and stepped into the largest government building. He intended to get some attention and see if he could get some quick connections.
“I am an alien from another plane
t,” Jan could barely suppress a smile of the triteness of what he was about to say, “Take me to your leader.”
“What kind of tripe is this?” said a belligerent bureaucrat across the counter from him. Jan pulled his blaster from within his jacket and pointed it at a woven wastebasket on the other side of the counter. “Watch” Jan warned. He set the power level to high and fired a short burst. A barely noticeable beam flashed and a 6-inch section of the wastebasket disintegrated setting the rest of the container aflame.
~~~
Chapter 7
Jan walked through the halls of the Palace of Diltrant flanked by a nervous “honor” guard escorting the young man into the throne room. Jan had been in larger rooms, but the palace had a certain presence. High ceilings, supported walls that sported banners decorated with coats of arms with tapestries hanging on the walls behind them. Human life did many of the same things at equivalent stages of civilization and the palace followed suit. One of the guards ran ahead and whispered to the king, lounging on his throne.
“So you pretend to be from another world?” boomed the voice of Obsomil from the other end. Obsomil was a large, dark haired man with electric blue eyes. “Show me your magic!”
“Gladly, sire.” Jan bowed when he finally walked the long path to the throne. He looked for something innocuous. Unfortunately there was nothing as “innocuous” as the wastebasket he had shot earlier. He spied a bowl of fruit, aimed and fired. The fruit became a pulpy steaming mass. The court jumped.
“This weapon is usually set at a very light charge. Such a charge will merely disorient those caught in the field, rendering them unconscious for a time.” Jan looked at the battery level in the gun. He had to conserve the blaster’s energy, so he removed the power pack and handed the gun to Obsomil.
Obsomil handled the object with intense curiosity. “We have legends, Grethian legends, about relics like this. Unfortunately most of the items are only for the eyes of Grethian Priests.” Obsomil’s words were spat out distastefully when he mentioned the priesthood. “You’re not a damned priest in disguise, are you?”