The Wanderers of the Water-Realm

by Alan Lawton

  At first light the caravan departed from the way-station and began its long trek across the open plain. The newcomers quickly discovered that movement across the plain was far from easy, for patches of wild red moss often grew well past ankle height and impeded the movement of both the men and their laden pack animals. The ground was also criss-crossed by dry gullies that filled with rainwater during the wet season, and by the numerous pot-holes and patches of sinking sand barring their path. Indeed, the newcomers would have made very little progress without the guidance of the blonde-haired tribes-woman.

  The expedition advanced for miles into the open wasteland until they were engulfed by the seemingly endless sea of crimson moss, with both the newcomers and their animals being constantly subjected to the pitiless heat of the five suns lying upon them like a heavy weight.

  The daylight hours seemed never-ending to the struggling travellers, whose only respite from the toil of the march was the few short stops that Whiteflower allowed enabling them to catch their breath and to water the tough little transport narr.

  Darkness fell, but the members of the caravan groped their way forward for a further hour before Whiteflower declared herself to be satisfied with the first day’s progress and called a halt for the night. The travellers released the pack animals from their burdens and tethered them close to clumps of edible moss where they could graze and regain their strength for the brutal toil of the following day. Meanwhile, the temperature fell and the newcomers swathed themselves in their warm sleeping garments and huddled around a small fire made from dead moss. A stew of dried narrs flesh simmered over the flames and Whiteflower bulked out the soup with a few handfuls of the same wild moss that was the staple diet of the transport narr. Unfortunately, the moss gave the food a bitter flavour that was hard upon the palates of the travellers and Whiteflower laughed as she watched her companions struggling to swallow their portions.

  “Forget the taste and eat every morsel.” The tribes-woman ordered. “The moss has a disgusting flavour, but is nutritious and contains a drug that will stop your joints from becoming inflamed by the toil of the journey. Sometimes, my clans-folk have survived for weeks at a time by simply chewing upon that bitter plant, now, my friends, put your heads down and sleep whilst you may.”

  The second day of the trek across the wasteland largely resembled the first. Unfortunately, as nightfall approached, the weakest of the transport narr sank under the weight of its burden and neither an extra ration of water nor the encouragement of Paris, who was its drover, could persuade the creature to rise and resume the advance. Paris wished to continue with his attempt to succour the animal, but Whiteflower pushed him aside and cut the creature’s throat with a single stroke of her knife.

  “Save only the food and water that is part of its load.” She ordered sternly. “Cut a good portion of flesh from its haunch to serve as our evening meal. Leave the herbs and medicines that it carries to rot with its carcass, for the weight would kill the remainder of our narr, if we should be so foolish as to burden them with an extra load. Now move swiftly for very little daylight remains!”

  The sky darkened, but the caravan struggled onwards for a further two hours before Whiteflower paused and ordered the travellers to make camp in the shelter of a narrow gully. Soon, they were all crouching around a small fire and roasting the haunch of meat cut from the unfortunate pack animal.

  For the first time, Whiteflower appeared unsure of herself and said not a word as she carved the haunch of meat into individual portions. After they had eaten she stood up and addressed the company.

  “Master and friends,” she began. “I must confess to you that I have become unsure of our exact position, for many of the features in this barren landscape have been altered by falling rain and flash-floods. I know the old trade route lies a good days march ahead of us, but the way-station, containing a well of clean water, may lie a mile of two in either direction when we reach the road. It is therefore essential for us to find the road well before tomorrow’s darkening, and give ourselves ample time to discover the way-stations possition before night falls, for we must reach the water supply that we and our animals need to survive.”

  She paused and drew a deep breath.

  “I suggest that we rest here for only a portion of the night and resume the march a good four hours before daylight. We must give most of our remaining water to the transport narr or they will not live to reach the road. This will allow us only a single mouthful before we march and another to keep us going when the heat becomes intolerable.”

  The girl burst into tears and flung herself at Darryl’s feet.

  “Master, I have failed you. I fear that I have been foolish in overstating my ability as a guide, I humbly beg your forgiveness?”

  The boatmasteropened his mouth to reply, but Myra quickly reached over and helped the girl to her feet.

  “You have no reason to blame yourself.” She said. “For my inner-eye tells me that everything will be well, providing that we strive to do our best during the hard trek that surely lies ahead. I have no doubt that we shall be sleeping in comfort at yonder way-station tomorrow night!”

  Darryl joined his twin sister and gently wiped away the blonde girl’s tears.

  “Aye, tomorrow we shall rest peaceably. Now let us waste no more time with useless doubts and recriminations, for the night advances and we must all rest whilst we may!”

  Whiteflower shook each of the travellers into full consciousness and urged them to prepare to resume the march as quickly as possible, although the night was pitch black and the Water-Realm dawn was still several hours away. The members of the expedition groaned and massaged new life into their cramped muscles, before rising from their sleeping robes in order to help the tribeswoman to load the packs of trade goods onto the backs of the complaining transport narr. Once the loading was completed, the girl supplied each of the travellers with a single meagre mouthful of water before giving almost all of the remaining liquid to the laden pack animals. Once she was satisfied that the preparations for the day’s march were completed, she took her customary place at the head of the caravan and gave the order to resume the trek.

  The caravan advanced for hours through the bitterly cold night and each member of the expedition would have given a king’s ransom for the privilege of returning to their warm sleeping robes, yet they gritted their teeth and carefully felt for each foothold upon the treacherous ground as they moved through the inky darkness. Indeed, some of the travellers would certainly have become separated from their fellows and lost in the night, had the tribes-woman not lit a torch and held it high in the air as a point of reference at the head of the column.

  The travellers groped their way forward, across the numerous dried watercourses and the many other obstacles littering the darkened wasteland, until they began detecting a slight reddening in the sky and they knew the Water-Realm dawn was close at hand. Rapidly, the light strengthened until they were able to make out the surrounding landscape and Whiteflower was able to discard the torch that she had carried ever since the beginning of the day’s march.

  The bitter chill of the night quickly departed from their bodies with the rising of the five suns and the members of the expedition stepped out with new vigour as their faces were caressed by a warm and pleasant breeze. Yet the strength of the sun’s rays increased as the hours past and by midday, the heat was so intense that even the simple act of breathing became an energy-sapping chore.

  George, the Herculean boat hand was the first of the newcomers to reach the point of near exhaustion, for the weight of muscle making him a formidable adversary in battle, was simply an added burden during this blistering cross-country trek. The boat hand accidentally stubbed his foot on a hidden rock and tumbled to the ground. Despite his best efforts, he was quite unable to rise until Darryl grasped his hand and hauled him back onto his feet. Fortunately, the young giant still had a hidden reserve of strength and was able to resume the march without a pause.

&
nbsp; Paris was the next member of the expedition to experience difficulty, for the envoy simply passed out and fell by the side of the transport narr that he was leading. Whiteflower halted the caravan and helped Myra to revive the exhausted man with a tiny draught of water; she then shared out the remaining liquid amongst the rest of the company.

  Myra knew that the time had arrived for her to bring her witch skills into play and after causing the men and animals to be drawn around her in a circle, she uttered the words of a powerful strengthening spell and issued a measure of a strong pain relieving drug to each of the travellers before allowing the march to continue.

  The caravan struggled onwards across the trackless waste and for a while the heat seemed less oppressive and fresh energy began flowing through their tired bodies, but the elemental power of the five suns gradually ate into and finally dispersed the protective powers of the witch’s spell and the members of the expedition were once again fully exposed to the full rigors of the march.

  By the middle of the afternoon, both humans and animals where reaching the point of complete physical collapse and Whiteflower was desperately scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the old trade road that was their initial objective, Darryl forced his tired limbs to carry him to the head of the column where he joined the blonde haired scout and together they peered into the far distance.

  “Nothing master, nothing!” The girl said. “We should have reached the road by now. I cannot believe that we have not found it!”

  The boatmaster placed his hand upon the tribes-woman’s shoulder.

  “Courage lass,” he replied. “The pace of our march has slackened over the past hour and we may still have some way to go.”

  Once again he peered out across the expanse of crimson moss and his eyes lit upon a faint dark line, which seemed to run across the face of a low hill about a mile ahead of the advancing column. Darryl immediately drew the girl’s attention to this unusual feature and she let out a single heartrending sob from her parched throat.

  “It is the road master. May all of the unseen forces be praised, if we press on we shall reach the road and then we must find the way-station if we are to survive.”

  The other members of the expedition received the good news and advanced with renewed hope. Soon the ruined culverts and broken bridges lying along the line of the road could be clearly seen as the caravan drew closer and the sharp eyed boatmaster eventually spotted a rectangular building standing in the shadow of the low hill. He embraced his youthful guide and pointed towards the structure

  “There’s the way-station lass; directly ahead of us. Soon we shall drink from the cool waters of the well lying within its walls. Lass; we must all pay homage to your skill as a navigator. You, alone, have ensured our survival by your intimate knowledge of this confounded wasteland.”

  The girl thanked Darryl for his kind words and tugged urgently at his sleeve

  “Come master.” She urged. “The way-station is further off than you think and we must reach it before the daylight fails. We must not be numbered amongst the multitude of travellers who have died of thirst within a stone’s throw of water. Come master; let us continue the march with all possible speed!”

  The day was almost over and only a single hour of daylight remained when the caravan finally approached the entrance to the way-station. Unfortunately, access was denied by a door made from tough Thoa timber. Whiteflower paused and called for Darryl and his witch-sister to join her at the head of the column, then turned and addressed the twins.

  “A few of these way-stations are still occupied by their original owners, who cling to their property in the hope that traders will once again return to the road, such men live isolated lives and are understandably wary of strangers. I will therefore advance alone and bargain for shelter with the proprietor, should the place prove to be occupied.”

  “My inner-eye tells me that yonder place is indeed occupied, aye and by exactly six souls!” Myra gasped from her parched throat. “And all of them are very nervous, so take the utmost care, or you may get a darter bolt in your body for your trouble.”

  The tribeswoman left her friends and slowly walked towards the door of the station with the palms of her hands extended to show that she was quite unarmed. As she walked, she noticed that a number of darters where pointing at her from weapon slits in the station walls, but she bit her lip and continued to move forward. The girl halted about thirty paces from the gate.

  “I am Whiteflower a child of the Kev.” She announced. “I am guide to a merchant from the river-lands who wishes to obtain protection and sustenance within the walls of your establishment. For this service he is willing to pay you handsomely with the very best of medicinal herbs.”

  She paused and a man’s voice answered her from within the wall.

  “I am the proprietor of this way-station and I am prepared to supply you with ample water and shelter, for the reasonable price of two narr-loads of herbs.”

  “You thieving son of a whore!” The girl shouted, despite the painful dryness in her throat. “Two bunches would be enough for what you offer, yet you have the nerve to ask for two whole narr-loads?”

  “For you and your companions, two loads is cheap indeed my girl.” The man replied. “I can see that your caravan has just emerged from the wastelands and you must therefore be in desperate straits for water. It would be a simple thing for me to deny you aid and wait for you all to die of thirst and take your entire cargo at no cost to myself!”

  “You are wrong!” The girl shouted angrily. “We would rather kill our transport narr and burn our goods to ashes, than let you profit from our unjust deaths.”

  Whiteflower half turned and pointed towards Myra who was standing alongside her brother.

  “Yonder woman is a witch who possesses great occult powers, before she dies; she swears that she will lay a terrible curse upon you and your family, one that will bring misfortune to your kin for many generations to come. Her inner sight reveals that you are six in number, and she declares that her spell will strike you all, if you are callous enough to leave us to die in this wasteland!”

  There was a long pause and the man behind the wall spoke again, but this time in a much subdued voice.

  “I am a trader who must do the best for his family in these troubled times. I will ask for only twenty bunches of herbs and a well-wish from your seer, in return for food, water and lodgings for seven darkenings within my way-station. If my terms are acceptable to you, then my sons will open the gate and my wife and daughters will tend to your every need.”

  Whiteflower agreed to the man’s terms and the gate swung open. An old man wearing a turban appeared upon the threshold and called for them to enter. Darryl was still suspicious and wished to enter the station first, sword in hand, in case of treachery, but his twin sister forestalled him.

  “Have no fear!” She said quietly. “My inner-eye tells me that yonder man is sincere and will keep his word and his threat to watch us die of thirst was but a traders bargaining ploy.”

  The young witch stepped forward and taking Whiteflower by the hand, she led both the tribes-girl and the caravan into the safety of the way-station.

  Darryl lay back and relaxed upon one of the comfortable bunks lining the walls of the way-station’s simple but adequately appointed hostelry. As he rested, the boatmaster recalled the expedition’s entry into the way-station that had taken place only a few short hours ago.

  Ulf had greeted them inside the gate and he turned out to be a small elderly gentleman with a red beard, he wore a rather worn robe woven from narrs-wool and he sported a bright blue turban, which he later explained, was the traditional garb of a way-station proprietor. Ulf had immediately demanded payment of his fee of twenty bunches of medicinal herbs, after introducing the newcomers to his plump and jovial wife and his grown up family comprising two sons and two daughters. The proprietor’s family had supplied the thirsty travellers with cool sweet water freshly drawn from the station’s well and a
llowed them to bath in a cistern filled to the brim with the life-giving liquid. The five newcomers had sighed with delight as it cooled their sun burnt skin and re-vitalized their dehydrated bodies. Afterwards, they had dined to repletion upon a vegetable stew that was flavoured with herbs and fragments of dried narrs-flesh.

  Darryl had subsequently engaged the proprietor in conversation and it transpired that his caravan was the first to call at the station for over three years. The boatmaster had wondered how the man had survived in business with so little commercial traffic now using the route. When asked this question, the proprietor had sighed loudly and stated that he and his family had been forced to become farmers in order to survive. The spring inside the way-station, Ulf had explained, could be relied upon to produce copious supplies of fresh water and the proprietor, together with his sons and daughters had diverted much of the liquid and used it to irrigate an area of soil lying inside the walls of the establishment.

  “Much of the land enclosed within these walls is highly fertile.” The man had explained, and he declared that two crops a cycle could easily be obtained, though not without much hard labour on the part of himself and his family. Ulf’s two sons, it also transpired, were competent hunters and occasionally brought the carcass of a wild narr back to the way-station to enliven their diet with a little fresh meat.