Next to this mental picture hung one of a capsizing boat on a calm sea. His parents had died without ever explaining to Kaleb that thing he had felt. But that inner part of him that still remained alive after they were gone, forever filled itself with an empty addictive craving for an experience he had only tasted once.
Trapped in the Orphanage, he had found nothing in studies or books that could match or assuage that craving. Now, finally free for a time, he knew, almost without thinking about it, that following an old Swimmer on a pilgrimage would never reveal the answer to his quest. And you could bet your last drachma that fake Pascal priests wouldn't have anything to offer either!
His tasks done, the mate moved away from the clutter of the sail and rigging toward the relatively open deck at the front of the boat. The old Heartlander ushered his grandsons after the man. In silence, the large stranger that the old man had called "Nathan," stripped off his black robe and stood before them with his head bowed. Drawing his sword, he gripped it so that, hilt outward, it pointed at his own heart: I AM SORRY, FORGIVE ME.
GrandSire moved beside the stranger and gently laid his hand on the other's ceremonial blade, moving it away from the younger man's heart. Touching another person's blade was an ancient and very strong sign of deep friendship that both of the boys noted instantly. In effect, the Heartlander, by that one act, gave his Grandsons a signed message of his own: NO FORMALITY IS NEEDED. I CLAIM THIS ONE AS MY HOUSE-BROTHER.
"This 'ere's m' good friend, Nathan," said GrandSire, breaking the silence as the bard sheathed his sword. In that instant, Kaleb noticed several things about the man in front of them. Under his priestly robe, he had been concealing the livery of a singer-bard, a full-length white tunic with full sleeves, one of which was marked with sky-blue stripes. The sword he extended was not of standard scaline, but rather of carved, bleached bone just like the old man's. Kaleb checked the man's side, already knowing what he would find: yes, the bard also carried a secondary waterskin marked with the golden Gryphon crest. He too was a Swimmer!
"Nathan's a master singer-bard (as y' can see by the three stripes on his sleeve), an' a very good one at that. 'E's agreed," continued the older man, looking his youngest grandson in the eyes, "to take on young Jason 'ere as 'is 'prentice. That is," he added with a chuckle, "iffin your pipes don't squeak like a pig in a trap! Y' see, 'e was supposed t' stay in the background t' kinda observe what 'is student was like, but it seems the Gryphon 'ad other plans."
The white-haired man paused a moment to place his wrinkled, sun-leathered hand on his youngest grandson's arm, which he then squeezed firmly as if trying to place physical emphasis on his verbal pledge, "Jason, he's a good man an' I've put m'life in t' 'is 'ands many times afore I ever thought 'bout puttin' yours there. I reckon this is all strange an' new t' ya, but one thing y'can know for sure, y'can trust this man with your life!"
Inside Kaleb fumed, "Pretty words and comforting touches don't change the facts! Your turnin' my brother over to a Swimmer?!!"
~ ~ ~
Jason, too, noticed the telltale markings that the man wore, yet in spite of this, found himself overwhelmed with joy. Excitement flooded through his veins so powerfully that his fingers and toes tingled with it and he began dancing around like a small beggar-child who had just been given a large piece of candy. "I'm to be a bard? I can sing?!" The youth's words tumbled out in an exuberant stream. "I mean, I CAN sing! I love to sing! But they never would let me in the Orphanage. They said it was wrong and fed me stories that singin' called up eagles that would come to peck at me while I slept. But I knew they were wrong, so I had to hide it. Singing helped me through my sad and lonely times. I used to stay up nights in the darkness of my bed and write songs in my head. I never dared to write them down for fear I'd get caught and punished. Now you say you want me to be a singer!"
The boy raced to his GrandSire and embraced him with a huge hug. "Thank you, GrandSire!" whispered Jason with an intensity magnified by the tears streaming from his eyes. "You see my tears of joy? You have come back into my life today and you have also given me my freedom. Now you add to those two priceless gifts one more, by granting my secret-most desire! I can sing! I'm really gonna be a bard?!"
Then Jason, remembering his manners, drew his ceremonial scaline blade, formally turned toward the stranger who was to become his teacher and then knelt down before him on one knee. From that position, the youth silently offered his shortsword, hilt-first to the white-robed bard.
The master-singer was quick in his equally formal response. After laying his hand on the proffered sword handle, almost like a priest bestowing a blessing, he spoke, and his big, booming bass voice echoed his acceptance of the youth out across the waves: "Rise Jason, son of Timnon, son of Thaddeus. I, Nathan, master singer of the bards, accept you into my service by the token of this thy sword-pledge. May your voice ring clear and true. May your message change the world into a better place."
As Nathan raised his beaming student to his feet, the boy's GrandSire produced from somewhere a bundle of bound cloth which he then handed to Jason, saying with a wink toward the bard, "It seems he'll 'ave need o' this after all." Jason looked at the giver with questioning wonder, but the only answer the old man offered was hidden behind the silent sparkled merriment of his ancient blue-gray eyes.
The bard pointed his new student toward an opening in the deck and prompted him, "Why don't you take yourself and your bundle down that ladder, so you can have a closer look at what it holds. We'll send you away, a lowly worm, only to soon welcome back a glorious butterfly." So saying, he gave the boy a gentle shove in that direction.
While Jason went below, the old Heartlander turned to his older grandson. In his hands, he held another bundle of cloth. "So as y' won't think I left y'out o' m' plannin', I wanted t' show this t' ya," he said to Kaleb and then shook out the bundle. It was an ivory-colored tunic that matched his own, except for having only a single thin brown thread sewn as a band around the sleeve, marking its wearer as one with beginner or novice skills. "It 'ad been m' intention, with you bein' the oldest an' all, to take y'on as m'own 'prentice. I 'ad wanted t' teach ya' how to be a carver, jus' like I taught your father when 'e was 'bout your age. But it seems the Gryphon 'ad other plans, an' the way it looks, son, them would've been mighty short lessons, even if the ol' Serpent 'adn't interfered."
The boy and his GrandSire stood looking at each other in silence for a long, weighty moment, then the old man sighed a deep sigh of released regret and thrust the garment toward the youth, saying, "Here, ya' might as well 'ave this, anyhow. 'Tis good strong cloth; someun' at that school you're goin' to ought t' be able t' die it t' match the blue-green 'uns of the Riverwatchers. If nothin' else, you'll 'ave it t' remember me by."
Kaleb continued to stare at the old man in front of him, neither moving to reject or accept the gift. It was not until he heard his brother shout from below, that he came to life, quickly snatching the offered garment and stuffing it over his shoulder into his pack. During the whole exchange, the dark-haired youth had offered his GrandSire neither comment nor thanks.
Jason had hollered, "Everyone close your eyes, I'm coming up!" and true to his word, his light-brown tassel of hair soon popped out of the companionway hatch.
Moments later Jason announced that they could open their eyes. He then presented himself to them robed in a white linen knee-length tunic that mirrored his teacher's, save for the number of blue stripes on the right-hand sleeve. Nathan's had three wide embroidered bands of light blue, marking him as a master bard, whereas his apprentice's novice status was advertised in a single blue thread.
"GrandSire! Kaleb! Look, I'm a bard!" exclaimed the excited youth proudly, twirling and raising up his long, blue-braided sleeve like the wind-borne banner of a conquering general.
"I say, Mast'r Nathan," said the obviously pleased bestower of the gift, nudging his friend with his elbow, "your student's more proud o' that 'umble linen than a bride of her festive purple. A 'bard
' 'e calls 'imself, an' ye' never even 'ave 'eard a note from his pipes. As if a blue thread can make a youngun' a bard!"
Caught off guard by his GrandSire's comment, Jason stopped in mid-twirl. His long, flowing sleeve, however, did not. Carried along by the combined force of the sea breeze and the youth's previous rapid motion, the wayward cloth continued its circuit, only to snap like a whip on the tender tip of Jason's nose.
"AIEEEE!!" yowled the youth in sudden pain.
"If that's how he sings," commented Nathan with a serious look on his face, "you can have him back!" Then, in spite of themselves, both of the older men broke into rolling laughter.
Soon, even the doubly red-faced Jason joined them.
The laughter would have continued longer, but suddenly Jason noticed that his older brother was not participating at all. Instead, the taciturn youth stood back away from the threesome, closer to the mast amidships. With his arms folded across his chest and his brooding eyes downcast, Jason noticed that he was shaking his head from side to side ever so slightly; an old sign of agitation.
The white-haired Heartlander must have sensed the source of Jason's sudden silence, for he turned to face his oldest grandson and asked, "Kaleb, m' boy, whaddya think o' your brother the bard?"
As though returning to a supposedly empty house only to find it filled with people all staring at him, the dark-haired youth stumbled uncharacteristically over his words, "W-well, I, I guess its all right, if that's what he really wants." But Jason knew by his tone that this was not what his brother was thinking, and the prospect of Kaleb's disapproval stung him more than the crack on his nose ever could.
The eyes of the two boys met for an instant, but suddenly Kaleb's focused beyond his brother and grew wide with wonder.
"What in the dragon's name is that?" wondered Kaleb out loud, and the others all turned toward the prow of the boat to follow his gaze.
Jason saw then what had so captured his brother's attention: jutting up into the air on the very shore of the Bay lofted a huge man-made tower that almost rivaled Dragonshead in its height. The tower's foundation was set back against the steep, cliff-like shoulder of Dragonsback, with its wide stone base taking up most of a flat peninsula which thrust from there out into the dark waters of the Bay. Through a series of ascending buttresses and supports the structure had been anchored into the sheer, native rock heights of the Mainland itself.
"GrandSire, what is that tower," asked ever curious Jason, "and what is that sticking out from it? Is that a bridge?" His sharp eyes had picked up, even at this distance, the nearly invisible spider web of cables that stretched down from the tower to support a lengthy span arching out across the Bay.
"Aye, laddie, 'tis a bridge, all right. At least half a one," responded the white-haired Heartlander, turning his back on the sight. Jason could hear disgust or contempt in the old man's voice, yet still, that did not curtail his curiosity.
"What do you mean, 'half a bridge'?" asked the boy, his interest nearing the boiling point. "What is this place and where does that bridge lead?"
GrandSire seemed uncharacteristically moody and silent so the bard answered instead, falling easily into the role of teacher, "This place is called Mann's Pointe, and yon tower is the height of man's folly. The whole ongoing project, which has taken many years to reach its present state of incompletion, has consumed enormous amounts of resources and cost not a few men their lives. It is, as your GrandSire has pointed out, a most unusual structure. Most bridges are built across some gap or barrier with support from both sides. This one, however, is only supported from this side. That is why the tower must be so tall: in order to increase the length of the span, the height of the weight-bearing structure must also be increased."
As Nathan spoke, Jason perceived for the first time the signs that active construction clung to the tower. Like vines clinging to the side of some mighty arboreal colossus of the forest, a network of scaffolding and ramps wound their way around the massive wooden tower. An army of tiny black insects moved up and down along those vines. The sudden recognition that he actually gazed upon men, crews of busy laborers dwarfed by distance, instantly altered Jason's perception of the mammoth project. "Wow, is that big!" he whispered in hushed awe. "But, why are they building this bridge? You still haven't told me where it leads."
"It doesn't lead no place!" snapped GrandSire with a slight edge in his voice. Then he paused, before continuing in a much more conciliatory tone, "I'm sorry, Jason, m' boy. It's not your fault what them fools is doin', an' I shouldn't take m' anger out on you. It's jus' they's waistin' so much time an' effort tryin' to do somethin' that's already done, only they're too blind t' see it's so. They're tryin' t' build a bridge through the clouds from Dragonsback to the Gryphon's Land. But there's several problems with their way of doin' it.
"Yes, this is the place in all o' Dragonsback where the surroundin' cloud wall's closest (it bein' fed from the steam an' smoke o' the volcanoes right above the bridge up on Dragonshead). But that don't mean that the Gryphon's Land lies jus' behind them clouds. It's way too far away for any man to ever reach on his own. That's why the Gryphon 'ad t' sent us His Son. The Gryphon's Cub promised us He would build us a bridge, but in the end, it turned out He, Himself, WAS the bridge. These people think they can reach the Land o' 'Is Promise their own way without any he'p from the Gryphon an' without ever havin' to learn to swim. Well, I tell ya' laddie, it jus' can't be done that way."
Kaleb, who had been a silent listener to this whole exchange, suddenly and forcefully joined in. He confronted his GrandSire with words filled with stinging bile. "How do you know that the land they seek is not just beyond what we can see, hidden in those thick clouds? Have you ever been out there? Have you ever walked out on their bridge to see what they can see from the end of it? How can you condemn them if you haven't?"
The old Heartlander's response lacked now all of the rancor it had held before. His voice was calm, but Jason thought that each word was marked with sadness, like tears flowing from a breaking heart, "If I'd never seen fire afore, yet someone I knew an' trusted told me I'd get mighty badly hurt iffin I stuck my hand into it, well, maybe I'm smart enough t' not burn m'self just t' prove he was right. That there tower-bridge is a counterfeit. The 'Hopewell Bridge' they call it, yet anyone who tries to walk off its end will sink like a stone into the endless deep! That bridge don't offer any hope, only lies candy-coated with sweet maybes. How do I know, you ask?
"The Word of the Gryphon, the songs and the lessons He gave us t' carry in our hearts, these tell us that man's efforts are all doomed t' fail iffin they aren't centered in an' around the Swimmer Son. Now I might not be a singer-bard, like Nathan (and young Jason, here), but I still've learned t' live by singin' the Gryphon's song. One called the Song of the Vine comes t' mind."
And with that, the elderly man lifted his scratchy old voice in song. Yet as he sang, at least to Jason's ear, that rusty voice transformed into something strong and sweet: the guttural accent of the Heartland all but disappearing from its words:
'I am the true vine,' says the Swimmer Son,
And my Father tends the vine.
The fruitless branches he prunes away,
To produce more fruit and wine.
Remain in me and I in you,
For a branch cut off has no use,
It must remain attached to the vine
Or else it can't produce.
I am the vine, you each are a branch
You must remain in me;
For apart from me you can do nothing at all
That will last eternally.' " *4
Almost before the song had ended, the air was filled with angry, thorn-like words and barbed questions. "So you condemn the monumental efforts of hundreds of hardworking, sincere men," questioned Kaleb, using his words like a weapon against the Heartlander, "based on some ancient nursery rhyme song? I'm sorry, GrandSire, but you Swimmers are a strange lot. You would rather trust what you can't see, and listen to what you
can't hear, and walk on promises you can't feel instead of resting on a solid bridge!"
All of this talk about the Gryphon and real and unreal bridges confused Jason. Although he had thought about religion many times before while growing up in the Orphanage, it had been a subject that was generally discouraged by all and seldom practiced by any. In truth, he didn't know what he believed, though obviously his GrandSire certainly did, and that in no uncertain terms!
"Yep," replied the old carver to his eldest grandson, with a wide grin on his face and deep conviction in his voice, "I think you've painted a fair accurate picture of us there, son. But you've forgotten a few other impossible things we do..."
MANN'S POINTE
"Why in the name of the Dragon do those people live out on the water of the Bay like that?" Standing in the rear of the boat talking with his brother, Jason’s first real look at the town of Mann’s Pointe invoked sudden shock and surprise, or more to the point, the overflow of the town did. Nathan, working to trim the sails for their imminent docking, became the closest adult capable of answering his concern-filled questions. "Don't they realize how dangerous that is?” queried the youth. “Floating shacks and huts? How can they sleep knowing they're lying down on a few twigs only a handbreadth above the bottomless deep? And look! There’s children on it, too! Who in their right mind would let their children play around out here like that? Why, if one of those little ones got too close to the edge, no one could help him at all!"
The Dragon's Back Trilogy Page 6