(build – a verb meaning to create something using existing materials, to form, assemble. Vocatae ulthar. Antonym – yugiff ‘to destroy’. Example: ‘I have built this kingdom with the blood and tears of my people, by the grace of the Great Spirit’ – King Ishmael, cited in A History of the Kings and Emperors of Tremn, volume 1, chapter III, 7.)
By this means, even within one hour, he managed to increase his vocabulary and reading skills twofold. Over the next week, he continued to study and read, night and day. Shem remained his friend and companion through he did not see or speak to any other soul. His confinement dragged on for months until months turned into years, such that three years came and went and Ifunka remained, seemingly forgotten and abandoned in the bowels of Tremn. In that time, he read voraciously, until no volume remained which had not passed through his hands. His vocabulary increased exponentially and his power of expression grew in tandem as he studied the classic works on rhetoric by Mogshiff and Kabga—the great orators—and the works of the famous grammarian, Tvel the Copious. Ifunka delved into the mysteries of the Tamitvar and memorised large passages from it, so that he could chant them without any reference to the written page, in the manner that he had heard it chanted on that fateful night when he stood before the sacred tree. The idea of leaving the prison began to fade from his mind until, one day, when a monk robed in the garmenture of a metveffikunka (i.e ‘a senior monk’), i.e. a dark green cape, cap and hood over a brown robe and green sash, appeared and opened the cell door. He had been sent by the Abbott to announce that the time of chastisement had ended and he would now be released as a sign of clemency due to the upcoming visit of Ffesh, Bishop of Ffantplain. All the current prisoners, even Shem, were to be granted their liberty. With this joyful news, Ifunka fell on his knees and wept, thanking the Great Spirit, not least for giving him such a dear friend as Shem, who had spent so many years in darkness and gloomy despair. A new chapter in his life awaited him.
Chapter IV.
The Village Girl
His eyes were practically blinded by the startling light of the midday sun as he emerged from the very same oculus which he had entered some three years before (by Tremna reckoning, i.e. three revolutions of Tremn around Vukt). Shem also emerged onto the soft mossy ground, looking dazed and confused like a mole emerging from its darksome retreats. Several other prisoners followed them, ten not counting the first two, or twelve in total. Some were small boys while others were old and grizzled of beard, perhaps having endured many years of isolation underground. The jailor himself, not having any more need to remain below—at least until the next batch of prisoners— also emerged and began to walk off in the direction of the forest. Perhaps he dwelt there in some isolated hovel, deep within the forest’s vastness, when not otherwise employed. Perhaps he even had a wife and children who awaited his coming.
Ifunka held Shem by the hand as they walked towards the monastery, each step of freedom bringing joy to his heart as he approached the place where he had first learnt of the glad-tidings of the Tamitvar, where he had heard it chanted melodiously and experienced the subtle yet potent force of the Great Spirit’s influence. He knew also that Ffen would be there— a friend whom he greatly missed— and he knew also that Brother Wiffka, who had first found him, would welcome him with open arms. He did not delight in the prospect of seeing the Abbott, tyrannous as he was, but he forgave him in his heart and held no ill-will towards him. If he had learned anything during his long seclusion, it was the importance of resignation to the Great Spirit’s will. Through constant prayer and devotion, his spirit had become disciplined and calm and he cast away all thoughts of negativity and pride. He little bethought himself of what his life might be after returning to the monastery, whether he would be welcomed or ostracised.
On the way to the monastery proper, Ifunka and Shem came across Ffen, who was walking towards them. He greeted Ifunka warmly. Ffen’s robes and demeanour betokened those of a metvabt (i.e. novice monk), and his general gait and attitude were now quite mature. The robes of a novice are similar to those of a planting, except the cap, cape and hood were a shade darker, as was the brown robe. Although already two or three years older than his friend, he was now much matured—though perhaps not as hardened as Ifunka. Upon seeing his old friend, Ffen’s eyes welled up with tears and the two embraced one another most heartily. The years of isolation seemed to wash away, like salt before a vernal shower which melts into the rich earth. Ffen was truly glad to see him, having felt terribly guilty for not preventing his friend’s incarceration. For three years, the weight of this guilt had burdened him like a heavy chain, so he too was lightened and relieved by his friend’s new-found freedom. When introduced, Ffen embraced Shem also and the three reminisced and got to know one another.
“Brother Wiffka has been asking after you,” said Ffen. “Do you remember him? He found you two years ago and introduced you into the monastery.”
“Of course I remember him, Ffen,” Ifunka replied. “If anything, my memory has increased with time, not decreased.”
“Well then, let’s go and see him. You also should meet him, Shem. You need to make new friends.”
“Yes… sure,” said Shem.
So the three friends proceeded to Brother Wiffka‘s cell, which lay on the third floor of the central monastery building. They proceeded through the main entrance and then to the central lifting shaft. While there was a winding staircase leading up to the top of the building, the lifting shaft was a species of ‘elevator’ or ‘lift’ which functioned through a pulley system. One novice monk, who is on pulley duty, stands at the base of the shaft. The ascending monks then enter the lift and are pulled through the winding of the pulley until they reach the intended floor. Brother Wiffka’s room lay at the opposite end of the corridor and was marked by a metal plate above the door written in runic characters, which said, simply, Wiffka. Ifunka hesitantly knocked on the door, not knowing how he would be received after such a long absence.
Several footsteps could be heard and the rusty-hinged door swung open, revealing the long-nosed monk Ifunka Kaffa had first met two years ago, who now looked at Ifunka quizzically before smiling widely as he remembered who it was. Ifunka was now much taller than before, with wider cheeks and shoulders and longer hair, hanging now to the nape of his neck. He embraced Ifunka, like a father to his son, and then greeted the others.
“Ifunka!” he cried. “So long has it been since I’ve seen you. Welcome indeed! How have you been…. No, tell me not. You’ve suffered much! Come, let us have some gveg-leaf tea. I’ve already put a pot on the hob to boil; and some sweet ffobva-berry muffins which I made this morning. They’re still warm, moist and fluffy.”
“I’ve never tried sweet muffins before,” Ifunka remarked. He was used to the thin, savoury, flat muffins (called gubsh shevah) which his uncle and aunt prepared at breakfast time, upon which a healthy dob of butter would be spread after separating it into two halves, rather like English muffins.
Shem said nothing but, instead, silently salivated in anticipation of the sweet, moist delights of home-baked desserts washed down by sweet, rich tea boiled to perfection. Tremna are known for their love of tea, especially when accompanied by sweet desserts, each region and province of Tremnad having its own specialities, from the piping-hot, unctuous, black tea of the desert tribes to the warm, butter tea of the frigid north; from the refreshing, white tea of the southern isles to the green tea of the forest regions near the Tower of Inta; all in all, there were over one hundred and fifty varieties of tea recorded in The Universal Encyclopedia of Kubba Gven, compiled by the leading scholars of Tremnad in the era of the eponymous sovereign. Gveg-leaves are found in the environs of Tremael and the northern provinces of the Old Central Kingdom, consisting of small, black leaves which are dried, ground into a fine powder and soaked in piping-hot water, then left to brew for five minutes, allowing the robust, bitter flavour of the leaves to infuse itself within the pure ra
in water which collects in basins on the rooves of Tremnan buildings. To this is added a cube of hard, cane sugar, called tviksh, and some sweet sheff-cinnamon from the bark of the sheff tree, adding a spicy element to the concoction. It differs from ffetv-bush tea, which is the main tea consumed in Tremael Province, in that the former is served black while the latter (ffetv-bush tea) is taken with ffentbaff milk.
The tea-pot was made of bone-china and had an intricate spout, after the English fashion, being one of many examples of convergent evolution, in which the customs, traditions and technologies of numerous planets often follow the same path and result in similar inventions and accoutrements of civilization. This multi-planetary convergence is rightly referred to as ‘cosmological inter-anthropotechnological convergence’ to be exact, or ciatconvergence for short, as it relates to the entire universe or cosmos, exists between different species of humans or ‘anthropoi’ (singular anthropos, Greek for ‘man’) and relates to culture or technology. The biological origin of every variety of anthropos is, in fact, one—this concept being referred to as monoanthropogenesis, resulting from a process of interstellar seeding and harvesting, which we will refer to at another time. Suffice it to say that neither the ancient scholars of Tremn, nor the opinions of the brightest thinkers of earth’s history, held to a concept of abiogenesis, in which life derives from base matter through spontaneous replication of amino-acids. In any case, this was far from the minds of the four friends who sat down for tea in the quiet yet cosy cell of Brother Wiffka, as Ifunka related the experiences of his confinement while Shem shared what he could of his own life story.
“So Ifunka,” said Brother Wiffka, at last, after listening to Ifunka’s tale. “It seems you are an autodidact and have been remade by the Great Spirit. Fortunate art thou indeed! Now then, you are ready to become a novice monk sapling. I see a bright future for you, my boy.”
“Even though I was imprisoned?”
“Even better is it that you were imprisoned! You have a story of rebirth, of triumph and adversity. These are the stories that heroes make, that Prophets must experience and to which royal houses owe their origins. Yours is a great future. Mine is simplicity and tranquillity, the life of a poor but contented monk. Shall I tell you all a story for your edification?”
“Please do,” said Ifunka.
“Yes, brother, please,” urged Ffen enthusiastically.
“Have you both heard the story of Ishmael, the first High King of Tremn?”
“I’ve read some of it—what the chronicles relate, that is,” Ifunka replied.
“Well, now, this is a story that you won’t find in the history books,” Brother Wiffka explained. “It is one which the Theocracy has edited out of the books in order to play down the glories of the early monarchy. I am not a rebel or a royalist, but there is much that the Theocracy has sought to hide.”
“How then do you know it?” Ffen asked curiously. He had been thoroughly indoctrinated in the teachings of the Theocracy but was not one to shut out truth when he heard it.
“There is still such a thing as oral tradition,” Brother Wiffka explained. “My mother told me the story, at least as it was remembered from generation to generation. It was an imperfect recollection and much embellished with magic. However, I have travelled to the libraries of Ffantbav, Ritvator and even the capital—Kubbawa—where I have found sundry volumes which contain pieces of the true history of our world. Now, let me tell you one story from the life of the great king, Ishmael, that you may find some consolation therein and hope for the future, young Ifunka. It is a story that you might find particularly relevant, as Ishmael was, to some extent, similar to you. It’s not something I’ve said before, nor have I breathed this to anyone else in all my long years in this monastery. But there is something different about you and I know you can appreciate it. As for Ffen and Shem here, let them hear it also, and learn a bit more about our past.”
“Tell us, brother,” said Ffen eagerly.
“Well,” Brother Wiffka started. “You know that Ishmael was the first High-King of Tremn and that he was born with the name Mael, the son of Trel and Kata, and that he was named in honour of his ancestor, Mael, one of the Seven Fathers of Tremn and the founder of the House which bore his name. You may have heard that Mael son of Trel was strong and fair, his hair was long and grey, and his eyes were grey also. He was brave and served his father loyally and well. In time Trel grew old and died, and Mael became head of his House and he built a monument to remember his father’s name. This is what the history books tell us. They also tell us about his victory over the Biknogs of Kraina. When he had defeated them, he was given the Crown of Kyona and the Biknogs called him Ish Mael—ish being an Old Tremni word for ‘king’, hence the name Ishmael. He married Gwel, the daughter of Kaikum, Lord of Tremael, and succeeded to the throne of that city-state as well, until only the House of Nor and the Tower of Inta remained beyond the reach of his power. Ishmael grew his hair long, like the Lords of Tremael of old, and he wore robes of resplendent purple and had a cape of red. He had a large belt around his waist which he needed to often replace as his stomach happened to expand, from year to year. Around his neck he wore the Ffelatv Ilyeng, the Necklace of Victory, forged out of the gold of the vaults of the defeated Biknogs. He carried a majestic sceptre, of shining gold, and upon his head Zelana Ishmaelyeng, the Crown of Ishmael, as it was called in later times. It was made of pure gold and had silver also, and precious jewels, diamonds and gems. In its centre was the Kyeshob Jewel, treasure of the Lords of Tremael and symbol of their sovereignty and dominion. In those times also, Ishmael introduced the cod-piece, and all his courtiers and noblemen wore one, but none was so large or jewel-encrusted as his. He called it Garikipatv Kalzish Amantvyeng, the Defender of the Mighty House.
“Now, he eventually took control of the remaining kingdoms of this great continent and the details of all of this are recorded for anyone to read. Let me tell you something about his childhood, which few people know save those who have heard this story passed down from generation to generation or from the dusty volumes which line the most forbidden and inaccessible sections of the great libraries of the Old Central Kingdom. Now, listen attentively: Mael was not the picture of beauty and perfection when he was born. Rather, like you—yes you, Ifunka—he was born with a tuft of hair on his chin”—the boys were astonished—“Yes, I do hope you will forgive me for when we first met and I was shocked by your appearance. It did not register in my mind that this was the very appearance of Mael himself, as I had heard so in my mother’s tale. You might wonder why the Theocracy would hide something like this, since it surely undermines royalty, does it not? But you would be wrong to assume so, for this was a sign of kingship which, as I will explain in a moment, the prophecy relates. Now, we all know that Mael began his campaigns against the Biknogs when he was twenty. That much is certain, but what of the period prior to this campaign? Little does history record the youth and upbringing of the boy who would become High-King of all Tremn. Strange, is it not?”
The boys nodded and he nodded and, for a moment, it seemed as if there were a competition of nods until Ifunka cleared his throat and Brother Wiffka remembered to continue.
“As I was saying, when he was nineteen, the young man who would be king had a vision—one which would change his life forever. It was a prophetic vision and one which lays out the future destiny of these realms. In the old religion of our land, it was believed that the universe was ruled by many spirits who formed a pantheon and this pantheon dwelt in the realm of Maranaff—the Legion. The chief of these beings was Fox, followed by his son, Amon-Ra—otherwise known as Solis, and the Him, otherwise known as Inta, who was the first father of Tremn and ancestor of us all. We still believe these beings exist, though we now believe that the Great Spirit is the one true God and these others are naught but creatures, like us, except possessed of great power and authority. Now, one day, Mael was walking through a grove of tr
ees when he suddenly beheld Solis who appeared like a flash of lightning before him.
“When he saw the glorious effulgence of Solis, Mael fell upon his knees and placed his face in the dust. His whole being trembled because he feared this otherworldly being. Solis takes many forms but one of these is that of a great kay-owl with brown feathers and great, staring eyes which penetrate the soul.
“’Mael!’ called the owl. ‘I am Amon-Ra, whom some call Solis and yet others ‘the Great Owl’. I am full of power and wisdom and mortals tremble at my wrath. I control Vukt—the solar orb—by the power of the Great Spirit which He was given unto me, yea, vouchsafed by His sovereign Will. Praise be unto Him and peace be upon His servants. I give thee a vision and truth that thou mayest know the path before thee.’
“‘What, my liege, shall I know?’ he asked.
“‘Liege? Yes, soon all that live and breathe on Tremnad shall call thee ‘liege lord’. Thou shalt become the first High-King of Tremn but the line of kings shall fail and emperors shall reign over all the world. Then the last emperor shall die and priests shall rule the land, the chiefs of whom shall suck the peasants dry. Yea, of wealth and land shall they take and fatten themselves with greed. One of thy seed, however, shall arise in latter times, whose face, like thine, shall be hirsute. Moreover, he shall come from humble stock but shall rise to great heights. A hidden power I have placed within this world. He shall find it and use this power to subdue his enemies. More than this I cannot say, lest in so doing I should influence the course of events.’
“‘Thanks be to thee, my liege,’ said Mael. ‘Please watch over me and my family until the time come when this descendant of mine shall be born.’
“Then Solis vanished in a flash and Mael was left alone in the forest grove. He passed this story down from generation-to-generation, such that I imagine my own family must trace some line of descent from King Ishmael—I know not how. You, Ifunka, bear this mark of Ishmael, so perhaps you too are linked to the great king.”
Green Monk of Tremn, Book I: An Epic Journey of Mystery and Adventure (Coins of Amon-Ra Saga 1) Page 6
