Green Monk of Tremn, Book I: An Epic Journey of Mystery and Adventure (Coins of Amon-Ra Saga 1)

by NJ Bridgewater

  “Barbarians!” Ifunka ejaculated.

  “Absolute savagery!” said Ffen.

  “Such is the nature of primitive man,” explained the old man. “When man is deprived of the laws and teachings of the Great Spirit, he worships every tree and stone, kills his fellow man and resorts to all kinds of debauchery, licentiousness, and cruelty.”

  The old man paused for a few moments and then continued. “Anyway, now is the time for hospitality—not for such unpleasantness. My name is Tem Ffash and I am the Lord of Ffash Valley, as this place is so called, the twenty-second of my line in ancient and lawful descent.”

  “Ffash Valley?” Ifunka remarked. “It is not so called on any map.”

  “It used to be,” Tem replied. “During the Old Central Kingdom. I’m sure there are maps hidden away in some ancient vault which still mention it. My ancestor, Wem Ffash, was given the lordship of this valley by King Ishmael himself but we have never submitted to the Theocracy, nor has any army ever come to take this valley from our family, so here we remain—stateless—and an embarrassment to the ‘all-powerful’ Theocracy, which cannot subdue the smallest of fiefdoms.”

  “Indeed, we did not know,” said Ifunka. “We are grateful for your hospitality, your lordship, and beseech your permission to traverse this valley in aid of our quest.”

  “We shall discuss it over dinner,” replied Lord Tem. “And I will inform you of my decision in that regard.”

  He arose and led them through the gate into the heart of the valley. Then he pulled the door to and continued down the path which led to the lord’s abode. The area within the walls was well-cultivated and neat, with well-trimmed hedges, trees which were symmetrical and well-looked-after and bird-feeders dangling from their branches. They came eventually into the purlieus of a small village encompassed by sweet tornish-cherry trees, trellises covered in ffezg-vine fruit, and white wooden gazebos layered with vines and moss accumulated over countless decades of disuse. The village—or hamlet rather—for it consisted of only five round cobble-stoned houses surrounding a long timbered hall which was topped with an ancient black roof. There was a chimney near the middle of the roof, four round windows along each side and a large door with a keyhole and padlock to keep it safe when untenanted. The roof of the hall consisted of timber beams, whereas the small houses had thatched roofs which seemed a bit too old and shaggy to have been in regular use up to the present day. The geish leapt onto one of these roofs as they neared them.

  “Here we are!” Tem triumphantly proclaimed. “Indeed, here we are! Behold, the seat of the Lord of Ffash Valley!”

  Ifunka looked to his companions quizzically and it appeared they were equally unimpressed at the smallness of the settlement.

  “My lord,” said Ifunka. “Where are the inhabitants of this hamlet?”

  “Hamlet? Yes, I suppose it is,” he shrugged. “My fair and beautiful wife, Mashga, died some twelve years ago, leaving me alone in this world. She was a dazzling woman, and one whom I loved almost desperately. The daughter of a village chieftain from the south, she proved a diligent and loving wife, ever solicitous and dutiful in her wifely role. What could a man ask more of from any woman? I loved her—indeed I did! But, alas, she is gone, buried in the woods a kobotv from here, near the end of the valley, where my ancestors are likewise entombed.”

  “And you have no son, milord?” asked Ffen.

  “Had! Had!” lamented the lord. “Hem was his name and he would have made a fine lord. I married him to Wilga, daughter of the chieftain of Habka village, which I am sure you passed through on your way hither. Alas! Alas!”

  “What happened?” Ffen further inquired. “Death, death! Foul death! Its claws wrapped round him! What life is there which leads not unto death? Impermanence is the way of the world, every thing born of composition being composed of so many small and fickle elements which will, in due time, abandon their composition as if fleeing a sinking ship! The constancy, the permanence and solidity of all things is an illusion, a deceit which age and experience reveal as such. We are all but vapours doomed to dispersion at the rising of the dawn, evanescent mist dissolved through the piercing sunbeams which separate all illusory figments from true existence.”

  “Death is only the beginning,” Shem interjected. “These bodies of ours are only cloaks which we cast off to wing our flight to Ganka above!”

  “Such is the truth; such is the truth,” admitted the lord. “We are wayfarers here on this world, this Tremn. How many wayfarers there must be on other worlds than our own! How many men live in the stars above and on worlds different from our own! The Great Spirit alone knows—I do not. Now come, you are all awaited.”

  “Awaited? By whom?” Ifunka asked. “You said, if I understood you correctly, that your son and wife are both departed.”

  “Indeed, I said as much,” he replied. “But my son’s wife had three children—triplets—before she died in childbirth sixteen years ago—all daughters. They are eager to meet you for, though I have no sons, you are to be the new heirs of this valley and, marrying my granddaughters, you shall provide progeny for my line. Come, enter the Great Hall of Ffash Valley!”

  With that startling admission, the startled monks found themselves involuntarily entering the great hall, almost driven by curiosity as much as by necessity, into the place of temptation. The great timber-roofed hall was long but not overly spacious, not bright but also not dim and dank, being illuminated through the windows which lined each side, the chimney above the hearth and the burning embers of the hearth-fire itself which gently crackled and spat its glowing gleeds. Two great tables sat on either side of the room, and at the far table sat the three granddaughters, dressed in grey—the Tremna colour of mourning, their eyes opened wide in anticipation of catching glimpse of their future husbands. They were each in the full blossom of womanhood, each sixteen years old, with full figures, thick, effeminate lips, round faces, wide, dark eyes, thin eyebrows and sultry black tresses curling and dancing in profusion along the sweet softness of their forest-green skin. Their eyes, dark brown, glimmered in the glowing light of the hearth-fire. Their hands, long and delicate, quivered in innocent youthfulness, their cheeks blushed with the timidity of their sex and their breaths quickened with the fire of passion. The girls passed furtive glances in their confusion as they scanned the faces of the equally youthful monks who were equally disconcerted and flustered by the uncomfortable circumstance they had been thrust into.

  “Welcome to the Great Hall!” said Tem with a deep and sonorous voice, marred by age, which resonated throughout the chamber. “This hall is your new home and these are my daughters three—rise darlings!”

  The three girls rose politely and bowed once in a deferential manner to their father and again to the three monks. The boys greeted them: “Peace be to you” and then bowed.

  “Well met!” Tem cried. “These are the three loveliest creatures which have ever graced this ancient hall, namely Reshga, Yimga and Mashga, who is named after my beloved wife, may her soul soar aloft in the realm of Ganka. These, my daughters, are Brothers Ifunka, Ffen and Shem, who will wed you and produce the heirs this valley needs, so that we may people it once more!”

  “Your lordship,” Ifunka interjected. “We are monks, milord—monks!—we cannot touch a woman, let alone marry her. These find ladies, beautiful though they be, cannot be wed to such as us. Our word is our bond and we are bound to a vow of celibacy that cannot be broken.”

  “Cannot?” the lord repeated. “You are young, brothers, too young and unwise and your pronouncements rest on a foundation of sand and ashes.”

  “We certainly respect your age,” said Shem. “But wisdom is not the question here—it is fidelity to our vows.”

  “You speak as if the mouthpiece of the Theocracy,” came the reply. “The priests and monks teach that vows are unbreakable—but cannot bishops rescind them?”

  “I
n exceptional circumstances, yes,” Ffen replied.

  “And what of a lord—a temporal authority?”

  “Temporal authorities exist through priestly sanction.”

  “Nonsense!” the lord cried. “The Holy Tamitvar teaches respect for kings, who are anointed by the Great Spirit, and lords who represent their power in the districts of the realm. The king is given power by the Great Spirit to seal and bind, to legislate and execute his power, to pardon and punish, to rescind vows and enforce them. I have the same power within this valley.”

  “That is not what we have been taught,” Ifunka protested. “You have been taught what the Theocracy wants you to hear. The truth is quite different.”

  As they pondered these things, Tem bade them be seated opposite the three girls, which they did, embarrassed and shy though they were. Lord Tem sat at the head of the table, in the seat of honour. Behind him was the coat of arms of his family, a round shield emblazoned with a geish of the same species as the one which had led them to the wall, flanked on either side by figures of primitive warriors dressed in rustic costume, leather armour, and holding long spears or pikes, with shoulder-length black hair, smooth faces and fierce eyes.

  “We shall discuss the arrangements over supper,” he said decisively and snapped his finger, at which Resgha immediately arose and left the hall to fetch the food.

  Yimga and Mashga arose after her and also proceeded out of the room, not uttering one word.

  “Your lordship,” Ifunka pleaded. “We are on a quest to find our friend, Brother Ushwan, who was kidnapped by deadly bandits some four or more days ago—I’ve lost track of time—and every moment we delay we are losing time. We must go after them!”

  “Impossible,” the lord replied. “These bandits you speak of are fierce demon-worshippers. Your friend will have been sacrificed to their dark gods by now and your quest in vain. If you go after them, you will die in the attempt, most assuredly. Furthermore, as lord of this valley, you are now under my authority and I am your liege lord. If you leave, you not only betray my hospitality, but also offend my authority, which is given me by the Great Spirit, through lawful descent from the first lord of this valley, who was given this trust by King Ishmael, the anointed of the Great Spirit. You offend your religion and make your faith vain by so doing. Nay, you must stay, be married, beget heirs and, when I have passed on, thou, Ifunka, shalt be the Lord of Ffash Valley, and Ffen and Shem thy retainers.”

  Silenced by the definiteness and conclusiveness of this declaration, they exchanged glances of pious horror and then stared at the table as if it might provide some solution to their new-found predicament. After a short while of enduring disconcerting silence, the girls reappeared with edible brakshogim dishes, upon which pengiffmi was served. After a brief blessing, given by Shem, they tucked in and ate well. The girls eyed them unnervingly and exchanged naughty glances, one to another, smirking as they did so. Then Tem broke the silence.

  “What think you, daughters, of these fine monks?”

  “They are all lovely and handsome,” Resgha replied, though she had hardly seen any other men to compare them to.

  “Who gets whom?” Yimga asked.

  “Grandfather will decide,” replied Mashga. “He knows best.”

  “Indeed I do,” Tem replied.

  “How, might I ask,” Ifunka inquired. “Did your son pass away?”

  “Father!” Yimga cried. “He was taken from us most horribly!”

  “It was the same demon-worshippers,” Tem replied. “Of whom I have warned you. Take heed, therefore.”

  “What if,” Ifunka had an idea. “We promise to return after we find our friend?”

  “Yes, we must pass this way,” Ffen added in support.

  Tem considered this proposition for a moment and then replied.

  “Nay, there is no guarantee.”

  “Well,” Ffen continued. “What if one of us remains?”

  This intrigued the lord, who thought it over for some minutes, running his fingers through his beard as he did so.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “One of you can remain. However…” There had to be a catch. “He who remains shall marry all of my granddaughters.”

  Ifunka spat out his water while the daughters almost swooned with shock.

  “All of them?” asked Ffen.

  “Indeed,” Tem affirmed. “Polygamy was common among the ancient lords of yore. Choose which one of you shall remain and he shall be my heir and shall wed all of these sweet maidens.”

  The girls stared at each one of the monks while they exchanged looks of bemusement and uncertainty. They were all red-blooded men and the girls were all voluptuous examples of pristine womanhood, unsullied by the touch of any other man—gorgeous in their innocent loveliness, like golden flowers of the meadow on the first day of Spring, radiant in the light of the golden sun, gently swaying in the vernal breeze, unplucked by dirtied hands. The boys melted when they contemplated touching those fresh-cheeked maids, whose soft hands might caress their own boyish locks, whose breath, hot upon their necks, might ignite passions stilled by the discipline of rigorous education and enforced self-abnegation. What carnal delights, reserved hitherto for the distant rewards of Ganka, might be theirs now if only they reached out and seized what was now offered to them?

  “I must go,” Ifunka whispered to the others. “Much as my blood boils with the passion of lusty youth.”

  “I desire not to entangle myself in such temptations,” said Shem. “I will follow you, Ifunka.”

  “It is left to me, then,” said Ffen. “To break my vows and cast off the robe of monkhood. Perchance I will lose my seat in the lofty heights of Ganka—all for an evanescent beauty.”

  “It is not a sacrifice without rewards,” Ifunka smirked. “Three women? I’m afraid you won’t get any sleep.”

  “I am not an animal,” Ffen defended himself, taking the comment all-too-seriously. “Each wife shall have her day.”

  Ifunka chuckled.

  “Well?” asked Tem.

  “I shall stay,” said Ffen. “And marry your lovely granddaughters.”

  “Hurrah!” Tem rejoiced.

  “Provided that you give my friends supplies and a means of transport.”

  “Excellent,” Tem accepted. “The wedding will be tomorrow, after breakfast. Then I will give the two who leave a ffentbaff each and ample provisions for their journey. In addition, I shall give you both a letter of recommendation to my maternal cousin, second cousin rather, called Tvem Hiff, who lives in a cottage on the shore of Lake Ffush half a tvinshaff from here. He is a wise man, of similar age to myself, and learned in all the arts of war. He will guide you on your quest.”

  “Lake Ffush?” Ifunka remarked. “That is also not on our map. We see only more forest in that area.”

  “That does not mean that it doesn’t exist,” Tem replied. “Only that it has been forgotten, or deliberately forgotten, by the Theocracy. It is a small lake, more of a large pond really, though in ancient times it stretched across the heart of Ffushkar. Now it is a pale shadow of its former glory.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Ifunka. “We thank you.”

  After they had finished eating, Reshga, who appeared to be the senior of the three, arose and cleaned the table with a deep cloth. Yimga brought bowls of water for the monks to clean their fingers while Mashga wiped the mouth of each companion and her grandfather with a hot towel, but not her sisters’. Patriarchy is the norm in Tremna society and the husband or father is always treated with the highest level of deference and selfless devotion. The daughters, who lived in the outer houses, retired and the monks were given each a cushioned bench to lie upon within the hall. Tem himself lay on a couch behind the table, beneath the coat of arms at the head of the Great Hall. Ffen slept with difficulty—he had troubled dreams relating to the abandonment of his vows. He saw a throne i
n heaven, covered in rich, velvet-like fabric, lined with gold and dyed Tyrian purple, suspended on a white cloud in the purlieus of the all-highest Paradise, which was ringed about by a host of angels, the Concourse-on-High, which ever circumnavigate the divine throne. One among the angels appeared by Ffen’s erstwhile couch and declared:

  ‘This was thy throne which thou hast forsaken for a mortal beauty, more impermanent and evanescent than a shadow at the break of dawn in the midst of a burning desert. The shadow is thy reward—this throne shall be given to another.’

  When he awoke, he was covered in sweat and he panicked. It was still an hour or two before dawn and his friends were fast asleep. He wanted to abandon Ifunka and Shem and flee into the wilderness, losing the physical pleasures he would have received in favour of preserving his heavenly seat. He sneaked out of the hall and into the starry night. All was quiet and still—the stars, sparkling in the heavens—shone down with supernal beauty.

  As he reached the edge of the hamlet, he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Reshga, wrapped only in a white night-dress which shimmered in the moonlight. Her dark features were resplendent in their contrast to the whiteness of her gown, the white of her eyes and the brilliance of her immaculate teeth. She stared at him with the intensity of a doe startled by a bloodthirsty hunter. Ffen was speechless. He approached her, unaware of what he was doing, and wrapped his arms around her. She trembled and sighed, responding only by gripping him tightly. The two, locked in passionate embrace, felt each other’s heartbeats and the quickness of each other’s breath. Then, as quickly as they had embraced one another, they flew apart and rushed away—Ffen to the Great Hall and she to her cottage. Each, however, cast one furtive glance back at the object of their passions before disappearing within their respective abodes. As Ffen returned to his bench, he realised that there was no going back. He was well-and-truly besotted with Reshga and entangled in her feminine wiles. When he went back to sleep, he had no further dreams of heaven but only of Reshga embracing him once more, soothing all his pain and loneliness with a caring, loving solicitude and passionate love. Meanwhile, Ifunka and Shem slept the sleep of the blessed, at peace with themselves and their mission.