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

by NJ Bridgewater

  Without warning, a spear whirred through the air and almost struck the old man, who instantly caught it, reversed the spear and sent it straight back to its sender, piercing through his neck. The two surviving clay men had evidently followed them to the clearing! The stricken enemy gurgled and choked on his own blood and bile before falling forwards into a pool of his own vital fluids.

  Incensed with rage, the remaining clay man hurtled forward like a mad bull, arms flailing wildly and spear held aloft. The old man simply stood, motionless. When the clay man was only a pace or so in front of him, he gently lifted his arm, which touched the enemy’s abdomen and, lifting it slightly, he effected to use the energy and momentum of the foe to fling him into the air, such that he spun like a wheel and fell on his temple, snapping his neck in the process. So violently had he struck the ground that his neck tore open and his spine burst through the skin, revealing trachea, muscles and sinews to the fresh, open air. Gvain-birds soon swooped down to taste the sweet, sticky mess of his tender flesh, fattened as it was with the meat of many Tremna victims, and his thick, flowing red blood which poured out for some moments, pumped by a still-beating yet dying heart.

  The old man stood for a moment, surveying his broken and maimed enemies, and then leant down on his staff and took up the appearance of a feeble, old man. As with Tem, this image was a mere illusion conjured up by the minds of whoever beheld them. He had long white locks descending down his back, a fat, bulbous nose, keen eyes, long ears, a wiry beard, knobbly, wrinkled hands, a beautiful meb-skin robe, grey with white specks, delightful in its softness and flowing contours, which seemed to wrap his thin and bony body in its warm, maternal embrace. He drew his hood over his head and slowly hobbled towards Ifunka and Shem, who were still looking about themselves in utter confusion and bemusement.

  “Peace be to you twain,” he greeted them.

  “And upon thee peace,” they replied, almost tripping over their words, so much were they still in shock.

  “I am Tvem Hiff,” said the man, “Lord of Lake Ffush and Ffush Manor. Who are you and how have you come so deep within the Great Forest of Ffushkar? Time was when villages could be found throughout these forest depths, when the clay men were held at bay and the demon-worshippers slaughtered. Now the bibulous, theocratic priest-crafters have abandoned us folk and let the forests run wild with bandits and other vermin. Be ye bandits, then, or righteous men?”

  “We are monks, milord,” Ifunka explained. “As thou canst see from our habiliments.”

  “Yea so,” Tvem replied. “Yet many a yeshka wears ffentbaff-skins in these parts.”2

  “Even so,” continued Ifunka. “But I am Brother Ifunka and this is Brother Shem and we were guests of Lord Tem of Ffash Valley these days past. He has given us credentials—a letter of introduction—that thou mightest help us to find our way.”

  He handed the rolled-up letter to Tvem, who inspected it thoroughly and examined the wax seal to certify its authenticity.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then ye are my guests. I shall help you on your quest. What do ye seek?”

  “Our friend, Brother Ushwan,” Ifunka answered. “Was captured by some bandits, the demon-worshippers of Ffushkar some days ago, and we have come into the deep forest in order to find him, together with my companions, Brothers Shem and Ffen. Ffen, I might add, has been married to Lord Tem’s daughters and is now resident in Ffash Valley.”

  “Interesting,” said the old man. “Come, we shall discuss this further in my home.”

  They gathered the ffentbaffs, who were fetlock-deep in mud near the lake shore, and Lord Tvem led them along the bank towards a hillock, upon which a large, round manor house built of chiselled stones could be seen, surrounded by a plethora of round, thatched cob houses and groves of kaptitv-trees. As they approached the lofty building, Ifunka inquired about how the old man had so quickly and deftly dispatched his enemies.

  “That,” he replied. “Is a secret which, if ye be found worthy, I shall confer upon you. Nevertheless, I shall now tell you this: it is a method which shall alter the way you perceive and interact with reality. It will show you how to shape and warp the medium of energy in which we operate. It is, in short, the nine-fold way.”

  * * *

  2 A uniquely Tremni expression.

  Chapter XI.

  Mimra

  Passing by the thatched cottages within the enceinte of Ffush hamlet, surrounded as it was by a low stone wall, Ifunka and Shem felt a sense of loneliness and isolation. The memories and pastimes of generations seemed to be etched onto the very walls, in every slit and crack, every nook and cranny of the walls which had so happily breathed with the pulsating rhythm of life, where once children had frolicked and played, where families had made their living and shared quality time together, where village life had trundled along in all its sweet simplicity and natural vibrancy. Yet now, through a policy of neglect, the once felicitous and merry settlement had become a desolate and abandoned ruin, a veritable Ubar. Standing aloft amidst this settlement was a quaint house of the kind which was common in the mid-to-late royal period (i.e. during the latter half of the era inaugurated by King Ishmael). Lord Tvem climbed up the hillock, turned the door handle and then beckoned the two companions in. The ffentbaffs were left to wander within the enceinte, grazing and sleeping as they listed. Ifunka and Shem had to bend low as they entered the building. It was light inside, due to the inclusion of an oculus in the roof, directly above the hearth, which allowed natural light to flood in and made visible the white, puffy clouds of the late afternoon sky. There was one great, circular chamber in the middle, focused on the round hearth fire which gently glowed and crackled through day and night. A winding staircase wrapped itself around the room and ascended two flights, separated from the rest of the chamber by railings and doors leading into smaller bedrooms, storerooms, pantries and sundry other compartments.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” greeted the lord. “To Ffush Manor—my humble and ancient home. I am alone here, for my daughters were married off to surrounding chieftains many years past and my son, Tvesh, was taken by the demon-worshippers. I am thus alone here, without heir or progeny, nor any companion—save only the birds warbling in the treetops, the fish swimming in the lake and the trees standing firm around me, all of which are sustained by a mighty, life-giving force which embraces all created things.”

  “What force is that?” Shem asked.

  “Monk, have your tutors not taught thee?” he asked. “The mimra, life-energy, the flowing power which emanates from the Will of the Great Spirit. It is the mother all mineral, plant and animal spirits and is the sustaining, all-embracing matrix of existence. It is like a field of power which ebbs and flows in continuous motion through every atom and particle of creation.”

  “I have not heard of this before,” Shem protested. “For it is not in the Tamitvar.”

  “Is it not?” rejoined Tvem. “Let us see!”

  He walked over to a table at the eastern end of the room, which was bestrewn with books and manuscripts, half-melted candles and old ink-wells. A layer of dust covered everything profusely and cobwebs inhabited by four-legged, green pfish-spiders, about the size of a thumb with radiant blue eyes and a blue-speckled torso, hung from the wall with sundry threads attached to leather-bound tomes and age-worn parchments. Tvem selected one of these, a rather largish volume with soft-green, meb-vellum cover and thick, illuminated paper leaves. The illumination consisted of a gold-leaf border around the runic text, surrounded by colourful geometric patterns extending to the margins. Tvem lifted the volume, blew off a cloud of dust, and opened it. He shuffled through the pages, scanning each one, until he came to the relevant verse.

  “Here it is, my friends,” he said, pointing to the verse with his index finger. “Shall I read it for you?”

  He chanted the verse in a well-worn yet melodious voice:

  “Ffakvazineim Wabak
Kakan shkem ffarutyo kultafunantafei, Wogan Tvaonlasht: ileikra ship ileiwafei; wiwi Tva zelaiffantleki amirezinfi aretvefi lotvila tvirantafei. Erdasheim hitvyofi sogyiyofi Tva kultafunantalei konrayeim Wabak Tvaonyo tvashiv konrayemantafei, tva lektantafei. Rameyeimfi luksheyeimfi Tva kultvantafei wiwi shtena Tvaonyo lishumantafei, siffe akva mim ra Tvaonyengshivileiwafei; Tva Lekovshinilei, Lektavtileiwafei.

  (“And the Great Spirit created the heavens from a single point, with His Word: Be, and it is; Then He expanded them and set therein stars and worlds. And He created man from clay and water and breathed within him a breath of His own Spirit, and he lived. He made the plants and animals and nourished them from His bounty, and all things are within the compass (mim) of His effulgence (ra); And He is the Self-Sufficient, the Living).”

  “‘All things,’” Tvem repeated. “Are suspended ‘within the compass (mim) of the Great Spirit’s effulgence (ra). Mimra is the compass of the divine effulgence.”

  “I see,” said Ifunka. “That is an interesting proposition. This is, however, a very abstruse verse. It could be interpreted in many ways.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Tvem. “All the verses are open to interpretation. However, there is a tradition passed down from generation to generation—a tradition which the Theocracy has suppressed for century upon century. The Ontva Navein (‘nine-fold path’) is the way of utilising the mimra and accessing its limitless power. Ye have seen an example of that power, when I dispatched the clay men who had been pursuing you. Without this power, we would all now be dead. But enough for now—time is swiftly passing by and mighty Vukt will soon make its night-journey beneath the body of Tremn. I shall fix you some victuals and then we can talk more about your mission. Please, feel at home.”

  He gestured for them to sit down on the cushioned benches which surrounded the hearth while he left the room to prepare some food.

  “What think you, Shem?” asked Ifunka.

  “He seems to be a good man. May the Great Spirit preserve us if he isn’t.”

  “Do you think this mimra is real?”

  “Perhaps—he did demonstrate incredible speed and agility. I feel as if… I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “It’s like everything we’ve been taught is a lie. The Theocracy, our vows—it’s all unravelling like a ball of string. If Tvem is correct, then we have only been taught the outward or literal meaning of the Tamitvar and its real or inner meaning has been hidden from us.”

  “That may be,” Ifunka acknowledged. “Let’s find out more about this lord and see what his agenda is. If he can teach us something of his method, the ‘nine-fold way’, as he calls it, then we might be able to use it to our advantage against the demon-worshippers.”

  When Tvem returned, he brought with him a silver platter of assorted dried fruits and then produced three brakshogim bread plates, upon which was piled high a mash of green shwev-peas, yellow datsh-beans, along with mixed and dried ffobva-berries. It was freshly-cooked and steamed gloriously, emitting a delicious aroma.

  “Enjoy, my friends,” said Tvem boisterously. “We call it gapdatsh—it’s a specialty of this area of Ffushkar and originates from Ffush, at least so far as my forebears informed me.”

  They dug in, enjoying the rich protein-full beans and peas and savouring the flavour-soaked brakshogim. They gorged themselves to a point of great satisfaction and then washed it down with ffobva-fruit juice, freshly-squeezed that morning. Tvem delighted his guests with anecdotes and tales from his youth, recounting dangerous encounters with yeshkas, stories of survival in the forest when he was separated from his companions, and romantic dalliances in his youth.

  “Tell us,” at last Ifunka interrupted his host. “Of mimra and the nine-fold path.”

  “Ah yes,” the man’s eyes lit up, as if possessed by that very same ethereal force. “The two are interrelated—dependent, if you will. Come, let us sit at the hearthside.”

  They rose, brushed off their crumbs, and sat on the low-lying benches which surrounded the hearth. Fiery gleeds illuminated his wrinkled cheeks and brow and his eyes seemed to dance in their subtle glow.

  “Take heed,” he warned, raising his right hand up to his shoulder, palm facing towards them. “For the nine-fold path is not lightly trodden. It is the way of those who do good—who utilise the power of mimra for righteousness. If ye seek to do evil, ye shall find yourselves powerless and impotent, like unto a wind-swept leaf flown off its course and deposited in the barren wastelands of Yatvegab. A leaf without the wind is powerless to move, just as a body without the spirit is an empty husk. A wood-pipe without breath to blow within it makes no sound. A king with no subjects is not a king. A thought without action is a fancy, and a word without result is a stain upon the parchment. All movement requires an initial force and force is the result of energy released. This energy is released through will. Everything in existence is in a state of motion and all motions result from an initial impetus.”

  “The Great Spirit,” Shem observed.

  “That’s right,” Tvem agreed. “The Great Spirit is the Primal Mover which sets all things in motion. In the beginning which has no beginning, He existed; then He spoke the Primal Word and the Primal Word generated existence. From that Word all motion traces its origin and impetus.”

  “Very well,” Shem replied. “This all seems to conform with the Tamitvar. What is unique about your method?”

  “Patience, young one,” Tvem answered him. “There is always time. We are all given enough time, if we use it well.”

  He paused and then opened his right fist, revealing a white stone, perfectly smooth and spherical, glowing in the ruddy hearth-light.

  “This is a white stone; as you can see, a perfect sphere. It is like a pure spirit ready to access the mimra. Now, observe.”

  With a sudden motion of his palm, Tvem tossed the white stone into the hearth-fire. Shem gasped.

  “It will heat up and crack,” he cried.

  “On the contrary,” Tvem replied.

  He reached into the fire and quickly picked up the stone with his bare hand—yet his hand did not burn!

  “It’s perfectly cool.”

  “How?” asked Shem as he exchanged confused glances with Ifunka.

  “This is a kapf-stone,” he explained. “It absorbs energy. The heat of the fire is contained within the stone. Such stones can be found only in remote islands to the far north and west.”

  “And how is the energy released?”

  “Like so.”

  He held the stone tight within his fist, shook it, and dropped it by the fire. A palpable wave of heat burst out from the stone, hitting each one of them with its thermal force.

  “Hey!” Ifunka cried indignantly. “That’s hot!”

  The lord chuckled.

  “They always react like that!”

  Shem picked up the stone and felt its smooth exterior.

  “It’s not hot at all.”

  “The energy has been released,” Tvem continued. “So the heat is gone. Even so, we must become like unto kapf-stones and utilise the energy which surrounds us, i.e. the mimra. The kapf-stone is white and pure and its core is free from self. It absorbs from the ether of existence and pours out that same energy. Likewise, we must become channels of boundless energy, bursting forth with power. Though weak, we become strong—though small, we become as mountains. This is the nine-fold way.”

  Shem and Ifunka looked at one another and at Tvem and then stared into the flaming gleeds as if to ponder their combustive power and the hidden power which exists in everything in existence.

  “I fear,” said Ifunka, as he still stared into the fire. “That Shem and I are ill-fitted for this mission. We are simple monks, weak and helpless. I fear that we shall both die and our friend, Brother Ushwan, is doomed. Teach us something of the nine-fold way and I shall be eternally grateful.”

&
nbsp; “Is that so?” Tvem asked, peering into Ifunka’s face. “Look at me.”

  Ifunka lifted his eyes and met the man’s gaze. He examined him—read his intentions, his character and qualities.

  “Thy mettle,” he concluded. “Is fundamentally good. I see passion, which can be for good or evil; I see determination, faithfulness and steadfastness. However…” he stroked his beard. “I also see vengeance, burning anger…”

  “No, I…” he protested.

  “Nay, protest not. I see what I see and it is what it is. Thou wantest good and thou wantest evil but thou canst not have both. Thou must choose.”

  “I choose good,” he affirmed.

  “So thou sayest,” Tvem rejoined. “Only time shall tell. But know that, if ye choose wrongly, the mimra shall not help you.”

  “Of course I understand,” he replied.

  “And what of thou?” Tvem turned to Shem. “Let me see thee.”

  Shem turned to him.

  “Innocent, pure. Loyal to your friend; but follow him not if he turn to evil.”

  “He would never…” Shem stuttered.

  “So ye both say,” Tvem cut him short.

  “Will you teach us the nine-fold path, then?” asked Ifunka eagerly.

  “No—that is—I will teach you part of it. Ye have not much time before your friend is sacrificed—yea, I did say sacrificed—and I only trust you with a part of this knowledge. The nine-fold path consists of nine levels and, in each level there is a rule, a movement, a practice and a habit. And there are nine teachings which are learned all at once; so there are, in total, forty-five elements which form the totality of the path. I will teach you the nine teachings and the first level, including the first rule, movement, practice and habit. Only by adhering to what I teach you assiduously and through much effort and exertion can ye master this level. Time was when sages of this art could be found in every town and village, yet now but few remain, including me. Ye shall become possessors and transmitters of this art, that it may not perish from this Tremn.”