Legends of Luternia

by Thomas Sabel

  “Two days.” Two full days, give or take a few hours,” said Elijah, now standing over them with a broom in his hand. “Time to rise and clean up your nest. I made it for you but you can straighten it up.” He held out the broom to Barty.

  “Me? I’m not going to sweep up this mess. That’s servant’s work. Here, Edgar,” Barty said and he started to hand the broom off, but the man stopped him.

  “I don’t know who you are, boy, but I’ve got my suspicions. If I were you, I’d be a bit less proud and a whole lot more thankful to those who saved your life. If it weren’t for him, you’d be dreaming yourself to death.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I remember is that we were walking through a meadow and then we’re here, waking up in this . . . this hovel with an old codger telling me to lower myself and sweep the floor.”

  “Elijah,” said Joanna, “They can’t remember. We purged their memory lest they be haunted by the Dream Demons forever.” She explained the story of their rescue. Barty looked at Edgar, confused that he owed his life to the man he had often used as the butt of his jokes. In a daze, he took the broom and attempted to sweep the floor. Elijah laughed at the mess he made of the sweeping.

  “Never held a broom before, eh? Like this, small gentle strokes. You’ll do a neater job if you work carefully. As in sweeping, so in life.”

  Barty worked on until the corner of straw had been swept clean. His chore completed, Barty joined them at the table. He winced when he picked up the spoon lying beside the bowl. He opened his hand. Elijah peered in to look. “Imagine that, a blister. Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Elijah said chuckling. “Eat up my boy, you’ve earned it.”

  They devoured the meal like underfed pups, scrapping the bowls down to the dry. Instead of gruel they ate a rich and hearty stew: chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots, celery, and seasoned with herbs.

  “Eat it down,” said Johanna sitting down to join them. “Nothing special in it other than three squirrels that gave up their lives for your benefit. You need a good hearty meal as strength for the journey.”

  Once they finished, Elijah moved to the door and held it open. “Best be going now. I’ll walk with you a ways to keep you on the straight and narrow.” As they were leaving, Johanna moved quickly to the cupboard and reverently opened it. Elijah whispered something to his wife. Her shadow moved from the cupboard to the fireplace and back. Soon the same perfumed smoke aroma arose. Elijah closed the door, turned, knowingly raised an eyebrow and said, “A little extra help for your journey.”

  In the light of day Ulrik saw the dreariness of the area—colorless with the random patch of brown-green left by some plant struggling for life. “I can’t remember if I thanked you for your hospitality.”

  “None needed. We did what needed to be done. Johanna baked a few potatoes for you. You’ll find them in your packs. They’ll be cold but they’ll push the hunger aside when they need to.”

  “There’s not much around here,” commented Barty, looking around “I could never live in such a God-forsaken place.”

  “How do you know the Almighty has forsaken this place?” Elijah replied. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “But why do you live here?” Ulrik’s curiosity was aroused.

  Elijah’s face turned to stone as he stopped and looked hard at the young prince. “We live here because we weren’t wanted elsewhere and here we’re left alone. No more to be said.” His look softened as he added, “This is as far as I go. You shouldn’t have any more problems getting to where you’re going, wherever that may be.” Elijah turned and began walking home leaving the distinct impression that he knew more than he was letting on.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The potatoes pushed the hunger aside like Elijah promised they would. The miles passed rapidly under their feet as though a special blessing carried them along.

  “Exactly where are we going?” Barty asked after they had walked for several hours.

  “Elijah said that the path between the great stones would take us where we needed to be,” answered Ulrik.

  “Those stones?” said Edgar as he pointed off across the moor to the east. A pair of tall, narrow menhirs rose from the flat moor, leaning towards each other as if they were whispering a stolen secret. The leaning stones framed the rocky hills that lay on the horizon. Large white birds flew above and beyond the hills.

  “Edgar, you’ve done it again.” exclaimed Barty, slapping him on the back. After a pause, he added, “You really did save my life, didn’t you?.” He looked up at Edgar, seeing him for the first time. “Thank you.”

  Edgar smiled, but then broke the moment saying, “We go now.”

  “Yes, let’s get out of this place as quickly as we can,” said Barty.

  By the time they passed between the tilted boulders, Ulrik smelled the sea. Even though he had never been to the ocean before, he couldn’t mistake the smell. The freshness of the salt air quickened their steps and their spirits, and like mountain sheep they effortlessly clambered over the rocks until they reached the sea.

  The three stopped on the hill’s crest at the same time. As one, they inhaled deeply, feeling the life of the ocean’s depth pouring into them, refreshing them. Like many landlocked folks who meet the ocean of the first time a strange yearning stirred within: the sound of the waves’ soft rush upon the rocky shore, the sight of the ocean’s vastness before them, and the scents of distant shores combined to make their hearts ache to stay, to be absorbed into the sight and sound and aroma.

  Their reverie broke when one of the gulls dropped a special welcome on the top of Ulrik’s head. Edgar saw it, and tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t. This set off a chain reaction going from Barty to Ulrik, who wiped it off with his hand and held it out toward his cousin and began chasing him down the beach. Being older and faster, Barty sprinted across the sand. Ulrik gave up chasing him after fifty yards and took stock of his direction. Ulrik called to the figure still running on, “You’re going in the wrong direction.”

  As Ulrik washed the bird droppings off his hand and head with the sea water he heard Edgar come up to him. “He’s scared of bird poop,” Edgar laughed and pointed to the approaching Barty.

  “No I’m not. I didn’t want to get soiled; it would spoil my clothes,” said Barty as he held out his arms and slowly turned around on the beach as if showing off an elegant tunic. Ulrik looked up at him from the water’s edge where he was squatting and washing.

  “Barty, they’re already soiled.”

  Barty looked down at his clothes and realized the dismal state of his traveling disguise. “Ugh,” he said, “The first thing I’m going to do when this whole business is over is to get a decent set of clothes. I wouldn’t let my cat sleep in these.” He marched back toward the way he had run.

  Edgar whispered to Ulrik, “Does he have a cat?”

  Ulrik shrugged his shoulders and called out, “Barty, you’re going the wrong way again!” Then to Edgar, “Come on, he’ll catch up.”

  Barty caught up and they began the long trek up the coast. The ocean’s presence comforted them with the gentle roar of the waves and the constant presence of the gulls. All seemed well with the world as they walked three abreast along the shore.

  The beach gave way to rocks after a day’s walk and then to tall, rugged boulders which slowed their pace as they picked their way around them. The sky began to darken with heavy black clouds crowding the horizon. Lightning flashed within the clouds but they heard no thunder.

  “Do you think we should find a safe place before the thunderstorm hits?” Ulrik asked.

  “Where?” Barty replied. “Look around, do you see anything but rocks and ocean? I don’t think it’s going to matter where we’re at when that thing hits. We’re going to get soaked.”

  The storm overtook the beach with remarkable speed as it raced to devour the shore. Lightning flashed around them and thunder echoed off every rock and rumbled above of them. The clouds came in low, the
rain so heavy that it was as if the sky and sea met to form an angry beast, clawing them with talons of water, beating their ears with thunder, terrifying them with lightening. They huddled in the shelter on the lee side of the rocks but for all the good it did them, they might as well have been in the sea.

  The sound of men’s voices nearby startled them into quiet watchfulness.

  “Damn this cursed weather!” said one of the men.

  “Jirair, why do we have to come ashore in the middle of the storm? It ain’t right, we should be at sea, riding it out,” said another.

  “Damn near swamped the boat coming in. A body could drown in this quicker’n Old Scratch could kiss your mother, Eznik” said Jirair.

  “Don’t be talking about my mother!” said Eznik.

  “Lookee there, got the momma boy all riled again,” jeered Jirair.

  “You two knock it off or I’ll report you to the Cap’n.,” said a third.

  “Cap’n, bah. Who made him cap’n anyway?” said Jirair.

  “We did when we voted him in,” said Eznik.

  “And maybe I voted agin’ him.” replied Jirair.

  “Belay that talk now, we got work to do,” commanded the third.

  “Karayan, what the hell are we out in this God-forsaken storm for?” Eznik asked.

  “Lookin’ for two travelers- a young one and a big, dumb one. Cap’n says they’re worth a fortune,” explained Karayan.

  “To who, that strange hooded fellow Cap’n was talkin’ to before we left? I didn’t like the smell of him,” Eznik said.

  “Aye, I caught a glimpse of what was under that hood. Gives me the shivers to think about it. Eyes like slits and teeth sharpened to a point, skin as pale as dead fish on the shore. He’s evil on two legs. Too close a friend of death,” said Jirair.

  “He may be all that, but he guaranteed five years of fair weather if we got what he wanted,” Karayan said.

  “Five years of easy sailin’?” Eznik asked.

  “Aye, even when others are fightin’ storms.”

  “Impossible.”

  “So you say, but that slit-eyed, pointy-toothed devil’s son can deliver. I’ve seen what he can do,” continued Jirair.

  “Stop talkin’ about him. Speak of the devil and he’ll appear. Let’s get to looking around,” ordered Karayan.

  Ulrik tried to squeeze into the cracks in the rock trying to disappear from sight. He looked at Edgar and Barty. They had also heard the pirate’s discussion and even though Edgar didn’t catch all of its meaning, he realized a new danger was on them. They huddled their heads together trying to whisper through the storm.

  “Now what’ll we do?” Barty asked. “Sit tight until it’s safe?”

  “Uley, are they bad?” said Edgar.

  “Yes, they’re very bad men,” Ulrik answered.

  “Then we should go away,” solemnly replied Edgar.

  “Hey,” shouted one of the pirates, his voice coming from atop of their heads. “What’s that over there?”

  Slowly, they raised their heads and looked up to see one of them no more than three feet away, straddling the rocks giving them shelter. He was looking far off inland. They saw other pirates on other rocks, a total of five, all scanning the distance.

  “Can’t see a thing in this weather, what about you?” called one of them.

  “No. And I can usually spot anything biggern’ a rabbit in a squall.”

  “Give it up,” said Karayan, a short, wiry man who seemed to be the leader, “we’ll try further down the coast.”

  Ulrik, Edgar, and Barty waited for the men to move on while the storm continued soaking them, leaving no patch of clothing dry. For what felt to be half the day they waited before moving. Then, they picked their way from rock to rock trying to stay hidden, not sure if the pirates had withdrawn.

  After the storm lifted, they continued their journey in silence. Barty broke the quiet by asking what the pirate’s visit was all about.

  “I don’t know,” Ulrik answered. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Mage send me out to get the ioni flower’s juice and send pirates after me? Did you hear what he promised them? The Mage doesn’t give up his treasures lightly. Somehow, he knew we made it this far and I don’t think he’s happy about it. This is so confusing.” With that he sat on the rain-soaked beach. Cold, wet, confused, and not sure of what to do he cried out, “Dear God, what is going on? Nothing’s right.” He remained sitting on the beach with his legs crossed and his head in his hands, staring off at the distant horizon. Edgar edged towards him.

  “Uley?” Edgar said. The prince ignored him. Again he whispered, “Uley?” Still no response. Edgar knelt down in the sand beside him and clamped his hands together.

  “What are you doing?” Barty asked.

  “Edgar pray for help. God will hear me. God will help.”

  “This is ridiculous. We’re out here in the cold, soaked to the bone, scared half to death, not knowing where we are, chased by pirates, and you’re praying? Ulrik, let’s go home.”

  Ulrik said nothing, but shifted to his knees to kneel next to Edgar.

  “You’re both crazy.” Barty walked off, shaking his head.

  No prayer came to Ulrik’s mind, only tears of confusion. “Dear Father in heaven . . .” His mind wanted off “why am I here? What is going on? What am I supposed to do?” Then he realized he had to go on. Hope against hope he needed to see this through. The image of his father’s eyes, the sound of his pleading voice rose again, resurrected in his mind. He stood up, shook Edgar’s shoulder and helped his friend to his feet.

  “Come on, let’s go. This way,” he said, pointing up the shore, away from where they came.

  Barty protested, “Why? What happened? Did you get a special message from God?”

  “No I didn’t, but we can’t go back like this. I don’t know why the Mage sent the pirates or what kind of twisted plan he may have. I don’t trust him, but I have to go on for my father’s sake. You don’t have to come along. You can go back, or you can stay here. I’m going on.”

  “Me too,” chimed in Edgar, moving closer to Ulrik. The pair turned from Barty and began walking down the shore. Barty called out after them.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? They’re looking for the two of you,” he said and then broke into a run to catch up with them.

  “Are you with us?” asked Ulrik.

  “Ulrik, they’re looking for two of you, and the pair of you stands out like a pair of women’s bloomers hung out on a windy day. They’re looking for the two of you, not the three of us. Where are we going, do you know?”

  Ulrik took the map out from his shirt. The map was undamaged from the soaking it had taken. Gently, he unrolled it so they could all study it. “This is where we’ve been.” he said pointing to the words, “Sleepers Awake,” which were beginning to fade, and tracing a line with his finger, “here are the two rocks, and here, I guess, is where we are.”

  “What’s this, Uley?” asked Edgar pointing to a row of jagged lines lying in the direction they were heading.

  “Mountains, and plenty of them. And there, further up the coast, it looks like a town of some kind. I can barely make out the name, ‘Aeolioanopolis,’ I think. Looks like that’s our destination.”

  “Why there?” asked Barty.

  “Do you see anyplace else?” answered Ulrik.

  No one did. The mountains soon came into view. While they tried to stay as far from the shore as possible, the only open path lay along the beach between the sheer mountain cliffs and the sea. Vulnerable and feeling naked to all eyes which might be watching, they walked on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Like swallow nests covering cliff walls, the city of Aeolioanopolis clung to the sides of the mountain to escape falling into the sea. Generations earlier the inhabitants pulled the city’s small harbor from the sea by building a great scythe-shaped breakwater. As Ulrik, Barty, and Edgar approached the city, its most remarkable feature came into vie
w. An enormous gap, like a gash severing the mountain, divided the city neatly in half. This rift was the only opening in a mountain range stretching as far as the eye could see. While nature provided the original rift, the inhabitants straightened the sides and widened the opening until it looked like a polished doorway into the desert.

  As they walked through the city, they felt every citizen’s eyes burning holes in them. The days of wandering over rocks and sand, through storm and sun, had left their marks. They began their journey disguised as beggars, but now they were bedraggled beggars, with few resources. The city’s inhabitants hurled a continual stream of derisive slurs at them: “Bum. Beggar. Scum.” The slurs drove them out of the better parts of the city down to the wharves where their appearance matched that of most of the tenants. With no other place to go, they sat at the end of a rotting dock, picking bits of decaying wood off the boards and aimlessly tossing them into the water.

  “What a horrid place for the crown prince, a royal duke and . . .” Barty said, and then looked at Edgar. “ . . . and a friend.”

  Barty took a studied look at the surroundings and said, “I’ve an idea; do you have anything valuable?”

  “Only my mother’s cross,” Ulrik replied. Barty asked to see it, and Ulrik slipped it from around his neck and put it in his cousin’s outstretched hand. Barty gave it a close look.

  “This is silver, but very, very old silver, I think. Let me borrow it for a couple of hours.” He stood quickly, ran down the dock, and out of sight before Ulrik could say no. Ulrik and Edgar stayed at the end of the dock where no one bothered them. They watched the harbor’s life: ships being loaded and unloaded, crews making repairs on the docked ships. Especially entertaining to them was a sailor working high on the main mast of one of the ships who appeared to float on the air as he fearlessly moved about the rigging.

  “Aren’t you glad you’re not up there?” Ulrik asked as his finger followed the man working high above them.

  “That’s scary. I don’t like to go high,” said Edgar.

  “Too high for me, too. I’d rather keep my feet on solid ground.”