Origins(Prequel) (Island Of Zarada)

by Michele Evans

  Undua didn’t flinch. “Then we will fight you. You have no reason to monopolize the shore. We rarely go past the beach and stay only a few days at a time. As I said, we are nomads.”

  Intalla had heard of the Zaradians. They were skilled warriors who had a reputation of making the finest, truest weapons, but more importantly to him, they were master magik makers. That was where they could be of service to him.

  He switched tacks again, now showing a cordial side. “I will allow you and your kind to use the island as you have been. Under one condition.”

  Undua took note of his shifting moods. “I’m listening,” she said.

  Intalla did his best to look friendly, but instead his face contorted into an ugly smile. “If you can make rain fall on this island – with your magik, you can use our shore at your leisure.”

  Undua knew the Vindans could never be trusted. But she sensed fear in this Vindan leader. He knew that the Zaradians would surely beat their kind in battle. They at least understood each other on that front.

  “I cannot promise that we can or will grant your request,” she replied. “I must consult my Elders and will return in three days with an answer.”

  Intalla nodded. Undua strode out of the compound, her lithe body carrying her swiftly through the forest.

  Negotiations

  As Undua made her way back to the shore, she saw the Vindan soldiers retreating. When she arrived, she summoned her Head Elders, and invited them into her tent. They sat in a circle on the ground as she explained her encounter with Intalla. The Elders pondered silently for a time, then Magik Elder spoke. “There may be a way....” All eyes turned to her as she continued. “If the legend is true, our answer is on Sarona.”

  “Ah, Sarona,” nodded Head Elder. “It is a long distance away. And on a dangerous sea route.”

  “That is true,” conceded Magik Elder. “It is remote. Desert dominates the southern portion, while a myriad of forests and rivers make up the north end. Elves live in one of the northern valleys. It would take several days to get there with a sturdy ship – I am willing to make the journey.”

  “Is it the elves who hold the answer?” inquired Undua.

  Magik Elder shook her head. “No, it is another race. In the center of the island there is a high summit which rises up from the ground like a giant beacon. At the top of this sum-mit live the Saronians. They cultivate a sacred stone – the red larimar, which will grow only in this place. The stones are said to be exceedingly brilliant, with crimson rays shooting out as far as the eye can see.”

  “And this is the stone we need for rain?” asked Undua.

  Magik Elder nodded. “We won’t know if the legend is true until we procure the stones and try. However, I was told there is one important element to entering the field.”

  “And that is?” asked Undua.

  “One must possess a red larimar.”

  “How can we obtain one?” Undua asked.

  Magik Elder reached her ruddy hand into the neckline of her cloak and pulled out a chain. At the bottom hung a pewter pendant in the figure of a goddess, a dull red stone at her heart center.

  “It was given to me in exchange for a spell,” she explained, laughing at the memory. “I thought it very beautiful at the time, and was told it was a Red Larimar. The stone has expired, but perhaps it will still allow me to enter.”

  “You mean it can be activated?” asked the Healer, who activated dormant plants and animal parts as part of her practice.

  “Yes, that’s what I mean,” said Magik Elder.

  Undua considered the situation. As she pondered, she closed her eyes and a vision swept into her mind like a seed whipped from the air, taking root in her very soul. It moved through her like a storm, churning her thoughts this way and that, painting pictures in her mind.

  She saw a Zaradian village, plentiful crops growing, and her people were happy. Her heart leapt at the sight of a glorious castle overlooking a river and beyond that a vast forest.

  Would the tribe accept this vision? She opened her eyes and looked thoughtfully at the Elders and said, “We are nomads and live by our wits. It is our way of life and it is good. We sleep well on our vessels and are respected by all the peoples we trade with – so much so that we are welcome to come and go as we please and stay as long as we like in any port.

  “This life has served us well for countless generations, but we have no place to call our own. Perhaps it is time to put down roots.” The Elders gasped, then broke the silence all at once, their voices popcorning into the air:

  “Why would we do such a thing?”

  “It would mean giving up our freedom.”

  “We don’t know how to live as villagers.”

  “There’s too much at risk.”

  “What if the stones don’t work?”

  Undua sat back and listened to their chatter, then told them they had the night to form their opinions. After they left, her dinner was brought in, a stew of grains and vegetables. As she ate, she thought some more; and the more she thought, the more vividly she saw their future down to the last detail. She clearly had the upper hand with Intalla and if the Vindans became dependent on them for rain, there was no end to what she could demand.

  The following day she called a meeting of the entire tribe and, climbing onto a large rock where all could see her, she told them what the Elders already knew and then argued her case. “... being nomadic means boundless freedom, but it is a harsh existence. We are constantly at the mercy of unforeseeable conditions out of our control. This is an opportunity to have a permanent home. That means a secure place to live, fires at hearths, and solid land beneath our feet that can be farmed.”

  She asked for a show of hands of those in favor of settling, and a large number of hands shot up without hesitation – these hands belonged to the women and the elderly, and their votes included the children. All that were left were the men, whose hands remained staunchly by their sides.

  No one had mentioned it before, but now that it was out in front of them, the idea produced a sense of positive antici-pation. The women chatted amongst one another, relishing the idea, succinctly ignoring the men who, disgruntled, shifted uncomfortably on the sand.

  Undua noticed the effect her proposal had. She gestured for quiet. “Please listen! I see the men are not altogether in agreement with this arrangement. To this I say: We still must trade in order to accumulate wealth. If we can indeed coax rain from the clouds, you will be required to travel to neigh-boring lands as you have always done, but shall return home often, bringing back needed goods and sharing the comforts of warm huts and other pleasures with your families that you will not have at sea.” To this the men nodded their approval, and so it was decided.

  Undua kept her word – on the third day she returned to Intalla’s fortress. Intalla was again dazzled by this glorious creature who entered his chamber like a sleek predator, and for a moment he was made speechless by her sheer presence.

  She ignored the look on his face, and didn’t wait for him this time. “We will produce rain for you,” she announced.

  “Very good,” he stammered, finding his voice.

  “That is under certain conditions.”

  Intalla grimaced and his eyes blazed. I am the one who makes the rules here and set the conditions, he thought. I am the Dictator. Who is she? An intruder, a trespasser! How dare she make demands of me! – He was on the verge of having her taken away, but stopped himself. His very survival depended on the outcome of this conversation. If he alienated the Zaradians, he may lose his chance to have the coveted rain. Not only that – they may attack and destroy him. He had to play nice, for now. “Tell me your conditions, Undua,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Undua had observed Intalla’s transformation from rage to forced politeness, and was pleased to see she had been right about him – he was indeed afraid of her.

  “In exchange for giving you the sky water of life,” she stated, “we require a small portion o
f land. We wish to be nomads no more.”

  Intalla had not foreseen this. He stroked his chin with long silvery fingers. The Zaradians living here on our island? Never can I allow that, he thought. I’ve offered them the shore and suddenly they want the land to live on. What will they “require” next? He wanted to refuse, he had to refuse, but could not. He was backed into a corner, too fearful to speak his mind. He could only mutter, “Not a good idea….”

  Undua cut him off. ”We will lease the land and defend you against invaders.”

  “Will you now?”

  “Yes. And we will grow crops to supply you with food.”

  “We don’t eat what you eat.”

  “We can grow your food for you and our food for us.”

  Intalla frowned. This clever warrior had thought of everything. “You will require a significant portion of the island, then. That will not do.”

  “It is a large island, and we are a small people. There is plenty of land for both our races.”

  Intalla detested the idea of sharing anything with any-one. But if he said no ... where would that leave him? With-out rain, that’s where. On the other hand, if he agreed, the Zaradians’ next move may be to push the Vindans off the island entirely, claiming it all for themselves.

  Either choice was undesirable, but the fact was that rain trumped all and something told him this warrior would stay true to her word. “Will you agree to stay on your portion, and not trespass onto ours?” he asked.

  She nodded. “We will choose a parcel far from here and we will each of us remain in our places except for the trans-fer of goods agreed upon.”

  “Find this portion of land and tell me where it is. Then I will decide.”

  When Undua turned to leave, Intalla stopped her, raising a finger. “One more thing. I will give you two moon cycles to make the rain.”

  “And if we do not make it by then?” she asked.

  He smiled a misshapen smile, his crooked teeth jutting out haphazardly. “Then you will have an enemy in us, for we are allies with no one; in which case, you will be advised to leave the island, never to return, or perish by the burning fires of our army!”

  “Without rain, we would not wish to stay, but would fight for the right to stop here on our travels.”

  Intalla softly growled. “Let us hope you are successful, then.”

  A New Life

  The following morning, Undua and the Elders mounted their camions, and searched. Over land, across rocky hill-sides and through vast fields, and even from high up in the air, they scoured the island for the best place to begin their new lives.

  Finally, they zeroed in on a piece of land perfectly suited to their needs, marking its boundaries with strips of white cloth. The Elders headed back to shore, fastening more strips of cloth to branches along the way, while Undua flew to the Vindan compound.

  She arrived at Intalla’s fortress to find him idling, smoking hindola from a long pipe, his chambers full of acrid green smoke. He peered at her as he puffed away while she described the spot they had chosen. Intalla grumbled and protested, but at last agreed to the place which he acknowl-edged was quite far from the Vindans.

  When Undua returned, the Zaradians had already begun the journey inland. Over the next weeks they worked quick-ly, and soon each family had moved into their own home. They slept comfortably in soft beds that didn’t sway in the night, they cooked at kitchen stoves that didn’t rock unpre-dictably, and they delighted in eating broths and stews that didn’t slosh into their laps.

  Most of all they were grateful that they no longer had to endure being thrown to the floor by the force of strong waves pushing the ship this way and that. They were grateful, yet they were ever aware that they could not become too comfortable – they still had to make good on their promise to provide rain.

  At the time they had begun building their huts, the island had been lush and green. But during the days that had passed since then, rain had not fallen and they had no way of knowing when it might come again. They learned that rain here was sporadic; it could be plentiful for a time, then the dryness would slowly sneak up – earth, plants and animals would begin to suffer from thirst and the cycle of death would ensue. If it remained dry, it was only a matter of time before they’d be forced to pack up and become nomads once more.

  Undua, however, did not doubt their future for a mo-ment. She was so confident about it, she began construction on the castle she had so clearly envisioned. She intended for this castle to survive many generations and wanted it to be strong enough to last.

  It was grandiose in design, and the Zaradian builders worked tirelessly to stay true to her specifications. Work was done around the clock to complete it, and it swiftly rose up in all its glory from an empty field that overlooked a river.

  While the village was being created and the castle built, a handful of men took Magik Elder to Sarona. After three arduous days, the ship arrived on a deserted shore covered in fine black sand peppered with dainty white shells. She and her camion disembarked with food supplies in tow and started toward the summit. They trampled through dense for-est, crossed over a wide river, then climbed a rocky moun-tain.

  When she got to the top, the mountain ended abruptly, as though the second half had been cut off entirely, if in fact it had ever been there at all. She stood at the precipice of the high cliff at twilight with nowhere to go but over the edge and into the night air. From this vantage point, she could make out the summit off in the distance. The stones illumin-ated the clouds, their rays fanning out in rosy patterns across the azure sky like a crown of sparkling jewels.

  She coaxed her camion into the air, and flew all the way to the summit, landing on the parameter outside the stone wall that encircled the field. Walking along the wall, she came upon a giant statue that looked just like the goddess on her necklace. When the moons rose, the stone at the heart of the statue lit up and sent rays outward. These rays connected with the stone in her pendant and burned their red light into it. Her chest felt warm as the charm was activated.

  The ground beneath her crumbled and she felt herself being pulled into a tunnel. She and her camion fell deep into the earth and under the wall. When they emerged on the other side, she was blinded for a moment by the blazing intensity of the shimmering stones.

  When her eyes adjusted, she was able to study the Red Larimar plants up close. They were well tended, arranged in even rows, and neatly trimmed. The stones themselves were of varying sizes from the length of a thumb to the circum-ference of a melon.

  Across from the vast field there were small cottages, bordered by well kept gardens. She brushed the dust off, then walked to the largest cottage of them all. She knocked on the door and a woman with four arms opened it.

  Her jet black hair was tied in a knot that sat on top of her head like a hat. An emerald body suit came all the way up to her neck, ending in a high collar. Two of her arms crossed each other while the other two held a ball of yellow fluff with a puckered face and sad black eyes.

  “Oh my!” said the lady, upon seeing Magik Elder. “Who are you and where did you come from?”

  Magik Elder answered, “I am Magik Elder, and I have come here representing the Zaradians. We were once nomads, but are now living on the Island with No Name – well, it’s been renamed Vinda Major, but I don’t need to bother you with the details. The reason I’m here is this: We need rain or we cannot remain there. I understand you can help us?”

  The Saronian woman studied the visitor, examining her long grey cloak and wizened old face, brimming with sincerity. Yes, she decided, this is a trustworthy individual. And she knows magik, which is reason enough to let her in, loving magik as well as I do.

  She stepped aside and invited her guest to enter her cozy cottage where a fire was burning in the hearth. She gestured for Magik Elder to sit on the soft cushions placed in front of it, which Magik Elder was more than happy to do after her long and trying journey.

  “I am Luda, the Red Larimar He
iress,” said the woman as she sat down and poured tea. “My ancestors discovered the properties of the Red Larimar stones long ago and we have been growing and harvesting them ever since. Many races come to us from distant lands so they can have more rain. But you have to be careful, you know. Too much rain is just as bad as not enough.”

  Magik Elder agreed. She reached into her bag and pulled out a package wrapped in vermillion silk. “I brought you a gift.” She handed it to Luda, who unwrapped it. It was a tool with a split wooden handle that opened into two long blades. It was exquisitely made, inlaid with iridescent sea stones.

  Luda gasped with delight, expressing her heartfelt thanks with all four arms. “Perfect for cutting thick stalks,” she said. Next, Magik Elder pulled out a heavy bag of tira. Luda opened that, too, fished out a coin, and finding it authentic, dropped it back into the bag. She clasped all her hands together. “Well, now that the payment has been made – of course we will provide you with stones, but you must use them as I say, or they will not work properly.”

  “Of course, of course,” Magik Elder assured her. I will follow your instructions exactly.”

  “Let me see, now; where to start? Oh, yes. You will need five Priestesses. Which goddesses do you worship now?” asked Luda, stroking her pet, who had settled in next to her.

  Magik Elder said they did not worship any goddess at all. “We have been a nomadic tribe until now; and perhaps for that reason, we do not have a deity.”

  Luda took a sip of tea and smiled. “Well, now you will have one, yes you will. And she will respond to you if you perform the ritual as I tell you – with sincere devotion and genuine fervor.”

  Magik Elder wasn’t sure if she could elicit “genuine fervor.” The Zaradians, a practical race, would most likely laugh at the idea; but she nodded politely and said, “We will certainly do our best.” She then took detailed notes as Luda taught her how to perform the rain making ritual.

  Magik Elder slept a few hours before morning, and when she awoke, Luda led her outside to admire the dazzling vermillion stones, shining like treasures in the sunrise.