The Wanderers of the Water-Realm

by Alan Lawton

  “Easy brother,” Myra said quietly. “Only experience will rid the lad of his impetuosity, and I may help him to control his berserk temper, in any case brother, the time for recriminations is long past and we must either work together as a team or perish as individuals.”

  “So be it.” The boatmaster replied. “Do what you can to instil a sense of caution into the lad, for he sorely needs it!”

  The conversation between the three travellers came to an abrupt end, for the crowd parted and the defeated Stone-carrier appeared, still reeling slightly from the effects of the savage punishment so recently received. He came face to face with George and grasped his wrist in greeting.

  “I salute my conqueror.” The man said with some difficulty, for blood was still running like a river from his mouth. “For only the best of men can beat a Stone-carrier in the sport of wrestling.”

  He paused and raised his arm in salutation to George and the remainder of the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ crew.

  “You are now the guests of the Stone-carriers for the remainder of this evening. Landlord, bring beer and only the best, let us see which of our two ships companies can drink the most.”

  “Lord help us,” muttered the boatmaster under his breath. “Not only must we beat them at wrestling, but we must also get the better of them at boozing, as well!”

  Darryl’s head was pounding like a trip-hammer, as he manned the tiller and steered the ‘Bonny Barbara’away from the quay and into the midst of the current, soon, the vessel was being carried away from the village upon the mound, the scene of the previous night’s revelry.

  The Stone-carriers, for all their rude customs, had been extremely hospitable hosts, and for the remainder of the evening the party from the narrowboat had been feted like kings. Round after round of Thoa-nut beer was purchased by the Stone-carriers for the consumption of all, without a single disc of lead being deemed acceptable from the pockets of the newcomers. More food had been ordered from the booths in the square and they had been introduced to the staple dish of the Stone-carriers, narr’s liver, fried in a pan, with lumps of bread, and sprinkled with a seed that had all the sharp acidity of pure lemon juice.

  George, the hero of the night, had been plied with strong drink from all quarters and had finally collapsed into a state of complete intoxication during the early hours of darkening. Myra, helped by two of the temporary crew-members, had put the youth to bed in the night-hut and the young wisewoman had remained with him to make sure that he came to no harm.

  Darryl however, had remained in the company of the Stone-carriers for a little while longer before seeking his own bed, in order to gain additional knowledge of their water-borne society and also details of the other peoples dweling along the banks of the Life River.

  He recalled that an old one armed man had introduced himself as the owner of a stone-barge, and the man had quietly warned him that he might be wise to dispose of his cargo, as soon as possible, and return to his own distant land without delay.

  “We seldom have time to put into night-harbours now” He had explained. “For never in my lifetime have there been such a demand for heavy stone blocks, aye and Thoa-logs and all manner of building materials. Most of the towns and cities, from Calar right down to Holy Ptah, seem to be overhauling their defences; old collapsed walls are being rebuilt, whilst new towers and bastions are being planned and constructed. Even fairly large villages that formerly placed their faith in a solid wooden stockade to protect them from the ravages of marauding pirates can sometimes be found building stone ramparts.”

  “What is the reason for all this defensive activity?” Darryl asked, as he forced down another tankard of Thoa-nut beer.

  “The threat of war,” the old man had replied. “I cannot tell you why this fear of an imminent conflict stalks the river-lands, for little seems to have outwardly changed, but the hammers in the forges of the armouries continue to ring and I fear that some great catastrophe is hanging over us”.

  The barge owner’s son had overheard his father’s words and had poured scorn upon the older man by suggesting that he must be approaching senility. Yet Darryl had clearly remembered the veteran’s warning, despite the large quantities of alcohol that he had consumed in the course of the evening and he resolved to keep the old man’s comments in mind.

  By midmorning the boatmaster’s hangover had largely subsided, due to a relieving potion administered by his twin-sister. The young witch had also given George a similar measure to relieve his thundering head and the three travellers were now standing in the cockpit of the narrowboat, viewing for the first time, the complicated manoeuvre enabling a sizeable vessel to be extracted from the south flowing portion of the Life River and placed under the influence of the opposing current moving in an ever northerly direction.

  An open barge, heavily laden with a cargo of Thoa-logs, moving with the southerly flow of the river, suddenly changed course and began steering towards the centre of the waterway. Dark smoke from a signal fire rose from the vessels deck and a pair of fast towing galleys responded by darting out from a creek in the riverbank and steered for the heavily laden barge. One of the galleys moved ahead of the log-carrier and passed over a stout line and began towing the craft into an area of disturbed water lying between the two opposing currents. The second galley, which had a fender made from some leathern material attached to its blunt prow, manoeuvred carefully until its padded prow was thrusting against the forward hull of the log-carrier. Slowly, the barge began to turn, until she was caught in the grip of the opposing current and began moving in a northerly direction. At this point, the two galleys fell into station on either side of the log-carrier and the three craft were soon receding from view.

  “Those craft are bound for the mouth of that small river, over on the eastern bank; the one that we passed some time back.” Wilakin said, as he clambered into the cockpit without the aid of another crewmember, for he was recovering quickly from the injuries he received at the hands of the criminals in Calar of the Mighty Walls.

  “The village of a powerful Saxman chieftain is situated on the banks of that river, about half a day’s hard towing from the line of the ‘Great Life.’” The navigator explained. “I expect those logs are for the construction of a new tribal meeting hall, or some other project. The boat-turning manoeuvre that you have just witnessed may seem strange to you who are newcomers to the river, but you will see it repeated many times before we reach the Holy City of Ptah. Indeed, we may need to use this technique ourselves, should we be required to make a landfall on the opposite shore.”

  Wilakin pointed to a small local boat, with a single sail made from some rough fabric, driving hard before the wind.

  “Yonder craft can use the power of its sail to carry it into the opposing current, but larger vessels have difficulty in doing this, and the towing galleys are therefore essential and can easily be summoned by a simple smoke signal, such as the one that you have just witnessed.”

  “Who owns the towing galleys?” Darryl enquired.

  “Independent masters for the most part.” The pilot answered. “The craft usually lie in some creek and wait for a fire-signal to summon them. Some galleys, however, are the property of ambitious riverside communities who maintain them in order to promote trade.”

  The boatmaster frowned. “What would happen if some group of pirates seized a towing galley and used it to attack trade?”

  “Then absolute havoc would be let loose upon the river!” Wilakin said. “But it rarely occurs, for the towing galley’s are not crewed by slaves, but by heavily armed freemen who can be relied upon to fight for their lives.”

  “Have no fear master,” he continued. “If we are destined to be attacked by river pirates, then the assault will be launched from a small fast- moving oar propelled craft, and it will come under cover of darkness. Such attacks are difficult to repel and we shall live or die in a matter of seconds!”

  “So much to learn,” The boatmaster thought, as he bent ove
r the tiller, “So much new knowledge to gain, if we are to stand a chance of surviving this journey!”

  Day followed day, and the crew of the “Bonny Barbara” fell into a regular routine, as they navigated along the Great Life River in the direction of Holy Ptah.

  Each of the crewmembers stood regular watches, both at the tiller and as forward lookouts in the bows, whilst those without duties cooked, cleaned, or simply sat on deck and viewed the seemingly endless array of craft plying the river in both directions.

  At the approach of most darkenings, the vessel put into one of the many night-harbours and the travellers slept under the protection of sharp eyed village guards, but on a number of occasions, they were forced to lie at anchor in the shadow of the western bank. During those dangerously long nights, half the crew stood on watch, whilst the remainder rested fully armed and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

  Darryl was deeply concerned with the safety of his craft. Each day, he required every member of the crew to spend two full hours in arms drill and martial exercise. The wisdom of the boatmaster’s defensive policy was fully demonstrated on the eighteenth day out from Calar, when the entire crew of the narrowboat witnessed a pirate attack at close quarters.

  Asmall barge had put out from one of the riverside villages, and had taken station about three hundred yards ahead of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ when the pirates suddenly struck without warning. Two fast oar-propelled craft suddenly darted out from the shoreline and drew alongside the doomed barge in a matter of seconds. A wave of armed men then swept over the side of the craft, and moments later, the lifeless bodies of the barge’s crew were unceremoniously flung into the river. The captured barge was then taken in tow and hauled off towards the western shore for beaching and pillage.

  “Asharp object lesson,” The boatmaster remarked, viewing the bodies rolling about in the current, “but the murdering bastards won’t find us such easy meat, if they try to come aboard our vessel.”

  “No master, they will not.” Wilakin agreed, as he sheathed his naked gill. “But it’s quite unusual for those devils to attack in broad daylight, when they have no chance of achieving complete surprise; and it’s even more unusual for them to bother capturing a small vessel, whose cargo is likely to consist of firewood and cheap foodstuffs!”

  Wilakin shook his head. “Trading upon the Great Life River is certainly becoming far more dangerous, and I shall not be sorry when we draw closer to Holy Ptah and reach a part of the river patrolled by the war galleys of the Dark Priest’s overseers.”

  Darryl made no reply, but he respected the navigator’s opinions and resolved to station an extra lookout amidships, during the hours of daylight. For it was now quite obvious that the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ small tonnage could not be relied upon to deter the attack of some desperate band of freebooters.

  George and the boatmaster spent a great many of their off-duty hours inside Myra’s makeshift cabin in the bows. The young wisewoman encouraged George to learn a number of mental exercises, which she hoped would help him to control his impetuous behaviour in times of stress, for his berserk temper, was a potential danger to the entire company.

  On other occasions, Myra and her twin brother followed the priest’s instructions and spent a great deal of time before the crystal sphere, in the hope of establishing a psychic link allowing them to converse with one another without the need of speech, but all of their initial efforts ended in hopeless failure. Yet they persisted, and after many sessions of intense concentration, each twin began to develop a strange ability to mentally read the basic feelings and impressions generated within the others sibling’s brain. Pleasure, danger, pain, temperature, colour and the like, but they utterly failed to develop any semblance of conversational ability.

  “We must persevere, Darryl” The witch had insisted as the boatmaster became disillusioned by their constant failure. “For a means of silently communicating with each other might well save our lives!”

  On the twenty-second day out from Calar, the ‘Bonny Barbara’ docked near the home village of the temporary crewmembers who had joined them at ‘The City of the Mighty Walls,” and the returning mariners were joyfully greeted by their families and friends.

  The same evening, a celebration was held in the village where food was consumed in great quantities and Thoa-nut beer was dispatched by the cask-full. Early upon the following morning, the boatmaster rose and swallowed a draught of his sister’s hangover potion and set about the task of replacing some of the ex-crewmen, who were now dwelling happily at home with their families.

  Dromon, it transpired, was landless and unmarried and immediately volunteered to serve aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’ until the craft reached Holy Ptah. In return, the boatmaster promised him enough copper coinage to enable him to purchase a small plot of land upon his homecoming.

  “Master, never in all my years upon the river, have I ever journeyed as far as Holy Ptah!” He remarked to Darryl, after agreeing to his terms of service. “Yet it is often said that all river-men should view the copper walls of the Dark Priests, on at least one occasion, before they die!’

  Dromon also introduced the boatmaster to a pair of youthful blood cousins called Tess and Tom-Tess. The pair were young and neither could have been aged more than sixteen cycles, yet they were both strong and agile and when their battle-craft was put to the test, they both proved to be deadly marksmen with the darters they carried, in addition, the youngsters where extremely adept with the short handled pike, a weapon much favoured by crewmembers on this portion of the Great Life River. Myra had also secretly scanned the young cousins with her witch’s inner-eye and she had no doubt that the pair were honest and likely to be a great asset to the narrowboat’s company. Darryl had then hired the youths for the duration of the voyage to Holy Ptah and the pair had pledged their personal loyalty to him without hesitation.

  The narrowboat resumed its voyage after the travellers had spent a comfortable four days ashore. On the thirty-second day out from Calar they sighted the walls of a substantial town situated close to the western bank of the river. The defensive walls protecting the town where minute in comparison with those encircling Calar, but the guard towers bristled with missile casting engines, and there was little doubt the folk dweling within its bounds were extremely mindful of their own security. The narrowboat came abreast of the town and the travellers caught sight of numerous stone-built warehouses and many rows of neat workmen’s cottages, each with its own patch of garden. Upon a small knoll, close to the eastern edge of the town, the travellers were clearly able to make out a number of larger buildings that could only be temples or possibly the dwellings of the town’s richest citizens.

  Suddenly, the wind veered slightly and the boat-crews nostrils were assailed by a disgusting odour almost causing the three newcomers to vomit over the side.

  “Don’t worry!” Wilakin said, holding an improvised cloth pad over his face. “The smell will not bother us, once the river-current carries us past this town!”

  “What in all creation could produce such a vile smell?” The young witch asked, pressing a handkerchief to her nose

  “Why, the shit-filled pits in which the inhabitants of that town soak raw narr skins.” The navigator explained. “Some of these riverside towns have trading specialties and that stinking place, over there, manufactures narr’s leather as soft as your arse. Aye, my friends many towns, such as this one, are sited close to the western bank of the river, and we shall pass several of them in the days that lie ahead.”

  “Are there many towns situated on the eastern side of the river?” The boatmaster enquired.

  “Not a single one,” Wilakin answered. “For beyond yonder shoreline lies the territory of the Saxmen barbarians; men who have no use for towns, cities, or any type of structure built from stone. Yonder barbarians are country dwellers to a man; a hovel or a farmhouse of rough-hewn timber is all they ever require. A squalid village might well spring up around the wooden hall
of some powerful chieftain, but it will never grow to resemble a town!”

  “Do the Saxmen control all of the eastern side of the river?” George asked, taking a rag from his nostrils, for the stench of the tanneries was beginning to slacken as they left the town astern. “Not entirely.” Wilakin answered. “The Wizards of the Ancient Lore will not allow any single power to rule the territory immediately adjacent to the waters of the ‘Great Life River.’ Indeed, a great many river-folk eke out a living on the eastern fringes of the river, and some do well enough by trading with the Saxmen who dwell a little way inland. Yet it is a precarious existence, for the barbarians are dangerous and unpredictable and the edict of the Dark Priests is barely sufficient to ensure the safety of those river-folk who choose to dwell by the water’s edge.”

  The navigator smiled and pointed far beyond the bows of the craft.

  “My friends, we must fare along this river for at least another sixty days, before we draw clear of Saxmen territory and can land in safety on the far shore.”

  The boatmaster laughed. “Then we must continue to seek our food and pleasure on this side of the river, and that suits me well enough, but I sincerely hope that all of our landfalls don’t smell quite as badly as that putrid town we have just had the misfortune to pass!”