The Wanderers of the Water-Realm

by Alan Lawton

  Darryl, by contrast, was much influenced by the evidence of the growing chaos witnessed during their voyage to the Holy City. He worried over the possible fate of the people who had shown them kindness and generosity, people such as Thom Jaks the wizard and Agar-Marduk the merchant, and their numerous families. However, time appeared to be an important factor. Paris had mentioned that a round trip to the wastelands of the Hix, was likely to take the best part of a year, and perhaps much longer if unforeseen difficulties were encountered. The boatmaster wondered if enough time would remain for them to reach the exit portal that, Thom Jaks believed lay far beyond the Southern Sea.

  It was the young wisewoman who finally decided the issue.

  “Remember,” she said. “Only the ‘Dark Priests’ know the exact location of the exit portal. Without their knowledge, we might well blunder around the furthermost reaches of the Water-Realm for the remainder of our lives without finding our way home.

  We must have faith enough to trust the ‘Guardians’ and undertake this mission. We have no choice although I still share some of your fears. My inner-eye has informed me that both Councillor Hemm and his envoy have told us the plain truth, yet my intuitionhas also warned me that Hemm is holding back some very important details, whose nature I cannot fathom. We must therefore remain forever on our guard as we journey into the lands of the Hix!”

  Darryl pressed his finger upon a coloured panel knowing it would summon Paris to their quarters.

  “Go to your master.” He told the envoy. “Inform him that we shall depart for the wilderness of the Hix, at our earliest opportunity!”

  The following ten cycles were extremely busy ones for the travellers, for it was essential to make the most of the Water-Realm’s dry season and depart from Ptah as quickly as possible.

  The first thing that Councillor Hemm did at their next meeting, was to enquire about the degree of success the twins had achieved in communicating with each other, by mind-power alone. Hemm had been visibly disappointed to learn that only the short distance transmission of basic feelings had been successfully accomplished. Even so, the Councillor had immediately declared that even this limited amount of psychic contact, might well prove to be useful in an emergency.

  He then made an unexpected suggestion that Paris, his personal envoy, should accompany the expedition until it reached the edge of the wastelands. The presence of a senior overseer, he argued, might help to clear away any bureaucratic problems they might encounter when passing through areas containing human settlement. Furthermore, the overseer’s telepathic ability to maintain mind-contact with the young wisewoman might prove to be vitally important, should the group ever become separated.

  The three travellers were also instructed in the handling of the tough little transport narr that were used as common beasts of burden by the clansmen dwelling far to the east. The newcomers were given the necessary lessons at a small stable on the western edge of Ptah, were the proprietor used the animals to carry vegetables to the city markets in pouches that where strapped to the creature’s backs. Their first experience in handling the transport narr was no great pleasure for the newcomers, for the creatures were stubborn and bad tempered when handled by complete strangers. The three travellers were often frustrated in their attempts to strap the pouches to the animal’s backs, yet Paris harnessed them with ease and he sometimes even kissed their ugly faces. When questioned, he readily admitted that he was originally born into one of the narrs-folk clans, on the far western plain, and that he was quite adept at handling the unruly beasts.

  A week before the day scheduled for their departure, the three wanderers returned to the ‘Bonny Barbara’ in the company of Paris, in order to collect their weapons and other items of equipment needed during the long journey lying ahead of them. Darryl was also keen to meet with Wilakin and discuss the complete refitting of the narrowboat, which the navigator would supervise during the boatmaster’s absence.

  “I will personally check every plank and nail.” Wilakin stated. “When you return from the wastelands, you will find your boat ready to ride upon the waters as though she was brand new.”

  Whiteflower was completely distraught by the news of their imminent departure and she flung herself down at the boatmaster’s feet.

  “Master” She cried. “Do not leave me here in this city of strangers. Allow me to accompany you and remain in your service!”

  Darryl lifted the girl to her feet and began to insisting upon her remaining with the boat, but Paris interrupted his speech and addressed the girl.

  “Tell me, are you indeed a child of the Kev, the tribe that dwells just south of the great Thoa forests growing far to the east of here?”

  Whiteflower wiped away her tears.

  “Yes sir, you describe the home of my people, who hunt the wild narr and hold their land against all enemies.”

  The envoy turned to the boatmaster and whispered quietly in his ear.

  “Under normally circumstances I would advise you against taking yet another woman on so difficult a journey, but we are likely to pass through the territory of the Kev and a native born guide would not come amiss.”

  Darryl paused for a moment and then inclined his head in agreement.

  “If you think it wise envoy, then I will allow the girl to do as she wishes.”

  He smiled. “Anyway she would make Wilakin’s life a misery if we left her here!”

  Early on the following morning, the travellers were summoned to Hemm’s place of work high in the great tower, where they were met by the Councillor and a group of senior overseers including Paris, the envoy. Hemm welcomed them warmly, then pressed a blue panel and a large section of the wall immediately turned opaque and a huge relief map of the eastern portion of the Water-Realm instantly took its place. (See Map)

  The Councillorthen picked up a long pointer and laid it upon the map’s representation of a city, which they all recognized as being Holy Ptah.

  “We are here.” He explained. “We wish you to leave here and journey to the territory of the Hix by the quickest and safest route.”

  Hemm moved the pointer south, until it touched the mouth of a substantial waterway that joined the Life River a little way below the Holy City. The Councillor then let the pointer follow the path of the river, as it wound its way eastwards.

  “This waterway is the Red Bank River!” Hemm said. “In normal times, this river is the swiftest route to the wastes of the Hix. Afast passage boat takes its passengers as far as the small town of Hiram, which lies upon the fringes of the great Thoa forest. A mere fourteen days of hard marching would then be needed to bring a traveller to the territory of the first of the Hixian tribes.”

  The Councillor shook his head sadly.

  “The town of Hiram is now in ruins and the surrounding territory is so full of hostile bandits and desperate refugees from the Hix, that it would now take a veritable army to ensure the safety of anyone who attempted to travel by that route. Alternatively, it would have been possible to leave the line of ‘The Great Life River’and strike through the great Thoa forest to the Hixian heartlands, but the area is now a battle ground with the armies of humans and Hix embroiled in combat.”

  Once again the pointer ascended the line of the Red Bank River, until it stopped at a small riverside town approximately three quarters of the distance from Ptah to the ruins of Hiram.

  “This town is called ‘Yam’. The Councillor explained. “From here, a little used trading road wanders eastwards until it enters the territory of the Kev and some other nomadic tribes”.

  Hemm looked seriously at the three travellers.

  “Our intelligence gatherers suggest that it would be best if you followed this route, one that avoids the most southerly of the Thoa forests enabling you to enter the ‘Wastelands of the Hix’ from the south, where the borderlands are believed to be quiet and presently free from major conflict.”

  The Councillor swung his pointer towards a group of brown robed overseers who st
ood behind Paris.

  “Those men are the best intelligence gatherers in our service and they categorically state that only the difficult southern route is still open to travellers. Unfortunately, it will take at least six of your Earth months for you to travel by this alternative route and the seasons of the year will have completed their full cycle before you return to Ptah!”

  The Councillor lowered his pointer and allowed his gaze to rest upon the three travellers. “The first part of your journey will present you with no great problems, for occasional passage boats still run upriver to Yam and you will be well protected during your voyage by a strong escort of mercenaries. Only you three, together with Paris and that woman of the Kev will march south from Yam, for the intelligence gatherers believe that a larger group would stir up the fear and animosity of the tribesmen through whom you must pass. You must travel under the guise of merchant’s and you will be provided with plenty of copper discs and trade goods to give credence in that role, but your ability to survive will often rest upon the sharpness of your wits as upon any pre-arranged plan.”

  Councillor Hemm paused.

  “Your escort of mercenaries will take up quarters in the town of Yam and await your return. If you do not re-appear after the space of a full year, they will return to Ptah and inform us of your presumed death.”

  George laughed, “Much to the regret of all!” He said with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Yes, it will be to the regret of all,” Hemm replied seriously. “For it might well mark the final crumbling of civilization in our world!”

  The Councillor pressed the blue panel on the wall and the huge map disappeared.

  “There is much to do”. He added. “So let us continue with our preparations without further delay!”

  The traveller’s remaining days in the ‘Holy city of Ptah’ where spent in a veritable blur of actively, as equipment was checked and double checked by Darryl and his giant boat hand. In addition, their combat skills were honed to perfection by the very best masters-at-arms to be found in the ranks of the overseer’s mercenaries, whilst Myra acquired an even greater breadth of occult knowledge from the powerful seers of the ‘Ancient Lore.’

  Finally, on the morning of the twenty-second day after the wanderer’s first set eyes upon the shining walls of the Holy City, the five members of the expedition to the wastelands of the Hix, boarded a broad-hulled passage boat that was due to sail from the busy quayside of Ptah.

  Shortly afterwards, the three traveller’s stood at the rail and watched the high towers of Holy Ptah disappearing astern and Myra openly expressed the two questions occupying their minds.

  “I wonder what dangers await us and will we live to see those high towers again?”

  Chapter 9

  Hetty remained perfectly still, with the point of the knife resting only a hairs-breadth from her jugular vein.

  “Push open the iron door with your foot, witch.” Her captor whispered in her ear. Move easily, or I will release your lifeblood in an instant!”

  Hetty did as she was bidden and the iron door swung open upon well oiled hinges.

  “Walk slowly inside,” the woman said menacingly, “and continue walking until you reach the far wall of the room.”

  The wisewoman obeyed and the light of the lantern, which she still held, told her that she was in a large windowless room containing only a single item of furniture, a large bench-like couch of strange design.

  “Stand your lantern upon the floor.” The woman ordered. “Then turn slowly until your back is hard against the wall and hold your arms high above your head. Try to snatch at that witches needle hiding in your dress and your body will be lifeless before it hits the floor.”

  Hetty had no choice but to obey her captor, and, moments later, she heard the metallic click of the iron manacles as they closed upon her wrists.

  The wisewoman blinked as a gas-jet upon the wall flared into life and for the first time she was able to see the woman who held her captive.

  The woman was quite young. Not more than eighteen years of age, Hetty estimated, as she watched the girl moving across the room to light up a second gas-jet that was situated on the opposite wall.

  The girl was small in stature, but the tightly fitting red dress that she wore, displayed her youthful figure to perfection. She was dark-haired and the newly lit gas-jet also revealed her light brown features and the hazelnut shading of her eyes, a combination suggesting that the girl was probably of Middle Eastern origin. Hetty carefullyscrutinized the girls’appearance and she recalled Darryl’s rather vague description of the young woman, who had terminated the conflict at ‘Hells Corner.’

  ‘Yes,’she thought. This could be the very person that I need to assist me in clearing my son’s name!’

  Hetty was about to speak to the girl, when one of the gas-jets suddenly flared up and the additional light gave the wisewoman an uninterrupted view of the room’s furnishings and a disturbing sight momentarily diverted the witch’s attention away from the young woman.

  The centre of the room was dominated by a large flat-topped couch, whose surface was entirely covered by a layer of black silk upholstery. Straps hung from each corner of the couch and the only possible use for those leather fastenings would have been to restrain some unfortunate human being in a helplessly prone position, whilst that person endured some unimaginable form of torment. Hetty also noticed a number of dark stains on the plush silk coverings that had all the appearance of being dried blood.

  The wisewoman almost cried aloud as her eyes fell upon the glass-fronted display case occupying the wall-space closest to the couch. Anumber of whips were on open display and the collection included riding crops, cat-o-nine tails and even an example of the cruel stock-whips used by the cattle herders of Southern Africa. Hetty had also to control the sudden wave of panic as she caught sight of the sets of chains and manacles hanging from the far wall, for she knew them to be the exact duplicates of the devices holding her at the mercy of her youthful jailer.

  “Oh witch, I see that you have just noticed the master’s toys.” The girl said quietly. “Perhaps he will strap you to yonder couch and use his whips upon your body. Yes, you would not be the first witch to suffer such torment. My mother once told me that witches’were often flogged for their sins in the village of my grandparents!”

  Hetty did not answer the girl at once, for her mind was occupied by what she had seen in the past few moments. Her first step, she concluded, was to conquer fear and she immediately whispered a spell that rendered her calm and in full control of her powers of reasoning. Her vague suspicions were now verified in full and her newly won calm almost deserted her. Silas Oldshaw was indeed a dangerous sadist; the eating house in Manchester, the commercial hotels, The Cleopatra Music Hall and whorehouse. All of these establishments, together with this very mansion house and its staff of misfits and ex-criminals, existed only to provide the industrialist with an endless supply of young female flesh, and the means of sating his perverted lusts behind a cloak of outward respectability. The man’s sadistically motivated instincts undoubtedly explained his virtual obsession with bare knuckle fighting, a sport that often turned the participants into mind damaged cripples? Even so, the truth was almost beyond belief!’

  ‘But how did this young girl become ensnared in Oldshaw’s vile schemes?’Hetty wondered. “Perhaps she is herself a victim of the industrialist’s whiles and could be persuaded to abandon his service and become her ally?’

  “My child,” Hetty began. “How did someone of your tender years become involved with a twisted villain like Oldshaw?”

  The girl walked over to the wisewoman and placed the point of the dagger to her stomach before relieving her of the poisoned hat-pin lying hidden in her dress. She then flung the pin into a distant corner of the room and twice she struck Hetty across the face with the palm of her hand.

  “Witch, witch,” she spat, and her hitherto excellent English speaking voice began faltering
as a result of her rage. “You, who are steeped in evil, you dare to question me?

  I am born of good family and I knew that you were approaching, witch…”

  The girl paused for a moment and regained her self control.

  “I knew that you where coming, witch,” she repeated, “but I protected myself and I used my grandmother’s spells to stop you from far-sighting me, you spawn of darkness!”

  Hetty shook her head in order to throw off the effects of the girl’s blows and she formulated her next sentence with great care.

  “Were all of the wisewomen, known to your mother and grandmother, always the servants of evil?” She asked. “Did none of them ever tend the sick or charm away the fog of black despair from those who were broken-hearted?”