The Aebeling

by O'Neill, Michael

  Conn considered his story ludicrous but it was the best he could come up with. He had never considered that he might need to explain himself. He watched Abrekan ponder his explanation, and whilst he probably didn’t believe in ‘magic’ caves, what could he say.

  Abrekan nodded slowly. ‘What you say is beyond my understanding. It said that when the Gyden walked the earth, they could travel from any nation to another like you or I can walk from one house to another.’ He changed the subject, and pointed to Conn’s belongings, organized in a pile near his yurt. ‘You do seem well prepared’

  There was nearly four hundred kilograms of supplies piled in and around the yurt. Most of the weight was made up of the essentials as food, shelter, clothing, and weapons – of which there was a significant supply, while the rest included utensils, tools, equipment; and forty kilograms of seeds – for every kind of crop that he might ever need. The last three items were different but important; silk worms, chickens, and gold. The moth pupas were in hibernation, the dozen chicks clucked away in their little travelling cage on the back of the donkey, and the fifty kilos of gold coins and bars was well hidden in the packs. Silkworms were an economic necessity, the chickens were an easy and ready source of protein, and you never know when you might need money.

  Conn agreed. ‘I was moving with my belongings to a new domain about 20 days ride from the home of my family. It was spoils from a war where I was lucky to be on the winning side.’

  ‘And your family?’

  Conn shook his head and tried to look as sad as he could. ‘Sadly, none are still alive. Some years ago, they were all killed...’ he paused for effect ‘in an attack by pirates.’

  Abrekan commiserated. ‘That is truly tragic. And now, by the Gyden’s grace, you find yourself in Meshech.’

  Conn was happy to change the subject. ‘So Meshech is that the name of this nation?’

  Abrekan shook his head. ‘No, you are in the nation of Halani, which is located in the middle of Meshech. Halani is the home of the Twacuman, and there are several Priecuman nations that surround Halani.’ Abrekan drew a mud map on the ground. ‘This is where we are and here is Rakia, Silekia, Lykia, Moetia, Kania, Gatina and Trokia. I hear you had a problem with some Rakians.’ He pointed to each in turn. ‘We are from Trokia, and Trokians are one of four Priecuman tribes – the Silekians, the Gatinans and the Moetians are the other three. Of the others, Lykia is Moetian, Rakia is Gatinan, and Kania is Trokian.

  ‘And here?’ Conn pointed to an island that he had drawn north of Kania. ’What is that called? Is that the home of the Ancuman?’

  He shook his head. ‘That is Cyme.’ He smiled. ‘It is a small island populated entirely by women – Priecuman women. As for the Ancuman, their home is somewhere across the sea – I don’t know where.’

  ‘An island of just women – they must be capable warriors to able to keep that domain all to themselves?’

  ‘Yes; highly skilled in all forms of combat; but especially in hand to hand combat. They provide a service to other domains as bodyguards – nearly every Healdend in these lands has had a bodyguard from Cyme at some time.’

  Conn looked up to get his bearing. ‘If Trokia is to the west, why did you come from the east?’

  ‘I normally come from the west but a long series of misfortunes meant that my course was changed. This time I came from Lykia.’

  ‘I see that you have brought pack animals with you – what do you carry?’

  He continued. ‘Wine mostly – the Twacuman need very little but they do like good wine, and I bring in the best that I can find. I trade the wine for tanned hides; the goat hides from Halani are the best in all of Meshech, and I turn them into many things, but cloaks are my specialty. My family have been the only Priecuman allowed into Halani for over two hundred years – another reason why I am surprised to see you.’

  Conn could understand his confusion. ‘Why is your family allowed in?’

  ‘One of my ancestors was a Silekian merchant – her family had been trading with Halani since the arrival of the Silekians. I have been allowed that privilege despite not being a Silekian.’

  ‘Have the Silekians been here a long time?’

  ‘As far as I know, they were here several hundred years before the other Priecuman tribes arrived, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘And what about the Twacuman? How long have they been here?’

  ‘Even longer than the Silekians – but that is ancient history – and I am definitely not the best person to ask.’

  Every answer raised more questions, but Conn let them slide as the Twacuman had organized a feast, and Elva had come to collect them. Later, every single wiga there personally thanked him for saving Caewyn. Conn was surprised at the enormity of their gratitude – especially as Caewyn had never seemed worried at any time. In fact, she had only ever shown concern for Derryth’s injuries.

  Early next morning they set out for the main village in Halani – Abrekan said that it didn’t have a name – and it would take them all that day and most of the next to get there. Their first night was spent in a small village on the banks of the lake, where they were provided shelter in longhouses built in rows along the lake’s edge. The village surprised Conn in its simplicity; there were no palisades or defensive structures of any kind, just a forest full of longhouses, two stories high, built from timbers cut from the huge trees that made up the forest, bamboo, and thatch. The lower level was populated by livestock and workshops, and wooden steps led to the second level which was for living; with thatch roofs and walls made from the local equivalent of wattle and daub. The technology was surprisingly advanced; the Twacuman were obviously master wood workers. That being said, it was what Conn would have imagined an very good Anglo Saxon or Viking village to resemble – excluding they fact that these were very well drained, with ditches carrying away the abundant waste and rainwaters, and raised wooden walkways.

  The next day they continued their journey after fording the lake. The huge lake had very few places to cross in summer but a few more in winter. The alternative was to ride all the way around and that would take days. Derryth had recovered amazingly and was no longer lying in the travois, but now rode alongside Conn and Elva at the rear of the convoy; his injured arm strapped to his chest. Abrekan also rode with them – and continued to ply Conn with questions about the land of Taransay and Alba; it was just as well that Conn was an acknowledged expert on Ancient and Medieval history.

  After his explanation of the causes of the fall of the Roman Empire, Abrekan changed the subject. ‘You do realize that you must be the only Priecuman alive who understands the Twacuman language, don’t you. By the Gyden’s gift, no Priecuman has learnt it as there is no need. I’m not sure what the Wothbora will think of you’.

  ‘Wothbora?’ Conn asked.

  ‘The Wothbora are the spiritual guides of the Twacuman – it is them that speak for and to the Gyden. It is a position of great power and authority.’

  It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at the outskirts of the much large settlement, also on the banks of the great lake. As they rode in, Twacuman gathered to watch them pass. They greeted Abrekan warmly and nodded respectfully to Conn; his rescue of Caewyn was now obviously old news, and once they had seen him, their curiosity sated, they returned to their tasks. In some ways, the pinto mare of Conn’s was of more interest that Conn himself, and a lot of children came out to touch the mare as she passed. She accepted their hands gracefully, but when it was determined that she didn’t have the rumored ‘magic’ of a true Elfina, they left disappointed.

  They arrived in front of what was clearly the biggest building in the village, and a small gathering of people waited for them – led by Caewyn.

  They dismounted; Elva told Conn that she would take care of his animals, as Caewyn collected Conn and Abrekan and escorted them up a long ramp to the second level. Derryth was taken to see the medics, despite his protestations. At the top, they entered a long dimly lit room. The
longhouse would have been at least sixty yards long; a large fireplace roared in the center on a huge stone embedded floor, and while most of the smoke escaped through a hole in the ceiling, the rest provided a light fog. Conn tried not to cough – he hated smoke.

  Towards the end of the hall, resting on leather covered pillows, were several elders; with at least fifty others lounging around the room. Caewyn went and hugged a woman who sat in the middle of the group.

  Abrekan also went forward and greeted her warmly, and Caewyn introduced the woman as her grandmother, Brina, Aebeling of Halani. She welcomed Conn graciously as she directed them to sit on cushions placed before her.

  ‘Aebeling, it is my honor to be a guest in your village. I hope that my visit will not trouble you or your people. That is not my intention.’

  Brina laughed a deep laugh. She was genuinely amused at his suggestion. ‘I fear that you are too late, Conn il Taransay, I think that your visit is already troubling many people; certainly our Wothbora is troubled. There are many things that are confusing about you – and it is not only that you are unlike all people that we have seen, but that you suddenly appear in our forest without us knowing about it – and you have an Elfina horse that is not an Elfina. Can you tell us how you got here?’

  Conn repeated his story about the ‘teleporting’ caves mostly because a lie if told enough times can become the truth. Besides which, there was nothing else he could say. The truth would sound more ridiculous than Conn’s lies. They were quiet while he explained his journey so far. After he had finished, Brina looked at her elders and looked back to Conn.

  ‘That being what it may, what is even more unusual is for you, a Priecuman, to be able to understand the language of the Twacuman. It has been nearly five hundred years since the last person died.’

  She paused a moment, sighed, and then continued. ‘And then there are the Rakians hunting in our forest. It is a long time since men have tried to do such a thing. Their chance of success would be so low as to be insignificant – they must be very desperate men. They were very lucky to get as far as they did. It seems that they entered via Lykia rather than Rakia – which is why they were missed. We will need to be more vigilant.’

  They paused for some time in contemplation. Conn didn’t feel he could add anything of value so waited. After a while Brina continued.

  ‘Stranger still is that my granddaughter would wander off by herself – with only two companions. Even though this is our home, it is normal for us to travel with caution. And of course discovery of the holtwudu is another event beyond reasonable explanation. They are never found by accident.’

  Brina looked to the others for inspiration and they shook their heads. She then turned to Abrekan.

  ‘Abrekan, it seems that you unwittingly had a part to play in these strange events,’ the Aebeling continued, ‘tell us why you are so late this year?’

  He stood. ‘Aebeling, I cannot explain the chain of events that caused my delays. It has been a poor season for wine in Trokia, so I was in Moetiak to buy skins, which I was successful at doing. However, on my return to Trokia the vessel we sailed on hit something in the water and sank. Luckily we were close to land so we all made it to shore but everything else was lost. When I finally got back to Moetiak, I had lost weeks. I was going to come direct from Moetiak but there was no longer any suitable wine available. I then learnt that a cargo of wine was available in Sabatah and I bought that – but getting a ship took time. From Sabatah, I travelled directly here, and since leaving I have made excellent time. So I am later than I should be, but earlier than I expected.’

  Brina nodded. ‘All of that is strange as well. Nothing is as it should be; and those things that aren’t as they should be, cannot be explained. Were it that the Gyden gave guidance in times like this, but it would seem that they are silent.’

  She returned to look at Conn.

  ‘Without your intervention the Halani nation would be in great mourning, so you have our thanks, and it goes without saying that we are greatly indebted. I understand that you saved Derryth’s life by removing the arrow and repaired the wound.’

  ‘I did what I could – I’m very glad that it seems to have worked.’

  ‘Indeed’. You are a lucky man to have three Twacuman who have a life debt with you, and we will just have to wait to see where all this leads. We have prepared a longhouse for you all. We fear that the mountain passes will soon be covered in snow – and it is early in the season – one moon earlier than it should, so we expect that you will be our guest until the spring at least. Abrekan, you and your sons have the use of your usual longhouse. You are welcome as always.’

  ‘Thank you, Aebeling; as always we are appreciative of your hospitality.’

  She smiled back. ‘And we are appreciative of your wine.’ Brina then looked back to Conn. ‘Conn il Taransay; tonight you will be our guest at a feast to celebrate the survival of Caewyn. As well as much to think about, we have much to be grateful for. Elva will show you to your longhouse.’ Elva had arrived back in the room and stood at the side, waiting.

  Conn stood to leave, and then turned back when Brina spoke again. ‘There is something else that confuses us, Conn il Taransay. Caewyn says that there is something that connects us to you – some kind of link. I do not understand what it can be, and yet it exits. Even our Wordloga feels it. Perhaps time will explain it also; for we can’t. There is no logical explanation – but then there is nothing logical about any of this.’

  Leaving Brina, Conn was escorted to his new abode, a medium sized longhouse that he had to himself, and where Conn found his gear carefully stacked; his animals were below and all content. The ten Rakians ponies were there as well; Elva informed him that the rules of warfare made them his booty, and his large herd of animals had been unsaddled, rubbed down and given grain to eat.

  At his request, Elva then took him to see Derryth who was in the infirmary. Accommodation seemed plentiful as Conn walked through the village; empty houses scattered between occupied one. He commented as such.

  Elva agreed. ‘There was a time when there were many more of us. Once we had two of three children – now it is one if we have any.’

  Derryth was fine – the medic explained that there was nothing they could do that was better than what Conn had already done, and commended him on his skill. With the sore Derryth walking with them to his dwelling, he despaired that he would never be wiga again.

  Conn shook his head. ‘No, I think you will be fine. If left alone your shoulder will quickly become useless but we can do exercises to encourage recovery. We will start that as soon as you are able – perhaps next week.’

  Derryth bowed in gratitude. ‘I will be even more in debt than I am now if that can be done.’

  Conn was surprised to find that Derryth lived in what was effectively barracks – a long building containing around fifty men. Derryth had shared this building with the same group of men since he was a teen; and they preferred not to share with the young ones because they were too noisy!

  Elva shared a dormitory with other Cempestre and other single women. It seemed that once pregnant, women moved in with other mothers and they stayed there until their children were old enough to move to a dormitory of their own. Men and women didn’t live together; children were fathered somewhat indiscriminately – pregnancy was the Gyden’s will and consequently cherished – and seemed to be a result of casual affairs. That being said, everyone knew who their father was – the clan they belonged to was important knowledge.

  Despite his continued protestations about missing out, they left Derryth to rest, and returned to the main square, where preparations for the feast were underway. A large bonfire was being built, and cooking fires with spitted pork and mutton were being prepared. By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, the villagers had arrived, the musicians had started to play and the food and drink was being served. The large kettle styled drums created deep mellow tones that resonated through the village, while the
smaller drums, bamboo flutes and xylophones added melody and variation. As darkness arrived, the large bonfire provided an eerie light to the village, while the singers sang sad songs, and the dancers danced in circles around the bonfire.

  As the honored guest, Conn was offered large amounts of the new wine as well as the mead made from the honey and fruit from the forest, and drank far more than usual. He even joined in the drum line, as the drums were not that dissimilar to the taiko drums of Japan of which Conn was proficient. He played a Japanese war march – the beat quickly picked up and followed by the other drummers.

  Later, he found Caewyn at his side. ‘Conn il Taransay – it seems that you are a musician as well. How else are you going to surprise us?’

  He nodded as he sat down, his body lathered in sweat. ‘I play several musical instruments – as well as the drum.’ He prepared to put his shirt back on – but she stopped him.

  ‘We are going to do our gratitude dance now. It is important that you participate.’

  ‘I don’t need my shirt.’

  She shook her head. ‘You don’t need your trousers either.’

  Shocked, Conn immediately looked up into the firelight. Everyone around him was taking off their clothes, until they remained in their loincloths – both male and female. It was quite a sight.

  Conn stood. ‘So down to my underwear?’

  ‘If that is what you call it.’

  Conn had a preference for raw silk boxer shorts – his own design and manufacture. They were bright red – and given that his skin under his trousers was not exposed to the sun like his upper body, the contrast would have been stark, but no-one made any comment.

  Everyone now semi naked, the music started again, slow and steady, but less melancholy than usual. Caewyn, while still dressed, now had a wooden pail in her hands, filled with a red liquid – which Conn surmised was paint – an ochre of some kind. Caewyn put in her hand into the pail and brought it out; it was covered.