by L. M. Roth
“What?” Marcus exclaimed. “But that means..” he stopped, unable to speak the thought that was in his mind.
“It means Fanchon is in terrible danger!” Felix finished for him. “We must get out of here at once; before the Ashkani adds her to his collection of beauties!”
“Yes, we must leave at once, Felix,” Marcus answered.
He then told Felix of his encounter with the merchant. He feared the merchant saw through his ruse and might cause trouble.
“We must leave at once. We must tell the Ashkani that we are grateful for his hospitality, but our plans have changed and we must continue our journey.”
They searched for Dag and Cort. They found them exploring one of the main floor rooms of the palace, examining gold statues, figures of animals carved from ivory, and curved daggers with jeweled handles displayed in cabinets of dark wood locked behind glass doors.
Dag seemed mystified by the precious objects.
“Tell me,” he inquired. “Why would a man want a knife that is, that is, how do you say,” he fumbled.
“Pretty. Fit for a woman,” supplied Cort.
“Thank you,” Dag patted Cort’s head, who didn’t mind at all. “That is what I meant.”
“In some cultures it might be for ceremonial purposes, and never meant to be actually used in battle,” Marcus explained.
“But in Koohyaram they are so wealthy that they probably think nothing of actually using it,” Felix commented. “One of the attendants told me this morning that the Ashkani uses a different set of plate for dinner every night. He has one for each day of the year, all made of gold, some set with fine jewels, all with a service to feed one hundred people! A waste, I think,” he lowered his voice as he said this last.
“Yes, it does seem that gold could be put to more practical use, such as feeding the poor,” Marcus agreed.
“Only there are no poor in Koohyaram,” Felix said. “I do not think poverty is permitted to enter these walls!”
Marcus sighed impatiently.
“Dag, our plans have changed and we must leave at once. We cannot stop a few days to rest as we intended.”
“But what of Fanchon and Cort? They need to rest,” Dag protested.
“Dag, it is because of Fanchon that we must leave at once,” Felix answered.
He then told Dag the true living arrangements of the women, as told to him by the attendant. As Felix enlightened him, Dag’s usually placid face took on the look of a thunder cloud preceding a tempest.
“Where is this Ashkani? Where? I will teach him how real men use knives! He will not lay a hand on a maid once I have dealt with him!”
Dag started to stomp from the room. Marcus grabbed his arm and brought him to a halt.
“No, Dag! We must not cause trouble. We will simply tell the Ashkani that we are leaving. He should return Fanchon to us. If he does not, then you may do what you wish to him. But not until then.”
Dag calmed himself with an effort. But it was clear to Marcus that the thought of his betrothed in the hands of the Ashkani made his blood boil.
“All right,” he scowled. “Let us go to him at once!”
They went back to their rooms and packed their belongings. Then they made their way to the throne room where they first met the Ashkani the previous day. He was seated on the throne, being fanned by one attendant, while another sat below him playing a stringed instrument.
“Excuse the interruption, most excellent Ashkani,” Marcus bowed before the astonished ruler. “Our plans have changed and we must leave at once. We wish to thank you for your kind hospitality to strangers. It will never be forgotten.”
If a cobra had suddenly appeared in their midst, slithering around the room before selecting its victim, it could not have presented a more threatening countenance than that face which the Ashkani turned to them. His words came out in a hiss of indignation.
“You wish to leave so soon? Does our hospitality not please you? Was something lacking in your welcome?”
“No, no, most excellent lord,” Marcus protested. “It is just that we are rested and desire to be on our way. The sooner we leave, the more quickly we will reach our destination.”
“And what is that destination?” the Ashkani snarled. “Some may think our hospitality has been abused. We took you in although our questions have been left unanswered.”
He stared without flinching at Marcus, who wavered. It was true that one of the requirements for receiving hospitality was to be honest with one’s host. It was a sacred trust, and one not to be broken. But he had no choice to be other than secretive.
“I did explain, most excellent lord, that our business is of a personal nature. There are times when one is bound to secrecy for the sake of another. Then one is not free to be completely honest.”
The Ashkani was not appeased with this answer. He continued to stare at Marcus with the unblinking gaze of a deadly snake.
Marcus attempted another try.
“We must go. If you will send for the lady Fanchon we will be on our way.”
The Ashkani chuckled in a most disagreeable manner. Marcus felt as though an icy finger had slithered across the nape of his neck. He shuddered.
“Surely the lady would be more comfortable here. You have a long journey ahead of you. She may stay as my honored guest and you may take her with you on your return.”
Dag took a step forward, his hand on his weapons belt. Marcus grabbed his arm and placed himself in front of Dag and with his back to the Ashkani. He caught Dag’s attention and mouthed the words “Don’t” then, “Trust me.”
Felix, meanwhile, in an effort to distract the Ashkani, took a step toward him and bowed low to the ground. The Ashkani’s gaze was riveted on him, and diverted from Dag and Marcus.
“Most excellent lord and gracious host,” he began. “While your generous offer is appreciated, I am afraid that we can not accept it. The lady Fanchon would be a dreadful burden to you. You see, I hesitate to say it: she suffers from madness. I regret to say such a thing of a lady, yet I must.”
“Madness? What madness?” the Ashkani scoffed. “She seems in excellent health.”
“Nay, most excellent lord. It is but one of the phases of her illness. She is quiet one day, then a fey mood will take her, and she begins to dance and cavort and laugh; over nothing! Then she starts to chatter endlessly. She never stops. Indeed, she wearies one with it. I regret to say such a thing of a lady, yet I must.”
Marcus hastened forward to confirm the words of his friend.
“It is true, most excellent lord, that the lady would be a terrible imposition on your gracious hospitality. For I also weary of her when she is in a fey mood. It would be too much to ask to permit you to endure such moods.”
The Ashkani wavered, looking from Marcus to Felix and back again. Dag remained impassive, now that he understood the intentions of his friends.
The Ashkani straightened up and clapped his hands. An attendant entered, his slippers making no noise on the deep carpet.
“Bring the lady Fanchon to us. At once,” the Ashkani ordered.
They waited with increasing anxiety, each wondering what the Ashkani intended.
At last Fanchon appeared with the girl Yasamana. But Fanchon’s appearance had altered since last they had seen her. For she was now clad in a similar costume to Yasamana; knee length tunic, trousers, slippers, and a veil, all in the palest of rose pink.
Fanchon had also seemed to lose the awe of her surroundings which had silenced her on the previous day. For from the moment she entered the room and saw her friends her tongue was loosed.
“Hello! Isn’t my costume just too lovely? I simply adore these little slippers, so much more comfortable than sandals! All those straps to fasten. On the sandals, I mean, not the slippers; they don’t have any straps, no? And the veil, so mysterious! I don’t like the trousers, though. They don’t fly out when dancing like a robe does. See?” Fanchon whirled around to demonstrate. “And you know how I l
ove to whirl and twirl.” She did so again. “Just whirl and twirl.”
As Fanchon chattered, laughed and danced through this recital, a disbelieving look slowly crossed the face of the Ashkani. The disbelief turned to dismay, and dismay to horror. He quickly put up a hand toward Fanchon, who stopped in mid twirl and laughed uncertainly.
The Ashkani extended a hand to Marcus.
“As you were saying, my most honored guests, it is time you were going on your way. Yasamana will bring the lady’s belongings, and we will pack a basket of choice foods for your journey. As you say, the sooner you leave, the more quickly you will reach your destination.”
Chapter XXV
The Isles of Solone
The night was waning. Marcus stood on the deck of the small vessel, waiting for the sun to rise. They should soon see the shores of the Isles of Solone, that fabled land of wisdom and knowledge.
His father had mentioned Solone to Marcus on many an occasion. It was a land, he said, that prized knowledge above all else. The inhabitants thirsted after it, not only the usual matters pertaining to the intellect, but they probed the mysteries of the unseen as well.
Indeed, their downfall was precipitated, Valerius deemed, by their exploration of secret sects and occult rituals. It was a land famed for the Oracle at Ephilene, a priestess who claimed to speak for Lopponios, the god of Light. It was said that all knowledge belonged to him and many flocked to the oracle for revelation.
Valerius himself doubted the validity of such revelation from the god. He had heard from one who had made the pilgrimage that the priestess, or Sybillia, as she was called, sat on a high chair before an altar. She was strangely quiet, until a vapor rose from the altar; then she would be transported into an ecstasy, and garble strange things in a language that no one understood.
This trance might last for minutes or hours. When she returned to the world of the living, she might say something intelligible as an interpretation of what was said in the trance, or she might say nothing at all, and impute to the seeker of knowledge, “Lopponios has spoken.” Such gibberish, as Valerius summed it up, was of little practical use to one of sound mind, such as himself.
More to be feared were those secret sects which never proclaimed their beliefs openly. It was said that those who belonged to them had taken a vow of silence, never to reveal the rites or creed upon pain of death if that silence were ever to be broken. It was better, Valerius said, not to probe too deeply with those who held such fantastical beliefs. Better to turn a blind eye, a deaf ear to those who guarded their secrets so zealously.
It was rumored that young men and maidens occasionally made pilgrimages to shrines, some never to return, but don’t look too closely, don’t ask too many questions. If their families did not ask the reason why, why should you? Leave such secrets alone, Valerius reasoned.
Ah, but there was true knowledge and enlightenment to be found in the Isles of Solone, Valerius sighed. Some of the greatest minds of the age had been birthed in those lovely isles. There were great philosophers who forsook the superstition of their forbears to think earnestly on the great matters of life in a logical and rational manner. They pursued the study of the intellect, and invented reason, a process by which decisions were made not because of signs or emotions, but as evidenced by facts and data.
Men of wisdom, who debated in the agora regarding true versus false knowledge, who believed the mind was to be exercised no less than the body, who pursued knowledge for the sake of a sense of higher purpose, these men were honored in Solone. They spoke on morality to the younger generation urging them to not turn aside to those who deceived them in the belief that each man decided what was right in their own eyes.
For such had arisen in Solone, satyrs, Valerius called them, old men preying on the young, lulling their ears with seducing lies, telling them they were gods, descended from gods, and they were wise enough to determine their own course, take what they desired, and no consequences would ever be demanded.
For it was true, Valerius intoned, that the Solonean forefathers believed they were descended from gods. They believed the gods had created them, and each man had within them the spark of the divine, yet they had fallen from their former glory. Through sin and deception, they had wandered from the truth, and were now lesser men than they once were.
The deception that the voices of the new generation promoted, said Valerius, was that rather than diminishing from their former state, mankind was instead progressing into a heightened enlightenment, and was more than able to determine a new code of morality and establish a utopia on earth, where each man could pursue his own destiny, secure in the knowledge that whatever he did was right, because there was no wrong. Sin did not exist because each man obeyed his own moral code.
It was this fallacious teaching, pronounced Valerius, that sealed the fate of the Isles of Solone. For the younger generation abandoned the wisdom of their elders and indulged in the base pleasures of their lower nature. All manner of sensuality was practiced and promoted, as they proclaimed the freedom of their new enlightenment.
Alas, their doom came upon them. Forsaking the discipline of exercise to harden their bodies as they sought to expand their minds, they were no match for the hordes of the Imperial Army of the Valeriun Empire that descended upon them. From the west came the judgment that brought the setting of the sun on the once glorious Empire. Solone was brought to heel beneath the foot of a ruthless invader.
Her voices of enlightenment and reason were stilled beneath the groans of a captive people. No more did the young dance under the moonlight in abandon; their feet were shackled in irons for manual labor. No more did old men lift up their voices in arguments of philosophic reasoning; they now cried out in the pain of their imprisonment. And no more did the women perform the rituals of priestess for an all-seeing oracle; they performed the rituals of mourning over their sons and daughters and pleaded with gods who did not hear their cries.
All of this Marcus pondered on as the ship neared the harbor. How short a time was given to man, how brief the glory of nations to rule. Would it be thus one day with the Valeriun Empire as well? Would her ruthless grasp for power one day be the demise of her as she came under the yoke of a kingdom mightier than she?
Not much farther to land: he could hear the shrieks of the gulls in the early dawn. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his cheeks. The same breeze bore aloft the fragrance of flowers from somewhere on the shore.
To the west the sky was shadowed; ragged clouds like the wings of crows cast an ominous shade, while in the east the clouds were wisps of pearl touched with rose and mauve. The sky was a veil of palest azure blending to a deeper cerulean that promised a fine day.
The clouds glowed as if with an inner light, the sky seeming a mere background for their glory. Suddenly, the expanse lit up dramatically as the sun rose in a blaze of fire; the clouds shed their pastel tints and became dazzling white, whiter than the wool of a lamb, while the deck on which he stood was kissed with a golden haze. The waves shimmered as if the drops of water were beaded jewels; this one opal, that one amethyst, blending into lapis. The sun rose higher and the sea sparkled into sapphire and aquamarine. Marcus gasped as the morning broke upon him.
And there in the distance he beheld the shores of the outermost Isle of Solone. Her cliffs rose high in stately dignity, like that of a monarch enthroned above mere mortals. The colors of the isle in the light of dawn were touched with purple, mauve, and blue. An air of mystery clung to her even now, as though she still had riddles to disclose, revelations to divulge.
And Marcus wondered as the ship came into harbor, what secrets would he uncover here?
Chapter XXVI
The Strangers In the Inn
As they sailed closer to the shore, the rock cliffs above them became more imposing. They did not rise as a sheer face, but revealed many layers of stone, piled layer upon layer. Some layers were gray, some yellow, some a pale brown. The overall effect seemed only to perp
etuate and deepen the enigmatic air that still permeated Solone, and emitted an aura of inscrutability, as though she were the guardian of riddles to which she alone held the key.
The ship headed for the slender canal. As it sailed through the narrow passage, the walls on either side dwarfed it, threatening to overpower and crush the vessel. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief when they passed through into a clearing on the other side.
He caught his breath at the beauty before him. The harbor was the natural shoreline of an inland sea. For the Isles of Solone had once been all of a piece, but a mighty volcanic eruption so long ago that none could say precisely when it had occurred, had left them broken, connected here and there by land bridges with one main harbor. The sea was tranquil, a clear, calm blue. Hills encompassed the harbor on three sides, with glimpses of the hills on the outer islands rising in the early morning mist. When the sun burned it off they would be clearly visible, but now they appeared as ghosts, shadows of a former glory.
The hillsides were dotted with buildings of every description: cottages of humble fisher folk, the more stately public buildings of the great library, gymnasium, and the House of Artifacts, and the broken marble columns of the ruined temples to the various gods. One fact that did not escape the notice of Marcus was that every building was white, either the white limestone of the cottages, or the marble of the more imposing edifices. It struck him as an emblem of purity, a once great people fallen into ruin.
The others had now risen and joined him on deck. Fanchon gasped at the splendor of the harbor, a smile of wonder illuminating her face. Dag seemed to drink it in with his eyes, but kept silent as though fearing to break the spell of enchantment. Felix took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of appreciation. Small Cort bounded from one side of the ship to the other, eager to see everything the fair isles displayed for the viewer. Indeed, it was a sight to be savored after the scorching desert and the monotonous gold of Koohyaram!
