Pincar grunted. “Tales spun over campfires?”
“Perhaps,” Tharmstron said. “Yet the Valley of the Yaak has been a part of trapper lore for generations. I’ve heard of this vale long before Ruppon recounted Darros’s story.”
“Yaakriders too,” Carathis said, “have heard tales of a valley over the eastern ranges. These lands are said to be rich with Charkur and Waax and home to countless Yaak.”
Porrias cleared his throat. “The regions beyond the valley described by Darros cannot be substantiated by map, witness, or our many legends. Darros described a large river flowing through the valley of the waterfalls. It is quite possible this river merges with our own Great River somewhere to the southeast.” Porrias shrugged. “And to where that river flows, none can guess.”
Porrias bowed and returned to his seat.
All of the representatives sat silently, deep in thought.
Ruma raised his palm. “Unquestionably, the people of Tyrie have at times endured great hardships, yet our lands are fertile and full of game; consequentially, starvation is rare even during our harshest winters. Because we have possessed so many natural resources, we have neglected to seek new lands and explore our world. Although we have made great strides in educating our citizens, our knowledge of areas beyond this valley is sadly lacking.
“Honorable representatives, the time will come when we must seek new lands for our children and our children's children, so they may grow and flourish. I say this time is now.”
Carathis said, “We must also think of our security. If there is any truth to this criminal’s story, let us not forget there are other men occupying lands near Tyrie. We cannot judge their intentions. They may wish to harm us, man against man.”
Charon gasped. “Men killing men? Why? For what purpose?”
“The wise Carathis is correct,” the elder Dumas said. “We know nothing of these men’s culture or history. They may have values very different than ours.”
Ruma gently waved his hand. “I will now suggest that we send an envoy of our bravest and brightest citizens into the wilds to explore new lands and possibly become ambassadors to the world of men.”
Ruppon rose to his feet. “I will be the first to volunteer. I had already made up my mind to search for my brother, but I’d gladly accept the company of others.”
“And I will go with him,” Porrias said. “The chance to explore the unknown is every mapmaker and historian’s dream.”
Quintar thought for a moment and then rose slowly. “I will also volunteer my services.”
Carathis’s eyes flared. Ruppon’s face brightened.
“Any group entering the wilderness must be offered protection,” Quintar said. “And few men can match a Yaakrider with a bow. I’m certain by spring we’ll find other brave men willing to join us.” Quintar caught Barrazan’s gaze before returning to his seat.
Ruma paused for a moment. “This is a promising start, and like Quintar, I’m confident others will come forward before winter’s end.”
The wizened educator Druiden said, “I will now propose this journey be organized by the scholars of Adair. I assume this mission will be one of exploration and diplomacy.”
“If these explorers encounter hostile men,” Carathis said, “the blood spilled will be mostly Yaakrider.”
Ruma held out his hands. “Please, please.”
Carathis brushed his palm outward. “Yet I’ll defer to Master Druiden here. All men— including Yaakmen— are free to do as their conscience leads them. But, I must state before the Council that my guild will offer much yet suffer the most, if good men are lost.”
Druiden lowered his eyes. “Nobody doubts the bravery and generosity of the men of the Yaak, Master Carathis. We all acknowledge the sacrifice your guild is prepared to make.”
“Fine,” Ruma said. “Now we must turn to more tedious concerns, such as our plans for winter.” He sighed. “Let us begin by talking about the grain storehouses.”
CHAPTER 9 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)
Barrazan wandered between snaking bonfires and stumbling revelers on the eve of the Council’s first day. He halted and tugged his overcoat close, awestruck by Tyrie’s expansive hillside dotted with hundreds of blazing torches. The whiff of pungent Olaf burned his nostrils, and strong Jenna clouded his thoughts.
“Barrazan.” He heard a voice from amongst the revelers. He noticed Lenna staggering through the crowd cradling a flask. “We’ve been looking for you, fisherman.”
“Who are we, my drunken friend?”
“A group of us over at Farissa's Inn.” Lenna wiped his lips. “Are you waiting for...?” He pointed up.
Barrazan gazed upward into the starry night. Ellini hung low on the northwestern horizon casting a dull red hue over the snow-capped mountains. “A moonless sky has fascinated me since I was a boy.”
“Yes, and on Council's eve...” Lenna raised his flask and gulped. “May we consider it an omen, good or bad?”
“I’ve witnessed it countless times upon Lake Adair, where the skies blaze like crystal jewels over the open water.” Barrazan paused. “And what fate awaits me at Farissa’s?”
“Quintar and the Adairian Porrias have been discussing next spring’s expedition into the wilderness. I’ve been sent out amongst the masses to find you, my friend.”
“Why seek me?”
“Quintar thought you might be interested.”
“Is that so?”
“But...” Lenna drunkenly touched his lips. “I can reveal, we’ve already decided you’re coming with us.”
“Perhaps you should have asked me first.”
“There seemed such little doubt. I told them how many times I’ve heard you speak of adventure.”
“Adventure? Me?” Barrazan laughed. “Was the trapper Ruppon with them?”
Lenna’s smile evaporated. “The trapper’s opinion is unimportant. Druiden of Adair has agreed to sponsor this mission for the glory of Tyrie. I would not risk my life searching for some trapper’s lost brother.”
“Apparently, you have already decided to go with them?”
“Indeed, nothing now prevents me…”
The two men stood in awkward silence. Finally, Lenna asked: “Are you coming with me?”
“Into the wilderness?”
“No, my slow-witted Adairian friend; are you coming with me to Farissa’s?”
“I fear the Jenna has gotten the better of you, good Yaakrider, and in the morning you’ll regret what you’ve committed to tonight.”
Lenna smirked. “A chance like this comes but once in a lifetime, my friend.”
“Have you thought this through, Lenna? What of your guild? Your duties?”
Lenna waved his hand. “Our duties will await us upon our return.”
“And perhaps, some renown?”
Lenna tipped his flask. “If that is what you seek...” He shrugged. “Come, let us go together and explore this world.”
Barrazan sighed. “I’ll decide after I listen to Quintar and Porrias.”
“That’s all we ask, good fisherman. Come with me to the Inn. I’ll buy the drinks. Maybe then, you’ll commit to ideas of grandiose adventure.” He belched.
Barrazan walked through the crowded streets with his arm over the Yaakman’s shoulder. They laughed, joked, and caught up on recent events. Barrazan told Lenna of the first day of the Council and the odd subjects discussed. Lenna recounted the events in his life following the tragic death of his young wife.
The two men stopped beneath a dangling sign: Farissa's Inn and Pub. Two burly trappers staggered out the door. One of the men stumbled, falling headfirst into the street. The other man laughed and helped his companion back up.
Barrazan and Lenna entered the pub. Barrazan noticed a man pouring spirits at the pub’s rear. The odd trio of Ruppon, Porrias, and Quintar sat in a darkened corner. Two huge pitchers of Farissa's brew sat before them.
Lenna patted Barrazan’s shoulder. “Look who I brought back with
me. I told you I could snare him.”
Quintar pulled up a chair. “Good work Lenna. He’s a good catch indeed.”
Barrazan gazed at Quintar and then nodded to the others.
“Please sit, my friend,” Quintar said. “Have a cup of Farissa's brew, and tell me what you think of ominous speeches of long winters, snow-beasts, and strange men in strange lands.”
Barrazan plopped down and grabbed an empty cup. “One cannot say this Council has been boring. I feel the warnings of a harsh winter are strong and undeniable, but for the Ordai, I cannot say. Men predict the return of the snow-beasts each winter, and still the creatures have not yet reemerged. And if they did, then I guess we’d have little choice but defend ourselves.”
“I agree,” Porrias said. “We must prepare for a bitter winter, yet we mustn’t panic citizens with talk of Ordai— that is, until we have solid evidence the monsters have revisited.”
Barrazan filled his glass. “There is another thing I don’t understand. If these bad winters and roaming snow-beasts happen every so many years, then why don’t we find this written in our history? Each season we appear to guess haphazardly regarding future events. Why is this so?”
“This has also puzzled the educators of Adair for generations, good fisherman. Although our knowledge of mathematics, linguistics, and science is strong, we are weakest in knowledge of our own history. It’s as though our forefathers did not care, or a large part of our past has been erased, or—”
“For what purpose?” Quintar interrupted.
“We don’t know, but my mentor Druiden has dedicated a great deal of his life searching for a reason, if a reason exists.”
Barrazan rubbed his chin. “Still, this makes no sense. Knowledge of the past can only help us cope with present troubles, can it not?”
Porrias held out his empty mug for Lenna to fill. “Yes, my friend. I can offer you an example: if we could predict when the Ordai will return, we could better prepare for the beasts, possibly saving lives. And then, perhaps, during off-winters not waste valuable resources when it is disadvantageous to do so.”
Quintar said, “This may also explain why Druiden was so intrigued by Ruppon's story. Perhaps Druiden feels we will learn more about ourselves by encountering men who are not of Tyrie.”
“Druiden seeks knowledge as a Yaakrider seeks a fine brew,” Porrias said. “Scholars have long reasoned that we are not the only men occupying this world, but there has always been little or no support for venturing forth. Now, Ruppon’s story has given us a reason.”
Porrias took a long sip. “But exploring the wilderness will be dangerous, and we’re grateful Quintar has agreed to help us in this quest. And I hope Barrazan will, also.”
“But I’m just a fisherman,” Barrazan said. “What skills can I bring? I’m not skilled in ways of travel by land.”
“If the criminal Darros has been truthful, much of the unexplored areas can be traversed by boat. We’ll need someone skilled in raft construction and navigation, if the need arises.”
Barrazan stroked his chin. “Are you planning to travel by foot or by Yaak?”
“Possibly foot, possibly Yaak, possibly boat.” Porrias turned to the Yaakleader. “What do you think Quintar? Traveling by Yaak, at least initially, may have its advantages.”
Quintar nodded slightly. “Yes, the Yaak have no equal for speed, strength, and mobility.”
Barrazan gave each man a fleeting look. “And who will lead our little group? Has this already been decided?”
Porrias and Ruppon glanced toward Quintar.
Finally, Porrias spoke: “We have plenty of time to determine our leader. Maybe this question can best be resolved after our party has been assembled.”
Barrazan eyed Porrias and then Quintar. The Yaakleader appeared spellbound by the fire’s sparkling reflection in his mug’s crystal.
“This trip will be dangerous,” Quintar said finally. “And there’s a fair chance some, or all of us, may not return. None can say what we’ll find in the far wilderness, away from our comfortable valley.”
Lenna said, “We all know the risks, Quintar, but our chances of survival will improve tenfold with you and Barrazan along.”
The trapper Ruppon filled his own mug and then the mugs of his four companions. He held his mug high, firelight dancing in his eyes. “May we all return here... to Farissa’s Inn... one year from today, and tell our tale at a council held in our honor.”
The five mugs clinked together. Lenna’s eyes narrowed.
“And to my brother, Jarem... may he be here with us drinking some of Farissa’s fine brew.”
Ruppon, Quintar, Porrias, and Barrazan took a long drink while Lenna hesitated. Barrazan watched as Lenna glared at the trapper and then caught Quintar’s steely eye.
Finally, Lenna raised his mug and gulped.
**********
“Look what I have, great-great-grandfather,” the boy said, holding forth a necklace of multi-colored beads.
Dumas lifted the trinket into the Tyrinian Square’s flickering light. “A fine piece of jewelry… It may make you rich.”
The boy smiled.
“It’s getting late, young man. We should find your grandmother. She will take you home.”
The boy's smile faded.
A woman wearing matching Mathran slacks and coat pushed her way through the crowd. Her gray-streaked hair was braided and tucked beneath a round green cap. She smiled, taking the youngster’s hand. “Did you have fun with your great-pa? Now it’s time to come home and out of the cold.”
The boy looked up at his grandmother, pouting.
“And what of you, grandfather?”
Dumas’s eyes danced. “I’ll be home shortly, darling Zahra. I only wish to see people I’ve known in happy times. You know how I enjoy watching people in celebration. And this fall, will be my last.”
“Hush, grandfather, you know I don’t like such talk.”
“Don’t feel sad for me, granddaughter. I’ve lived a life fuller than most. It’s the way of all things. We all face death.”
Zahra lifted her head, smiling sadly. “Just don’t be too late, or we’ll come out after you.” She turned toward her home while the boy waved goodbye.
The evening deepened, and the citizens gathered in the streets awaiting Ellini’s disappearance. Some huddled close to the fires to keep warm, while others seemed content to watch, away from the bonfire’s glow. Still, some citizens sought out neighbors and friends to exchange pleasantries and to offer congratulations for an abundant and successful season.
Dumas ordered another twenty barrels of ale, and the people in the street whooped and cheered, praising him for his kindness and generosity. “If one takes, one must give back in kind,” he said in a soft voice.
Dumas strolled through the marketplace, his withered hand leaning on a cane fashioned of Sohla, its handle carved into the likeness of a Sequippa plant, a symbol of prosperity and wealth. The robe of councilman flowed gracefully beneath his Alem-skin jacket.
Dumas greeted many acquaintances in the square. He stopped and spoke with Ruma and Ruma's son Hayden. Ruma discussed the Council and how grateful he was for Dumas’s contribution. And he met his business rival, Pincar, who hugged the old merchant like a long-time friend.
He noticed the trapper Tharmstron and the rugged Noreldan Balyar sitting at a darkened table near the square. They appeared to be having a serious conversation, and their faces bore deep concern. Dumas chose not to interrupt them. The concerns of today are for young leaders, he thought. I have given my advice and warnings to the Council. My mission is now complete.
He turned away from the crowds, walking into a narrow alley between the settlement’s lowest tiers. Closed shops and foundries lined each side of the deserted street. He stopped, lifted a torch from its holder, and held it aloft.
Dumas continued along the swerving road and up the valley’s basin. He stopped to catch his breath. He turned and saw Ellini hovering just over the
western ridge. The marketplace of Tyrie, speckled by dozens of fires, sprawled outward below him.
Dumas marveled how the markets had grown during his long lifetime. He recalled a time when merchants were selfish and unorganized and when some goods were not traded in many parts of the lands. He beamed proud, knowing it was he, Dumas, who foresaw the need to sign treaties with Adair and Norelda; it was he who assured commodities from all three settlements are available to all citizens; it was he who….
Dumas’s head dropped in disgust and disappointment.
He ambled up the winding road, passing the last scattered homesteads. The darkness engulfed him as he turned from the road and onto a worn pathway. He hobbled up the path, emerging amid a clearing. He turned and beheld the settlement bathed in soft starlight.
Tyrie is a city now, he thought, not just a settlement. Tyrie is a place of culture and history, a place where my great-grandchildren and their great-grandchildren will live, grow, and educate their young, to advance Tyrie to even greater heights, beyond even my greatest dreams or expectations.
Suddenly, a cool breeze whipped through the trees, catching him unprepared. His torch sputtered in his wrinkled hand, and the chill paralyzed him. Dumas pulled his jacket close.
In an instant, long suppressed memories flooded back to him. He fought his thoughts, his emotions, yet he couldn’t halt the emptiness and isolation rushing through his core. He clutched his breast.
But it has been a heavy burden that I’ve carried— almost too much for a mortal man. And I bore it my entire life, and now I bear it alone....
The truth....
He staggered along a narrow stone walkway and then across a shadowy meadow. A stone monument, overlooking the cliff, towered before him. He stopped.
His aged mind spun with memories from his young adulthood: the clandestine councils, the elitist scholars holding to themselves the secrets of their ancient history that—
Dumas remembered the first time they’d told him and his complete disbelief. It was too terrible to be true; it couldn’t be true. Yet was it too terrible to keep from future generations? Did future Tyrinians not have a birthright to know? He shook his head.
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