The Bok of Syr Folk

by Russ L. Howard

  Sanangrar peeled back his cowl to reveal a shaven head, tattooed with a coiled skeleton of a serpent slithering through a skull. “While we were invading Guatemala, we discussed with the sailors and fishermen there how we could transport our cargo from Guatemala to Newport in the north without losing any of it to the Pyringean pirates and the Herewardi blockade. Your name came up over and over. The Guatemalan merchants said it could not be done because of the blockade. But they also said that if anyone could run the blockade, it would be you. For it has been reported that you outran the Herewardi sea stallions and triremes.”

  Juan hid a smile as he leaned back and folded his hands over his crimson sash. “What sort of cargo are we talking, mis amigos?”

  “First we want to see if you can do it,” Sanangrar said, half growling.

  “I have and I can.” He paused before adding, “That is, under the right conditions.” Juan was pleased to see that his curt answer did not sit well with this bald headed buffoon.

  “What conditions?” he growled.

  “Depends on the cargo.”

  “We want you to transport slaves and soldiers to a designated location which we shall later reveal to you.”

  Juan hid his surprise, “Oh, this shall be very difficult. Very, very difficult. Very difficult indeed. And I do not like not knowing where I am to take them. No captain would.”

  “But can it be done?”

  “Of course it can be done. What is in question is shall it be done by me.” Juan stood up and limped over to a large table where he sorted through rolls of skin maps before he pulled out a recent one of the Northern Kalifornias. “I can do it, but it would be very, very costly. Probably nothing ju could afford.”

  “Wherefore do you limp, man?” Sanangrar demanded as his other hollow-eyed ghoulish looking lieutenants stared on. Juan felt a certain disgust welling up in him as he looked into their sallow soulless faces with their protruding teeth. Too much did they remind him of the rats that stowaway on ships.

  “When I was a matador, un toro gored me pretty bad. He was the greatest bull to ever walk the earth. El Minotaur, they named him. He had the power of the bull and the mind of a man in him. Such a glorious beast! Like none I have ever seen before or since. I was so taken by his presence and his animation that I let down my guard. I now own him and breed him to my own herd, but the leg has not been right since. It has taught me the importance of constant vigilance. Perhaps these Pyringean Stallions are like that for you. You honor their strength, but you also fear them.”

  Fury crossed the commissar’s face. “Pitters fear no one, least of all these abominable sheep-eaters. I could never admire an infidel, and had a bull injured me, you can believe, I would eat its heart out on the spot.”

  Juan resumed his seat and spread out the map across the desk. The three dark lords leaned forward for a better look, sending the sickening odor of patchouli oil mixed with the rancid body odor endemic to Pitters. Knowing the Pitters disdained bathing, he refrained from retching as he pointed at the coast line on the map.

  “Here, you see is the blockade. It stretches from this isle the Herewardi name the Isle of Ilkchild to a place on the main land called Ur Ford. Few there have been who can run it. You see this sea king, this pyrsyrus, one of them ring lords and sea stallions, is sharper than a hawk and more relentless than a hornet when on your trail. None who have crossed him have survived.”

  Sanangrar suddenly leaned over and spat on the floor. “The Herewardi are cowards. They flee us. Look how fast they scurried to that island to avoid confronting our legions. Angrar drives them before us like the east wind. Soon we will drive their whole damned race into the sea.”

  Juan considered this a wise and prudent strategy the Herewardi were employing by setting themselves up in an unreachable stronghold while they built up their forces. That’s exactly the kind of strategy he would employ had he the resources. “In these parts, the west wind always prevails.”

  Sanangrar scowled, “So can you get us around him or not? That’s all I care about.”

  “With the proper incentive, I can, but it will take some careful planning, timing, and monies. I shall have to test the ring lord’s strengths and weaknesses and find out how he operates, and then I’ll get back to ju if I decide it can even be done. The last time I managed to slip through by exploiting a hidden weakness, but when I tried it again he had eliminated that hole, so now I will have to find another way before I can give you a final assurance. But before we continue, I warn you that transporting your soldiers and slaves cannot be done for less than five million solidi.”

  “Five million solidi, I have brought only five thousand solidi and that is overly generous, at best.”

  Juan rolled up the map and rose. “It appears our business is concluded senores, for there is no other way I’ll risk my neck and the necks of my men for any less.” Juan limped back to the map table and put the map away.

  “Alright,” Sanangrar said to his back, “We’ll pay you five million solidi once you have successfully transported a few slaves and some spies of mine on a test run to Newport. Then we shall have you transport our troops to another similar place which we shall in the future so designate.”

  Juan turned, but remained where he was, forcing Sanangrar and his minions to crane their necks in his direction. “I understand, ju do not wish to reveal jour point of attack. But I shall have to scout out first to see how it will be made possible.”

  “You shall determine how it can be done. You shall also provide us with the location and route to a bay that we may operate out of as a beachhead on the northwest side of the isle, if possible. Of course, you must leave right away, for time is of the essence and the emperor will have his way.”

  Juan returned to his desk and sat down. “Ju have ships, why have ju not done this?”

  Sanangrar hesitated. “We have tried, but we are new to the Sea. Most of our ventures into the great deep have ended badly. So we have decided to pay more experienced men in such matters. If you can breach the Pyringean blockade, then we shall have many more commissions for you and you shall be rolling in solidus.”

  “I am curious. Everyone knows you have dealings with the Friscans, why not approach them with this generous offer?”

  Sanangrar turned up a lip. It was apparent it was considered beneath him to be questioned. “They disgust me, they have failed me three times. Each time they were intercepted by Pyrsyrus and his sea stallions, causing us to loose hundreds of slaves and tons of bootle. Not to mention the loss of several ships the Skull Worm paid to have built. We have decided to stop dealing with the Friscans at present until better terms can be reached.”

  Sanangrar reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a large wooden peg. To Juan’s surprise, Sanangrar began to gnaw at it with his long yellow teeth. It was difficult to mask his disgust.

  “I hope ju know I cannot leave without a financial show of your sincerity.”

  “Alright, I’ll give you a thousand solidi.” Sanangrar removed a key from around his neck and passed it over to one of his henchmen to open the chest.

  It was Juan’s turn to sneer. “That would not even get me out the door of this hacienda. I need five thousand solidi to outfit the expedition to test the blockade and to locate an appropriate beachhead. Then if you want your troops and slaves transported to the Newport zonga I will require five million more solidus up front before I transport even so much as one soldier.”

  Sanangrar kicked the chest of gold solidus hard enough for the clank of coins to be heard. “I am tempted to run you through for even suggesting such robbery to a commissar of the Great Pitter Empire.”

  Juan’s smile came easily. “Ju could try,” Juan shot a glance out the window at his vaqueros with their whips, swords, and bolas, “but in the interest of jour own self-preservation, I do not suggest such a course.”

  The grey skin of Sanangrar’s face turned a mottled purple. “If I am to agree to your terms,” he gritted, “then you must also tra
in my spies to sail. I can agree to five thousand solidi on that account, but that will not sit well with the Skull Worm.”

  “Agreed. My ships are in Rosarita, and I will need several days to provision them.”

  Sanangrar bent down and slid the heavy chest in Juan’s direction. “If I were you, I would not be expecting any high leadership roles in the future.”

  Juan shrugged as he ran his finger down first one side of his mustache, then the other. “Ju serve jour Skull Worm, I’ll serve my gold then we will both be happy.”

  “Very well, it’s a binding contract, but you should know that we Pitter commissars accept no failure from our hirelings. If you do not deliver the goods you promise, then we shall extract every bit of wealth you have, including this hacienda, your prized horses, and even your life. Do you need us to wait while you count the monies?”

  “No, I am sure ju would not risk cheating me.” He smiled, “Of course, should there be even one solidus missing, I would consider that a breach of contract, and your money would automatically be forfeit.”

  Sanangrar looked even more fitful. “How dare you suggest that a commissar would be anything, but exact?”

  “My dear commissar, we are both men of this world. We have both dealt with less than honorable men under our command, and both of us know how infectious the gold can be.” Juan noticed a look of shock on all four of the henchmen’s faces. The two in the back had raised eyebrows as they looked at one another, whereas Sanangrar remained poker faced.

  “When would you wish me to launch?”

  Sanangrar said, “I am on my way north, which is a journey of four days over land to Copperopolis, where I expect to meet the native spies, who I referenced will be going with you. It will take them another four or five days to return here with their captives.”

  “Well, who are these natives of whom you speak? I need to know what manner of men I allow on my ships.”

  “They are of the Sharaka Irregulars, who have wisely cast their lot with the expanding Pitter Empire. Their leader is a renowned warrior named Standing Bull.”

  Sharaka Irregulars. Traitors is more like it. “Sharaka! Irregulars? And how many of these irregulars am I expected to accommodate?”

  “I would say no more than ten warriors and ten select captives.”

  “Not an insignificant number. I had thought to do this with just my flagship alone, but with the extra bodies, I shall require three ships. My clipper ships are built for speed and do not have large accommodations.”

  “If they are so small and limited to space, how do you propose to transport armies, slaves, and legions? Perhaps I should consider another sea captain.”

  “That is jour privilege, but ju and I both know, there is not another sea captain that can do what I do. I have sufficient contracts and debtors among the Friscans to transport any amount of people required and should I require more, the belly ships of the Herewardi could easily be stolen.”

  Sanangrar’s eyes flashed with satisfaction. “Very good. Now I know why all the other captains praised you so highly. Once this initial mission is complete, drop Standing Bull and his band off at the Port in Frisco Bay, then send us one of your messengers, and we will meet back here by the equinox.”

  “With the gold, of course.”

  Sanangrar stood, “That is understood,” he said curtly.

  “My men await you outside to escort you to your mounts.” Juan waved them off like one waves off pesky flies.

  * * *

  The blowing of the ceremonial conch alerted the village that a joining proposal for marriage had occurred. Runners were sent to all the villages outside of Arym Gael to carry the news. Word traveled fast that it was Ysys-Ka and that she intended to wed one of the outlanders called Syr Folk.

  Two suns later all who wished to participate in the winnowing gathered under the giant ceiba tree, the traditional spot of joining ceremonies. People even came from as far off as the small coastal village of Duminabith, whose only distinguishing trait was that they wore blue scarves about their necks, but were otherwise as green skinned as the people of Arym Gael and Eng-Ness. Many Eng-Nesseans came greeting old friends from Arym Gael with good cheer and gifts of kelp and dried fish for the joining couple.

  The Ele-Anoreans were the last to arrive. Long Swan noted that although their numbers were smaller, they were the most distinctive, not only in their fair colored skin, but also in their elaborate and brightly colored clothing. Rather than greeting the villagers in the familiar way of Chartreuseans, they kept aloof, not from arrogance, but according to Ysys, so as not to frighten those among her people who feared them. Standing next to Long Swan, Ysys pointed out a distinguished looking couple in their forties as their retired king and queen, followed by a young man of around seventeen whom she said was their son, Duif-Ba. His head was shaven except for a large braided forelock on the left side of his temple. Even though the ambassador and the current queen’s cortege attended, the Bee Queen herself remained noticeably absent.

  Long Swan leaned down to whisper, “I am disappointed that the queen of Ele-Anor-Ness is not come. I had so hoped to meet her, and so had Ary.”

  Ysys nodded, “She is so pure among her people that she refuses to come into the midst of any gathering where the profane might sully her.”

  Long Swan glanced around. “I have seen no one who looks profane here. Everyone seems to be respectful and happy.”

  “To the Chartreuseans profaneness is not detected with the eye, but is determined by their works of simony. Of this I have first hand knowledge.” He could only wonder what she meant.

  The grove was packed with celebrants by the time the sun stood directly overhead, the signal for the ceremony to begin. As they had been earlier instructed, Ysys and Long Swan stood holding hands directly under the branches of the holy ceiba tree laden with its cottony fruit. Chief Eyf, a garland of grape leaves circling his grey hair, stepped into the cleared space between the spectators and the tree. With great ceremony he lifted the conch to his lips and blew three throbbing blasts. As soon as the assemblage all grew silent, he announced that he, and his wife, Perle-Ka, had given permission for Long Swan of Godeselle and Ysys-Ka of Arym Gael to be ‘winnowed’ by the community.

  “It is now time for the two who wish to be bonded to stand before the people.”

  Facing the assemblage Long Swan took a firmer grip on Ysys-Ka’s hand. He realized he had never been placed in such a vulnerable position. To say he was nervous was an understatement. She on the other hand seemed serene. Over the past two days Long Swan thought often of what he would do if the winnowing blew against their union. Old Grokk suggested throwing her over his shoulder and taking her aboard ship if it came to that. Grokk went so far as to point out that no green could stand against Herewardi steel. Although Long Swan knew there was precedence in early days among other tribes, he was determined to honor the customs of Ysys’ people in hope of nurturing long term relations.

  Chief Eyf glanced around the half circle. “It is time for the Recommenders to speak.”

  Perle-Ka went first, stepping out into the open. “My daughter’s wishes are my first concern. She has matured sufficiently in judgment for me to trust that Long Swan is an honorable person not given to any abusive practice. Though he carries a fearful weapon, we have only ever heard gentleness come from his lips. It pleases me to have my daughter wed such a noble man, be he outlander or Chartreusean.”

  Murmuring went up among the assemblage.

  At a nod from the chief, Ary stepped forward to face the crowd. He resembled his father in his bearing and demeanor.

  “I am Arundel, son of the High Lord Sur Sceaf, Chief of the Syr Folk. Long Swan is the brother of my father and has been a teacher and an example to me for my entire life. In our culture he bears two of the most honorable titles that can be conferred upon a man, that of rune singer and that of lore master which is much like your sages. It is his responsibility to be the keeper of all memories. It is he, who taught me to be
honorable, truthful, and faithful to the moral science of my people. He is unexcelled in both wisdom and honor, and as highly respected in our culture as Chief Eyf and the sages and sisters of your culture. You do not know us well, that is true, but just as we did not know you well when we first arrived, our association with one another has been very pleasant and rewarding to both of us, so I am sure, this joining will complement and bless both our peoples in ways yet unimaginable.”

  As Ary spoke, many smiled and nodded. Long Swan’s hopes soared.

  Chief Eyf stepped forward again. “Before we call for the sustaining of this joining is there anyone else who cares to spe--?”

  Before he even finished speaking two men stepped forward. Ysys recoiled on Long Swan’s arm. He looked down at her. She turned a paler green and had a fearful look upon her face. The younger of the two, a tall muscular Eng-Nessean with shoulder length blond hair pouring from beneath his green bandana, approached with an arrogant stride to confront Eyf.

  “You know me as Ashim, son of Yhcstein. We lodge protest, the same as you lodged protest at the winnowing of my joining with Ysys-Ka, on the very day of what should have been our greatest day of happiness. This outlander is a stranger. A man you know nothing of, and yet you opposed her marriage to me, a descendant of Eng and Leahcim and this after we had sworn our troth to one another.”

  Eyf looked angrily at Ashim, “You know all too well, your sorcery has polluted the thinking of our people and turned upside down the customs we hold most dearly in Chartreusea. Therefore, Perle-Ka and I could never sanction such an unholy union. Everything you have touched has been profaned and disrupted. You bring anarchy and corruption in your wake. One need only look to the people you govern. They have become vile, base, and live slothful lives like animals. You rob nature and give nothing back in return.”

  Ashim shouted out in answer like a voicecaster, without opening his teeth. Long Swan perceived that Ashim was using the imagery of those who were initiated into the secrets of the tree people blatantly in the open, for Ysys had taught Long Swan the initiatory rights in preparation for their marriage.