Here for your consideration is the journal of Emmers Nahr, a potter by trade and a refugee from the tyranny of a remorseless Enemy. His is a story of an epic voyage, one that takes him from a world of violence and death into another of magic and uncertainty, where the earth itself can come to life, and the power to move the heavens can rest in the palm of your hand. I hope you enjoy the journey.
22 December 2006
Day Fifty-one
Last night a vision came to me in my dreams. From somewhere deep within my slumber I found myself alone aboard the Dromannion and witness to events which haunt me even as I write these words. I sit quietly now upon the foredeck, watching the suns set on another day and I am wondering what might lie in wait for me in the night hours to come. The vision is a message, of this I am sure, but it gives me no solace or surety for I cannot fathom the meaning of it. All I can say is that it has left me wondering if our journey westwards will prove to be our salvation, or our undoing. I went to my quarters at a late hour. I had spent time talking with the Healer Faren, discussing a peculiar case I had unearthed amongst the NomDruse. One of the boys has an unusual rash spreading across his arms and legs and was bleeding from the gums. Although it sounds serious, the nature of the rash was only mild, the bleeding only noticeable when he would wipe his mouth with his forearm. It was something however that needed to be reported to the Healer and I brought him to the children's quarters for the purpose of an examination. Stump came with us, he is still the only person aboard who speaks the children's native language, and time was spent finding out all that could he unearthed about the boy's history and symptoms. His name is Meriarrum and in the gloom of the quarters we were able to discover enough for the Healer to ascertain the boy's problem. It was a blood disease, only yet in its early stages, but something that would require treatment. It was not infectious, however it would take time to overcome. I spoke with Faren for some time before returning with Stump to our rooms. He seemed deep in thought and talked only infrequently as we walked the crowded galleyways to our quarters. He would give no comment on the nature of the boy's illness except to say that many afflictions looked similar, and that perhaps Meriarrum would surprise us all. I left the northerner to his books and opened my hammock. It was then that sleep overtook me. In the quiet of my dreams I found myself alone, a solitary soul on an empty Dromannion sliding silently through a sea as flat as a tabletop. Above the two moons shone brightly, a harsh light from on high that etched the ship with hard shadows, throwing latticeworks of light and shade across the decks ahead of me. There was no wind but the ship ploughed forward, on a set course that could not be altered. As is the strangeness of dreams it did not occur to me that my situation was unusual. I was not the master of my own destiny, so why should I not be a captive passenger on a ship that would go where it wished. In this dream I was a spectator and somehow I understood that. I stood my ground and waited. Out of the gloom ahead came a spire of stone that rose from the languid waters and speared up into the sky above. It was an immovable tower of granite that was soon followed by another and then a third; vast pillars of rock that gave only enough width between them to allow a bare passage of the ship. And yet through this forest of spires the Dromannion slipped easily, taking a straight line that led the vessel into a wide ring of towering stones. Here the ship came to a stop. All about the spires stood mute, but that was not the end of the dream. From high above came a shriek, a sound that sent chills of terror down my spine. I looked up and saw the heights of each spire surmounted by one of the flying reptiles that had hastened us from Corin'kraag, and behind each lay a dark malevolence that looked down at the Dromannion with a hatred that I could feel burning into my skin. Only on one of spires did no creature reside. Instead upon its cragged summit stood a man cloaked in the deepest blue, and from his form crackled an arcing tangle of energy that kept the reptiles at bay and forced the brooding evil to hold its violence in check. But only for a moment. Out of the sky came great blasts of lightning, crashing into the pillars, smashing them as energy exploded against their sides, sending them falling into the tranquil waters. When I looked up the way ahead had been cleared and the Dromannion once again started forward, but this time there was no easy passage. From out of the darkness rose a violent gale that churned the sea, great waves thrashing against the remaining spires as the ship tried to make the only way out. It did not succeed. In a cacophony of smashing timbers the ship drove headlong into one of the broken spires, splintering its bow in a violent upheaval, dropping masts and rigging as the relentless force of the waves pounded the mighty ship into the spire's immovable flank. With a rending cry the ship succumbed and began to sink. It was then that I awoke to the sounds of the ship at night, relieved in my realisation that it had been a dream and not a disaster. Above the snoring and the creaking of the Dromannion's timbers I could hear only the turning of parchment as Stump read his books. I did not sleep again that night.
Life aboard ship continues to a rythm that we are all settling to. The work of the Healers is proving diverse and interesting, and amongst the peoples of the Dromannion even the Assistants are being met with respect and deference. It is a curious thing. I have been a Potter most of my adult life, respected for the goods that I have worked with my hands, and in that profession have held a social status of trust because of my membership of the Faeyen Guilds. People now treat me far differently. Although I never thought about it before, I can see now that healing is a personal thing. The trust my patients place in myself and the other Assistants brings with it a respect that knits you closely to them. Their pain becomes yours to ease, and the more I tend to their needs the greater the satisfaction that I gain from my endeavours. If this voyage lasts long enough I am sure I shall become a Healer in my own right. And if this is so I am not so certain now that I would return to my old craft. For myself I cannot help but wonder if it is the subtle hand of fate that is now shaping our individual destinies. I can be sure however, that the future holds such secrets close, and they are secured behind veils that only the passage of time can uncover.
Today I was awakened early to the sounds of commotion outside our rooms. Stump and Ahlek Norahm were first to the door, myself and the others of our quarters following behind as we became a part of a steady stream of men and women making for the upper deck. Something was happening above and was of sufficient interest that the decks below were emptying quickly. Within the throng I moved carefully, making the stairs to the upper deck before finding myself pushed into a pack of pointing arms and upturned heads. In the morning light I could not at first see what it was that my compatriots were looking at. The sky above was a deep blue, only the wisps of high cloud tinged with orange marring its pristine field. The wind was steady but not the powerful bluster of the last days. It was still cold and in the spreading light it took me a moment to see what the commotion was all about. Against the dark shadows of the ship I was amazed to find that the rigging was on fire. There was something wrong though. Quickly I looked left and right searching for any sign of the crew. All were standing fast, watching the display, making no attempt to douse the flames or cut down the burning ratlines. It was only then that I looked closer and could see that the rigging, and indeed the sails themselves, were not burning. Above me danced a conflagration of blue-white flame, that jumped between the ratlines and run up the stays to the yards, before dissipating into the air above. It was like flame but not; too fast to be burning, yet as volatile and energetic as any fire I had ever seen. The air was charged with a powerful energy and I could smell with each breath that same smell one might find with the approach of a thunderstorm. I have never seen anything like it. For a few minutes longer the strange display danced amongst the rigging above us before fading into the morning brightness. I was entranced by it, the sheer power and speed of its flickering energy coursing up the rigging lines before expanding out into the air above the masts. Of all the people watching though only one was smiling. For us all it was an awesome spectacle that had us staring into the air, trying to fathom the nature of what we were seeing. For Stump though it was as if he was welcoming an old friend, and he seemed unaware as to how different his response was from the rest of us. He knew something about the strange phenomena and I was determined to find out what that was. While the crowd remained thick upon the deck I pushed my way to Stump's side and asked him directly what the flickering lights were. To my surprise he told me without hesitation. To the peoples of the North they were known as the Fires of Ayari, a potent symbol of the power of the wind gods to change the destiny of men. For his people such displays were always a good omen, a sign that something positive was about to impact on lives overwhelmed by desperation and hardship. He said that we were about to have good fortune visited upon us all. I can only say that I hope he is right. The display of the Fires of Ayari have been the talk of the ship for the remainder of the day. And in those discussions I have heard a witches brew of superstition and fact melding together to confuse and misinform, until no one was sure what they might have seen, or give good reason for its appearance. I kept what the northerner had said to me close though. If indeed we are to be visited with good fortune it will be appreciated all the more if it is not expected. Maps of the voyage The Chronicles of Arborell A Glossary of Terms
The morning has dawned to find the wind now blowing from the south, its bluster veering in the night and leaving the Fleet in the grip of an icy hand. Still we forge westwards, the horizon a clear vista of surging water and the spreading wakes of dozens of vessels. As in the early mornings of previous days I am up with my colleagues, handing out warm clothing and helping with the clearing of ice from the workings of the ship. The southerlys bite deeply, the winds a rising bluster that has begun to churn the waters about us, raising the swell of the waves and sending the Dromannion pitching and rolling in its endless heave. There is no sign of cloud though. The sky remains clear, the dawn of the suns breaking the east with flaring hues of orange and red. I cannot help but notice the looks of anticipation in the eyes of the crew. They feel as I do that something is on the brew, and that it lies beyond the horizon to the south. This day passes as all others have. The wind increases as we move further west and the cold has taken hold of the ship, freezing water as it pools upon the decks, making even the shortest of journeys hazardous. We spend our time clearing the decking and tending to our normal duties, but there is something out of place in the cold that assaults us. It is known that huge icepacks lay far to the south but they stand at such a distance that they could not generate such chill. Somehow the wind has the feeling of icy claws drawing their way along the ship, grasping at it and smothering it slowly in a cold that paralyses anyone who ventures above deck. At last light flags have been raised to signal the rest of the Fleet. Captain Duschet has decided to turn to the north-west and put distance between ourselves and whatever is generating the cold bluster. By dusk the entire Fleet had changed course. Hopefully we can outrun these unknown forces and tear ourselves away from this all-embracing chill.
Today Stump joined the Healer's Assistants for the first time. The Captain has chosen another five persons to train with Faren, and the northerner has been included as a part of this new group. Since finding the Haarn children - who insist on being called NomDruse - Stump has been by their side, acting as interpreter and standing as Guardian to their needs and wellbeing. In this task he has been joined by more than a dozen helpers, both men and women, all having taken up the challenge of teaching the children the common tongue of Adoracia and ensuring their daily needs are met. So far the children have stood apart, unwilling to show any sign of interaction or interest in the activities aboard ship. It is my belief that only time will heal the unseen wounds that have marked them. In a deliberate attempt to keep a close watch upon Stump he has been paired with myself in our training. Faren has not come to see me regarding this. I believe the act of placing him as my partner in our internship has spoken clearly enough. I cannot say that I have any misgivings, the man grows into more of a mystery the more I get to know him, but there is something about him that is both compelling and dangerous. He holds a great power within, yet appears to all as almost invisible, wielding a practised skill to be a part of a group and in that gathering go unnoticed. I swear there are times in the day when I have to remind myself that he is actually beside me as we work. The afternoon of this day has seen me and a number of the Assistants providing a health check to the NomDruse children. They have been given quarters in the second deck below the foredeck, and an entire section has been made available to them. It has been discussed as to whether they might need to be transferred to one of the smaller and less crowded vessels, but that cannot be done just yet. Until the Fleet comes to a halt for some important purpose there can be no transfer between ships. For the moment we are taking full advantage of the favourable winds and shall stop for nothing. Until such time the NomDruse have a home within the Dromannion. With the children tended, I have found the remainder of the afternoon available for leisure and have used it to spend some time with Stump. He is a difficult man to converse with, however on the subjects of our craft we have common ground, and for all his apparent knowledge there are many things that are new to him. The ailments and conditions that we have been confronted with provide ample opportunity for discussion but I have to record that even with this common interest I have found it impossible to uncover anything but the barest personal facts on the northerner. Perhaps if I did not feel so tired I might have better fortune. The past week has been busy, the learning given by the Healer Faren exhaustive in its breadth and depth, however I can say that the vocation of Healer has proven a fascinating one. Within the Fleet there are few men as skilled as Faren, and from what I have been able to gather all the Healers have taken on Assistants in an attempt to provide proper care across the Fleet. Many ships have none at all, and it has been made clear to us that upon completion of our training that each of us will find a home somewhere in the Fleet where we are needed. It is a fact that we have all come to accept but I hope I will get the chance to remain here aboard the Dromannion. For me it has become home. Although there is much that needs to be done aboard the Dromannion, and much that remains unknown about our future, I have found one thing that is concrete about the mysterious northerner. He harbours an unusual interest in the library take from Corin'kraag, and in particular a set of three books from amongst their number. These he has taken to our quarters and can be found reading from them at every opportunity he has. I have asked him on what they contain but he has said only that they are written in a language known as Haer'al, and are part of a history that is important to him. For the moment I am content to leave it at that.
