No Return

By Frank Billingham

Charles and Karen have been separated by choices made in the past. After many years they find themselves as outlanders on a remote island inhabited by groups of peoples that are in conflict with each other. This conflict provides the catalyst in which they have the opportunity to reestablish their relationship or continue its separation. The con

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Sep 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643677590

Frank Billingham

I am a wearer of many hats. I am a husband, educator, pastor, father of 8 children and grand-father of 25. Being left brain dominate I struggled in writing papers for seminary. One night I had a dream from which I awoke and decided to describe the dream in 1000 words or less as an exercise to enhance my writing skills. Word descriptions never fully realize reality (thy to describe a rose in words). So, I began to write. Obviously, the 1000 word description grew into much more than that.

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No Return

Copyright © 2019 by Frank Billingham. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64367-760-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-759-0 (Digital)

13.08.19

Dedication

While there are many people in my life who have contributed to its fullness, I will only mention two individually here. My mother, Irene Billingham, always encouraged my artistic talents, which never developed. Doodling is about as creative as I ever got artistically. Even so, my imagination bloomed and life has always been full of imagined possibilities.

My wife, Karen, is my primary inspiration for the publishing of this book. Though I wrote this story for no ones eyes but her’s, she insisted that I publish the story. While Karen’s and my story is different from that of Charles and Karen in the book, I chose to name the heroin Karen so that I could express the love I feel for my Karen to the Karen in this work. Many of the events between Charles and Karen are taken from actual events in our relationship.

Lastly, there is a group of eight people to whom I also dedicate this book. This group is my children. No other human, except for my wife, can understand the joy they have brought me as I watched them grow and develop into beautifully created young men and women of God. The lives of Jonathan, Samuel, Rachel, Anna, Sarah, Mary, Deborah, and Martha are the fulfilled joy of a father’s completed responsibilities.

To all of you I dedicate this work. Thanks.

Contents

Preface

No Return: Awakenings

No Return: Sunset

Dawn

Preface

Seminary presented quite a challenge for me intellectually. Left-brain dominant, I am comfortable in the field of mathematics, a subject that I teach on both the high school and college level. Seminary required the writing of many papers, a place in my brain in which I am not comfortable. Realizing my limitations in writing, I struggled with those papers.

One night I had a dream, the storyline of which I remembered vividly in the morning. I decided to attempt to translate the dream into words in an attempt to improve my writing skills. Of course, nothing visible can accurately be described in words. Only when the mind’s imagination enlivens the words do picture descriptions appear. Armed with the knowledge of that limitation, I proceeded to describe as best I could the dream that I had. I would force myself to write 1,000 words to describe the dream. I say forced because I thought the task would be an impossibility for me. The result of that attempt is this book—many more words than 1,000 words.

Since the view of the story consistently shifts among Charles, Karen, and the narrator, each section lists in parentheses the view in order to aid the reader. The book is divided into three main sections – Awakenings, Sunset, and Dawn. Each has its own story within the whole. By-the-way the ending is intentional. Every story, I feel, should be completed in each reader’s mind. Enjoy the reading.

Awakenings

First Encounter

(Charles)

My first encounter with the Olwag comes under a barrage of bamboo-fashioned spears. Flung across a narrow fjord, the spears impel—almost vertically—the black, sandy beach upon which I am traveling. They form a straight line from the edge of the water all the way into the sparsely wooded coastline. It is an eerie, dreamlike sight, seeing the line of spears disappear into the fog and the forest. The only thing missing from the message the curtain of spears seem to be sending is a No Trespassing sign.

Morning’s misty fog has clung to the earth far longer than usual. Only now at midday is the mist slowly lifting under the rays of a high sun that sends its light over the steep, curtain-like mountains, rising above the eastern shores of the fjord. The light grays of the fog in the noon day sky are still dense enough that I am unable to make out the source of any spears directed toward me.

I must be equally difficult for the Olwag to see. Either hindrance will soon be negated by the speed at which the warmth of the sun’s beams is burning off the mist. As if behind a white sheet, a circular glow of a light indicates that the sun will soon dominate the fog and overcome it.

As simple as the bamboo spears appear to be that are landing in front of me, even the smallest of adult Olwag must be able to accurately hurl one distances of one hundred yards or more. That distance is the width of the fjord where the attack commenced. To my surprise, it is from the other side of the fjord from which the trajectories of the spears are coming.

I never see my assailants as they cast their messengers of harm and death toward me. My only knowledge that they are present is the sight of their sleek, darkened shafts as they slip through the misty sky above me. I am amazed at how far the spears follow me into the thinly vegetated forest as I flee. I attempt to distance myself from the western shores of the fjord as quickly as I am able. Still I am preceded by the spears in their attempt to turn me back to Femeld. I resist their prompting.

The flush of adrenaline now running through my veins has long been absent from my life. Though confrontation is not what I anticipated on topos hydatos katharos—place of pure water—the rush of adrenaline reconnects me with the excitement of living. Just as vigorously as I came to topos hydatos katharos to run away from my life, I am now just a vigorously running for my life. Fear and exuberance simultaneously battle for the supremacy of my immediate emotions. Both prevail together.

The forest on this side of the fjord lies on a vast piece of land ranging from flat to casually rolling hills. The terrain west of the fjord’s shore is a stark contrast to the mountainous cliffs stacked upon each other on the eastern shores. Only a thin slip of a coastline separates the waters of the fjord from the impassible cliffs that form the face of the mountains on the eastern side.

This morning’s greeting was refreshingly brisk, perfect for the daylong journey that I had planned from Femeld to Ishmeld. All seemed peaceful and serene as I journeyed from Femeld to this location. The pure, fresh, aromatic smells associated with the crystal waters of the fjord on an immaculately clean, narrow beach had almost lured me into a walking trance. I was unaware of anything except the contented peace that the sights and smells of this undisturbed piece of earth had lured me into. The fog only added to the dreamlike illusion of a surreal journey into some fantasy as I walked.

Minnows nibbled at the hairs of my legs the times I ventured into the fjord‘s cool waters. The fjord teems with life everywhere visible—I suppose in places not visible, as well. Several times I have stopped to observe the schools of tiny fish about my legs. Wiggling my toes scatters them. When my toes once again become motionless the fish forget them and return to their unfruitful attempts at dinner upon my legs. I did this several times just that I might watch them disperse and return. During the last of those playful cycles with the fish is when things began to change.

My first indication that something was amiss was a whooshing sound and a spear imbedding itself in the sandy bed of the water just south a yard or so beyond me. What had been a leisurely traveling pace and playful encounters in the water with the fish became a motionless freeze followed by a quickened flight into the forest.

All of my senses quickly focused on survival as I thrashed the water in my effort to find the shore. Then as my feet focused on a direct path to the safety of the forest, my eyes frantically scanned every direction in order to discern the source of the attack. Even as I fled deeper into the forest, the spears followed me. The air was filled with whooshing sounds as the spears, all of which landed far in front of and between my destination and me, flew through the air and landed in the soil. Their placement sent an unmistakable turn back message.

Well into the forest I stop just for the briefest of pauses to rest and evaluate my situation.

(Karen)

Grand Counselor, we have a dispatch from Femeld. The announcement comes from a guard who has opened the door into what seems like a throne room but without a throne. Seated behind a large conference table, Ishmeld’s mayor, Vikar, and the grand counselor are in the middle of their early morning briefing. A dispatch from Femeld so early in the morning is an uncommon occurrence. Only once before, when a damaged pirate ship entered the port, has a dispatch arrived at any time other than early afternoon.

The courier would have left Femeld before first light and run the entire distance in order to arrive at Ishmeld at such an early hour. Running great distances is not unusual for the hardy children of the humans living in that town, but to have arrived at such an early hour required an extremely early departure.

Ishmeld’s grand counselor is an unusually handsome human woman in her early thirties. She makes little fuss over her looks and does little to dress them up. A full-length crimson dress with a square back and high collar fit her shape nicely. Medium boned and firm bodied, a handsome face is framed by shoulder-length brown hair that shines in the light of the room. The hair is neatly parted down the middle and then combed straight in all directions to her shoulders, where it flips slightly. Little else is done to accentuate her looks, which without further adornment still produce a strikingly attractive woman. Her dark brown eyes meet the face of the guard as he makes his announcement.

Has the courier been debriefed?—an Ish code phrase for searched. Vikar, who is seated with the grand counselor at a large table strewn with what appear to be papers of city business, voices the inquiry without raising his eyes. The query is a useless habit developed in days gone by when the humans in Femeld, the Ish, and the Olwag were all antagonistic toward each other.

The courier has been debriefed, replies the intruding guard.

Send the courier in, orders Vikar.

Reopening the door, the guard motions for the courier to enter. Timidly, a girl from Femeld steps through its threshold. She has on her person nothing other than the clothes she is wearing and a very large, leather dispatch bag strapped over her shoulder. The long strap allows the bag to hang down below her hip. Such a large bag on a small-framed child makes for a comical sight as she enters the room.

She hesitates to move much past the threshold of the door as she awaits instructions from those who are of higher rank. The girl can not be much more than twelve years old, yet she seems confident in her responsibility as a courier and, at the same time, nervous as a young child in the presence of adults.

Neither the adult humans of the island nor the adult Ish are comfortable in each other’s presence. Feelings of long-past destructive encounters are not easily forgotten. The children of all races have no memories of the past segregations of the peoples of the island and endear themselves in innocence to all on the island.

Vikar encourages the courier to approach the table. Come, child, there is nothing to fear. Come closer.

Reassured, the young courier moves closer to the table at which Vikar and the grand counselor are sitting. She comes to a stop just a few feet from the table. Simultaneously, she begins her announcement and reaches in her bag for the dispatch.

As the courier begins her address she faces Vikar who still has not acknowledged her visually. Initially, the grand counselor shows little interest in the dispatch. She goes about her business shuffling among several pieces of paper. No doubt the papers contain important data concerning the affairs of the city and its peoples.

With a soft, unassuming voice the young courier speaks her rehearsed lines. An offlander, a human seeking passage to Ishmeld who disembarked a freighter at Femeld yesterday evening, will arrive here today.

Hearing the courier’s announcement to Vikar of an arriving visitor, the grand counselor’s interest departs from the papers she is studying on the table and her eyes fall solely on the courier.

Having arrived so late in the day yesterday, the young courier continues, and unwilling to await the customary announcement of plans to visit Ishmeld, his plans were to leave Femeld this morning at first light.

Excellent. An excited voice interrupts the courier’s lines. The grand counselor now engages in the conversation. We enjoy offlanders visiting Ishmeld. They bring us news from the outside world and occasionally some tidbit of knowledge that helps us to improve our lives here. Excellent…

A deep, satisfied smile crosses the lips of the courier’s brightened face as the grand counselor reminisces about other such visitors.

I left Femeld before first light to bring you the news, the courier says.

Thank you, dear. Do you bring any additional information concerning our visitor?

Yes, replies the courier as she finishes retrieving a folded piece of paper from her dispatch bag. Carefully her tiny fingers unfold a handwritten dispatch. In a studied reading voice the courier begins to read the dispatch. The offlander is a businessman dealing in exotic items for trade. He claims—

No! interrupts the counselor as she sits up straight and rigid in her chair. Annoyed, she continues, You know that we do not seek trade with the outside world. Why have you bothered us with this? Islanders, except for the humans at Femeld, are steeped in centuries of tradition. While offlanders visiting the island are welcome as guests, any attempt to introduce outside influences is not tolerated.

Vikar shoots a quick glance at the grand counselor, grins, and then focuses on his papers again.

The courier looks back to her written dispatch and continues reading, He claims to be here only for a relaxing holiday away from the cares of the outside world. The young child diligently reads the sentences one word at a time. Upon searching his personal belongings, our port officials have determined that he has brought only sufficient items necessary to barter for his stay. A thorough search of his accompanying baggage reveals nothing to indicate that he anticipates performing any acts of trade or commerce. Over time the humans at Femeld have come to understand Ishmeld’s disinterest in foreign commerce.

Upon hearing the response, the grand counselor rises from her chair, less rigid. Her motion attracts the attention of the courier, who ceases from her reading and now appears cautiously alarmed. As the grand counselor relaxes, the courier also relaxes.

We will make him welcome, then. Do you have for us the name of this offlander?

Yes, ma‘am. His name is Charles Sinclaire. He will—

Who? The counselor again interrupts the courier in a harsh, quizzing voice. The courier becomes obviously nervous again and responds in a voice that betrays her situation.

Charles Sinclaire, the courier repeats after looking back at the dispatch to be sure. Vikar’s attention is now solely on the conversation. Quivering fear rattles in the words as the courier tries to continue reading the message. He will—

Reddening in anger, the counselor interrupts the young courier again as she turns and faces away from the courier. Deny him passage. We do not want him here.

Hesitant to continue reading the message, the courier responds in a shaky voice, Ma’am, he will be here today. Passage has already been granted to the offlander who is seeking a holiday in Ishmeld.

Turning back to the courier, the grand counselor snaps at the courier in an unprofessionally harsh voice. By whose authority is passage granted? The grand counselor’s tenor demands a quick answer.

Taking a slight step backward, the courier scans the room as if looking for safe exits and responds quickly, Yours, ma’am.

The matter-of-fact response takes the grand counselor aback.

Clear passage, the courier adds as quickly as possible, is to be given to Ishmeld from Femeld to any and all offlanders seeking nothing more than a holiday. Those have been your standing orders for many years. The child is now physically shivering from the pangs of her fear.

Assuming a more professional and controlled demeanor, though the process to do so takes several long moments, the grand counselor politely dismisses the courier. Thank you for the information. When will Cha…the offlander arrive?

Today, ma’am, as I have already said.

Today, the counselor repeats. Thank you. You are dismissed. Pick up your fee from the clerk on your way out.

After taking several steps toward the door, the courier is queried once more by the grand counselor. By what path is the offlander sent to us from Femeld?

The coastal path, ma’am, replies the courier without missing a step toward the door.

Young lady… The courier stops but does not turn around as the grand counselor continues.

…Return to Femeld by the upland path. My desire is that you not encounter the offlander on your return journey to Femeld. The information you bring has not been received cordially, but our expected guest deserves a relaxing stay. For my unkind reception of the news and your extra troubles returning to Femeld by the upland path, I will have the clerk double your usual fee. Thank you.

Yes, ma’am, The courier’s demeanor becomes somewhat upbeat upon hearing the news of her increased wages. Thank you.

Vikar, will you please see that the clerk doubles the fee of our young courier for me?

Gladly, ma’am, Vikar and the courier exit the room together. He opens the door for the courier, imitating the customary gestures a gentleman of standing would demonstrate to a lady of the same standing.

Immediately following the closing of the door the grand counselor motions for the commander of the guard to come to her. Emul, seated at his customary station—a small table across the room and next to a window overlooking the courtyard of the government complex—rises from his chair and approaches the grand counselor. The grand counselor motions for him to lean in close. She also bends toward him.

Whispering in his ear so that no other can hear, though no other is present, the counselor gives Emul his orders. Dissuade Mr. Sinclaire from coming to Ishmeld. Make no contact with him, do him no harm, but turn him back to Femeld. Do you understand? Her voice is as firm as the limestone cliffs upon which the governmental complex of Ishmeld sits. Even hidden behind the firmness, her voice seems almost desperate.

Yes, ma’am, The commander turns to leave the room quick pace. Just an instant before Emul arrives at the door to exit, Vikar reopens the door and enters the room. He leaves the door open for Emul and moves toward the grand counselor.

An unpleasant announcement, Vikar says.

Quite an unpleasant announcement indeed. I know this man from years ago in London, and he is not welcome here. The brevity of the statement indicates to Vikar that the conversation on this matter is terminated.

Emul exits and closes the door as that conversation between Vikar and the grand counselor ends.

(Charles)

Except for the initial salvo of spears, the following salvos land far beyond me and harm’s way. Their intent seems only on leaving the message proceed no farther. Having discovered the direction from which the spears are coming, it has become easy for me to detect their flight and avoid them. Morning’s foggy mist has all but evaporated. My pace slows, and my choice of direction becomes more deliberate. Even so, the whooshes of the spears provide an eerie, unsettling sound that etches itself in the goose bumps raised on my back and arms. The sound becomes unnerving.

Earlier this same day I was assured of no hazards on my day walk to Ishmeld on the path from Femeld. The trouble is that I did not stay on the path from Femeld to Ishmeld. The glistening black sands on the western shores of the fjord were much more inviting and attractive than the damp surroundings of the forest footpath. I chose to walk upon the narrow coastal shores and not on the path. Though the sands appeared harsh to the eye, the deception is discovered to be unfounded by the soles of my bare feet as they encounter the beach. Blackened sands created from the pulverized rock of the mountains chemically mixed with the forest floor compost runoff on the narrow western slips of beach lining the fjord pave as soft a path as any I have walked elsewhere. The cool sand actually massages my feet as I walk.

The warmth of the tropical island climate, even early in the morning, invited me to occasionally wade barefooted into the cool waters of the fjord. Sprung from untold depths and shadowed most of the morning by the eastern mountains, the waters of the fjord maintain a frigid temperature. Though I could not endure at much length the frigid temperatures of the waters, I was attracted to them time and again over the course of my walk. Alternating between the warmth of the sands of the beach and the cool of the waters, I teetered on a comfort zone between the two. In itself, walking the beach proved to be a relaxing endeavor that I would now have to forego.

No one told me that wading in the waters would aggravate the locals. In fact, all that I had heard about Ishmeld gave no indication that the peoples of the island were aggressive.

Having now moved deeper into the forest to avoid the showers of spears, they poise no threat to me as long as I pay attention to their flight and alter my course accordingly. The barrages of spears become more of a nuisance than a threat to me. I press on toward the city of Ishmeld. I will stay on the forest path, avoiding the waters of the fjord and ignore the obvious message of the spears to turn back. No savage, uncivilized people are going to deprive me of my intended relaxation in Ishmeld.

Years of annually deposited leaves and other organic material give rise to an acerbic, earthy smell about the footpath and in the forest. The smell of wet dirt covered with years of decomposing leaves hangs everywhere. Traveled upon constantly, the black soil formed from centuries of organic buildup lies bare, marking the path. The smooth trail gives testimony to its frequent use.

Not wider at any point than a yard, the breadth of the path indicates that any commerce that flows between Femeld and Ishmeld must be either back borne or nonexistent. There are no wagon or cart ruts in the path.

Ishmeld is the only destination along this path from Femeld. I was told in Femeld that the mouth of the Ishmeld River empties into the fjord at its narrowest southern point. Folks in Femeld heralded the sweetness of the waters of the Ishmeld River. Femeld’s own water supply, pristine and pure, is piped into the city’s cistern from the rapids where the waters of fjord, fed by the Ishmeld River, begin their rapid descent into the small bay that serves as the port of Femeld. The human population at Femeld transports the water from the cistern to their homes in wooden buckets.

Voluminous cascades of water from the fjord are so great that the waters of the port are fresh. The fresh water then empties into the surrounding ocean. An interesting pattern of foamy brine where fresh water and salt meet in equality forms a blister in the open ocean waters. As the tide ebbs and flows, the blister of fresh water expands and contracts around the small opening of the bay at Femeld.

I can not imagine any better water than that which I sampled at Femeld. I am told that the water in the Ishmeld River is far better. I shall see. I pause long enough to take a drink. My water bag bears the sweet liquid of Femeld. However, the damp smells of the forest moisture poisons the sweet taste of the water my leather bag carries. I know that my water is good; it is just that it is not good here.

Moving farther into the virgin forest, the barrage of spears ceases. Keenly aware of the flight of the spears during the onslaught for survival’s sake, I have not consciously noticed the cries of the Olwag as they hurled the projectiles at me. Only a single word—I suspect it is a word—preceded each shower of spears. Uttered in a high-pitched, almost whistle of alternating highs and lows, the sound of "Aulweesha! Aulweesha!" filled the air before the spears did. The chant served as my signal to closely observe the eastern sky for the oncoming spears.

I pause in my retreat from the fjord to rest and think. Resting, I take a few moments to ponder the just concluded events. In that pondering, I become curious.

Though the destination of Ishmeld is solely for a holiday, I am still a businessman at heart. As one who deals in unusual objects from foreign lands, my heart yearns for one, perhaps more, of the spears. A few of the native spears might make suitable and interesting items for sale back in London. Many collectors of antiquities might like to add one of these primitive weapons to their collection. My wish now is that I had picked one or two of them out of the ground in my flight.

In the calm that follows the attack, I contemplate backtracking far enough into the forest to retrieve a collection of the primitive spears for later examination. Ishmeld, which was visible from the coastline I just vacated, appeared to be not more than a couple miles away in a straight line. Judging the irregular but smooth terrain and the crooked, forest path, I estimate Ishmeld to be about three hours away. Once there, the city will provide a safe haven for an examination should I choose to retrieve one or two of the spears.

Fear, having given way to curiosity, I decide that a return to the location of the last barrage of spears to collect a few. The fjord will provide clear visibility of a hundred yards or more should any watercraft be utilized by my assailants to make the crossing. Any such observation will provide me plenty of time for escape. I feel confident that a return no farther than the last barrage is a safe proposition.

My return journey takes several more minutes to complete than my hasty escape had taken. Frequent, regular glances toward the waters of the fjord reassure me each time that I am safe. Relatively safe in the forest, I pause from time to time for coastal surveillance and inner contemplation as to the reason of the attacks. I also seek the courage to continue the return.

Once returned to the location of the last barrage, I manage to find three spears in relatively quick order. It has taken me fifteen minutes or so from the time I decided to return to retrace my steps to this point. Having collected three spears, I quickly examine the spears before moving on. The carvings on the shafts are fascinating. They will be examined more carefully in Ishmeld.

I now, emboldened by the ease of the return to this point, calculate a careful return to the initial site of attack by the fjord where the spears landed in front of me. The accuracy of the line of spears in the sand has aroused my curiosity. I intend to collect several more specimens from that location without wandering too far from the forest. Not able to resist the possibility of profit from the unique spears, the detour is initiated.

After another ten minutes of cautious, deliberate travel the return is made to the initial site of attack. As I approach the site, stealth becomes my utmost concern. Confident that I have not been observed, I begin to search for the wanted specimens. There are none.

Now littered with scores of boulders almost twice the size of a man’s head, the smooth, soft, blackened beach of my recollection is not here. I am sure that this is the point where I was forced from the beach. I may have overlooked these stones in my haste to escape into the forest. Having reconciled the stones, I continue my surveillance of the beach.

I freeze motionless in my observations. Unable to move, my blood turns cold as sweat begins to run profusely down my neck and back. Shivering, I am paralyzed with the fear that comes only when impending doom is certain and imminent. I am in the grips of certain death, and I know it.

The seconds it takes me to even turn my head in order to face my certain doom seem like lifetimes. Of the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of spears that were thrown at me by the Olwag, not one is anywhere on the beach to be found. Replacing the locations where the spears should be are the very small holes created where the now-removed spears penetrated the ground. Everywhere in the sand of the beach and the soil of the soft forest floor the small holes created by the spears’ removal are surrounded by odd-shaped footprints or disturbed leaves and vegetation. Beside each hole a small mound of loosened, disturbed sand or soil, rolled out as the point of the spear was removed from the ground, gives evidence of their quick retrieval by my attackers.

Observing no one present, my feet quickly spring into a flight for survival. I am all motion. Initially a panicked run driven by adrenalin, my departure gradually gives way to a controlled run. Running as fast as I can, I still view and observe my surroundings. Keenly aware of my surroundings, I quickly retrace my retraced steps wishing Ishmeld were much closer.

What possessed me to return for the spears? My profession? Could I not leave it alone long enough to enjoy a holiday? Is my life now so driven by my trade that it controls me? Fleeing for my life, I know that my adversaries are on the same shore that I am.

In full stride I return quickly to the exact point on the path to Ishmeld where I chose to return to the attack site and retrieve additional spears. Evenly spaced across the path before me, stuck into the ground, are three vertical Olwag spears that were not in the path when I was here before. Placed side by side, they form a bamboo spear barrier across the path.

My pursuers are no longer pursuing me. They are ahead of and probably behind me, as well, waiting for me to come to them either direction I choose. At this point on the path between Ishmeld and Femeld, I become fearfully certain that neither location is reachable without crossing paths with the Olwag.

Having passed the point of no return so far as distance and daylight hours are concerned, Femeld cannot be reached in the remaining daylight hours. The three spears across the path indicate that Ishmeld is not where they want me to go.

As I stand pondering my present situation, I wish that I had been more attuned to earlier events of the previous day in Femeld. Those events and encounters in Femeld now rush back through my mind and rerun themselves over and over again. Only now do I give them careful inspection and interpretation. I wish now that I had listened to, not just heard, the words that were spoken to me in Femeld.

I had not taken the assuring, The path to Ishmeld is safe, given at Femeld as an oracle warning me not to stray from the path. Yet within my recollecting of the previous day‘s conversations, each of the four inquiries at Femeld concerning the passage to Ishmeld produced the exact same phrase. The path to Ishmeld is safe.

How had I not caught the meaning? Why was there no explicit warning? Why was the meaning veiled? Should they not have just told me to stay on the path and not wander from it? Why were the inhabitants of Femeld not more specific?

Now, having strayed from the path instead of staying the path, I am not sure the path to Ishmeld is safe any longer. In an unknown land, with more miles than daylight to Femeld, I have but one logical choice before me: press on toward Ishmeld and be prepared to encounter whatever or whoever befalls me.

Certain of impending doom, I retrieve the three additional spears in the path, hoping above hope that I will not need to use them. Should I come to need the spears for protection, I will have six in my possession instead of the original three gathered in the forest. The additional three might be of some use.

How I wish that my pistol had not been seized as contraband in Femeld. Locked away in the portage office at Femeld awaiting my return, the weapon would be a welcome possession to me now. Alas, it is not.

Following a refreshing drink from my leather water bottle, I take time to fashion a crude quiver using the strap from my water bottle and some material torn from my jacket. Placing five of the spears in the homemade quiver, I strap the spears across my back. With one spear at the ready and five spears across my back, I renegotiate the path to Ishmeld.

I straighten myself, gather my courage, and take the first of many cautious steps toward Ishmeld. I am seeking an inner strength that has never been sought before. Never in my life have I had to fear the possibility of death.

Given the choices of moving on to meet the dangers and staying put and having the dangers come to me, I choose the moving on. I never was one for waiting around to see what happens.

Each tree, bush, and outcropping of rock in the forest becomes a potential ambush point in my mind. Each is observed cautiously and microscopically as it is approached. Any appearance of an unusual placement of a limb, branch, bush, or rock requires extra scrutiny. Each rocky incline becomes an imagined topping of the hill to reveal an army of Olwag waiting on the other side. Each blind bend in the path becomes a feared obstacle. I am alone, and I am my only source for survival.

Fifteen or twenty minutes of laborious journey pass without event. The constant alertness, the stress of endless anticipation, the addressing of every sensory reception is taking its toll on my nerves, my alertness, and my strength. A quiet, cold shiver of nerves runs through the length of my body.

My heightened state of readiness is taking its toll. I shake it off, re-gather my wits about me, refocus, and press on toward Ishmeld. I cannot be lured into a false sense of safety. The Olwag are out there. They outnumber me. They are on their own turf. They possess every strategic advantage. Constant vigilance is my only ally and I am determined not to falter, even slightly, in the exhausting exercise of it.

Twenty more minutes pass uneventfully. A third of the remaining distance of my journey to Ishmeld is complete without incident. For the first time since the encounter of the three spears stretched before me across the path, hope for an eventless remainder of the journey begins to etch itself into my mind. Perhaps the rest of the journey that remains to Ishmeld will also be uneventful. I try to put that thought out of my mind and stay focused.

Beyond a bend in the path the distant view of three more Olwag spears vertically stuck into the ground, blocking my path to Ishmeld, erase my short-lived hope. It takes ten more minutes of a painstakingly, cautious pace to reach the three new spears. I pause at the new obstacles and recollect the previous events beginning with the onslaught of the spears at the fjord.

Curious, the thought crosses my mind, that in a state of heightened anticipation or fear the senses automatically process information. I am now consciously able to mentally process the purpose of the three spears rationally. Now aware that their intended message might not be death, I am cautiously optimistic that they are intended solely as reinforcement to encourage me to return to Femeld. But the realization that I have made all preparations possible for my personal protection thwarts the fear. Though I do not fear approaching the spears, I do fear what lies beyond the spears if I cross them and continue my journey toward Ishmeld.

Instead of a hurried continuation of my journey, I stop and examine the three new spears. As with the first three placed across my path, these are also evenly spaced. Nothing in their placement indicates anything other than that they are deliberately placed here as a message or warning.

Had the Olwag wanted to dispatch me they have already had plenty of opportunities to do so. I wonder if the spears have some other message for me to consider. Turning back toward Femeld is the only message in the spears that I have considered. What is it that I am not taking into consideration, or what is it that I do not understand?

These three spears are different from the three original spears I retrieved at the initial attack site. They are also different than the first three spears placed in the path. Exactly how they are different I will discover later. Now is not the time for examination.

Without hesitation I remove the three new spears from the ground, place them in my quiver with the other five, and quickly resume my journey. Daylight will soon give way to dusk, and my intent is to be in Ishmeld before dark or be killed in the attempt to reach her. I now possess nine spears. I am surprised at how lightly they pack in my quiver.

Not fifty yards down the path and around another bend in the path three vertical spears in the path once again greet me. I almost choose to ignore the spears and bypass the obstacle. The nine spears I already possess have me more prepared to do battle than I am even capable of. The cumbersome overload of an additional three spears will only slow me down in my journey.

I am not sure exactly what causes me to stop and examine these spears left in the path, but I do. There must be something about the spears that I have not noticed before. I decide to take a short rest and sort out what my mind is subconsciously trying to tell me.

Retrieving the quiver of spears from my back, I lay all the spears in the path to compare them. These in the path and the three gathered just previously are rough, unfinished, bamboo-shafted spears with crude stone points. The other six I have smooth-skinned bamboo shafts. Three of the smooth-skinned bamboo-shafted spears are tipped with crude points and three are tipped with thin, sleek, and very sharp points. The three from the initial attack site are of the highest quality and craftsmanship.

Comparing the six smooth-skinned, bamboo-shafted spears with the six rough, wooden-shafted spears, I discover that I possess three distinct types of spears. It is apparent that the six rough-shafted spears, three in the path and three in my hands, are of inferior quality and workmanship. These six are of one origin.

Am I dealing with some other group allied with the Olwag, or do the Olwag produce two completely different types of spears? I cannot imagine a culture producing two completely different styles of the same weapon. I must be dealing either with the Olwag at this point or some other group. Perhaps I am dealing with two cultures allied together.

Frustrated due to my lack of understanding, I throw one of the high quality spears. An energy seems to flow through my arm and hand that is released in the throw of the spear. It travels an unnaturally long distance through the air. In amazement I hurriedly retrieve the spear.

As I inspect the area where the latest three spears were left in the path footprints, which were aplenty at the original attack site, are nowhere to be found around this site. I had not made any conscious observations at the previous sites. Still, I come to the conclusion that there were no footprints near or around the first two sites, either.

All three locations provided suitable soils to capture the footprints of the spears’ owners. My footprints are everywhere, evident, and easily identified and traceable. Theirs are nowhere to be found.

Now for the first time I ponder. How the Olwag were able to cross the fjord undetected to retrieve their spears? I was constantly watching the waters of the fjord during my return and saw nothing. If they plan to destroy me, which they can easily do given the number of spears that filled the air, then why not show themselves and get on with my destruction? Why all of this drama?

How are they constantly outdistancing me without a single bit of evidence of their presence? There should have been some indication of their presence–rustling of brush, impression in the ground, or broken vegetation. There should be some hint of noise as they moved through the forest. There was and is none.

As I contemplate the wherewithal of the events surrounding the spears, a thought occurs to me that had not occurred to me before. What is it the Olwag really want? Do they want the spears or do they want me? I conceive a plan to find out.

Having already removed the three additional spears placed in the path, I replace them with one of the spears used in the original attack, one spear from the first group of spears left in the path, and one spear from this latest group. After carefully examining the location, I move on toward Ishmeld. I still possessing nine spears. Curiosity now consumes me.

Ten minutes or so of travel time passes. The final rise in the path from Femeld to Ishmeld lies several yards before me. Just beyond lay the final descent into the plain of Ishmeld. There will be no places in the Ishmeld plain that will provide coverage for the hiding Olwag. A gradual descent of a hundred or so yards from the hilltop will put me on the plain leading to Ishmeld. Ishmeld is located only a little more than half-mile beyond the final rise and descent.

There is no doubt that my journey is almost complete one way or another. Either outcome will be thankfully accepted as my body is beginning to wane into exhaustion. There is no way that I can continue much longer in this heightened state of readiness.

In the anticipation of the safety of Ishmeld that is just beyond the rise in the path before me, I cross the yards toward the rise in the path as quickly as possible. Apparently, my swift traverse of the distance to the rise is not done quickly enough.

Two evenly spaced spears, vertically stuck into the ground in the middle of the path, come into my view at the base of the path’s final rise leading to Ishmeld; two spears. No footprints, no broken twigs, no depressed grass, and no evidence whatsoever that the Olwag have been here except for the two spears. Neither of the spears is of the highest quality and craftsmanship.

It is the treated spears of the highest quality and craftsmanship they want, not me. Their value must be in the extraordinarily long distance they travel. I am determined to keep at least one of them.

There is no doubt in my mind that my safe arrival in Ishmeld depends on the return of the two remaining original Olwag spears. Yet, to forfeit the spears will be the loss of a great wonder. I will remove the two spears in the path and replace them with one of the ones taken from the original three in the path and one of the original spears from the attack site. I will still possess nine spears, but only one of them is an original spear from the attack site.

I will try deception to buy myself enough time to ascend and then descend the small hill that lies before me. My hope is to escape into Ishmeld keeping one of the original attack spears for myself. I surmise that a quick ascent followed by an even quicker descent will take me to Ishmeld in fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes. My goal seems attainable as I consider its possibility.

I extract the two spears and replace them with two from my quiver. I place the two spears in the same holes from which the first ones are extracted. I am careful to be deliberate with my actions so that if any Olwag is watching the observer will know that a different spear replaced each one of the spears placed in the path. The time it takes the Olwag to get, examine, and respond to overtake me should buy me the time I need to get ahead of the Olwag and into the plain of Ishmeld.

Deed done I deduce that I can make the top of the hill before any Olwag can examine the site. Even instant recognition upon inspection by the Olwag should still give me enough time to get over and down the hill before the Olwag can mount a response.

Following another quick but thorough look around, several deep breaths to fill my blood with oxygen, and a focused mental preparedness, my race begins. The rise flattens at the top of the hill, forming a level area not much larger than a house would occupy. I have made the top of the rise in good time. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals that the two spears are still in the path behind and below me.

Assured of the success of my plan and eager to complete my scheme, I will not pause for a single instant until I reach Ishmeld. Having attained the crest of the rise in full stride, I race across the flat area at the summit, preparing to lengthen my stride as I descend the hill, allowing gravity to assist me in a quickened descent.

Across the top of the hill my knees almost buckle under the strain of the sudden, forced stop. There, just past the beginning of the final descent and dead center in the path, a skull, long ago relieved of its owner, sits atop an Olwag spear.

I stammer and stumble to the side of the path atop the rise. I steady myself against a boulder and regain my balance. Returning to the Femeld side of the rise, I am greeted with an empty path. The two spears have been removed.

I move back to the boulder and lean against it. The path from Femeld to Ishmeld is now relieved of the forest trees that had sparsely surrounded it. The environs of the path atop the rise produce nothing but dirt, rock, and boulder. Finding a suitable-sized boulder, I relieved myself of my travel bags, the water bag, the quiver of nine spears, and my purse of barter items and sit down. I empty the water bottle of the last of its contents. The water has warmed with the day but remains a refreshing source of relief. Upon squeezing out the last remaining drops of water, I discard the bottle. Though not cool, the water seems to enliven my tired body and boosts my spirits. Surely the activities of the day have drained me to the point that even warm water is refreshing.

Before me rises the vertical sentry of decision. Within the positioning of that single spear lay the choice of safety or hazard, curiosity or knowledge, life or death. The choice is mine to make and no one else’s. Even refreshed, the seriousness of the choice before me cannot be escaped.

Ishmeld

(Charles)

A jewel to behold from atop the final rise in the path to Ishmeld, the city of Ishmeld builds itself into the face of a solid wall of white, veined, limestone cliff some two hundred feet high. Atop the cliff a limestone shelf protrudes some sixty feet. Where the shelf leaves the cliff face it is perhaps a hundred yards wide. The shelf narrows to only twenty or thirty yards at its farthest distance from the cliff.

The Ishmeld River, its source of water is unknown, flows from out of an ancient, limestone, domed mountain that rises perhaps another hundred feet above the cliffs. The base of this domed mountain is some five hundred feet away from the cliffs. From the limestone mountain, the Upper Ishmeld River flows onto the shelf and then leaves the shelf at its narrowest point out and over the city. Falling some two hundred feet, the waters of the magnificent falls plummet to the city below where they form themselves into a majestic pool. From this pool the Lower Ishmeld River flows through the lower city and continues on to the fjord. This terrestrial arrangement produces the most beautiful waterfall that I have ever laid my eyes upon.

Late in the evening, as I first behold Ishmeld from atop the rise, the light and dark study of light is interrupted by the gray mist from the Ishmeld Falls as my eyes move from west to east. This mist, coupled with the sun’s rays, generates a rainbow that terminates on either side of the river. The arched spectrum of color spans the entire width of the river, reaching half way up the face of the cliffs in search of its source.

Even with the threat of an Olwag presence about me, the city appears to be paradise. For several moments I am lost in the beauty of the distant city. All the while I am surrounded by the threat of harm if I do not comply with what I perceive to be the Olwag desires.

From this vantage point the reports that I heard concerning the prosperity and poverty being indistinguishable in Ishmeld appear to hold true. I can discern no distinguishable difference in structure construction or size in any part of the city. Both the dwellings carved into the cliffs and those constructed on the plain from stone quarried out of the cliffs to the west of the city seem to be akin in structure. There are no developmental or constructional differences any place in the city. Every part of the city appears to be well maintained.

Standing between me and this magnificent city is a spear topped with a skull that seems to throw a wicked smile my direction.

(Karen)

Pardon me, ma’am, the offlander has outdistanced himself from the Olwag spears and will reach the city within minutes, reports a lady-in-waiting to the grand counselor, who in turn received the same word from one of the Ish guards. Four spacious, luxuriously furnished rooms with high ceilings form the private quarters of the grand counselor. Without so much of a flinch or cringe, the news is presented to the grand counselor in the receiving room of her apartment.

Braver than I thought, Karen whispers aloud. Ask the guard outside to send for the commander of the guard. Have Emul meet with me in my outer chamber immediately. Karen seems irritated that the offlander has not returned to Femeld.

After several minutes Emul enters the outer chamber of the grand counselor’s suite. This room, off the counselor‘s private chambers, serves as a place to receive casual and formal acquaintances. The room has the feel of a large, formal living room.

Of what service may I be to you? Emul rises with the question as the counselor enters the room from her private chambers.

The offlander has entered the city. It seems that we were not successful in turning him back to Femeld. Karen pauses. Now I want you to direct his path to the Wayward Inn and prepare for his capture. Be discrete and keep it quiet.

Emul, having not been informed by his subordinates of the failure to turn back the offlander, is taken aback at hearing the news from the grand counselor.

Yes, ma’am, the commander says as he rises, turns, and begins to walk toward the door.

Thank you, Emul, for all that you do, the counselor says, almost with a sigh.

Emul pauses. Without turning to the grand counselor, the commander of the guard speaks. Grand Counselor, there is more to this offlander than you are letting us know. We are honored to serve you whether we know all the details or not… Emul then turns to face the grand counselor. Is there something about this offlander that we should know? You have never before reacted to an offlander in this fashion. Focusing his eyes directly on the grand counselor’s, Emul continues his observation, Why have you dealt thusly with this one?

After a brief hesitation the grand counselor drops her eyes away from Emul. Emul, this offlander is a man from my past, a man that I do not wish to encounter again. I seek him no harm. Neither do I seek his presence. Do you understand? Looking back toward Emul the grand counselor receives a head nod.

As the commander of the guard turns to exit, the counselor appends her desire. No one else need know of this except those who must carry it out.

With only a slight pause in his step Emul responds, Understood, and exits the room.

The City Streets

(Charles)

I am greeted with curious and excited stares from the inhabitants I encounter near the main gate. Soldiers manning the towered structures framing the path that leads from Femeld notice my presence but give me no extraordinary consideration. My assumption, made earlier as I viewed the city from the rise, that the gate towers are also outposts for Ishmeld’s military, is correct. There appear to be somewhere around twenty men visible within each of the structures on either side of the path through which I am entering the city.

Each of the four guards standing sentry, two each at the tower structure’s doorways, is armed with a spear. A sheathed sword and dagger on opposite sides of the waist complete the weaponry of those on guard. None show the least amount of interest at my arrival.

There appears to be no disruption in the population’s casual atmosphere that one might expect at the arrival of a total stranger. It is as if no one new has entered into their midst. Perhaps travelers on holiday are commonplace enough to the inhabitants of this city that it does not affect their normal activities.

I am allowed to move freely without detention for inspection through the gate tower. I proceed toward the city’s main boulevards. Obvious to the general population that I am a visitor by my baggage and differing dress, I become aware that I am beginning to draw a small crowd of curious onlookers as I travel. They are neither threatened by me nor threatening to me. I am somewhat amused—a small parade of city folk begins to follow me—that they have become so curiously interested in this stranger given the casual reception at the gate. I enjoy the attention that I am receiving, pretending to be aloof to it.

Lodgings and meals for as long as you like…in exchange for your spear.

Taken aback, I realize that to at least to one of the inhabitants the curiosity might have nothing to do with me.

How? I say out loud and then think the rest, can they know of the spear? It is wrapped inside my bedroll within the crudely made quiver. There has been no contact with anyone from atop the rise, through the grasses, and then to this place in the city itself. How can anyone possibly know of the spear? The offer of, Lodgings and meals for as long as you like, indicates that there is a great value placed on such a spear.

Ishmeld uses no currency. The advice received at Femeld was to carry an abundant supply of useful items for barter. The advice was well heeded. My travel pack is well stuffed with small knives, spices, semi-precious jewels, jewelry, smoking tobaccos, and a small bag each of gold and silver nuggets. Thus well supplied I have no desire to part with the spear that has brought so much intrigue into what was to be an uneventful holiday. Perhaps the unfinished spear will arouse similar or equal interest.

I seek lodgings and information about the Olwag. The spear is not for trade. I discover that I must learn to condense my statements in Ishmeld. Following my statement, the small crowd following me reabsorbs itself into the normal ebb and flow of the populace around them. Without response to either of my desires my followers are gone. I wonder if the inquirer vanished because the spear was not for trade or because I sought information concerning the Olwag? Either way, no information is gained about either.

Three additional gate towers are traversed without incident. Each row of houses and shops faces neat, limestone-paved streets. Ruts from the carts and wagons, which seem to be in abundance, groove the streets. Only one set of ruts cut the limestone streets running perpendicular to the streets that enter the city. Future observation will disclose that the carts travel only one direction on the streets that cross the thoroughfares leading into and out of the city, the tower streets. Tower streets have two sets of ruts, suggesting that traffic flow both directions.

It is odd that there are vehicles everywhere, but none are in operation. Single-axle carts with two wheels and double-axle wagons with four wheels are the only two types of cartage that I observe. All are well kept and neat. None are traveling anywhere. Not only is this the case for every cross street I encounter; there are no beasts to pull the carts.

The oddity of the abundance of motionless carts and wagons does not slow my progress toward the city’s center, nor is my curiosity of the Olwag ways, manners,