The World of Frem

By H. W. Dinlocker

Frem, a quiet little man, goes on an Odyssey to find help from four other villages that are also regularly attacked by Cajjh, the leader of a raping, pillaging tribe of people. To do so, Frem had to escape the trees that had created an impenetrable wall around his own village, travel through the desert and travel down an underground river where he meets a girl with a pet protector, a tiger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665567213

H. W. Dinlocker

Worldwide traveler, associate professor, media specialist, photographer and extraordinarily good man, Bill Dinlocker (H. W. Dinlocker) wrote—a lot. He wrote for children and adults, all nationalities, in all times and places. His journey began in 1927 in the little village of Wycombe, PA. He attended grades one to eight in a one room schoolhouse. After Bucknell University, he earned his Masters at Temple and taught in Lehigh University. He wrote letters to his daughter and son-in-law, Ralph Dinlocker, also a writer, every week from 1976 to 1987 when she lived for 2+ years in Teheran, Iran; 2 years in Ma’adi, Egypt and while she was living in Jakarta, Indonesia he found the internet. He crafted a letter to her every day thereafter for her next 10 years in Indonesia, 2 years in Haiti and 4 years in Shanghai, China. While visiting his daughter with her mother, he climbed the inside of the great pyramid in Cairo, Egypt; dined in the Writer’s Room in the Raffles Hotel in Singapore; saw the Ramayana on the island of Java and enjoyed the beaches of Bali in Indonesia. He brought his love of all people to his writing. Above all, he was a loving husband for more than 60 years to my amazing mother and he was a spectacular father. Herein is this brilliant man’s imagination shared. —Elizabeth Anne Dinlocker

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© 2022 H. W. Dinlocker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/12/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6720-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6721-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Frem%20Map.jpg

For Elizabeth May Dinlocker

who created the happiest of homes

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Gray Robinson and associates, Don Showalter and Regina Romeo who helped update copyrights for this book. Many thanks to AuthorHouse editors Rose Sheldon and Aubrey Siever for their patience with formatting issues throughout the writing process. Likewise a special thank you to Josh Laluna and his production team. Thanks to Josh for his quick communication and efficient care spearheading the final compilation and editing of this book.

Chapter 1

The villagers of Ux relaxed after the season of harvest. They enjoyed many blessings, and, for those, they were thankful.

It had been a good year. There was grain enough for winter with some left for seed, there were a few extra animals for meat, the cottages were dry and in good repair. Winters were neither hard nor long, and most villagers were looking forward to an early planting and an even better year next year.

But not all. Fearful eyes swept the edge of the nearby forest. A village not strong enough to defend what it owned was almost certain to lose it. Some forgot this lesson from the past, but others did not.

Secret bins, known only to a few and with no man knowing more than one or two, were filled quietly and sealed. A few animals, not many, drifted away and disappeared. Old cellars, almost forgotten, were readied for those who were quick enough—or lucky enough—to hide.

It had been five years, but the raiders would remember.

The villagers did what was needed to survive.

Far away, Cajjh prepared to give the village reason to thank those with the foresight to expect his visit. He stared into the fire as he honed a keener edge on his great sword, and he dreamed of battles won and battles not yet fought, of prizes taken and lost, of women long turned to dust.

It had been a good year, and Cajjh was proud of his success. Men feared to whisper his name for the best of reasons. He had left a great path of death and destruction behind, and no one cared to call Cajjh’s attention to the fact that anyone had escaped his sword.

But now, problems. The countryside was aroused, and four kings had banded together to hunt him down. Cajjh’s force was no match for the combined armies closing behind him, and there would be no mercy if they met.

It was, Cajjh decided, time to hide the weapons, horses, and loot in their secret place, time to let the armies behind search for a wisp of fog, time to drift back to the farms and become lawful men with wives and families who did not know of the summer’s fun. Cajjh sighed a great sigh. It had been such a wonderful summer!

Not yet! The summer’s profits were not in the form a farmer would own, and wives would question farmer husbands if hunger joined the family. One last raid was needed, so a supply of grain and animals would still the questions before they were asked.

Cajjh’s thoughts turned to a village far away, a village large enough to supply his men for the winter, a village with little or no defense, a village in the opposite direction from that his pursuers would expect him to take. He mounted his horse and walked it away from the fire.

No orders were needed. Within moments, his entire force rode behind him. The camp was as if it had never been, and no trail marked where they passed.

And Cajjh dreamed of a woman he had loved when last he visited the village, a woman who had lived almost a day under his gentle caresses. Maybe this visit he would find one who would last a few hours longer.

Chapter 2

As days passed, even the most pessimistic of the villagers dared hope they had been spared for another year. A fine dance was planned. The oldest villager, Garragh, tuned his fiddle and dreamed of other times.

Young men and young women found many things to talk about, not all of them the weather. Frem, one of the youngest of the young men, spoke of the future with Allid, his promised bride. All was well in the village.

Frem was far from the village when the storm broke. He heard the war screams of Cajjh’s pack in the distance and knew he was hearing the death of many things. He raced to the village.

And met a club in the hand of one of Cajjh’s men before he reached the first cottage. Knocked senseless, he did not hear the screams, did not see the flames, did not know Allid had satisfied Cajjh’s fondest wish—she had lived longer than the first woman he had found in the village years before. That was all Cajjh asked.

That and everything the village had to offer that would have kept it alive through the winter.

Cajjh and his men, sated at last, drove their heavily burdened animals from the village and returned to the peaceful farms they called their own. Their families, delighted with their good fortune, took their plunder and lived in comfort through the winter months that followed.

Not so Ux.

Garragh found Frem more dead than alive, a great gash in his head, his breath heavy gasps of pain. Frem drifted through dreams for three days, then slowly began to recognize his surroundings. His first thought was of Allid.

Where is she? he pleaded. I need to see her!

Garragh shook his head. She is no more, he said. The plans you had with her are finished. We have buried her with her family.

I’ll find them, Frem’s voice was a growl. I’ll find them, and they’ll pay for what they’ve done here.

You face a hopeless task, whispered Garragh. Three of our young men tried to follow them when they rode away. We found their bodies within a mile of the village. They had been beheaded. Horrible! Two experienced trackers took up what trail was left. We saw the carrion birds circling two days later. We brought their headless bodies back to bury with their families. Look to the future. The past is dead.

The old man shuffled sadly away. He had loved Allid and Frem. He shared Frem’s outrage and hate, but no one knew better than he the hopelessness of trying to find the raiders. Years before, his wife had shared Allid’s fate, and he had tried to do the things that were a blazing flame in Frem’s mind.

Even now, knowing it would be a waste, in his heart he longed to follow the raiders with Frem at his side, but he was not a warrior. He bowed to his fate.

As Frem would be forced to bow to his.

Chapter 3

Time passed slowly. Frem’s body mended and, once again, his mind grew strong. Garragh worked with him always, teaching and explaining the ancient knowledge that was given to all Garraghs before him.

It was a monumental task. Everything was kept in the mind, even the knowledge added by the present Garragh. Frem labored mightily to absorb it all. The history of the village, even before the great flash of fire, was, to him, the history of the world.

But he did not forget the present. The terrible raid that had cost him Allid was never far from his thoughts. One day he spoke. Garragh, he announced, we must do something to stop the raids against us. Can’t we find some way to defend ourselves?

Garragh smiled. You have learned, he muttered, that it has always been this way. Never have we had peace other than the peace of accepting our fate. You may find it difficult, but this is the way it has always been. There is no reason to think it will ever be any other.

Why must we accept it? Frem asked. If we try, can’t we find some other way to live?

If we can, there would be nothing to forbid it, Garragh said slowly. A look of hope crossed his face. Have you a plan?

Tell me again about the kings, said Frem. Maybe there’s something we’ve overlooked.

So Garragh repeated the story of the kings as it happened long before in the history of the village.

Garragh, a strong and wise man, had survived a great raid against the village.

The raiders had stayed longer than usual, and their search had been more thorough. They had found many of the secret hiding places and some of the hidden livestock. When they left, the village was in a desperate situation.

Garragh called those of his friends still alive to him. This must not be allowed to happen again, he yelled. We must stop it once and for all!

Easily said, Muttered the blacksmith, but his mutter was loud enough for everyone to hear. How do we go about this great and wonderful thing?

Garragh looked sadly at the group surrounding him. They were few in number, and most of them would be worthless in a battle. We lack the strength to fight, he admitted. Even if our friend, the blacksmith, could fashion weapons, we could not use them successfully against a raiding party.

Then what is the use? asked an old man. If we can do nothing, we can do nothing. Let it go at that!

The raids must stop, argued Garragh. I suggest we contact Leux, the king to the west, and ask him to protect us. He is far away, but we would be safe if it were known we lived under his protection."

Leux is not one to act out of kindness, said the blacksmith. We would have to pay him.

Of course, agreed Garragh. We could give him a part of each year’s crop. He would live with a profit to keep him happy, and we would lose far less than we do in a single raid. No one would die. We would find peace.

It was agreed that Garragh and the blacksmith would travel to the castle of Leux to bargain for his protection for the village. They journeyed through the countryside for many days, always being most careful because evidence of the raiders’ passing was all about them.

When they reached the castle, they found it a smoking ruin. Men were working frantically to rebuild the walls, and others were fighting fires that seemed to be everywhere.

Leux, himself, met them at the gate. His armor was dented and stained, and he had a bloody slash from his ear to his chin. He held a great sword in his hand, and twenty armed men stood at his back.

Who are you? What do you want? he demanded, and his tone was not friendly. Be quick with your answers. We have had enough visitors for one day!

Garragh and the blacksmith bowed politely. King Leux, Garragh said, we are here to seek your help. Our village has been raided many times, and we beg for your protection.

Leux relaxed slightly, but his men did not. Protection? he asked. Look at this destruction! We, ourselves, need protection! Even our women had to fight! If they had come at us one more time, we would have had to put the children on the walls.

Garragh and the blacksmith exchanged glances. There is no help for us here, admitted Garragh to himself. He spoke again to Leux. Tell me, where can we go for help? Our need is desperate!

Leux frowned. Qras has a strong castle and many men. Maybe he can help you, he suggested. He appeared embarrassed. You can see we have problems more important than entertaining guests. We have been attacked, and strangers are not welcome!

We understand, said Garragh. Thank you for your advice. We go to the castle of King Qras. We shall not trouble you again!

Garragh and the blacksmith bowed and left the castle, but they noted that King Leux and his men did not relax their guard while the travelers were in sight. In truth, neither of the travelers was particularly satisfied until they had placed many miles behind them.

If anything, King Qras greeted them in a less friendly fashion than Leux. He did not exactly order a charge, but his men kept edging forward and the travelers were forced to keep moving backward at an ever-increasing speed.

After listening impatiently, Qras waved them away. Go talk to Deexr, he said. He has no castle, but he has kingly training. He is a warrior, possibly a great one. Let him protect you!

Garragh dared another question. Where can we find him? he asked. We are far from our homes, and we lack direction.

Go to the hidden lake. It is that direction. Qras pointed. You will hear him singing. At least, he calls it singing. He stepped aside, his men surged forward, and the travelers made a hasty exit.

Qras was right. The singing voice of Deexr was not a pleasant thing to hear. It did quiet the birds, and it probably explained why the hidden lake remained hidden. The best thing about it was the point in the song at which the travelers arrived. It was at the end of the last verse.

King Deexr, Garragh said hastily before Deexr could begin a new song, on behalf of our village, we beg for your help. We are searching for protection from thieves who attack us, and King Qras sent us to you.

Did he? smiled Deexr. Well, you’ve come to the right man. I can protect you from anything. Look! He opened the robe he was wearing. Under it, shining like the sun, was a full suit of armor. See my sword? He drew it. It can slice through anything! Anything! He took a few practice swings that narrowly missed the blacksmith. And my knife! He drew it with his free hand. It is so sharp that hardly a day goes by without a cut finger. See? Look at this! Indeed, the hand he waved was a mass of bandages, but most of the fingers seemed to be there. Protect you? No one could do it better!

Garragh and the blacksmith exchanged glances. Good King Deexr, said Garrage, will you show us something of your skill with arms? What if someone should take you by surprise? Could you be defeated?

Impossible! laughed Deexr. I am a trained warrior! The man does not live who could surprise me. And, if he tried, I would beat him soundly. One quick move, and he would be begging for mercy. We warriors are trained for just that sort . . .

The blacksmith picked him up and threw him into the lake.

Garragh and the blacksmith stared at each other. That was not a polite way to treat our possible protector, said Garragh.

The blacksmith hung his head. I’m sorry, he said. I thought I’d better do something before he killed one of us with that sword. Do you think we should leave?

Pull him out of the lake first, said Garragh. His armor is so heavy he can’t get up. He’s been under water for a fairly long time.

After the rescue, the travelers turned sadly to the road back to the village. As they left the lake, they heard Deexr’s voice raised in song behind them. He seemed no worse for his experience, but he did have a tendency to gurgle on the high notes.

And that, Garragh said to Frem, is the story of the kings as it happened long ago. No one has tried to get help from the kings since. They are of value only when there is no danger. When the raiders ride, they are busy protecting themselves. If we seek to live in safety, we must find another way.

Then we shall find it! said Frem, and he walked away with his brow wrinkled in thought.

Garragh did not see him for many days.

Chapter 4

When Garragh found Frem, he was sitting in the kitchen of his cottage, his elbows propped on the table, his eyes staring at but not seeing the unwashed dishes before him. He waved at Garragh’s knock, and the old man entered, his quick eyes noting the condition of the room.

I have missed you, he said. What’s wrong? You have been gone for days.

I have been planning a defense against the raids, said Frem. Nothing seems certain, but I felt there had to be an answer. I think I have found it.

If you have, said Garragh, it will be good news. What must we do?

After listening once again to the story of the kings, I knew there was no hope from them. Frem frowned. They are no more able to help us than we are to help ourselves. The raiders are warriors. They are skilled in the use of arms. We cannot stand against them, yet we must not live like sheep and await the coming of the butcher whenever it pleases him."

We have never found a way to avoid it, Garragh agreed, but if there is a way, we must find it.

Since we cannot find help and cannot stand against them ourselves, said Frem, I thought we should place something between the raiders and the village to stop them. I thought of a wall.

The thought came to us many years ago, said Garragh. You know it was forgotten. A wall would cost more than we will ever have, and a wall must be defended. Even with a wall, our men could not match the raiders.

I know, said Frem. A wall would be nothing. I thought of a great hedge, a hedge filled with thorns, a hedge that completely surrounded the village. I thought of the raiders charging into it and being torn from their saddles by the thorns. I thought of our men attacking with this advantage. I thought of revenge for many raids in the past.

That is a wonderful thought, said Garragh. How I would love to lead such an attack! Even at my age, I could give a good account of myself!

But it is not sure! said Frem. Some, possibly many, of the raiders might still be on their horses. A handful of them would destroy us. Even those of us who now survive by hiding in the cellars would not have a chance to escape. No, I thought carefully, and I decided the idea of a hedge was not a good one. We need to stop them entirely. There must be no question of failure.

I can think of no way, said Garragh.

But I did! said Frem. Come and see what I have while I tell you of my plan." He took Garragh’s arm and led him to a large, flat box near one wall. The box was filled with seedlings.

How can these tiny trees help us? asked Garragh. A man on foot could crush them. A man on horse wouldn’t even know they were there.

These are special trees, said Frem. I have searched carefully, and they are the offspring of the greatest trees in the forest. I have talked to the parent trees and told them of our need. They have been silent witnesses to many raids, and they have agreed to give us their children to act as guardians for the village. He sighed. "It was a