A Word with the Wise
The next few days were a blur to Simon. He remembered that they camped the first night in the clearing. Jhamed had made a fire and had caught and roasted some rabbits. That was the best meal I have ever eaten. I was so hungry. Next day they had walked and walked until Simon felt that he could walk no more. They had passed through wooded countryside and saw no one until late in the day when they came across a few tilled fields and isolated farm dwellings.
The people welcomed Manfred like a prodigal son and that night they slept in a warm barn on fresh straw and feasted with the farmer and his family. Simon had never known that simple food could taste so good. They ate whole roasted suckling pig, with the crunchiest, most mouth-watering crackling Simon had ever tasted. It was so much better than the simulated meat he ate at home. The sweet potatoes and parsnips were roasted to perfection, caramelised, but not burnt. Dessert was just stewed apples and cream, but nothing had prepared Simon for the ultimate creaminess his over-indulged taste buds experienced.
As he felt the soft balm of sleep begin to embrace him, Simon thought back over the last few incredible days. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe his situation; he still thought he would wake up in his tiny flat and continue with his equally tiny life. What’s happening in my world? Will I ever see it again? Has World War III started? As he drifted towards sleep, he thought about Juliana and how much she reminded him of his classmate Julia. The thoughts had an immediate physical effect and he contemplated relieving the tension in his body, but sleep won the battle of wills. There’s always the morning.
Next morning, Simon awoke to the smell of fresh bread and this time his stomach won the battle of wills. He bathed, shivering, in an old tin bath in the barn and found his clothes, washed and dried, waiting for him when he finished. He made his way to the house. Jhamed and Manfred were already dressed and ravenously tucking into chunks of fresh bread with assorted cheeses and cold meats. Simon sat down with them and joined in. For several minutes, the only sound to be heard was the munching of three hungry men.
Jhamed finished first, stretched back on the rear two legs of his chair and belched loudly as he dusted the crumbs out of his beard. “There’s something to be said for FirstWorld hospitality, that’s for sure. We should stay here another day and rest up. Simon looks like he needs some feeding up, he’s as thin as a Menubian harlot.” He burped loudly again.
Manfred smiled. “We have a meeting to attend tomorrow. We must get to Wizards’ Keep today. That means another long day of walking. And he’s too ugly to be a Menubian harlot.”
Jhamed let out a huge “Harrumph!” Unfortunately, he was in the middle of swigging a mug of fresh goat’s milk. He coughed and spluttered as part of the milk went down the wrong way. “I see you’ve little experience of Menubian harlots then,” he spluttered, after spraying a mouthful of milk in Simon’s direction.
Simon managed to dodge most of the white spray. “Hey, watch out, these clothes have just been washed. Where’s Menubia? What’s Wizards’ Keep? What meeting are we going to? Do we have to walk all day, again?” I’m not sure I can manage it again.
“Does Redhead never stop asking questions?” Jhamed laughed, pulling on his wide brimmed floppy hat and roughly stuffing his long curls inside it. “Better be ready to move, my lad, the road is long and Manfred is a hard task master.”
“Patience, Simon,” said Manfred. “All of your questions will be answered at Wizards’ Keep. It is an ancient place, built at the beginning of the world for a special purpose that I shall explain when the wise and our other invited guests are all assembled there. There are so few of the wise left, these days. We are as ancient as the Keep. Sometimes it shows.” It seemed to take a huge effort for Manfred to pull himself to his feet. His back was hunched and he looked no more than skin and bones inside his grey cloak, which he pulled around himself to ward off the early chill of the spring morning.
Simon stood too. He was still dressed in jeans, tee shirt and sweater, but he had a cloak of sorts, fashioned out of hessian, that kept the worst of the cold at bay. It seemed that Jhamed’s tools served many purposes. They made to leave, seeking out the old farmer and his wife to say their goodbyes and express their thanks. However, the farmer surprised them again with one final act of generosity. Soon they were on their way, though in a deal more comfort than they had anticipated. The wagon was crude and the single horse that pulled it old, but it seemed like a Rolls Royce to Simon. Moreover, they had a basket packed with more of the excellent food to keep them sustained on the last part of their journey.
Jhamed drove, or at least held the reins for it seemed that the horse knew the best route to take and the optimum speed at which to travel. Manfred sat in the front of the wagon and seemed to alternate between dozing and sucking on an old briar pipe, although he burned nothing in the bowl. Simon lay in the back of the wagon, cushioned on a layer of straw, and watched the sky. It looked the same colour blue as the sky he was familiar with and the clouds were the same fluffy white; but he now accepted that he wasn’t dreaming or insane, that he had travelled somewhere else, to a different dimension of the multiverse. I’m going to have an adventure, so I’d better make the most of it. In the front of the wagon, Manfred smiled.
Even with the wagon, it took them the better part of the day to get to Wizards’ Keep. As they got closer to The Keep, the number of farms began to increase. Then small villages began to spring up along their route. They began to pass more and more people, going about the daily routine of their lives. It all seemed rather surreal to Simon, like something from long in the past. There was a sort of slowness to their lifestyle that he couldn’t put his finger on, as if no one ever hurried here for anything. And there was also a sense of peace and of safety that increased the closer they came to The Keep. Simon felt a sense of tranquillity that he had never felt before. He was so relaxed that he could barely keep his eyes open, so he sat up and observed his surroundings closely.
Jhamed guided the wagon through the cobbled streets of the town of Elannort that surrounded Wizards’ Keep. It was an old town and had seen little change for many centuries. The buildings were simple single or double storey structures made from wood and the local grey stone. Most households were decorated with colourful shutters and stone pots by the front door filled with herbs or flowering plants.
Elannort was built in a circle. The main road weaved its way through the streets in an ever-decreasing spiral towards the centre. Straight roads ran outwards from the centre, regularly intersecting the main spiral. At each intersection, there was a collection of commercial buildings. Shops sold fresh produce from the surrounding farms or offered services such as blacksmith or cooper. Public houses provided food, ale and accommodation at reasonable prices for the weary traveller and locals alike. The garrulous pubs advertised themselves with huge colourful signs and expressive names such as “The Prancing Pony”, “Wizard’s End”, “The Elf and the Unicorn”, and “The Five Dwarves”.
The streets were busy with other cart traffic and people riding horses as well as many individuals and groups on foot. An army of street cleaners, completely dressed in green, ensured that the many piles of horse droppings and any other litter were promptly removed. Most people took little notice of the wagon as it passed, though some waved or called out greetings to Manfred. The people seemed to be well dressed and well fed. There was a general atmosphere of contentment in the air.
As the street circle narrowed, they also began to climb gently, until the road widened and straightened into a long avenue. At first, the avenue was crowned by huge oak trees, whose branches towered above the road, entwining in an ancient embrace and providing a canopy, pale green with new leaves. The trees gave way to a series of statues and monuments on both sides of the road. There were many statues of men who appeared to be warriors, but many others who appeared to be bent and wizened old men, rather like Manfred. Seven of the wizard statues were much larger than the others and seemed to dominate the rest. There were also many pedestals, standing empty and forlorn as if waiting for warriors and wizards who were yet to be. It was as if a deep fog had lifted as Simon’s gaze was drawn along the avenue, which still climbed, now more steeply, to the building sitting on a mound at the centre of Elannort. He gasped aloud and his mouth fell open in awe, unable to frame the words that he sought. Why didn’t I see it sooner? It’s magnificent.
“It is said that your reaction to your first view of Melasurej, more commonly called The Wizards’ Keep, allows the wise to judge your true spirit. Some men fear it, others want to own or conquer it. Some would worship it, or what it stands for, or what they think it stands for. Some want to destroy it. You have passed another test, Simon Redhead. You shall be welcomed with honour at Wizards’ Keep.” Manfred spoke with a solemnity that surprised Simon.
Before them, in stark contrast to the simple structures of the surrounding town, the enormous building grew into the sky. Its roots were fastened to the bedrock of the central mound but its spires disappeared into the darkening evening sky. The building was jet black but seemed polished and mirror-like, as if fashioned from obsidian. It had many parts, but all seemed to grow out of a central domed section. Simon couldn’t see too much of the ground level detail because a substantial wall of local grey stone surrounded the Keep. Ahead of them towered a huge pair of gates, constructed of polished timber and wrought iron that Simon estimated must be at least twenty metres high.
Jhamed brought the wagon to a halt in front of the gates. Manfred gingerly descended. Simon wasn’t sure whether it was the cart or Manfred’s joints that were creaking. Manfred withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and tapped twice on the doors as he muttered some strange words in a language Simon didn’t recognise. Moving inwards, the doors swung soundlessly open into an immaculately kept courtyard. It was completely deserted. There was no sign as to who had opened the gates for them.
“Take Simon and show him his quarters. I will walk from here; there is much to be done before the meeting. Have the stable look after the horse and cart, and organise its return to its owner after a few days rest. And be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” Manfred turned and with a sprightly turn of speed disappeared into the distance.
“Yes my lord.” Jhamed spoke sarcastically and gave a low mock bow to the retreating wizard. In doing so he flourished his hat and his wayward curls spilled all over his face like champagne gushing out of a bottle. “Dogsbody to wizards, that’s all I’ll ever be. Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice; so what’s new? A rest, some decent grub, and a bit of peace and quiet would be nice for a change. But that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? Come on, Redhead, welcome to Wizards’ Keep; I’ll show you the ropes.”
Simon’s initial impression of Elannort was that it was a town living in the middle ages, lacking any of the technology he took for granted in twenty-first century Australia. His first impression of Wizards’ Keep was one of immense age, almost as if it were forged out of the bedrock itself. As Jhamed gave him a tour of just part of the Keep, he became more and more confused. The Keep seemed to be an eclectic mixture of extremely ancient and very modern. There was technology here that was far ahead of anything Simon had seen before. It appeared, for example that the whole town had a reticulated water and power system, emanating from a small room in the basement, with no sign of a reservoir or generator. He was bursting with curiosity about what Elannort truly was and pestered Jhamed until he got an answer.
“Is it always more questions with you? Don’t bother; I know the answer to that. You really should wait for Manfred’s explanation, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything tomorrow. And remember, I’m a dogsbody, I know jack. All I know is this. Elannort is a very special place. It has existed since the Beginning. It exists only on FirstWorld but there are shadows of Melasurej in other dimensions of the multiverse. Men seek them out everywhere as places of power and peace; although they are often fought over relentlessly. I have felt such shadows in places called Tanelorn, Jerusalem and Camelot across the dimensions. Only on FirstWorld has it existed in peace and harmony, as it is supposed to. There is an old prophecy; only fragments exist; it dates from before the Beginning. It is written that the End will come when the final battle for Elannort is fought. The armies of Law and Chaos will fight a great battle and the winner will claim all of FirstWorld, and maybe the entire multiverse, for eternity. It will surely be hell on earth. I hope that I do not live to see such days, but I fear that they are almost upon us.”
Jhamed’s sombre mood affected Simon too. He tried to cheer his new-found friend. “Well, the new hero won’t let that happen! Why not give Elannort to the good guys, and everyone can live happily ever after?”
Jhamed snorted. His aquiline nose enhanced the sneer that betrayed his face. “Don’t you get it? We are the only good guys, and there are few of us left. I have seen worlds dominated by Law and they are every bit as bad as those gone over to Chaos. Think of your own world. Hitler was a servant of Law; he sought perfection, a world of total order that complied with his rigid rules.”
Simon shivered. If Hitler represented Law, whom did Churchill serve? What about the USA and its fundamentalist Christians? Which side did Islam represent? My brain hurts.
Jhamed seemed to sense Simon’s thoughts, or perhaps they had had this conversation before. “It’s not always clear cut, Simon. Not everyone has to choose between Law and Chaos. There is a third way: the way of Balance. Anyway, enough for today. We must get fed and rested for tomorrow.”
While Jhamed had been showing Simon around The Keep he had introduced him to many of the staff who worked there. They were led to the bedchambers and given elegant interconnecting rooms. Simon felt like he must be in a seven star hotel, except he had never stayed in one and had little with which to compare his current accommodation. The bed was a four-poster with fancy drapes and a down-filled quilt over satin sheets. The en-suite bathroom had all the conveniences of the twenty-first century, yet his room lacked any modern gadgets with the exception of electric lighting and underfloor heating. It is so weird. What sort of crazy place is this? A mixture of ancient and modern. Other staff brought them a sumptuous feast, based on local produce, with a bottle of fine red wine. As they ate, they chatted about this and that as if they were old friends, totally comfortable in each other’s company. After dinner, Simon took a long relaxing bath and slipped into his soft bed. He slept long and woke completely refreshed. For the first time in ages he was untroubled by dreams.
Next morning, he found there were new clothes laid out for him. As he dressed, he felt like he was donning a new skin, beginning a new part of his life – a part that had been preordained for him. Why do I feel like this? Is it this place? Does it affect people like Manfred said? After dressing, he looked at himself in the ornate full-length mirror that took pride of place on one wall of his room. He was startled by his reflection. His face, still rather pale but now tanned by the exposure to so much sun, seemed more handsome than he remembered. His bright orange hair was now long and flowing. Must be good conditioner. I don’t think I’ll cut it just yet. His frame, while still tall and skinny, seemed to suit the leather trousers with the large silver-buckled belt, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and leather jerkin. He pulled on long boots, hung a woollen cloak around his shoulders, and fastened it with a silver brooch that matched his belt buckle. He stole another glance in the mirror before heading off in search of Jhamed and breakfast. What a handsome devil. Simon smiled.
Both Manfred and Jhamed made approving noises when he found them. “You just need one more thing, to set off your outfit,” Jhamed said. Simon looked at him questioningly.
“Enough, Jhamed!” Manfred interrupted. “There’ll be time for that later. You may accompany Simon to the meeting today. I have a feeling that your destinies are closely intertwined and you have the right to hear first-hand things that will affect you deeply.”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Jhamed was lost for words. Simon laughed, though and said, “That means you’ll be classed as one of the Wise! No more jokes at their expense.”
Manfred began as if to question exactly what jokes Jhamed had been making, but clearly thought better of it. “Be in the Great Hall in one hour from now,” he ordered before hurrying away.
They were the first to arrive. When they entered the Great Hall, Simon felt as though they were entering a cross between a great cathedral and a movie set filming Arthurian Legend. The room was enormous and occupied the whole of the domed section of The Keep. The ceiling of the dome towered at least fifty metres above them. The room itself was circular and must have measured a good fifty or sixty metres across. If the roof opened, you could play a game of cricket in here. At the centre of the room was a huge round table. It was big enough to seat fifty people with comfort. It was made from the same obsidian material of the walls and it seemed to Simon that it grew from the floor of the chamber like a giant mushroom. The centre of the table was cut out and a few ornately carved wooden seats were provided around both the inner and outer circumferences. Gaps at ninety degrees segregated the table into four quarters. The seats were positioned in pairs next to giant letters carved into the table. Simon could see each letter of the alphabet – fifty-two places in all, but only five seats evident. There was a gap for access and then on a raised platform another set of seats and tables circled the round table. Like a theatre, more rows of seats rose above them, catering for a large audience. A raised dais in the hole in the centre of the table seemed to be for the speaker. The room was illuminated by natural light from floor to ceiling windows around most of the circumference. The windows were made of stained glass and seemed to consist mostly of heroic scenes of battle. Panels alongside each window and high above in the ceiling provided artificial lighting. Better than the lights at the MCG.
Simon and Jhamed took their seats in the raised platform area. Decorated place cards indicated where they were to sit. They took their seats, watched and waited. The main double doors of the chamber, made of solid oak, swung slowly open and a group of people solemnly entered the chamber in silent single file. Manfred, dressed as always in his grey cloak, was at their head. He carried his staff before him. Behind him shuffled another, dressed like Manfred and one who could easily be taken for his brother, holding a similar staff. Then followed the motliest crew of people Simon had ever set eyes on. Simon counted nineteen individuals. The two wizards moved to the inside circle of the round table. Manfred sat opposite the letter M. The second wizard sat next to the letter Z. The others moved to the area where Simon and Jhamed were sitting. They too had place cards indicating where they should sit. As they passed by, Simon noticed that they stole furtive glances at him, but quickly bowed their heads and wouldn’t make eye contact. Everyone sat down. No one spoke.
After what seemed to Simon like several minutes, Manfred stood and smote the floor with his staff. The artificial room lights went out, so that the chamber was illuminated only by the dappled light entering via the windows. At the same time, Manfred appeared on the dais, as a figure at least three times his normal size. He hadn’t actually moved there, Simon realised. It must be a hologram. Directly above his head, high on the ceiling a strange symbol became illuminated. Simon looked at it closely. It was very simple and was in a white material that gave it stark contrast against the black roof. It’s a huge set of scales. The symbol did indeed seem to be a set of scales as might be used by a jeweller, with two pans that balanced against each other. One pan had a large ornate letter L carved above it, while the second had an equally large C. The scales were tilted halfway towards C.
Manfred spoke. “Welcome, members of the Council of the Wise and invited guests, to the seven hundred and seventy seventh meeting of the Council. In the early days, near the Beginning, the Council met often. Unfortunately, it hasn’t met in recent times, indeed for many millennia since the last of the Seven Great Sages passed to stone. Most of the Wise Ones have gone to their eternal rest and greeted you today as you arrived along the Avenue of Heroes. Of those that have not given up the struggle only I, Manfred, and Zenethyr have answered the summons to this meeting.” Manfred indicated the three empty chairs on the outside of the table. “It bodes ill that Satania’s representatives have either been prevented from attending or have chosen not to attend.”
He paused for a moment and seemed to scan the audience that was distributed around the upper circle. “Invited guests, you have been asked to join the Council today because each of you represents a key constituency of FirstWorld. I have also taken the liberty to invite Simon Redhead, who hails from another dimension of the multiverse. It is my belief that Simon will play a significant role in the Final Days and indeed that our hope rests with him.” Simon blushed and looked at the floor. How can I help them? I have no power or skills. Manfred must be out of his mind.
“With him is Jhamed al Suraqi, Companion of Heroes, and a great helper to wizards who are getting frail and forgetful. His destiny is linked to Simon’s. Both, I believe, will finally rest in the Avenue of Heroes.” Jhamed was not shy and he rose and removed his hat. He bowed several times in the directions of all of the seated guests, his hair cascading over his face and muffling the comments he was muttering. Simon only caught the words “dogsbody” and “about time.” Manfred went on, “Before we continue, I offer myself as Chairman of the Council. It is not a role that I have filled before, but the greatest of us have long gone to stone. Of those here today, only Zenethyr also has claim.”
Manfred sat down and Zenethyr rose. Immediately, he appeared to be on the central dais, towering over them all. He wore a grey cloak and carried a simple wooden staff. His flowing grey hair and beard made him look very much like Manfred. When he spoke though, Simon noticed subtle differences of expression and a lack of fire behind his eyes.
“I attend today because it is stipulated that I must. I have had little interest in the affairs of men for millennia. I am tired to my bones and impatient for my eternal rest. I wait for the day that I may take my appointed place in the Avenue of Heroes. I fear that I must have some destiny to fulfil before it can be so. I welcome the Final Battle. I cede the Chair to Manfred, though he be named Manfred the Fool by the seven hundred and seventy sixth Council.” Zenethyr sat down. He’s not like Manfred at all. His eyes are pale and empty. He is just waiting to die. Why was Manfred called a fool?
Manfred rose and again took central stage. “I accept, with humility, the position of Chair of the Council of the Wise. It is sad indeed that it comes to me by default, as the last Wizard on FirstWorld who both still lives and sees some hope for the future. Perhaps, had the last Council taken heed of my warnings instead of branding me a fool we would not have come to this? But, that is done and cannot, I fear, be undone. My foresight is clouded where other wizards are concerned, but I hope and believe that Zenethyr has a role to play in this ere it is all over.”
He paused again and looked around the chamber. Everyone still sat in silence, as if in awe of the occasion. Finally, he spoke again in formal tones. “Let the record commence and show that I, Manfred the Magician, call to order the seven hundred and seventy seventh Council of the Wise held in the Great Hall of the Wise at Melasurej on the twenty seventh day of the month of Late Spring in the year of fifty thousand, five hundred and six.” Wow, this place is really old. Manfred shot Simon a glance that conveyed, “Concentrate!”
“I now ask that each of you, with the exception of Simon and Jhamed, introduce yourself and give us a very brief summary of your journey here and the current situation in your area. Please tell us of any strange events that have occurred recently. The Balance has tipped towards Chaos. The time of the Final Battle for Elannort may be upon us. The fate of the multiverse may be in our hands. Spare nothing that may be of importance.”
Simon and Jhamed were fascinated as they listened, as one after the other the guests stood and spoke. As each one stood, his or her hologram was automatically displayed on the central platform. Simon was unaware of FirstWorld’s geography, but as the speakers went on, he began to draw a simple map in his mind.
The first person to stand was dressed in a way that Simon imagined a medieval warrior would be dressed. He was wearing plain clothing, simple brown trousers and a cream shirt, but on top of that, he had chain mail. At his belt, he carried a sheathed broadsword. As his hologram towered over them from the dais, Simon noted his regal bearing. He was tall and well built, perhaps thirty years old. His hair was jet black and cut short, matching his beard. His voice was steady and strong and indicated a man well used to public speaking. While everything in his body language displayed strength and pride, Simon quickly concluded that here stood a desperate man.
“I am Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan. Our city has long been a peaceful haven for artists of all kinds. My family has ruled, unbroken, justly and fairly for more than ten thousand years. I travelled alone but I carry the blessing of my father Gamyon Regent of Tamarlan. We still have hope that one day our King will return out of Northland, whence he was lost.” How do you lose a king for ten thousand years and expect him to return?
Gamying’s eyes seem to dart around his audience without ever making eye contact. “I have travelled long and hard for the passes of the Devil Mountains are still closed with snow and strange fell creatures hunt there for the souls of the living, and the dead too for all I know. I came to Devil’s Mouth after barely surviving Suicide Pass and came down the Fang Glacier on a Dwarven Ice Ship. The streets of Fang were strangely quiet and the South Road to Elvenhome is now no more than a pitted goat track riddled with weeds. It seems that Entropy rules south of the mountains now too. I was glad to find the old wooden bridge over the Idigna still well maintained and came at last to Tar, where I found the famed hospitality of old still in evidence. I rested there for several days before taking a wagon to Elannort.”
“The situation in Tamarlan grows more serious every day. The winter has been long and hard. Spring has not yet come, north of the mountains. The people begin to grow hungry. Wargs have been unusually active and seem to have lost all fear. They hunt in huge packs and have even entered the city. Babies have been taken from their cribs. The old and the weak cower in fear in their homes. Raiding parties of strange men come upon the city out of Northland with monotonous regularity. Our resources are stretched to the limit. The artists would leave the city but there is no escape unless the passes of the Devil Mountains are open. The Frozen Wastes grow ever closer and threaten our fields. I fear for our very existence. Never more have we yearned for the return of our King.” I wonder what Wargs are? They sound very nasty. How would a king fix it?
Gamying paused for a moment and his eyes moved away from Manfred and sought out Simon and Jhamed. For a brief moment, he finally made eye contact with Simon. There is both hope and despair in his eyes. He turned again to Manfred. “Is it true, as I have heard rumoured, that Gilgamesh is reborn? Will you send the Great Hero to aid us in our darkest hour? Please!” He sat down. The agony of his final plea hung in the air.
Manfred stood briefly and scanned the room. He held each participant in brief eye contact before his gaze passed on. Patience; he seemed to say without speaking. All will be revealed in due course; we will hear all of the news first.
An elegant woman, who was surrounded by four heavily armed guards, stood and bowed low to Manfred. Her hair was long and dark. It flowed down her back like a mountain stream in springtime. A white flower, garlanded in her hair stood out in stark contrast, matching her alabaster skin. Her clothes were understated elegance, well-tailored to suit her tall, slim frame. Simon’s first glance judged her to be a young beauty and his groin gave an involuntary response. As she stood erect again though, he realised she was much older, perhaps in her fifties. Simon shuddered. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, ugh.
“Greetings, Manfred and honoured guests. I am Rheanna of Rhakotis, custodian of the Great Library. Rhakotis, jewel of the Middle Sea, is the centre of academic excellence. For many years, our scholars have been studying fragments of the ancient texts that prophesy the end of FirstWorld in the Final Battle between Law and Chaos. Our studies suggest that there may be a way to prevent this. It involves the coming of a hero – the Everlasting Hero – who will lead us to a New Beginning, a new age if you will. He must wield the Sword. It must be found again.”
“I have brought with me many scrolls and I will present the results of our studies at the appropriate t