A Prophecy Fulfilled
Manfred was cranky. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he last wasn’t cranky. They had been living in this primitive backwater with a tribe of barbarian humans for so long that he had forgotten what a hot bath and a cold beer felt like. What made it worse was that Mandred seemed to love every minute of it. He seemed to go out of his way to make Manfred unhappy and make the members of the tribe hate him. Curse him. What’s he doing now?
The two wizards were identically dressed in bearskin cloaks and they were both bare headed, displaying long, flowing white hair and matching beards that hid most of their facial features. Mandred muttered incantations under his breath, pausing now and then to scatter herbs, from a pouch at his waist, into the embers of a fire he carried in a black, intricately carved bowl. The burning herbs released a sweet, pungent odour that made Manfred feel light-headed. Manfred’s hands absently played with a string of bear's teeth beads that hung from his neck. Nothing important ever happens here. Curse Adapa and his plans. Dammar has the right idea. I should go off and do my own thing too. What does he expect to happen here in this boring backwater?
A group of the humans began to gather to watch Mandred’s antics. He was always the centre of attention. They were predominantly women and children, but there were a few youths and the odd old man. The men of the tribe were away hunting. Please something different from half-raw venison, tonight. Mandred paused in his incantations and looked at Manfred. “Today is the day he will come. My work here is almost done. Soon I will go to my eternal rest and you will be none the wiser. Great events are unfolding under your nose and you can’t see them.” What is the idiot talking about now?
“What are you talking about? Who will be coming? What great events?” Manfred humoured his so-called colleague, although it seemed they were on different teams. I hope he brings something good to eat with him.
“The future hero will return today. Dammar has predicted it. You remember the Hero, don’t you? No, you don’t. Hah! You missed his last visit, like you miss everything important. You were away with the hunting party.” Don’t remind me. That was a trip I’d rather forget. I never believed Mandred about the Hero. I thought he’d been breathing too much of his herb smoke, or needed an excuse to explain the Chief’s daughter’s pregnancy. Well, we’ll soon find out, I suppose.
Mandred balanced his bowl in one hand and reached inside his cloak to withdraw his staff. He scratched a large circle on the sandy ground and placed his bowl of herbs in the centre. What is he doing now? Oh well, at least it’s something to watch. Manfred yawned. Mandred checked the position of the sun and stood at the perimeter of the circle, facing east. He began to move slowly to his right, while drawing an imaginary circle in the air with his staff. He progressed slowly around the circle in a clockwise direction, stopping at each cardinal point where he spoke theatrically in a loud voice. “May the Balance protect us from all evil approaching from the south.” He repeated this at each cardinal point until he reached the east again and completed the circle. Mandred then raised his staff and drew a circle in the air, above his head. “May the Balance protect us from the evils of the past and the future. Bring us a Hero to be our salvation.” He produced some grey powder from one of his pockets and dropped it into the hot bowl so that there was a loud bang and a bright flash. I suppose that he will pull a rabbit out of his hat next.
It was better than a rabbit. Even Manfred had to agree with that. No sooner had the flash subsided and the appreciative murmurs from the crowd ceased than they heard the sound of a throat clearing behind them. The crowd turned around and gasped, almost as one. Manfred caught himself with mouth open, agog, and quickly tried to recover his composure. Even Mandred appeared surprised, and he had appeared to be expecting some one. Who the Balance is that? An unusual figure walked towards them. He was a young man, very tall and slim, and his skin was extremely white. His hair was long and bright red and cascaded down his shoulders. At his left side, he carried a large, sheathed sword. Most startling was the fact that he was otherwise naked. He walked towards them, hands protecting his private parts from view. Manfred could see enough to know that he was a real red head. The crowd giggled and pointed. The newcomer smiled at them, showing a mouthful of white, healthy teeth. “Hello, I’m Simon,” he said in a strange, nasal accent. “I’m visiting from far away.”
Mandred recovered from his surprise first. He rushed over towards the young man. “Welcome, welcome indeed. Simon, did you say? I’m Mandred. I’ve been expecting you. Did Dammar send a message?”
The youth seemed surprised. “Yes, Simon, Simon Redhead. I don’t know anyone called Dammar. I didn’t think that I would be expected. Do you have any clothes?” Manfred observed Simon, shook his head, and wandered off. Maybe Dammar really is behind this craziness, but if so, he's keeping his cards close to his chest. I wonder what he’s up to? This skinny boy certainly doesn’t look much like a hero. In any case, what need have we of a hero? I’m sure Mandred will take much pleasure in telling me and gloating about it in good time. I can’t be bothered with it now. I’m going to have a lie down and take a nap.
Manfred made his way back to the cave he shared with Mandred. There were few comforts here; he was forced to sleep on the bare ground with a few skins to keep him warm. His back ached constantly. He longed for his comfortable bed back at Melasurej. The food was abominable. When they had first arrived, the tribe had only a rudimentary mastery of fire, so that they often ate semi-raw meat along with fruits and roots. At least now, they had a basic idea of gastronomy. Mandred had taught them better use of the pleasant-tasting herbs that grew nearby in their cooking so that they had some variety of flavour. Unfortunately, they were not yet farming grain crops. Beer had not been invented. Manfred was grumpy again. As well as always being tired, he always felt dirty. They had no proper sanitation. He had finally got the tribe to use fixed latrines, which was a big improvement. They had no utensils to heat water in so a hot wash was a forgone luxury. Bathing was confined to a dip in the river when the weather was conducive. During winter, when the tribe huddled together through the long nights and the river was often frozen over, the smell was almost unbearable.
There were no compensating benefits either. The people could barely string two coherent sentences together and if they did all they seemed to talk about was hunting, food gathering, and the weather. Their vocabulary was very limited and their language was an ugly-sounding guttural grunting that Manfred found distasteful. The only sensible conversation to be had was with Mandred and he seemed deluded and away with the faeries at the best of times. The only excitement was when they were attacked by some of the larger carnivores. The wizards tried not to use their staffs unless they were sorely pressed. The tribe were superstitious enough already, and Mandred liked to prey on that. With Mandred’s help, they now watched the heavens, and plotted the journey of the sun. They were beginning to worship the sun as their god, alongside various spirit deities that ruled their lives, such as the river spirit who often received offerings of food that would have been better used to feed the hungry tribe. They had special celebrations at midsummer and midwinter. They didn’t always get the dates exactly right, but Manfred did feel a glimmer of respect for their attempts. Hungry, thirsty, tired, dirty, and bored. What a life. I hate Adapa. I wish I could sleep for a thousand years! Manfred was definitely cranky.