CHAPTER 3. THE WAILING WATERS

CHAPTER 3. THE WAILING WATERS

The wasteland. A long time ago

I remember a passage from the great book that speaks of a lone rider, who, not far from here, saw the old world come crashing down upon the new. It was a cold and lonely night, and the wind was blowing hard over the sandy dunes. The passage describes the rider as ‘being sat on his steed, a silhouette painted across the black sky, with the full moon behind him just beyond the horizon.’

As the rider hugged his coat about him to keep out the chill, with his scarf wrapped tightly around his mouth and nose, he saw a star fall from the heavens. A star wrapped in what appeared to be ‘greyish green smoke.’ If this accounting of events is to be believed, ‘the earth was filled with a shrill ringing as of the ears when the star fell.’ It fell not more than a stone’s throw from where he stood, with a loud crush that sent large dust clouds into the air. The moon and the stars in the sky went black in that moment. As if they were candles someone had simply blown out. And so the world was covered in

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darkness. The rider notes in his account that he heard what could have been hundreds of wolves howling in the darkness, though he adds with questionable conviction that he does not think they were wolves at all.

The rider scurried down the sand dune to where the star had fallen and saw a deep crater had formed, with its sides sizzling like embers. Inside the fiery crater, he saw a woman unconscious, the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Ten feet tall with skin as black as coal. Her garments were the colour of the smoke that clung to the star he had seen. Lying next to the woman, struggling to get up, was another being. An old man with silvery grey hair, flowing robes not different to those the masters of the east would wear. Though the rider did not know this at the time, the great book says the woman was Rain, the mother of all things, and the man was the god-king, creator of the world and steward of this earth.

Peering down the crater, the rider saw Rain come awake. He could hear her gasping for air even as he pulled back in fear. He took another cautious look and saw her crawling across the ground, seemingly

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disoriented. The god-king grabbed her by the heel. He too appeared disoriented.

Deep inside the crater, far below where the god-king and Rain were, the rider saw that the crater opened up into a kind of underground cave with what could best be described as a lake of molten rock. In the middle of the lake of fire, he saw a fiery monster hunched over what looked like a horse mill of black iron red hot from the fires. The monster, bound in iron chains, was turning the mill as horses normally did, oblivious to the skirmish above him. The rider also did not know this at the time, but this monster was the Caelemon from all the stories. Though thousands of years locked inside the depths of hell had burned away the handsome rogue who once stole the mother’s heart, he was a sight to behold, standing taller than either Rain or the god-king, with his soul ablaze with fire. His soul was all that remained of him, burning brighter than any furnace the rider had ever seen, coated with chunks of rock like a layer of broken skin reminiscent of armour.

Without warning, dark grey smoke came shooting from above onto the chains, forming a hand, at the end

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of which a figure formed, becoming Rain. As suddenly as she had appeared, the god-king came flying right into her. She was flung into the cave wall, the chains in her hand shattering into a thousand pieces as she pulled them with her. She fell into a pool of molten rock, but the fires did not burn her. Though her garments were singed, the larva might as well have been cold water to her skin.

The monster stood up straight, towering frightfully above Rain and the god-king. The rider watched in dismay as the monster, knee-high in magma, flung the chains from his back into the fires and let out a deafening roar.

Rain stumbled to her feet. She could barely stay up, clearly still weak from her scuffle with the god-king. The god-king staggered towards her. He grabbed her by the shoulder, demonstrating as much strength as Rain did. She shrugged him off, causing him to fall back on his knees. Still he grabbed onto her garment, gasping for air, trying to speak.

“Daughter, don’t,” he managed to let out.

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With lighting speed, the monster rushed at Rain. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up into the air, choking her.

She did not resist; in her hand she was still holding her end of the broken chains, twisting her hand in a circular motion, wrapping it around her hand, causing it to tighten. Maybe contemplating fighting back. But she could not do it. Her grasp began to weaken. She let the chains slip slowly from her hand.

The monster roared loudly in her face. Threatening her. Tears began to form in her eyes. The Caelemon did not recognise her.

“Cael,” she sobbed, searching his eyes for her longlost love.

The monster would not relent. He was a terrifying sight. Larger than life. There was not a trace of the Caelemon that used to be on this fateful night. All that remained in his place was a rage so pure you could smell it. He truly did not know her. He did not know the god-king. He did not know himself. By all appearances, he did not even know what he was angry about. But still,

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he had held on to that one thing through all the ages that had since passed.

Distracted by the god-king, the monster cast Rain into the lake of fire, rushing at the god-king. Stopping just short of him, he let out a threatening roar. Beating the ground with the strands of iron still on his giant arms. The god-king stared back at him defiantly. The monster paused there for a moment as they stared down at each other.

Losing interest, he defiantly turned his back on the god-king. He lumbered past Rain, throwing a condescending glance down at her before beginning to climb out of the crater. The rider did not waste a moment. As if this was the cue he had been waiting for, he leaped upon his horse and rode into the night like his life depended on it.

Rain was so still you could swear she was dead. She sat there on her knees, on the ground with magma flowing at her feet, leaning into the wall of rock, hugging herself. You could hear her sobbing quietly.

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The god-king stumbled over to her, reaching to pull her up, but she would not let him. She pushed him away violently.

“I hate you,” she screamed.

The god-king reached towards her again. Her eyes full of tears, she pulled away from him. Then moved back towards him, pushing him away in the chest.

“I hate you,” she screamed again, louder than before. As if trying to make sure he’d heard her.

She grabbed her garment at the chest, bending over like her heart was hurting. She pounded on it. A darkness was forming in her eyes. Her garments seemed to be getting darker too. She was turning into death.

“I hate you,” she whispered to herself.

Caravans pass

I have been standing at the edge of the bridge for quite some time now, considering my options. Of course, there is but one option. I cannot turn back. But still, I find

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comfort in standing here considering my options. To say I do not have faith in the strength of this bridge would be putting things lightly. I am not afraid. Fear is the least of my problems. The problem is I am sure this bridge will come apart the moment I set foot on it.

Indeed, Caravans Pass is exactly as described in the songs. I should probably start with the mountains. Shadow and I are so high up into the mountains that we left most of the air some two days’ ride below us. I should thank the mother regardless, for this is certainly an improvement over the black mountains. What the black mountains lacked in sunshine or light, these make up for and then some. I am half-blind from the glare. Razor sharp rocks have cut into Shadow’s feet, so I can ride her no longer. I cannot leave her here, so I have been dragging her along by the bridle for half a day now. My feet are not any better. We have left a convincing trail of blood-soaked footprints behind us. I can smell the blood burning on the rocky ground, and I swear I can hear it burn. There is no discernible reason for the shrubs that litter the hills to survive in this harsh place, for there is not a grain of sand to be found here, and by all

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appearances, this place has not seen a drop of rain in a very long time. The path, wide enough for a dozen warriors to march through side by side and boasting thirty foot high precipices on both sides, is not hard to follow. That is if you don’t mind the heat and the shredding of your feet. We are so high up into the mountains that we are now shoulder to shoulder with the clouds. I can literally reach out and touch them.

And so the path has led to this bridge. It is a rickety old thing, creaking as it sways gently in the wind, with its wooden treads tied together with camel hair rope. The bridge is missing quite a few treads. And the ones that remain are suffering from dry rot. The bridge crosses a ravine. This is where my eyes fail me, for I cannot tell where it leads. It stretches out as far as the eye can see, the end of it shrouded by the clouds.

Finally garnering enough courage, I take a cautious step forward. The wood beneath me creaks but stays in place. I breathe a sigh of relief and take another step. With a loud rattle, the tread gives way, and for a second, I’m falling through the air. I cry out in pain as I come to a stop. That certainly feels like a dislocated shoulder.

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Shadow whinnies as I hang from her bridle, holding on tightly. She instinctively walks backward, dragging me onto the firm ground. I catch myself laughing out loud.

“That went better than expected,” I blurt out, halftrembling, clearly more shaken than I’m willing to admit. Shadow looks back at me disapprovingly; she is not impressed.

Gathering all the courage I have left, I try it again, this time placing my foot on top of the ropey supports. The bridge creaks as it stretches but does not give way. I take another step. Cautiously. Then another, this time pulling Shadow behind me, making sure she steps right where I had. The bridge rattles. I shut my eyes tightly, waiting to fall to my death, but I do not. The bridge is holding. We continue on, cautiously. One step at a time.

We must be halfway across the bridge by now. I really cannot tell. I hope we are at least halfway across by now. The bridge appears to disappear into the clouds on both sides.

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I come to a sudden halt. Did I hear something? I look to Shadow. She looks back at me with a blank stare. I shake my head at her disapprovingly. All is quiet; maybe it was just my imagination. It sounded like….

I hear it again! ….Whispers!!!

I look around, I cannot see further than a few feet in either direction. The whispers are getting louder. More intense, chattering in a language I cannot understand.

Chattering in a language I cannot understand! I’m having an epiphany. The line from the song. Mothers blessing, this is what the song was talking about!

“Abandon the path of the caravans when the words on the wind lose their meaning.

The words I’m hearing, they don’t have meaning! I hear wheels in the fog. Sounds like a caravan of maybe half a dozen carts. I hear what sounds like a battle cry. The smog suddenly parts before me to reveal a wildlooking man dressed as the desert dwellers do and brandishing a curved sword over his head. But that is not the strangest thing happening at this moment. The strangest thing is he is moving very slowly. Leaping

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through the air, floating there longer than should be possible; even his screams are coming out of his mouth slowly. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. The man should have been on top of me by now but … I swear…I look to Shadow for confirmation. Her jaw has literally dropped as she stares wide-eyed at the assailant in disbelief. A second man appears out of the smog behind him, also wielding a curved sword. Also moving slowly. His face contorting as he attacks in what he probably believes to be a ferocious manner. I hear another cry behind me in the foreign tongue. Definitely a battle cry. By this time, the first assailant is upon us. Shadow and I step aside and watch the man miss us with his weapon. He slowly falls to the ground, elegantly flipping around as he rolls over the wooden treads. They give way beneath him, but he is unaffected, floating on like nothing happened. He raises his weapon and begins to come at us again. By now, the third man I had heard has appeared behind him, wielding a spear. If these men could move as normal men do, they would be ferocious adversaries. I can tell by the grimaces and scars on their

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face, by their clothes, by the sharpness of their swords. I can tell.

A strange vision comes to me. I see myself beaten up and bruised, tied up on a kind of caravan led by the assailants. I’m tied up with some other people. The assailants are slave traders. We are crossing the rickety bridge when a wheel comes loose. The caravan comes apart, dropping down the ravine, dragging the horses down with it. The horses struggle to stay on the bridge. Frantic and wild-eyed, but the carriage is too heavy. I can feel my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

Suddenly, I’m back on the bridge. The three assailants are almost upon me. A fourth and fifth appear behind them out of the mist. I know what the passage meant. I can hear the words ringing in my head.

“Abandon the path of the caravans.”

It is a mad idea, but it is clear to me as day. I pull on Shadow’s reins; the horse reels around. I jump on to her back, taking a quick peak over the edge of the bridge. I cannot see a thing beyond the foggy white. I dig my heel into the side of the horse as the second man slowly

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swings his sword at my head. The horse turns around and jumps off the bridge into the mist.

We are falling through the air. The horse lands on a floating boulder the size of a hut. She tumbles over, throwing me over as she is flung just over me. I tumble off the edge of the boulder. The horse comes to a halt just at the edge. I grab onto the horse’s reins, hanging off the edge of the bolder.

The sky is lined with a trail of floating boulders leading off the edge of the bridge, floating in mid-air. They are like small mountains in the air.

The force of the landing causes the boulder to float towards the next boulder. I realise I am about to get crushed between them. I pull myself up off the side just as the two boulders come crashing into each other with a thud. My arm hurts. I breathe in hard, trying to catch my breath.

The next boulder begins to float away. Instinctively, I jump back onto Shadow’s back. The boulder is getting further away. I dig my heels into the side of the horse. It leaps into the air. Onto the next boulder with a perfect

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landing. I race Shadow on the floating trail. Jumping from boulder to boulder. Just as I am getting into the stride of things, I hear shrill ringing. The air is filled with it. The sound is deafening. Shadow comes to a gentle stop. She reels around. Standing on two feet, she lets out a neigh even as I hold on to her with all the strength I can master. The ringing is continuous, like air blown over a thousand hollow gourds. I get down from Shadow’s back to investigate the shrill ringing sound.

Off to the side of the boulder is a thin film of water. A film of water that starts as just droplets at the edges, turning into a paper-thin film that gets thicker and thicker. The film of water leads to a beach in the air. A beach lined randomly with boulders of rock.

I take off my sandal and throw it onto the beach. It lands ok, staying in place. I cautiously step into the water, testing it before putting all my weight onto my foot. It is solid ground. I lead the horse behind me. I can see my reflection in the water. I pick up my sandal and put it back on. The underside of the beach is a reflection of the top. But it is more than a reflection. It is as real as the top. I feel vertigo; my head is spinning. I feel myself

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spinning from the top to the bottom of these two worlds and back again over and over. Both sides are the same. I cannot tell which is real. Both sides are the same, except for one thing, we are not on the other side. Shadow and I are only on this side. Then I notice another thing. There is a city on the other side. It begins where the sands touch the water, with small wooden huts built on stilts lining the beach as far as the eye can see. The huts look abandoned. The whole place looks abandoned. And yet, they’re surprisingly sturdy. I could swear people lived in them not more than 2 years ago. The land rises steeply from there, giving way to a hilly terrain on which the cityscape sits. The houses get bigger and bigger the higher you go. The larger houses are built out of white washed stone that glows in the sun. The streets are narrow, paved in stone, and there is a castle….

“Nottingham!”

Suddenly, it hits me. This is Nottingham. The castle isn’t a castle at all. It is a temple. It’s the temple! Seated at the top of the highest peak. It is not made of white stone as described in the book. The stone is mostly red.

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Faded red. The columns are white, with hints of white around the doors and windows. But none of that is on my side of the world. On my side, the beach gives way to hills matching the terrain of the other side. Even the peak on which the temple sits is here. But not one structure in sight.

I fall to my knees, finally allowing myself to feel tired. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. Nottingham is on an island. An island in the air where the underside is a reflection of the top side. I can still hear the shrill sound. Continuously ringing. It’s the water. The wailing waters. I take a drink of the water. It tastes better than expected. I lie down on the sand in the shallows, the waters caressing my back. The boulders scattered randomly around the beach bear witness to my triumph. I’ve decided to ignore the small problem of how I’m going to get to the underside of this world. I close my eyes, breathing in the cool fresh air. I hear Shadow’s breathing, his shadow blocking the sun as he licks my face. I decide to ignore him.

“Nobody makes it to Nottingham,” I laugh. “Nobody that is, except me!”

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