Chapter 4

(Berman arrives at Sai)

A particle of dust from a far distant volcano had been floating in the atmosphere for over two years. But now its time had come. A tiny bit of water coalesced on the dust particle causing it to begin a gentle downward drifting into the lower atmosphere. There it encountered more and more tiny particles of water, imparting even greater weight which would have kept it falling even faster but for the rising warm air. But eventually the air cooled enough that the updrafts lessened and the cloud droplet became a rain droplet, born of innumerable collisions with smaller water particles. The weight now decided the matter; it fell decisively.

Had it functional eyes it would have seen this: A tall thin boy with dark hair stumbling across a wide expanse of savanna. Behind him were five other figures trotting behind and beside him, but a respectful distance. Everyone was obviously focused on the boy. Anyone could tell that, even a rain drop at a hundred feet, if it had mysteriously sprouted eyes. Everyone knew that the boy was the center of attention, except the boy himself.

The boy was filthy; covered in mud and dust congealed by sweat and blood. He was breathing erratically, eyes unfocused in a trance, and in the grip of fever.

His pursuers were not at all intent on catching up with the boy, although it was beginning to sprinkle and each secretly hoped that this task would soon be over so they could take shelter from the coming rain. But they continued to walk only fast enough to herd him. By this time they knew he was only vaguely aware of them. Even when they had been hollering and loosing arrows and rocks in his general direction using fear to guide his feet, he showed no fear, though he let the tactics guide him just the same. The boy had no fear, because he had no focused awareness of his surroundings. Why this should be so, the pursuers did not know, but it suited their purpose, and so they continued, cautiously. They were firm in their intent to follow their instructions and guide him to the appointed place.

The boy for his part continued to dizzily avoid whatever obstacles he encountered which included these tormentors that hounded him, as was only proper. If he could hear their feet rustling the grass he would move away from the sound. If he could see a form through his peripheral vision as he vacantly stared at the onrushing grass, he would adjust his course to gently steer away from the form. But he acted as an automaton. He was being guided and he knew it. They were guiding him to his execution, he thought, vaguely, and he was thankful that these unknown angels of death were making the effort to guide him to whatever end, finally, awaited him.

Eventually the nature of the grasses changed. They were more fibrous, more juicy and after a while, more woody. Finally they vanished altogether and were replaced by water. Running water. He had stumbled into a river. As he did so he spun around in a befuddled manner and noticed through a mental fog that his pursuers had stopped and were now simply staring at him.

As he closed his eyes he saw them raising their bows. They were going to kill him now, he knew. He made no judgments about them; they were simply the means to fate’s end. They were every bit as much fate’s puppets as was he. As he waited and felt the water running against his thighs. It was cool and so refreshing that it reminded him of better, simpler times. The rain fell stronger now, washing his head and baptizing him into whatever world came next. The time had finally come.

But nothing happened. He opened his eyes ever so slightly. No one was there. They had gone. He looked all around and could not see them. They were gone. He felt faint. The oppression returned. The mental fog returned, with a vengeance; if it had ever really left. He sighed exhaustedly and continued stumbling along through the water in his original direction, not knowing if the water would deepen and drown him–he vaguely wished it would–or if he would make it to the other side.

As it happened it was a shallow river, perhaps because there had been no rain upriver for several weeks now, or perhaps because it was simply a shallow river. As it happened, both were true. He was lucky to have made it across the sandbars when he did as the rain that was now just starting to fall would, in a few hours, make the waters surge.

As he slowly walked out of the river, shoulders sagging, his eyes began to roll as he looked at he scene before him. A town larger than any he had ever seen lay spread out before and above him. At the building nearest him a group of children and adults sat on the ground laughing at a puppet show in front of them . . . until they saw him. For some reason even he could not make out the very idea of a puppet show enraged him, giving him energy he had not had for days. He approached them.

* * *

Alfie's was the major inn in Sai. Alfie was the owner and innkeeper. His wife of 35 years, Kamitie (KAM-i-ty) or Kamy for short, was his major helper who served as the premier chef and maid.

Sai did have a rather large and well-appointed Commons Building where meals were served all day long for any who wished to make an appearance. It had recreation areas and lounge areas, so that people could hold meetings or interact socially and not have to have or maintain kitchens and other such rooms unless they wanted to. Many did have fully functioning homes. Many did not and made good use of the Commons Building.

Alfie's, however, was different. It was a business, for one thing. It was also the haunt of interesting groups of individuals. It had more of an intellectual quality to it, though it was also quite down to earth and relaxed. If one wanted to lounge one went to the Commons Building . If one wanted to think about, or ponder, some perplexing or difficult subject one came to Alfie's. By far, most people chose the Commons Building. It was, as it always had been, much more appealing to not think about things too much. That might be the epitaph of humanity: “They cared not to think.”

Alfie was a native of the village/town Sai. He was born there, had never ventured more than sixty miles from it and fully intended to die there. That was his story and he stuck to it. The towns-folk knew it was true because they had seen him there virtually every day of their lives. Everyone knew him and he knew everyone.

He was a large man, more so in girth than in height, of about forty years. When he could he would greet everyone as they entered his establishment; but when he could not, he would get to them soon enough in his capacity as waiter. Far more often than not he knew the patron rather intimately as he had spent many hours in conversation with them. The major part of his clientèle, which was a sizable number, bordered on family; unofficial family that had to eventually pay their tab, of course.

This day Alfie's was not very busy when Raem entered and was immediately greeted with a hearty, “Raem, old boy, how are you today?”

Raem was one of Alfie's most trusted and valued clients. In fact he was far more than a mere client. He was the village doctor, priest and general purpose “wise man.” He seemed to know more than any man had a right to know. How he gained this knowledge no one knew. He simply showed up some 45 years ago as a young man and settled in to replace the previous priest who had died of old age.

It was well known that he was a Neevenite, and this is what Neevenites did. They helped people, both physically and spiritually. Rumor had it that there were other Neevenites who helped in more mysterious and anonymous ways, but by definition, people did not know who they were or what they did. Raem was not about to tell. When confronted with the issue, he would simply scoff, “Ah! Old tall tales. Look to what you know.” Neevenites such as Raem were primarily priests who ministered to all faiths, but they were also trained to act as doctors, and in some cases even lawyers. Raem tried not to dabble in politics and law, though he certainly had his opinions. Many also thought of him as a sag, which made him laugh

Today, there were also two other local characters at Alfie's. They had arrived earlier and were now engaged in an animated discussion at a table near the south windows. They were two Thimsün Guards. The Guard was stationed in Sai because of its proximity to the Zone. Sai was a crossroads of commerce and cultures, which made it ripe for friction, and needing special attention of the martial sort.

These two were well-known braggarts and fools; colorful characters and harmless in everyone's experience. They obviously cared about the people of Sai. They were mostly loved and sometimes tolerated, but usually dismissed as, 'just those characters from the Guard.' Everyone knew them as simply Blue and Purple. No one knew their real names or where they were from before entering the Guard.

Today, they had been arguing with each other for about half an hour before Raem's arrival about the strange goings on they and others had been witnessing.

“I'm tellin ya,” said the short and stout Blue, “nature is goin' crazy. It's like nature has the 'flu.”

“Ach,” said Purple, “it's nothing more than hangovers and dreams, and maybe a few pranksters at that.”

“No, I've seen it, an I'm tellin' ya, its real. Nature's loosin' it for real.”

It was at this point that Raem came in greeted by Alfie's “Raem, old boy, how are you today?”

To which Raem replied, “Doing fine Alf, just tired. How can you wake me up?”

“Well, I've just the thing right over here.” Alfie puled out a hot mug of water and placed a strainer in it. “It might take a bit to get you going, but get you going it will.”

“What is it,” Raem asked.

“Herbal tea, made right here at The Inn!”

“Oh, that,” Raem said. “Yes, that will do. And what is happening with you?”

“Kind of quiet today. I'm just cleaning behind the counter and listening to Blue and Purple rant over there.”

“What is is today?”

“Well, sir, it seems Blue saw a tree bend over, pick up a squirrel and toss it into the river this morning” Alfie said. “Can you imagine that?”

“Well, there is something going on. I've been getting reports from all over about just such hallucinations,” Raem said.

“They are hallucinations then?”

“Oh yes. Undoubtedly.”

“How can you tell.”

“I have investigated quite a few of these reports. The people are fine, except for being scared out of their wits.”

“Oh?” said Alfie.

“Yes; take Galmir, the farmer up north on the Bierood. He saw a tree suddenly catch fire and burn down in less than five seconds. Even went over and stirred the ashes. They were cold. He took a handful and put it in his pocket to show me.”

“Sounds pretty convincing, though I've never known any tree to burn up that fast.”

“No one has”, said Raem. “I had him to take me to where it happened, because when he went to show me the ashes in his pocket – there weren't any.”

“Nothing?”

“Not even a smudge on the cloth of his pocket,” Raem said.

“Hmph. And?”

“And. . . the tree was there, just fine. Not a scorch mark on it.”

“Hallucinating? Why?”

Raem paused a bit to consider what he said next. He lowered his voice and said, “Well, don't tell anyone because this could cause quite a scare. I think it is some sort of bug that is going around, but I cannot figure out how it is spreading.”

“You would think that if it is spreading so much, it would center on the Commons Building, or on my establishment,” Alfie said, definite concern in his voice.

“Oh, I've considered it, though there is not much I can do about it except to watch and see what happens. If you see any of your chairs or tables start walking around, please let me know,” Raem said.

“You may be sure I will,” Alfie replied. “But for now, drink up,” he said, offering Raem this tea.

* * *

At that moment Berman was standing on the road about a half mile east of Sai watching his coach drive off toward it. He had asked to be let off, preferring to walk the last stretch. Too much had already happened to him, and he wanted to let Sai settle into his consciousness slowly.

As he looked toward Sai he saw what could be termed either a large village or a small town. He could not see all of it so he decided to err on the side of a small town. In fact he was able to see approximately half of it. It was spread out over bout half mile of rather hilly terrain, with most of the homes nestled on the hills, neither in the troughs between them nor on the hill tops. A large building attempting a low profile covered the better part of a central hill. But then all the buildings had a low profile; a remnant of this regions prairie years that favored buildings that shunted the wind off their roofs.. Berman just could make out a few people lounging on a balcony facing him. Later he would learn that this was the Commons Building.

Below, on the south east end of the town was another large building, or rather a small complex of buildings perhaps. It was right along the road. A sign hung out front. As he approached he began to make it out. It was an image of a man standing on a boat grasping a pole. As he came closer he could see the words “Inn of the Lone Boatman.” Everyone just called it “Alfie's.” The Inn occupied an elevated area on the edge of Sai, near the river and beside the road.

The coach, however, had stopped quite a way further up the hill, deeper into the town, and just a few buildings short of the Commons Building. Nearby was a small annex to the Commons Building that acted as a hotel for travelers, the Commons Inn. It was little more than a rooming house, so when Berman arrived he was not very impressed and asked if other lodgings were in town. He was referred to the Lone Boatman.

Thus it was that Berman found himself entering Alfie's with what little baggage traveled with him.

Alfie was right there to greet him. “Hello, Stranger.” Berman could hear the capitalized “S” in Stranger. It had the sound of welcome and respect. “Do you need refreshment for your tongue or for your back. Or perhaps both?”

“Well, thank you, Stranger,” Berman replied, trying to match Alfie's intonations. “Perhaps both, depending on what I can afford.”

“Oh, you can afford,” said Alfie. “We will make sure of that.” Berman smiled and let out a small laugh at this.

Already Lora, a maid, was there with a small cart to relieve Berman of the burden of his luggage. Alfie stepped out from behind the counter, and after a glance at Berman's luggage, paused briefly with the question hanging in the air: 'may I take your baggage?' Berman nodded, and Alfie placed the bags on the cart. Lora wheeled them off behind the counter, but not out of sight. It was a ritual, and it felt like a ritual. At no time did the guest feel pressured to participate in it.

Berman looked around to take gage of the establishment. Alfie said, “please join us; would you prefer a local tea or the local brew?”

“A tea sounds good, whichever you advise for clearing dust from the throat.”

Alfie busied himself with the order, and Raem took over. “Hello, my name is Raem.”

“Nice to meet you. I am Berman.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Berman.”

“Just Berman is fine.”

“From where do you hail?”

“Taegenbo, but I've been traveling a bit. I was staying at Parsk.”

At this Raem's eyes lit up. “Ah, then perhaps you know Shana and Tarm?”

“Yes I do. I have been staying with them for nearly a year.”

“You must know them well,” Raem observed.

“Oh yes. We've known each other for 15 years or more. You know them, then?”

Raem leaned back against the wall. “I've known Tarm for perhaps 7 years and had the pleasure of meeting Shana some 4 years ago.”

“Then you must be Raem.”

“Indeed; indeed and in fact; I am. Even as you say.”

“They told me to look you up when I arrived.”

“Oh? And why is that; what is your quest?”

Berman laughed. “No quest, I am afraid. Well not much of one. It is as if I was told to come here, and I have no idea why.”

“Indeed again. Shana and Tarm told you to come here?”

“No, not exactly. It is a long story.”

Raem pulled on his beard. “This sounds interesting, you must tell me more.”

Berman opened his mouth to speak but then immediately closed it again. The door opposite the entrance had opened and a boy was being carried in unconscious. Everyone was leaping to their feet to attend him or to see who he was and what was wrong with him.

It was inevitable that someone would say, “What's wrong with him?” And so it was.

Lacmun, the local blacksmith answered, “I don't know. We were just watching the puppet show outside when this fellow came in swinging, muttering something about 'mocking,' 'damn gGod,' 'no more puppets' and other such nonsense; then he lays into the puppets! Ripped them to pieces!”

Raem was checking him out. He said, “well sir, he has a lot of cuts, scratches and bruises, none too serious in themselves, but all together it is serious. He has a very serious fever. I am sure he is exhausted and quite delirious on top of it. On second thought a few of these bruises just might have been serious enough to cause some internal damage. And a few of these cuts could have been self inflicted.”

Everyone was silent while Raem inventoried the damage. He concluded with, “I doubt that any of this is life threatening, so long as he gets some serious nursing. If you don't mind, I am going to take him home and put him up for awhile.” Then, turning to Berman, he said, “I don't suppose you'd be interested in doing that nursing in return for a roof over your head, would you? That is if Alfie here doesn't mind me stealing his business.”

Alfie made a sweeping gesture with his hand as if you say 'after you,' and said aloud, “the boy's health is more important. Have at him. Is there anything we can do?”

“Indeed there is,” replied Raem. Could you send breakfast for three over for the next, oh, say two days?” Might lessen the load a bit.” He looked at the boy and added, “better make it scrambled eggs.”

“Absolutely,” said Alfie. “Anything we can do to help.”

Raem said, “alright, how about two of you carry the boy while I help Berman here with his luggage.”

Lacmun and two others volunteered to help and the little procession was off out the main door and up the hill towards Raem's farmstead, about a quarter mile away.