The Yaakmen of Tyrie
Part 1: Confluence
A serial novel by
Mark Paul Jacobs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Mark Paul Jacobs
All rights reserved
Maps: Copyright © 2009 by Mark Paul Jacobs
Cover design by Mark Paul Jacobs
Discover other titles by Mark Paul Jacobs at
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The Yaakmen of Tyrie Part 1: Confluence (Available)
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6422
The Yaakmen of Tyrie Part 2: Isolation (Available)
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6423
The Yaakmen of Tyrie Part 3: Betrayal (Available)
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6424
The Yaakmen of Tyrie Part 4: Destiny (Due in 2011)
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Reference:
1 day = 1 earth day (approx.)
1 year = 2595 days = 7 earth years (approx.)
Cycles of Ellini = 23 days Summer cycles = 58.4 Winter cycles =54.4
Cycles of Alberon = 61 days Summer cycles 22.0 Winter cycles =20.5
THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE
CHAPTER 1
“Winter arrives early in the high regions,” thought Quintar, recalling one of his mentor Carathis’s stern lectures, offered so many cycles ago during his youthful training, far away to the southeast below the Great River’s confluence.
“Many good Yaakriders have been lost venturing into the high mountains after the leaves of Payet lose their summer hues. Most are lured by plentiful game― fattened by winter’s approach― and quick profit.” Quintar rubbed his eyelids, ever haunted by the Supreme Yaakleader’s fierce glare and waving finger. “But the experienced amongst our guild understand the danger of late season hunts. They know well, that paths amid the peaks can narrow to little more than a Yaak’s breast, and howling blizzards can sweep from deceivingly peaceful skies.”
Beneath Quintar, the huge Yaak-beast shuddered. “You must never forget, young Yaakrider― carelessness can bring swift death.”
Quintar stroked his sweat-gnarled beard and brushed unkempt brown hair from broad shoulders. The Supreme Yaakleader’s image―swirling through Quintar’s weary mind― faded slowly to towering snow-swept peaks, glowing pale-red beneath Ellini’s crescent.
Quintar searched the deepening sky for bright yellow Alberon, and shivered anticipating winter’s approach― lonely Thermegan skimming the western horizon following cycles of bitter cold, and snow piled higher than a man’s shoulder, or a Yaak’s knees. He pulled his battered overcoat close, and his longbow tight.
Beneath him, the Yaak-beast distributed her bulk over two powerful legs. Her hunched neck supported an over-sized head, complete with a flattened nose, and a mouth that most Yaakriders deemed more sheep-like than a creature of the forest.
Quintar felt the beast quake again. “Steady Shila,” he whispered, stretching his own cramped legs bound to a harness fastened to the Yaak’s shaggy hip.
Shila turned slowly from the clearing and raised her hairy head. She fixed saucer eyes upon the distant slopes, and drew deep breaths into her massive lungs.
Silently, Quintar studied the endless peaks upon which the Yaakbeast gazed― the great northern mountains disappeared beyond the clouds, and Quintar’s familiarity. Shila thrust forth two strong arms― each the length of a man― flexing spindly fingers as if clawing some nameless and unseen foe.
Moments later, the huge biped turned leisurely back to the clearing. Quintar shook has head. No man could ever understand a Yaak's thoughts, he mused.
Suddenly, Quintar noticed three pig-creatures meandering near the forest’s edge. Glancing to Shila’s right, he located massive Anderro, squatting several meters into the wood. Upon Anderro’s hip, Lenna pulled two arrows from his quiver. Quintar turned his eyes to Thimbar, crouching motionless near the forest’s opening below. Thimbar’s rider Enro returned Quintar’s glance. Quintar loaded his bow.
Lenna released his arrow, striking a pig’s breast. Quintar’s arrow thumped the yelping animal a heartbeat later.
A net jumped from the meadow’s floor near Thimbar. Shila and Anderro lumbered forward, flanking the pigs. The prey zigzagged toward stationary Thimbar. Two pigs ran directly into the net― ensnared and thrashing― while the wounded creature skipped wide, and raced from the clearing. Quintar caught Lenna’s eye, and then urged Shila past Thimbar and into the woods.
Quintar held tight as Shila ambled through the forest drawing pig’s scent through flared nostrils. The ground sloped downward and the trees gave way to squat bushes. Shila plodded down a steep bank, slowed, and halted.
Quintar inhaled deeply. He pushed aside the Yaak’s mane, and peered out over a mountain stream ravine― wide and shallow― strewn with huge boulders and uprooted trunks. Quintar’s prey lay convulsing beneath Shila’s three-pronged toes.
Quintar pulled himself from his harness and hurriedly gutted the pig-creature. He tossed the entrails to gathering scavengers, and secured the carcass to Shila’s side. Quintar staggered to the stream’s edge. He dipped his knife into the frigid water and glanced downstream.
A dull metallic surface caught the Yaakman’s eye.
Quintar paused. He tossed icy water across his brow and brushed away the drops. Quintar scanned the rocky riverbank again, and instantly spotted the peculiar object buried amid roots at the stream’s edge. Quintar pondered for a moment, and then gazed upward and upon the barren cliffs overlooking the vale. He shook his head.
Quintar trudged downward along the stream’s edge and approached the clump. He reached out and guardedly stroked the object’s smooth surface. Clutching some roots, he pulled himself atop the knotted mess, and froze. A mesh of smashed compartments and jagged metal beams lay before him.
Quintar lowered himself into the root-clogged jumble. He noticed a single undamaged compartment, about man-height, with dirt-caked walls and what appeared to be a circular entryway at waist level. He ran his hands across the entrance and brushed moss from a latch at the gateway’s center. Quintar rubbed his hairy chin. He grasped the handle firmly, and turned. The door popped open. A moldy stench filled the Yaakman’s nostrils. He crawled inside.
Quintar’s eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. In the shadows, he saw two unclothed human skeletons strapped to cushioned seats by the neck and waist. Metallic bracelets bound the skeleton's ankles and hands.
He paused.
Quintar pulled himself from the chamber, and atop the root-clump. He found Shila wandering along the rocky shallows, and hurriedly climbed into her harness. Without urging, Shila set off trampling through the reeds and up the riverbank. Quintar never looked back.
Shila plodded back to the meadow where they’d begun their chase. Quintar noticed small, green-furry rodents scurrying over the entrails of Lenna and Enro’s prey, and winged scavengers lurking in the shadowy trees above Anderro and Thimbar. Below the stoic beasts, Enro and Lenna gathered their weapons.
Lenna grinned broadly. “Quintar, have you ever seen such Chakra? Just another quarter cycle and―”
“Daylight burns quickly,” Quintar replied abruptly. “And Alberon rises late tonight.” Quintar caught Enro’s steely gaze. “At sunrise, we return to Tyrie.”
Lenna spat and sheathed his knife. Enro stroked his gray beard. Enro climbed atop Thimbar, and Lenna mounted Anderro. Hurriedly, the two hairy beasts lumbered into the darkening woods.
The meadow quieted.
Quintar watched scavengers pick the Chakra’s remains. His thoughts drifted. He noticed a Great Thrikar circling against the ever deepening sky; its enormous wings unfurled and bulbous eyes shifting. The bird swooped over the bloody entrails, sending furry scavengers squealing and scattering. The Thrikar hovered for a moment, and then in a furious rush, snatched the pig’s head in its sharp talons. Majestically, it whooshed skyward, carrying away its prize.
Quintar sighed. With little urging, Shila sprung forward and into the forest.
Quintar closed his eyes as the forest rushed by. Thimbar led the giant Yaaks single file through the brush and woods. Quintar held tight to hairs on Shila’s lower neck while the strangeness of the object along the riverbank haunted him still.
The three beasts ambled over a ridge, and descended the bank of a mountain stream. They followed the stream down a narrow, twisting path. Quintar listened to the splashing of enormous feet through shallow water.
Darkness overcame the forest and the trio of beasts slowed. Quintar noticed glowing campfires on the opposite shore.
He thought only of rest.
**********
Quintar lay under his canvass shelter wrapped in woolen blankets. Ominous clouds moved from the north and both moons disappeared from the night sky. Quintar saw his warm breath by the campfire’s light. He drifted into a restful sleep.
He was alone atop a high pinnacle where the air was clear and also quite thin. Above his head, fluffy white clouds rolled effortlessly towards a horizon with no end. The sky was a deeper blue than he had ever seen. But he could see no sun!
A vast, green valley lay before him, sliced by a wide river, and cradled by steep slopes and rolling hills. To the north, the river split at a vast confluence surrounded by checkered farmlands. Below the river’s convergence, on the river’s western shore, a congregation of homesteads― bellowing white smoke― set upon tiers connected by a labyrinth of seven twisting roads.
Quintar recognized the settlement of Tyrie: the greatest of three colonies that encompassed the lands of the Great Confluence. And the place he had grown to manhood.
An odd-looking, gold and black Thrikar flew over his head and perched on a rock ledge next to him. “Behold,” said the bird to the astonished Quintar. The bird pointed its wing downward, toward the confluence’s farmlands.
Quintar envisioned his youth nearly four seasons past: the towering figure of his father atop his plow, driving snorting Zampha-ox through fertile fields washed by spring’s massive flooding. And his father’s smiling face as he lifted Quintar to hold its reins.
“There will come a time when you and your brother will take over,” Quintar heard his father say. “Then you can teach your sons as I’ve taught you, and carry on our most honorable traditions. You will be the fifth, Quintar; you will be our fifth generation.”
Quintar saw his young self, withdrawn and silent.
Quintar recalled the first time he witnessed the brave Yaakriders emerge from the wilds on their mysterious beasts, their manner stern and their faces hardened from years of unimagined adventures in distant regions. He thought of nothing else since.
He remembered the day he received the letter bearing the Supreme Yaakleader’s seal, and his great joy, followed by deep sadness. He recalled his mother’s tears on the day he left to begin his apprenticeship, and his sister’s embrace. He remembered approaching his father working the fields, but the farmer wiped his brow and looked away, and Quintar moved onward…
Quintar lowered his head, and then he scowled. “You have shown me nothing I don’t already know, bird. Why torment me, so?”
The bird squawked: “You do not know all, Yaakrider. Many things of this world are shrouded in darkness. But, if want to see, you must first let yourself fly. Do you wish to be blind forever?”
Quintar furrowed his brow. “But I cannot fly, I have no wings. I’ll plummet to the ground to my death.”
“You will not fall, if you search for the truth,” the bird cackled. Then the bird launched from its perch and flew away toward the eastern horizon. Moments later, it was gone.
Quintar looked around, and to his astonishment, his arms became wings made of bright, multicolored feathers. He looked downward at huge talons where his feet should have been. He moved his wings tentatively at first, but as he gained confidence, he flapped hard. Suddenly, he lifted from the ground.
The feeling was like none he had experienced before. He felt a sense of exhilaration, and freedom. He soared above the highest perch, above the highest mountain, and down the valley of the Great River. He glided above the tallest trees, across green meadows, and fields, and over deep-blue lakes.
“Look up there! The Thrimara,” the people of the valley cried. “He will make us see. He will show us!”
“I am not worthy,” Quintar replied, with eyes downcast.
“Lead us,” they said. “Or we will live forever in darkness.”
“I will try. I can only try, but I can’t promise―”
He flew out of the valley towards the distant eastern mountains and upon a strong updraft, spiraled into blue sky. When he reached the farthest mountain, he began to struggle; his wings felt like stone. He felt as if he were flying through water.
He could go no farther.
He looked down at his feet and gasped― his thin bird-ankles were bound with heavy metal rings.
He plummeted, but never reached the ground.
Quintar awoke to the sounds of snoring Yaakriders. Dawn had not arrived, yet the camp glowed in a dull light. He propped himself up for a better look.
A blanket of fresh snow covered the forest’s floor.
CHAPTER 2
The late morning sun had just peeked above the Valley of the Great Confluence as Quintar pushed through throngs of swirling citizens and barking peddlers in Tyrie’s Central Marketplace. He stopped, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Memories of the long hunt evaporated within pungent aromas of roasting meats and boiling stews.
“Looking for somewhere to spend your credits, good Yaakman,” bellowed a smiling merchant, bowing curtly. “Well, as you can see, I have the finest goods of all three settlements. Perhaps you’d be interested in a nice wool coat, stitched by the finest seamstresses in the northern settlement of Norelda, or lush furs gathered at outposts on the wilderness’s edge. I also have smoked fish, caught and prepared south of the falls of Kahnor at the noble settlement of Adair.”
Quintar ran his fingers through freshly clipped hair. He noticed Lenna standing beside the merchant’s inventory.
The merchant eyed both men and smiled wryly. “Master Lenna has been telling me of your good fortune during the hunt of a cycle past― a hunt, led by your noble self, I’m told.”
“He has?” Quintar grinned.
“Come, good Yaakriders, there’s little reason to be coy. Every merchant in Tyrie has seen your recent bounty. Most agree it was the finest Chakra-pig presented at auction in recent memory. Sadly, an unpretentious merchant like me could not dream of matching the highest bids.”
Quintar sighed.
“Maybe you wish to treat your beasts to some tubers as tribute to their service. A gesture of good fortune, is it not?” The merchant turned and gathered a yellow-green root. “Just look at this fresh Charkur. Do your beasts not deserve the best?”
“Farm-grown?” Quintar asked.
“I can assure you this root is certified-grown by the farmers on the Great Confluence, good Yaakriders. Fair-minded merchants are well aware of the statutes forbidding the collection of the beast’s wild feed.” He bowed.
Lenna grabbed the root and sniffed. He caught Quintar’s eye then nodded. The merchant smiled and pulled five huge bags from his stockpile. Quintar paid his due. The merchant turned and whistled, and a napping wagonmaster popped to attention. The merchant raised his brow. “Lazy Gob, but he gets the job done alright.” He pulled closer. “When he’s not been hitting the Jenna.”
The wagonmaster whipped his reins, and a hairy quadruped with curled horns pulled the wagon to the Yaakmen. The wagonmaster tugged a square patch over his left eye and twisted his pocked face. “Where can I take the noble Yaakriders?”
“Meadows,” Lenna said.
“That’ll be eight credits.”
Lenna sniffed.
“You Yaakriders can afford it, and don’t tell me you can’t.”
“Five, or you can go back to sleep.”
“Well, I could use the rest.” The wagonmaster’s thin lips curled. “But for six, I might be coaxed.”
Quintar and Lenna loaded the wagon and hopped aboard. The wagonmaster thrashed his reins, and the Zampha-creature started down Tyrie’s bustling streets.
Quintar braced his leg against the buckling wagon. He gazed outward over the endless parade of faces. He closed his eyes.
Lenna spoke: “I’ve been told, Carathis has chosen you to accompany him to the Council of Representatives. Let me be first to offer congratulations.”
Quintar waved his hand. “Any Yaakleader may have been selected.”
“That may be so, yet even you must concede there are leaders more senior―”
“And more eager,” Quintar replied. “Carathis cares little of seniority, you know this well.”
“Nor does Carathis care of others grumbling within the guild, or so it appears.”
“I cannot speak for others.”
Lenna grinned. “None were surprised Carathis named you representative, my friend. Even Hassen could find no Yaakrider to bet against you, although he would have eagerly wagered on himself.”
“No rider would have questioned Hassen’s appointment.”
“Yet many say Hassen’s time has passed, while others say Quintar’s time draws closer.”
Quintar hesitated. “Hassen has rightfully earned his status as Carathis’s second. Riders should not demean his rank.”
“Agreed.” Lenna eyed the Yaakleader sharply. “Yet perhaps in your case, Carathis is motivated beyond loyalty?”
Quintar grimaced. “Ruma?”
“Your father leads the Council, does he not?”
“Carathis knows politics. He understands that Ruma and I are father and son in blood only. What advantage could Carathis seek?”
“And your brother Hayden has also been chosen to represent the confluence’s farmers?”
Quintar chuckled mockingly. “Hayden thinks even less of me than my father. We have not spoken since childhood.”
“Still…”
“Listen closely, Lenna. Hayden has spent half his life trying to ride Ruma’s reputation into the Great Meeting Hall. He even brags of replacing Ruma when my father passes. I wish him well, yet unless Carathis has chosen me simply to enrage Ruma, I can only predict Ruma’s indifference.” Quintar shrugged.
Lenna leaned back with satisfaction. “So you do take an interest in politics?”
“I have little interest in days filled with boring speeches and endless debates.”
Lenna nudged Quintar and pointed toward a tall man striding through the crowd clad in heavy coat and boots made of wild animal skins. A long, red beard hung from the man’s rugged face, and he lugged a rack of rich furs across his broad shoulders. Quintar watched the stranger stroll past the cart and disappear amongst the swarming citizens.
Lenna spat.
Quintar shook his head. “Our rest will be brief. Carathis has ordered us to meet the Noreldan representatives at Lake Noralda’s ferry docks upon Alberon's half-phase. Hassen has been ordered south to Adair to escort the representatives from the southern settlement.”
The wagon exited the markets and the Zampha-creature clomped through Tyrie’s lowest tier. Soon they passed Tyrie’s Great Meeting Hall and Hall of Commerce, and many large, private homes owned by Tyrie’s successful merchants and traders, or political leaders, or organizers of metalworker or mining guilds. Beyond the buildings to the east, lay a sloping floodplain ending at the banks of the Great River― its blue-green water seeping gracefully southward.
The road twisted upward and the homesteads became more modest, constructed for a growing class of smaller merchants, tradespeople, weapon makers, carpenters, and builders. Druiden, master of Adair’s Academy of Knowledge and census taker, reported that over nine thousand humans resided just below the Great River’s confluence.
The wagon creaked up the stony road. Quintar and Lenna raised their heads basking in the sun’s bitter warmth.
“Have you found a buyer for your homestead?” Quintar asked suddenly.
“A merchant came to me a few cycles ago. He says he wants it for his son or daughter. He’s stopping by tomorrow.”
“Your furnishings alone should fetch a decent price.”
“There are many bitter memories in those rafters, and most I’d rather forget.” Lenna paused. “Yet I’ll consider his offer.”
Quintar glanced downward, wordless.
The wagon reached the valley’s ridge, and Quintar beheld the entire valley gleaming in the afternoon sun. The path cut westward and they were swallowed by deep shadows. Broad, colored leaves littered the forest and road.
They plodded into a wide meadow where shapes, like caves constructed of branches and mud, lined each side of the well-trod field. Each hut was about eight meters in height with a three meter wide opening. The huts continued deep into the forest.
The road ended in a loop. The wagonmaster pulled his beast to a stop, and the Yaakmen unloaded the wagon. The driver whipped the Zampha-beast’s reins and the cart creaked back into the grove.
Several hairy Yaaks meandered through the clearing. A few young Yaaks, little more than the height of a man, carried bulbs of roots and tubers in their furry arms. The mature Yaaks lumbered around seemingly oblivious to the Yaakmen’s presence.
Quintar noticed Lenna studying the huge beasts closely. “Are you looking for Anderro?”
Lenna paused. “Do you think she will give birth on the trail, or will she wait until she returns to her colony in Tyrie?”
“Even the old-timers aren’t sure,” Quintar said. “Some say a Yaak can wait for several cycles once their time for birthing is near, although all are certain she’ll disappear without warning.”
“She’ll just leave?”
“Yes, but they always return.”
“Where do they go?”
“Nobody can guess. No man has ever witnessed a Yaak’s birth. The scholars of Adair say they only birth once ...
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