Mistral: Sprinters Tale: The Begining

9781483543055

Prologue

Time is slowing down and the speed of light is not a constant as some have been lead to believe. Dragons are not supposed to be real, but they are. I know one, perhaps I am one. You don’t know. The one I do know is not like the mundane things of old, like some wyrm with wings. No!

Long ago I was standing on the roof of the stone tower my father had built as a place for my mother and him to watch the sun rise and set during their last days together. They’re gone now.

Its flat roof is bordered by a waist high wall; with everything going on in the world this has become my place of retreat. From here I can watch the sun rise or set, or I can look out over a meadow of tree tops to the mountains beyond; then turn and view the oceans’ swells. Sometimes I watch and listen to the sea pounding out her tempo on the rocky shore, like the shoreline is a giant drum only she can play. Sometimes even from inside I can hear her vent her fury in an endless cacophony.

It was here in the early morning, as I was sitting at my large round table and taking my tea, lost in thought. When suddenly the air parted across the roof to the side from me and became brighter than the sun. There is a large black spot where it happened; I can show you it to this day. In the center there are footprints which no man ever made, and for a moment, a brief space in time, I beheld a face, a head, a set of eyes which pierced my soul and knew the whole of me. Then there was nothing until my sight returned.

When it did, there standing and looking at me was a man but not a man, I could still see his form reflected from within his blue eyes. It was then he smiled and asked me my name. I was speechless for a time, but heard myself answering finally. That is when he came to sit across from me, and ask me, and this is what was said…

Chapter 1

A Jade Proverb

"Understanding comes through much hardship,

Understanding minds are plagued with rougher journeys and longer roads."

Do you know what it’s like to peel back the fabric of space and time, or to step, from plane to plane?

First, there is a drumming deep in the bones; a vibration grows like the thrumming of strings from some great alien instrument. Light and space shatter into prisms the likes of which only we have seen. ‘In-between’, there is no sound, no heat nor cold. When going ‘between’ there is a tugging on every cell of the body, like each one is squirming through a small hole, as it must be like to experience birth. When you pass over, it’s as if you’re stepping through a doorway; light, sound, smells, the vibration of your heart… all greet you like a familiar friend. Passing from what is, to what was not, takes immense power.

I just came from what was and to you, is not; from a place that to me is just next door, but to you…it is an eternity away.

Have you ever heard of Nadra-Kien? No? Well, that is a tale worth telling. Since I am in the mood for a tale and since it’s my tale, I am going to tell it in my own way. Not like the unnatural Twins would want it told; those wicked, twisted, warped giants of old. Even referencing them leaves a stain in my mind, and foulness to my palate. Unfortunately though, they are a part of this tale, so I shall eventually have to stain your mind with the knowledge of them as well. I certainly hope you’re seasoned enough for such matters.

And don’t go looking for some point to it all at the end; there are more points to this tale than I have teeth and claws. Even the Twins serve a purpose in the finite. Being a traveler of the myriad dimensions, I have a different perspective than those who are not.

Now, where it begins is where I’ll start it, yet where it all started is not where I am beginning. After all ~ we dragons love a good story. Now how about showing yourself a proper host and pouring me a vat of that tea you have brewing over there, and I shall begin.

Nadra-Kien is a world filled with various land masses some as clusters of islands. In the past there were large frozen caps encasing its polar opposites, now vast oceans encompass the world. What is left are, three main continents separated from each other by vast stretches of open water. Most else was swallowed up over time leaving a variety of islands and land masses poking up from the seas new borders.

The largest of these land masses is Mistral; closed off to the rest of the world by design and a natural set of barriers in the form of cliffs and reefs surrounding its coast lines. Where there are beaches, they are hidden from view. Guarding these oases of white sands are reefs which encircle Mistral; reefs more akin to obsidian knives, which no foreign sailor has ever found passage through, at least not in the immediate telling of this tale.

The smallest of the three is Ised. A great land of industry and agriculture and ruled in a near militant fashion. Though not odious to the people, there is a definite echelon, democratic in nature, but militant in execution. Ised is a republic, and as such is bound by a rule of law from an elected base. I realize the semantics are confusing, but I am sure you will be able to follow.

It is the culture of self-rule first; the nation’s laws guarantee them this right; and have throughout its long history. Its creation came out of several civil wars and harsh persecutions by obtuse selfish dictators who were similar to those that were the cause of the Great Uprising.

The people of Ised understand law, and have a deep respect for the spirit of the law. They have no problem rising up if things become militarily or bureaucratically draconian. Now pay attention here. This is the part unique as a culture to Ised. Every ruler elected has to come from the people, and each community has elected groups that vet each individual.

If anyone commits a criminal act while serving under an elected position, or uses their office to promote a crime or criminal enterprise, the punishment is extreme and often results in a forceful expulsion from the country. Those marked in such a fashion will attest that their return would never be voluntarily made by them.

There are alternative forms of punishment, some of them so ghastly that the mere threat of them has dissuaded many a treacherous man from seeking office, some even refusing to serve. As a lesson, death is a rare option afforded only to a select few. It is drummed into you from birth that while in office if you are caught offending your oath, you, will pay for your crimes.

Periods of election are short, and once one serves they cannot serve again. To serve is regarded as an honor and not a position for pride, or greed of any sort. It has become a cultural norm that if a poor leader is elected then that community who brought him to such a position are themselves brought to shame. In so doing they take the responsibility seriously. This in turn makes those chosen, ‘responsible’ choices.

Each law that is passed or action taken by an elected official is documented and open for review. Because of this structure, new laws are rare. Everyone knows the government is there to protect the people, not subdue them. If it starts to become odious, then the people replace it, as it should be.

The second largest of the three, is Madrek. Though not surrounded in the mystery of Mistral, it has many ports, each a thriving hub to the rest of the world. Its shores are dotted by great cities, with a variety of rulers and customs each province hosting its own peculiar circus of oddities, from acrobats and court intrigue to zoos and arenas for fighting both man and beast. The easiest way to explain it is that everyone gets a cut.

Unlike some places, the poor here, though truly poor, rarely go hungry, which makes them rich in comparison to the poor in many other kingdoms on Nadra-Kien. Though its exterior is a tropical paradise; its interior holds a more hostile environment than any rumor ever held. Once this whole land was a maze of canals and there was not a desert to be found anywhere, except in the hearts of its inhabitants. As Madrek is the nexus of trade now, it was the envy of all of Nadra-Kien before the uprising.

Posh opulence was the norm. Even the lowest of the low lived like a king in many respects. Most all had become proud and vain, obese in mind as well as body, Tyrants unto self and unto others. Pleasure was the call for the day. Truth was regarded as inconvenient and a shackle to one’s own willfulness, to be brought out of its nasty cage and used only when it suited the pursuit thereof. Even then the truth was kept on a short tight leash.

Now, it takes months to go from one major continent to the next. However there are a rather large number of smaller land masses throughout Nadra-Kien. Some areas would be land masses of considerable size if the depth of the sea was any less. As such I will not bore you with every blob of dirt not under water and will direct your attention to a ship in the Northern Sea; a three-masted Schooner called the Dawn Chaser, still a bit out to sea, but nearing Mistral.

……….

They had just topped a rolling swell and were momentarily level while cresting its peak. The swells had reduced in size the last few hours. The day had clothed herself in her dark raiment and arrayed herself with her sparkling jewels. There arrangement and colors were distinct and familiar showing bright and clear. She had just peaked her crescent eye over the horizon its reflection scattered by the water.

The first mate was amid ship on the starboard side next to the ships rail, head tilted back and sighting along a sextant. He was measuring the stars by angle and position in the sky and relaying it to the navigator, who in turn echoed it back, removing possible errors in navigation. In turn the Navigator would then plot their location on a chart. Once their position was obtained he would in turn communicate in the same manner with the pilot, who would then grab hold of the massive wooden wheel on the fore of the Aft-castle and maintain or change course according to their known position and heading.

The ship cut across the waves and fell down the front side of a swell and headed into the valley of water below picking up speed as it went. The light of the moon and stars shining down made the water look like dark liquid steel. The wind was steady but not heavy and all sails were open to feel her pull.

‘They were making good time’, mused the first mate; ‘the morning would see them near Wayfarers Harbor and Mistral. Only two passengers would be disembarking, the rest would not even be allowed into the city. There are more stories and tales about this land, than there are people back in Madrek,’ thought the First Mate. He had only been here a handful of times and each time he was amazed at the fact the land had only one harbor, the rest of the country was in effect cut off from the rest of the world. He remembered sitting around with the captain and several others on deck prior to his first trip to Wayfarers Harbor in Mistral. He turned his thoughts to the memory of it all.

Mistral, a land shrouded in myth and mystery and no one could be trusted to plot a course from one story to the next. If you were ever unlucky enough to be in a shipwreck off the coast of Mistral; if the crabs and fish weren’t picking you from the shoals soon afterwards, then it was only a matter of time. If you made it past the reefs then more than likely you would be flattened against a rocky cliff face, and then ripped to pieces in the surf, and then picked clean by the crabs and fishes. If you survived any of that, rumor had it you would then have to climb a cliff face while waves pounded you against rocks edged like shards of glass. If you made that climb then you would have to survive in a strange land that’s plant life would probably eat you alive. If any of the tribes that he had heard rumors of found you; well they would apparently make paint from your blood, which would then be used to adorn their drums. The very drums they fashioned from your skin. Some said they would tune these drums to mimic your final moans, as you were expertly skinned alive. The first mate shuddered, a chill climbing up his back. The idea of crabs and fishes was a welcome thought compared to that prospect.

He made one last check with the Navigator and Pilot and turned in.

As first mate he enjoyed the luxury of having his own cabin to berth in. On its walls were several maps one in particular was under glass and framed in gold. A map of Mistral, most maps just showed the Wayfarers Harbor and jokingly etched the rest of the coast in grey and printed along its borders; Here there be Monsters apparently statements such as these are quite common from place to place. In this instance it is quite common for a ship’s captain to have the mapmaker’s scribes draw some creature in this grey border after every successful venture to and from the infamous Wayfarers Harbor.

Trade with Mistral is very well regulated and very coveted; arranging any form of trade with Mistral, requires you first petition the trade ministry, and then be interviewed before gaining access to the harbor.

Though not all who entered the harbor or sailed its coastline could walk Mistrals interior, there was one thing everyone could take back with them and did. The memories and tales of what they saw of the harbor, the coast and skyline while out at sea.

The mountains were unlike anything else he had ever beheld, or heard of, enormous, raw and majestic, the tops permanently clothed in blue and white. He was told it was hard water, called Ice or snow, but that meant nothing to him. Water so cold it was hard, how does one make water hard? He had heard there were places where the sea became hard too, but that also seemed