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
All rights reserved
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.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

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 or twice during their long lifetimes.”
Quintar placed his arm around Lenna’s shoulder, and together they strode to the meadow’s edge. “Cheer up, friend. It is said, Yaakriders whose companions give birth are bestowed good fortune during the coming year.”
A shadow passed Lenna’s face.
The Yaakriders turned and watched more than a dozen shaggy white beasts― young and old, male and female― emerge from the trees surrounding the clearing. The younger, male Yaakraya lumbered to the bags and hoisted them to their hairy chests.
Moments later, none of the food remained.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  3

Barrazan braced against the ship’s creaking planks drawing warm sunlight to his bronzed face. He inhaled deeply, cool, moist air, and opened his eyes to an infinite horizon, and fluttering lakebirds dodging Lake Adair’s gentle swells.
Demprias baited the last of a series of equally spaced hooks. He leaned close to Barrazan’s ear. “Well, my friend. Are you with me, or are you not?”
Barrazan lowered his eyes and shook his head. He secured the line’s end to a hollowed wooden float.
Demprias smirked. ”Many consider it rude to merely ignore a proposition, whether given in jest, or earnestness.”
Barrazan glanced around uneasily. “Chief Cariak has always treated me fairly. Most men of the lake would kill to be Cariak’s Firstmate.”
“But, everyone in Adair knows the conglomerates have offered you Chief on most any ship. You have nothing here to prove, my friend.”
“The conglomerates have many ships and countless bosses. Here, I’m beholden to one man, and myself. I'm content―”
Demprias tossed the line into the frothing blue water. Barrazan shoved the float off the ship’s deck.
“But you are still Firstmate Barrazan, not Chief. You must think of the future.”
Barrazan sighed. “I sometimes wonder for whose future you speak?” 
Demprias paused for a moment. A wry smile creased his sun-touched face. “Of course I’d only expect to follow your humble footsteps.” He bowed mockingly.
“I see―”
Presently, Barrazan eyed Chief Cariak climbing onto a high lookout.
Demprias rubbed his chin. “What is the old man after?”
“Big game―”
“Kalsh?”
“Late Spawn―”
“Kalsh is a waste of time. And a lessening of my share.”
“Tradition,” Barrazan replied brusquely.
“Adair's superstitions do not interest me.”
“What does interest you, Demprias? Other than credits and women.”
Demprias's eyes narrowed. “So tell me, what are your plans after season? Ice fishing? The warehouses?”
Barrazan shrugged.
“Ah, I figured as much. You are wise in the ways of the water, my friend, yet ignorant in the ways of land. The warehouses pay nothing, and the settlement’s prospects are no better.”
“Then what do you suggest, my suddenly ambitious friend?”
“Listen, during winter we could build our own boat and split the profits. The real credits are in ownership.”
“You have a history of big dreams and little action. I recall just this past spring…” Barrazan chuckled mockingly.
“It’ll be different this time.”
Barrazan sighed. “And where do we rent the shed and the tools?”
Demprias smiled and grasped Barrazan’s shoulder. “I have a cousin…”
“Prepare to retrieve all lines,” Chief Cariak shouted, thrusting his gnarled fingers toward a mid-lake shoal. "Repus, Aremia― tend the sails.”
Demprias grunted loudly. Barrazan laughed.
Barrazan rushed aft and loosened the rudder. Gathering his strength, he pulled the ship starboard. Demprias grabbed a long pole with a hooked tip. Repus and Aremia leaped to midship and began to free the mainsail’s ropes.
The ship turned slowly. Demprias caught Barrazan’s eye, and aimed the pole toward the bobbing floats. Barrazan nodded, and adjusted the rudder. Demprias thrust the pole into the waves and hooked the line. He pulled inward until the float was within arm’s reach.
Barrazan secured the rudder and rushed to Demprias’s side. The two men hurriedly tugged the lines from the water. Occasionally, a silver-scaled Quidida flopped to the deck, and the men kicked the fish toward the hold. Several of the glistening fish slithered off the planks and flashed back into the lake. “A waste―” Demprias muttered.
Barrazan glanced amongst the waves. He noticed sharp rocks jutting from the rippling surface several hundred meters to the ship’s left. Barrazan caught Cariak's eye. Barrazan pointed toward the shallows. Cariak nodded.
Cariak cupped his hands to wafer-thin lips. “Men―”
Barrazan waved his hand. Repus and Aremia dropped the mainsail, flushing lakebirds to the breeze. The ship staggered, gripped by the lake’s swells.
Aremia, Repus, and Demprias fanned out across along the ship’s rail. The three men stood motionless, casting their eyes upon the undulating waves. Barrazan clambered to mid-ship. He grasped the rail and stared deep into the crystal clear water. Barrazan noticed the murky depths transform into huge boulders, passing like huge monoliths, seven or eight meters beneath the ship’s hull.
“Give me signs,” Cariak said. ”Anything―“
Suddenly, Barrazan eyes were drawn to the lake’s surface. A small silver fish thrashed amongst the swells several meters to port. A heartbeat later, a school of fish churned the water, and then disappeared. Barrazan pointed. “Chief―”
Cariak nodded. “They’re feeding on the reef.” A smile creased the Chief’s leathery face. “Repus, Aremia, get the harpoons ready.”
Barrazan grabbed his gloves and hurried across the slick deck from mid to starboard. Aremia and Repus returned to the rail carrying wooden rods tipped with barbed spears. Each rod trailed coils of rope.
"Demprias, help Repus,” Barrazan commanded.
A chill wind brushed Barrazan’s face and the lake’s surface rippled. Barrazan grasped the starboard rail as the ship creaked sideways to the wind. Barrazan noticed a cluster of dark clouds swirl across the windward horizon.
Suddenly, Barrazan saw a huge, white form roll over the surface, and then sink beneath the waves. A second creature emerged to Barrazan’s right. Barrazan studied its massive outline against the shallow reef below. The creature flashed over the rocks, and then swooshed away into deeper water. “A pair, and they’re big,” Barrazan shouted. “The female’s belly is full.”
“Too big to net,” Cariak hollered. “And too fast to chase. Prepare the bait.”
Barrazan nodded. “Demprias―”
Demprias grabbed two buckets of fish guts, and dumped the contents over the ship's rail.
Below Barrazan, the water turned a ghastly green-purple. Once again he peered deep into the water. Within twenty breaths, the rocky bottom gave way to deepening blue. Suddenly, Barrazan saw a white flash far beneath the surface― a moment later, a second flash. He waved his hand.
“Be ready, men,” Cariak cried. “They’ve caught the scent, and are collecting below.”
Suddenly, a huge ugly head with two long whiskers breached the surface and rolled across the dispersing bait. Barrazan jumped back, caught in the glare of two blank eyes each the size of a man’s waist.
Repus flung his harpoon, but it deflected off the giant’s fin. Hurriedly, Repus withdrew the harpoon and tossed again. This time, the harpoon struck the Kalsh’s flesh just below its spine, and held tight.
“Good work Repus,” Barrazan shouted. “That’s the male. Let’s get the other.”
The crew cheered.
“Do not offer congratulations yet,” Cariak cautioned. “These old dogs have plenty of fight, and the female’s always stronger. There’s still work to be done to land these beasts. Trust my words…”
Cariak shuffled down to the starboard deck just as a second huge form emerged beside the boat. Aremia eyed the beast and held his harpoon steady. Chief Cariak jumped to his side and secured the rope. “Steady man. Look for the spot below the spine, and don’t hit her swollen belly. Don’t waste a throw. Wait, Now!”
Aremia sunk his harpoon deep into the second fish. Aremia and Cariak pulled the rope tight. The fish made a strong run toward its struggling partner, and then suddenly away. Aremia fell to the deck, losing his grip. Cariak held on, bracing his heels on the deck’s lip. Aremia jumped back up and regained his hold.
The two powerful fish tugged the boat in many directions. Barrazan rushed aft. He grabbed the rudder, and tried desperately to keep the ship from spinning and tangling the two ropes.
Cariak huffed and laughed. “These two are a tough old couple, probably older than Cariak. It’s a pity to take them.”
The fish harpooned by Repus began to tire, and soon the wriggling giant swam placidly beside the boat. Demprias sliced the fish’s gullet, and a dark-green blood mucked the water. Repus threaded a rope through the monster’s gaping mouth and out its undulating gill.
“Watch the other,” Cariak said. “The blood will enrage the female.”
The second fish made a violent run away from the boat, and then deep into the lake. Cariak and Aremia held fast. Repus and Demprias ambled over to help. All four men struggled to control the fish as it dove into the lake’s shadowy depths. The rope strained.
In time, the creature fatigued, and the men regained most of the rope. Once again, Barrazan noticed the giant’s outline beneath the lake’s waves. The fish made several more runs, before surrendering to the fishermen’s strength and stamina. Breathing heavily, Barrazan stooped to the water and sliced mercifully.
The crew gathered their strength and lugged the two beasts onto the deck. Green guts spilled across wooden planks while lakebirds circled overhead.
Cariak stooped and pushed the female’s massive underbelly. “She holds a full load of roe to be sure.”
Suddenly, the huge fish thrashed its tail, knocking Demprias off his feet and onto his backside. They all laughed.
“A fiery beast,” Chief Cariak said. “Some say they make the finest feasts and bring the most fortune.”
Demprias rubbed his bruised thigh, and then his reddened face. “Rest assured shipmates, I’ll be first in line for a taste.”

The afternoon turned into evening and murky clouds rolled from the north, masking the sun. A chill breeze brushed the darkened water and the men bundled in heavy wool coats. Cariak ordered the decks secured and the canvas, raised. Barrazan turned the ship at an angle to the wind and began the long tack homeward.
Cariak stepped to Barrazan’s side. “This has been a good day, and a good season. The Kalsh will bring Adair much joy. The community will be pleased.”
“Perhaps―”
The old Chief grasped Barrazan’s shoulder. “There is more to life than filling holds with Quidida, good fisherman. We’ve had a good season and now we must give back, and sacrifice some. And I have a request, you may find compelling.”
**********
“The seasons change, young Porrias,” Master Druiden said, gazing from a window high atop Adair’s Academy of Knowledge. “The broad leaf Payet wither to autumnal reds and yellows, yet our mission continues without respite.”
“Can we not take comfort in what we’ve accomplished since the Payet first bloomed, Master Druiden?” Porrias asked.
Druiden stroked his long white beard. “Of course, good scribe, yet our work is far from complete. We must continue to expand our academies northward to Tyrie and Norelda, and even to the untamed trapper outposts on the wilderness’s fringe. We must endeavor to enlighten all people of the Great Confluence’s valley, young Porrias. Yet sometimes, regretfully, we neglect those most in need.”
“Education is the building stone of civilization.”
Druiden’s eyes gleamed. “Well spoken, young man.”
“They’re your noble words, Master Druiden.” Porrias bowed curtly. “Yet, all things change, including our leaders. Do they not?”
“Sadly, this is the way of things, I suppose.”
“Chief Cariak?”
Druiden sighed. “I too regret Cariak has declined to represent the fleets at this year’s Council of Representatives. None doubt Adair will suffer the loss of his wisdom and insight.”
“And experience and leadership.”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Then you agree, Master Druiden?”
“But alas, Cariak feels young ideas are needed at the meetings and he cannot provide such anymore. It is regrettable.”
“Replaced by a Firstmate? Hardly a…”
Druiden eyed Porrias sternly. “Do not judge a man’s capability by his status, young scribe.”
Porrias lowered his eyes. “Still, there are other independent Chiefs, or even leaders of fishing conglomerates. There are ill feelings among the guildsmen. I’ve overheard the arguments. The fishermen are clearly divided.”
Druiden waved his hand. “None of this should concern the academy, good Porrias. Cariak was voted by his peers and can rightfully choose his replacement. The elders are well aware of the traditions.”
“Some suspect politics.”
“There is more to the old Chief than meets the eye.”
“Many say Cariak dislikes big companies and their contracts.” Porrias’s voice lowered. “He has openly accused them of servitude.”
“Enough! You have repeated a harsh accusation and one not spoken lightly.”
“Possibly, yet you must agree conglomerates come close.”
Druiden raised his brow.
Porrias strolled to a window and peered westward across a vast river delta opening southward into the wide expanse of Lake Adair. Below, citizens scurried through Adair’s town square constructing firepits and erecting podiums. “Why do we celebrate the end of fishing season while the ships still sail, Master Druiden? The ships are not warehoused until just before ice-in.”
“The celebration is tradition, young Porrias. It has been done this way for generations.”
Porrias shook his head. “A waste of time and resources―”
“Humans must bond. We crave the comfort of ceremony.”
“This time would have been better spent preparing for winter.”
Druiden’s eyes sparkled. “Understanding and wisdom comes with experience, young man. Someday, you’ll understand, good scribe. Someday, you’ll understand.”
**********
The sun settled over Adair’s western ranges, drawing shadows across faded Payet gardens and mature sculpted hedges.
Barrazan sat in the town’s square holding a slice of bread topped with small orange-green eggs. Before him, wild Chakra and fresh fish sizzled above glowing coals, and long tables overflowed with food and drink. Over a central pit, two huge, fatty slabs steamed serenely, surrounded by dozens of revelers awaiting a taste of Lake Adair’s rarest delicacy.
Barrazan sniffed the bread and nibbled the roe.
Demprias offered his flask. “Good Jenna should kill the taste.”
Barrazan took the bottle and gulped. “Most likely distilled in a trapper’s hole―” He coughed.
Demprias ogled a young lady strolling through the square. She smiled at Demprias while twisting long, auburn hair. He smirked. “Cariak is no fool, you must agree.”
Barrazan shrugged.
“First, he infuriates the Guild by naming a mere fisherman to the Council of Representatives, all while maintaining his hold on the fleet’s best Firstmate; the best Firstmate who is not yet Chief.”
Barrazan took another sip and returned the flask.
“Listen, Barrazan. You’ve always been in good with Cariak and the fleet. You play the game well, my friend. But explain to me how a lowly Firstmate gets appointed representative?”
“Best hold your tongue, shipmate. Does the Jenna speak for you?”
Demprias waved his hand. “I meant no offense, but how much influence does Cariak think you’ll wield at the Council? A Firstmate carries little leverage with our fleet, let alone amongst Tyrie’s most powerful politicians. Do you not agree?”
Barrazan noticed Master Druiden emerge from the crowd followed by a slender, younger man. Druiden’s colorful robe shuffled beneath his woolen coat. Barrazan judged Druiden’s companion to be about Demprias’s age, maybe younger.
Demprias and Barrazan rose to their feet.
Druiden brushed his long beard. “Chief Cariak told me that you two were among those responsible for providing the Kalsh.”
Barrazan bowed. “Cariak is a very modest man, Master Druiden. Without his direction―”
“Cariak’s a good man, but he does not bestow complements lightly. He feels you men are among the fleet’s finest crew. Maybe this is one of the many reasons why he chose you, Barrazan, to represent the fishing companies.”
Barrazan and Demprias exchanged glances. “I’m honored, Master scribe, yet I cannot hope to equal Cariak’s wisdom and experience.”
“You will learn… You must learn, or face your constituencies’ scorn, good fisherman. This is a risk all representatives face. Yet, many never get the opportunity to accomplish great things. You are very fortunate.”
“I’m humbled.”
Druiden smiled. “And now for some introductions. This young man is Porrias, one of the brightest young historians in Adair. He will accompany you and me to the meeting and act as scribe.”
The three men nodded curtly.
Demprias studied Druiden’s companion for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. “I’ve talked with Porrias before.”
Barrazan glared at Demprias and shook his head.
Demprias continued: “If I recall, earlier this summer Porrias quizzed me about the far areas of Lake Adair, and of the Great Southern Lake.”
Porrias’s eyes brightened. “Yes, I remember. You were very helpful, and I’m forever grateful. The Great Southern Lake has yet to be mapped with precision…”
Druiden gently waved his hand. “Perhaps you two can talk of this some other time. Sometimes young Porrias is a bit too devoted to his work, it appears.” Druiden sighed. “Alas, he reminds me of someone else in his youth.”
Porrias’s chin dropped.
“Then, young representative, we will meet in three days below the Falls of Rhavha at the trail head opposite Kahnor’s ferry docks. Master Carathis has promised Yaakriders and an adequate number of beasts to transport our delegation.”
Barrazan nodded.
Presently, the wizened scholar’s eyes appeared lost in deepest memory. “Many seasons have passed since I’ve looked foreword to a trip to Tyrie by Yaak. I fear, before long, my old bones will be unable to make this trip.” He sighed. “Then it will be up to young leaders like you, Barrazan, to fill the void.”
Druiden bowed and turned toward the square.
Porrias whispered to Demprias. “I’ll talk to you some other time.” He nodded and followed Druiden.
Demprias glanced at a passing maiden and took another slug of Jenna. He coughed. “Trapper’s swill―” He emptied the flask on the ground.
Barrazan laughed.
**********
The party continued as bright Alberon peeked above the eastern ranges. Druiden watched the revelry and tapped his feet to the music.
Abruptly Druiden rose, strolled to the square’s center, and raised his arms. The dancers and musicians took notice and put down their instruments. And a hush swept through the crowd.
Druiden stepped upon a high, wooden podium. “Good citizens of Adair,” he began. “We should all thank Chief Cariak and his crew for the Kalsh. May they bring us prosperity and good fortune.”
Hoots and claps resonated through the crowd. Some near Barrazan and Demprias patted the fishermen’s shoulder and shook their hands.
“And, as most of you know, they sacrificed some of their profits so we may all partake in this feast.” He turned to Adair’s merchants and businessmen. “So keep this in mind when these men ask for lodging or drink in the coming days. They may appreciate your generosity―” The crowd clapped again, and the merchants turned to one another, smiling and nodding.
“We have all been blessed with a bountiful summer and fall. There is plenty of fish to eat and barter. And we have also made progress in medicine and education, which are vital for a growing population. And how our population grows!” Druiden acknowledged two young women carrying delicate bundles. They both smiled and cuddled their infants.
“In a few days, we will travel to Tyrie and represent Adair at this fall’s Council of Representatives. Adair’s delegation will strive to keep trade active between human settlements, so we can assure ourselves a good standard of living. And we must continue to solidify Adair’s position as the intellectual nexus of the Lands of the Confluence.”
Druiden paused. “And we must also prepare for the upcoming winter, because nature itself has sent forth signs that this winter may be more severe than most.” The crowd turned to one another and murmured.
“Indeed, this has been a good year. But in this year, as in any year, there is a price to pay for our good fortunes. Let us not forget those who have died on the lake and in the wilderness, so that we all may live better lives and fulfill our destinies.”
Druiden raised his arms and the citizens stood silent with heads bowed. And Druiden heard only crackling fires across the settlement of Adair.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  4

High, thorny bushes lined the stone pathway, before a log homestead adorned with carved archways and ornate sills, and a stone chimney puffing thick smoke scattering in the breeze. Clusters of thick, flower-bearing plants covered the courtyard, a twisted clump of stems and thistles― seasonal plants― once bearing colorful yellow, orange, and purple blossoms, yet now barren since summer’s end. Squat, fruit-bearing trees surrounded the yard; some well pruned, others neglected― all blanketed in a thin layer of snow.
Lenna flung his ax into a tree-stump and wiped his forehead on his coat’s sleeve. He collected an armful of Olaf firewood, and paused before the flower gardens and prickly bushes.

He saw a vision of Xriera in midsummer― her long, flowing, black hair bound by a green scarf atop her delicate head. He recalled how hard she worked pruning the flowers, and the great joy they gave her. And the smile! Lenna would never forget the smile that engulfed her face when he returned from the wilds. He could never forget that smile.

Lenna noticed an older man trudging up the road dabbing his forehead with a folded handkerchief. The man halted, breathing heavily.
“Welcome Joda,” Lenna said. “I hope you brought your change purse.”
The man chortled, his eyes scanning the building and grounds.
Lenna kicked open the front door and dropped the firewood inside. “I was expecting you later. I'm afraid I haven’t had time to clean.”
Joda’s smile evaporated. “I understand, good fellow, it must be difficult―”
“Come in.”
Joda ambled up the front walkway still ogling the homestead’s exterior. He stopped in the doorway, and ran his hands along its smooth arches. “Built this spring?”
Lenna unbuttoned his coat, and nodded politely.
Joda removed his leather hat and strolled inside. A gentle heat radiated from the crackling fireplace opposite the dining area. Joda’s eyes wondered. “Superior workmanship―” He gave the table a rap, and then rubbed his knuckles. “There’s nothing more elegant than crafted Sohla.”
“My father is a fine woodworker.”
Joda raised his finger. “Forentis is a true artist, good Yaakrider. His craftsmanship is known throughout the valley, especially amongst our more affluent citizens. I was somewhat surprised that you, his only son, did not follow in his most skillful footsteps. An offer to be Forentis’s apprentice must have been difficult to refuse.”
Lenna glanced around the room indifferently.
Joda smirked. “Well, if truth be told, I sought this homestead because of Forentis’s artistry. I was only too happy to see it up for market. I only regret the circumstance―”
Joda squirmed, and eyed Lenna guardedly. “I’ll be direct, young man. My daughter will be joined in two cycles to the son of one of my closest business associates. I wish to offer this home as a gift, so the youngsters can have a good start.” Joda pushed closer. “And it won’t harm the relationship with my associate either.”
Lenna stood expressionless.
Joda cleared his throat. “Well, in any case, my wife wishes to stop by tomorrow afternoon, if that schedule pleases you.”
“That should be fine.”
“Then we can discuss a price.”
“I’ll clean up before she arrives.”
“It can’t hurt. You know how women…” Joda shook his head and glanced downward. “Tomorrow then?”
Lenna nodded and escorted Joda out the door. He returned to the dining room and eased into a chair near the fireplace. Lenna stared deep into the fire’s flames. The glowing embers drew lasting patterns in his eyes, and the Olaf’s earthy scent filled his nostrils and his head.

It was spring in Adair. Bright, blooming flowers lined the city streets and excitement filled the air as the first of the fishing fleet rounded the far point laden with the season’s first catch. The sun warmed the earth, evaporating the remnants of long winter.
Nearing late afternoon, the ship’s sails were withdrawn and the creaking vessels eased into the docks. Dozens of wagons, pulled by shaggy Zampha, lined the shallow wharf as the crowds hooted and cheered when scores of white-scaled Zariema and gray Quidida were lifted from holds circled by ever-present lakebirds. 
“A sign of good fortune for the entire season,” said the old-time sailors, who still followed the fleets although too feeble to work.
Lenna strode down the dock toward the moored ship. Demprias stood on deck lowering a bucket to the water. He raised the rope, seized the sloshing bucket with both hands, and then tossed it across the planks.
Lenna stopped and squatted beside the ship. “How does it feel to be back at what you do best?”
Demprias held his hand above his eyes to shade the sun. “Lenna! What brings you here?”
“Fish, what else? Do you have any?”
“Plenty, but none for you, my friend. I don't like your attitude. Very arrogant, you Yaakriders.”
“Then I’ll find another boat. It’s a big lake. I’m sure Tyrie’s merchants won’t care where I get our fish. They all look and smell the same.”
Demprias approached Lenna and slapped his shoulder. “How are you my friend?”
“Fine, and you? I’ve been told floating ice still jams the lake. How do you manage them?”
“Some were as big as a house. Very hazardous, especially when the wind gales.” Demprias shook his head. “They’ll be around until Alberon’s next cycle. It’s a dangerous time for fishermen, but the fish are shallow until the waters warm, and easy to catch. That alone is worth the risk. And how long will you be here?” 
“Until three days noon. The Yaak will be loaded by then, if the fish is ready.
“Excellent! The spring festival’s tonight and my cousin Azzerian can’t wait to meet you.”
Lenna rolled his eyes. They both laughed.
The recreation hall was alive with dancing and song. Jenna was pouring from hardwood kegs set above each table. A stone fireplace, nestled in building’s center, cradled a large fire. Fresh fish sizzled near the flames, and the sweet smell of Olaf engulfed them.
Lenna and Demprias leaned against a table holding a flask of Jenna. “There she is,” Demprias said. “Be on your guard! She’s as wild as the winter’s cold.”
He pointed to two young women serving long plates of steaming fish. The first woman was striking― long, curly light brown hair and light blue eyes. And she wore a long white robe tied in front with a wide, red belt. The second woman was short and petite, with dark black hair tied into a fist-sized ball. She wore a light green robe matching the color of her eyes. Both women wore large, yellow flowers in their hair. They giggled and smiled as they glanced toward the two men, then teasingly away.
The two men strolled over to the women.
“Azzerian,” Demprias said. “I’d like you to meet my friend from Tyrie, Lenna.
“Lenna, my cousin Azzerian.”
Azzerian gave Lenna a mischievous look. “So this is the brave Yaakman you keep telling us about.” She slipped her hand around Lenna's elbow.
Demprias said, “And this is Azzerian’s friend, Xriera.”
Lenna was captivated by Xriera’s large, green eyes and charming smile. A moment passed before they spoke.
Xriera’s voice was soft and playful. “A Yaakrider― how adventurous.”
“Sometimes― mostly it’s dull and tedious. And how do you occupy yourself?”
“We―” Azzerian interrupted. “We clean and prepare fish. So you and your beasts can haul them away to Tyrie, or wherever.”
Xriera laughed. “Not quite as glamorous as a Yaakman.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I’d like to ride one of your beasts,” Azzerian said. “Is she near here? Perhaps in the morning we can…”
“For one thing,” Lenna said. “The Beast isn’t mine. No rider owns a Yaak. The Yaak and man are partners. And I’ll be very busy in the morning.”
Azzerian stood wordless, while Demprias smiled.
“She didn’t mean to offend you,” Xriera said softly. “It’s just the way she is…”
“No offense taken.” Lenna couldn’t help but stare into Xriera’s eyes.
Azzerian smiled and released Lenna's arm. “I think we better leave these two alone,” she said to Demprias. “Or throw a bucket of water on them.” Azzerian laughed playfully and led Demprias away.
Xriera shook her head. “So, tell me about yourself, Yaakman.”
“I’ve been a Yaakrider for two seasons. My usual routes are to the north, but I come south occasionally to see my friend Demprias.”
“My roots are in Norelda. I’ve been told my birth parents were trappers. I was orphaned when young, and have lived as an Adairian since I can remember.
Xriera gazed into Lenna’s eyes. “What else do you seek Yaakman.”
Lenna stood silent.
Long after the party was over, Lenna and Xriera strolled hand in hand to Lake Adair’s shore. And under the bright Alberon’s’ light, they kissed.
Lenna returned to Tyrie. He worked for several cycles building a homestead. And in early summer returned to Adair where he and Xriera were joined in a simple ceremony under a Sohla tree next to a bank along the Great River. And the next morning, he lifted her onto Anderro, and together they rode north to their new home.

Lenna poked the smoldering logs, and recalled how Xriera loved her new homestead. The front door creaked ajar and a cool breeze rushed through the cabin. Lenna began to shiver, and his world darkened.
Lenna eased out of his chair and stepped into the bedroom. He opened a trunk and began to stuff clothing into his pack. Several vases― where orange, green and red flowers once flourished― now sat empty beneath the window. Lenna slung the pack over his shoulder, and exited the room. He paused before the fireplace and gazed into its sparkling embers.

The hot mid-summer sun shone dull upon the settlement of Tyrie as Lenna ran like a madman through the busy streets. He threw his pack against the steps, and burst through the front door of the Academy of Healing. Two Healers cast their eyes downward as he jogged down the long corridor.
Lenna hesitated before the door of the Chief Healer. He inhaled deeply then entered. A frail, bald man in a long red robe glanced at Lenna, and rose to his feet slowly.
“She had been ill for some time― possibly before the two of you were joined. I’m aware she had trapper blood― too many generations in isolated communities, I suppose. Her body was returned to the river a cycle past.”
Lenna dropped to his knees.

Lenna grabbed a glowing log and placed it gently in the woodpile beside the chimney. He grabbed a chair and smashed a window. Air coursed through the cabin and smoke quickly filled the room. He strolled to the front doorway, and headed out, leaving the door ajar.
Lenna halted when he reached the stone walkway. A single, shrunken bud clung to a bush beside the path― a last reminder of a long summer and of the long winter to come. He pulled it from the vine, its withered bulk crumbling between his fingers.
Lenna buttoned his coat and strode down the walkway, and down the road toward Tyrie. Flashes of light interrupted the dark night behind him, and golden flames leaped upwards toward a reddening sky.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  5

Quintar emerged from the Yaakrider Barracks to a predawn sky speckled with fading stars. Wearily, he slung Shila’s harness across his shoulder, and began trekking up the twisting eastern path, passing through forest drawing darkness equal to deepest night.
Quintar paused and beheld a meadow occupied by colossal platforms bathed in flickering torchlight. A procession of carts pulled by snorting Zampha and piloted by hooded drivers emerged from the fog-laden valley below; they clomped up the well-worn path, halting amid a swarm of brooding laborers and robed expediters.
Presently, Quintar noticed several gigantic figures emerge from the forest’s shadow bordering the West Meadows. Silently, they lumbered past Quintar― a solemn procession of imposing forms against the brightening woodland.
The male Yaakraya were considerably less intelligent than their female counterparts, yet three times more massive. They were useful in transporting goods between settlements. Quintar recognized a few of the beasts from previous runs, although he’d found distinguishing the Yaakraya increasingly difficult as winter approached, and their long, shaggy manes transformed from brown to dirty white. The females arrived lastly, including Shila, Anderro, and Thimbar.
Shila ambled to Quintar and slowly knelt. Quintar stroked the Yaak’s stringy hair. “How have you been my friend? Are you ready for another run?”
Shila turned her head and released a snort. She turned away, unhurried. Quintar secured his harness to Shila’s hips.
The colossal Yaakraya assembled in a serpentine line. The first beast backed against a tall platform, and workers slipped a huge backpack over the creature’s broad shoulders. Quickly, the laborers secured the packs using broad straps bound to the beast’s abdomen and hips, and then urged the giant away. A moment later, another Yaakraya lumbered forward to take its place.
Soon, all the packs were loaded, and the laborers dismissed the remaining Yaakraya. Lenna and Enro meandered amongst the heavily burdened beasts tugging on straps and tightening ropes.
A Yaakrider Wierta-expediter approached Quintar and pulled a parchment from his coat. “Here are invoices for grains, meats, and dried fish, and contracts for a full load of Noreldan garments and furs.”
Quintar nodded, and stuffed the papers in his pack.
“I wish you good fortune, good Yaakleader.” The Wierta bowed curtly and turned away.
Quintar grabbed the hairs on Shila's hip and hoisted himself into his harness. Lenna climbed atop Anderro, and Enro upon Thimbar. Quintar urged Shila through a bough of trees, and onto the Northern Trail. A line of lumbering Yaakraya snaked behind Shila followed by the remaining female Yaak and their riders.

By late morning, the Yaaktroop ambled along a trail west of the Great River’s divergence. Thousands of acres of abandoned farmland bordered the river to the east. Above the plain, Quintar observed patches of homesteads spread over the hillside. Steep, impassable cliffs loomed to the north.
The path veered northwestward below the river’s northwest branch, and the terrain sloped upward on a twisting path. The Yaaks slowed and Quintar ordered rest.

Later that afternoon, they approached a wide plateau along the river valley carved by the northwest river branch. The line of Yaak meandered along the rocky flood plain toward the northwest. To Quintar’s right, the river widened and slowed. Soon, the trail disappeared into the water.
Quintar gazed upon the crossing of Sarhelm: a ford offering the Yaak easy passage across a shallow stretch of the northwest branch. Farther upstream, the waterway narrowed to a tight chasm where a sturdy rope bridge allowed men on foot and pack animals a crossing in springtime and summer.
Quintar raised his hand and the party halted. The heavily-laden Yaakraya gathered beside the river, and gently squatted. The Yaakriders dismounted and inspected the beast’s cargo. Lenna and Enro passed huge buckets of water to the resting giants.
Soon, the Yaakriders climbed upon their Yaak, and the Yaakraya rose on their stocky feet. Shila and Quintar led the Yaakraya across the half-kilometer wide crossing.
Shila plodded through the swift current, the water never reaching her hips, or Quintar’s feet. The remaining outriders entered the water when the last Yaakraya waded midstream.
After the last Yaak emerged on the rocky northern shore, the Yaakriders wasted no time urging the beasts away from the bank, and upwards to the east.
Just as the sun disappeared behind the hills, the party reached a clearing beside a small stream. Quintar ordered the troop to make camp for the night.

Quintar and Lenna sat beside the crackling fire with bellies full of warm Chakra. Lenna threw a branch on the flames. “Why so much talk of this council, Quintar? Why is this year any different then any other?”
“I’m not sure, nor did I ask.”
“Preparations for a hard winter?”
“Winter is always a key topic.”
 Lenna shook his head. “Yet, we hear these same arguments every fall, do we not?”
“This year, Carathis appears to be taking a great interest.”
“True.”
“When Carathis is concerned, people listen. Few Tyrinians question his motives.”
Lenna laughed. “And lives to tell about it?” 
“An exaggeration―”
“Perhaps―” Lenna poked the fire sending embers twirling into the night sky. “And who will we have the honor of escorting back to Tyrie? I’ve been told four representatives will return with us, yet I’m aware of only three Noreldan groups." He tapped his fingers. "Merchants, Ranchers, Trappers―”
“Samael of the Noreldan merchants, a newly elected rancher named Balyar, and the trapper Tharmstron.”
“And the fourth person?”
“There’s talk of a strange trapper who will attend the meeting just to tell a story, the subject of which we know nothing.”
Lenna sniffed. “A second trapper? What yarn will he spin to waste the Council’s time?”
Quintar shrugged.
“I wouldn’t trust any trapper. They will do anything to gain power amongst the settlement’s elite.”
“All men have the right to be represented.”
“If it were up to me, no trapper would be allowed to disgrace the Council. And now, they allow two?”
“That is one of many reasons why you are not a politician, friend Lenna.”
Lenna chuckled grimly. “Well, I’m consoled with the knowledge that all trappers hate Yaak. I enjoy watching them squirm when harnessed to the beasts.”

The morning sun greeted the Yaakriders, and they ate a light breakfast before breaking camp. Quintar led the party upwards and along the perilous paths just above the steep cliffs north of the Great Confluence.
By mid-morning, the path narrowed and bent along a high ridge. The Yaak trudged single file along the jagged cliff wary of the steep vertical drop to their right.
Below and to the south, Quintar beheld the entire valley of the Great Confluence, all the way to the river’s bend below the settlement of Tyrie. Tall hills, capped with rock and snow, towered above him to the north.
The afternoon turned to early evening, and the sun ducked behind menacing clouds. Eventually, the path meandered east while dropping a few hundred meters in elevation. Quintar spotted the northeast river branch thundering through the valley far below. Lake Norelda lay just thirty kilometers to the northeast, he calculated.
Daylight waned and snowflakes began to fall from a darkening sky. Soon, the snow intensified, and Quintar lost sight of the Yaakraya in a veil of whiteness. He ordered the troop to make camp.
They awoke to a clear morning. The snow from the previous night melted in the early sun, and they continued along the northeast branch. Through late morning and early afternoon, the Yaaktroop ambled upward toward Lake Norelda, passing countless swift rapids, and gentle waterfalls to their right.
By late afternoon, the river flattened and slowed, and the Yaaktroop rambled through a forest of tall Sohla evergreens. Before long, the woods opened to a grassy meadow surrounded by ten cabins. Two fire pits lay carved into the clearing’s center.
Beyond the trees and the rocky shore, Quintar saw Lake Norelda’s deep blue waters reflecting the bright sun.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  6

“Is she a big one, father?” young Kristren asked.
“I hope we don’t find out,” Balyar whispered.
Balyar peered into the darkness, yet saw no movement. His dog Jett scampered back and forth sniffing the powdery snow. Before them, Ellini and Alberon cast eerie double shadows across the sloping landscape high above the northern settlement of Norelda.
Suddenly, Jett paused and began whimpering. Kristren trotted to the dog, and then motioned his father over.
Balyar held a flickering torch close to the ground. He reached down and touched the oddly-shaped imprints. “Fresh.”
Something made the lanky rancher uneasy, and without thinking, he reached up and stroked a deep scar that crossed his face from ear to rugged chin.
“Come, boy.”
Father and son jogged down the hill, pausing before a cluster of sheep imprisoned behind split wooden rails. He and Kristren looked the animals over before moving onward. Swiftly they passed a coop stirring with clucking chickens, and then ambled downward into the courtyard. Balyar followed Kristren through the homestead’s door.
Anderia sprang to her feet, cradling her infant son. “Pinthra?”
Kristren gasped for breath. “Could be―”
Balyar’s eyes flashed in the candlelight. “Fetch me two pans, boy. Now, get going!”
Kristren scrambled into the kitchen. Balyar grabbed his crossbow and two bows. Hurriedly, the rancher filled a quiver with a dozen metal-tipped arrows. Kristren returned with two small pans. The boy’s hands shook. Balyar threaded one bow over Kristren’s shoulder.
Anderia brushed aside a tear. “Be careful.”
Father and son rushed out the door.

Balyar and Jett followed a trail of fresh blood to the field’s edge. Balyar found a mangled sheep in a shallow ditch. Hurriedly, he collected the carcass in a cloth sack. Balyar loaded his crossbow. Beside him, Kristren looked on with wide eyes.
“Will she be back, father?”
“Once a Pinthra has taken blood, they’ll stay close unless driven off or killed.”
“Can they be frightened away?”
“Loud noise is best―” Balyar lifted an eyebrow. “But Pinthra are unpredictable and dangerous, and you should never underestimate the dark beasts.” Again, Balyar reached up and felt his scar. “Be ready with those pans.”
Balyar and Kristren stooped near the ditch where they found the dead sheep. Jett continued to whimper, and pace back and forth. Kristren tried to keep the dog from wondering off. Bright Alberon shined directly overhead. Father and son huddled to fight the chill.
Suddenly, Jett yelped.
Balyar heard a low growl. Then he saw a phantom-like shape passing between trees near the forest’s edge. Two large, luminous eyes flared in the shadows. Another set of blank eyes flashed from a nearby grove, and a loud hiss echoed from the wood. Balyar’s spine tingled.
Jett barked at the dark forms and pawed at the ground. Kristren banged on the pans and Balyar shouted toward the woods. Balyar kept the crossbow within arms reach.
The nearest dark shadow reared up on its hind legs and released a heinous yell. For an instant, Balyar glimpsed fanged teeth and two stubby horns.
Jett barked louder than before.
Suddenly, the dark shapes turned and leaped back into the woods. Moments later, Jett stopped barking.
Balyar stood listening to his heartbeat for quite some time.
**********
A rooster heralded the morning sun and Balyar awoke sluggishly. He stretched and staggered into the kitchen. Anderia stood fanning the fireplace’s glowing embers. Jett lay curled beneath Balyar’s feet. Balyar bent and scratched the dog’s neck.
Anderia pulled aside her slender braids. “I just let him in. The poor thing must have been standing vigil all night.” She glanced toward Balyar. “And you look like you need more sleep yourself.”
“There are chores to be done and packing for the trip.”
“I’ve already set aside some of your things.”
“Is Kristren up yet?”
Anderia lifted a kettle over the hearth. “He just got to bed a few hours ago. Is it any wonder he’s still sleeping after last night’s excitement?”
“I need him.”
“He needs his rest.”
Balyar splashed water on his face. “Samael is meeting me here, later this morning.”
“Oh―”
“He wanted to talk before we set out for Tyrie.”
“Why here?”
“Maybe he wanted to see how common people live.”
Anderia smiled wryly. “We are not often graced by the presence of the representative of Noreldan merchants.”
Balyar sniffed. “I’ll wager he hasn’t been outside the settlement since spring.”
“Then, I’ll make him some hot tea and prepare a comfortable chair. And then ask him why he charges such high prices at his market.”
Balyar grinned. “Perhaps an argument for some other time, dear wife―”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Balyar. I like the councilman, yet I think greed sometimes clouds his thinking.”
“He is not only the wealthiest man in Norelda, but possibly the fattest. I hope his heart doesn’t fail coming up the path. I think he underestimates the climb.” Balyar pulled a blanket snug to his youngest son.
Anderia stirred the kettle. “And how prepared are you, Balyar?”
“To represent the ranchers?”
“Do you have their confidence? Will they allow you to negotiate freely? Will they support the decisions you make in Tyrie?”
“I didn’t campaign for the job.”
“Still, they will expect results.”
“I know…”
“And hold you accountable.”
“We do agree on key issues such as getting this year’s huge supply of Mathran wool to market, and negotiating for food reserves for winter.”
Anderia glanced at her husband and shook her head.
“Kristren handled himself well last night,” Balyar continued. “I know he’s just a grown boy.”
“He’s just a two-year old.”
“He’ll manage things well when I’m gone.”
Anderia stared at the fire, and then adjusted the kettle over the flames. “I wish you didn’t have to leave, Balyar. Fall is such a difficult time on the ranch, and me with the baby―”
“I know.”
“And Pinthra lurking everywhere.”
“Kristren is a better archer than me. He can―”
“But there’s so much to get done. There’s firewood to be stored and hay collected.”
Balyar placed his hand on Anderia’s shoulder. “Kristren will do just fine, you’ll see. Don’t worry.”
**********
Balyar sat on a boulder on the trail’s edge, and gazed downward over the distant village and the deep basin enveloped in a mid-morning fog. The wide expanse of Lake Norelda lay before him, enclosed in majestic mountains and steep cliffs, and surrounded by tiers of green pastures. Balyar sighed, envisioning the Great Confluence of Tyrie― many days trek to the southwest, below the elongated lake, and the river branch that flowed downward into the Great River’s merge.
Balyar noticed the ample figure of Councilman Samael plodding up the rocky trail. “Master Samael! I see you’ve survived the climb.” 
Samael paused. “I have not yet… succumbed… but I dearly hope… sweet Lady Anderia… has something warm to drink.”
Balyar slapped Samael across the councilman’s shoulders. “Indeed she has, my good man. Indeed she has. Come with me.”
Balyar led the huffing councilman several hundred meters off the path, and into his modest home. Samael removed his hat and dipped his head to Anderia, and then plopped down onto a kitchen chair.
Anderia smiled. “Perhaps, the honorable councilman will accept some hot tea.”
“You will save my life, dear lady.”
Anderia poured a cup and Samael took a cautious sip. “Ahhhh, Sequippa root, fresh and smooth.
“Picked by our son Kristren just last week,” Balyar said. “The Sequippa has been sweet and pungent this year.”
Samael caught Balyar’s eyes through the tea’s steam. “We have little time this morning, so let us proceed to business. My sources report a good harvest of wool on the ranches this fall. I presume they’re correct?”
Balyar eyed Samael suspiciously. “Your sources?”
“Come now, good rancher, we represent all Noreldans here. I make money regardless your guild’s circumstances.”
Balyar stroked his beard and sighed. “A surplus of three ton of Mathran and eight ton of sheep…”
Samael’s eyes widened. “A great year!”
“The best I can recall.”
“The wool, animal pelts, and garments will give us great leverage to barter with Tyrie and Adair for needed grains, fish, and meats.” He scowled. “You know how quickly Noreldans tire of mutton or an occasional chicken after the snows drive Norelda to isolation. And we want to keep the citizens happy, do we not?”
“And this will be a long winter, if the old-timers are to be believed,” Balyar said. “Many say, the more plentiful the summer, the harsher the winter.”
Samael raised thick eyebrows and nodded. “Possibly, nature’s way of maintaining balance, good rancher?”
“I don’t know, but we would be wise to plan ahead. Many ranchers have already stockpiled additional firewood and hay.”
Anderia poured the councilman another cup of tea. Samael took a quick sip then nodded politely.
Balyar leaned forward. “And who has been chosen to represent the trappers at this meeting?”
Samael smiled wryly. “Tharmstron.”
“Tharmstron! I’ve never met the man, but he’s reputed to be outspoken and somewhat mistrustful.”
“Ah, good rancher, in politics it’s best not to prejudge…”
“Have you worked with him before?”
“Make no mistake, Balyar, Tharmstron is a strong and honorable man. Do not forget, it was Tharmstron who argued for his scattered communities to have more involvement with the settlements, and it was he who organized trappers for greater leverage with the merchants― a measure, lightening my pockets significantly, by the way.
“And most important of all, it was Tharmstron who foresaw the need to educate the young of his clans― a plan that recently reached fruition in a pact with Druiden of Adair, providing teachers to trapper outposts where before there was none. Tharmstron is a man to be respected. One must not underestimate him.” Samael took another sip of tea.
Balyar sighed. “Trappers have always been strange folk― too many years in the wilds, I suppose. Only recently have they become concerned with settlement affairs, and now they’re involved in our greatest councils. How times change.”
“Many things change in our lands,” the councilman said solemnly. “But representatives like you and I must assure these changes are wise and just. All peoples must be represented fairly, including trappers, or we risk losing all― especially in hard times.”
Kristren pushed through the front door holding an armful of firewood. Jett trotted between his feet and shook off muddy snow.
“Good morning sir,” Kristren said.
“And to you, young man,” Samael replied.
“This is my eldest, Kristren,” Balyar said. “He’ll run my ranch while I’m in Tyrie.”
Kristren dumped the firewood next to the fireplace. He removed his gloves and flexed fingers over the fire.
“Have you finished the morning chores?”
“Yes. The wood’s split and the animals are fed. Will you be leaving soon, father?”
“Yes, and you can help by carrying my bag down to the village.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“We’ve been over this before. You have a greater obligation to your mother and brother.”
Samael tapped his fingers. “If you’re ready… We must get to the ferry docks before noon. If everything goes well, we will meet the Yaakriders at the lake's western portage by sunrise tomorrow. Tyrie is two days journey from there.”
Kristren strapped his father's luggage bag across his shoulder, and exited with the councilman into the cool, morning air. Balyar lifted his infant son from his crib, cradled him in his arms, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He placed the boy gently in his bed and covered him with blankets.
Anderia stood washing the pans from breakfast. Balyar reached over her shoulder and took her hand. She stared straight ahead.
“Take care,” she said.

Balyar, Samael, and Kristren tramped down the meandering path leading from the upper ranches to the Noreldan settlement. Jett ran ahead. Balyar and Kristren bounced along, but the aging and overweight merchant huffed and puffed.
Samael halted and wiped his forehead. “In my younger days… I could make the climb to the ranches… thrice daily. Now I fear death along the way. The trip up to your homestead this morning was worse. I should have met you at the docks.” He plopped down on a rock beside the path and patted his stomach. “There are some drawbacks to a plentiful summer after all, good rancher.”
Balyar smirked. “The life of a merchant makes you soft. Working a ranch for a season would keep you fit.”
“I’ve no doubt. But the upcoming winter will make us all leaner, especially if we don’t plan well. That’s why our voice must be heard at the Council. There are over twelve hundred people depending on our foresight and strength. It’s a responsibility I take quite seriously.”
“Well spoken, my friend. And you feel Tharmstron will be an asset?”
Samael’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, but always remember, Tharmstron speaks for the trappers, much the same as you speak for ranchers, and I, for the Noreldan merchants. We of the northern communities form a broad alliance born of geography and mutual needs. Our stronger bonds are to our constituents, and finally, to our families. There may be circumstances where Tharmstron will do whatever is in his people's best interest, and not necessarily ours.”

Finally, they reached the settlement’s edge. The sun had burned the morning haze, and Lake Norelda’s rippling blue water swarmed with boats of various shapes and sizes. They entered Norelda’s bustling streets and were confronted by citizens offering praise, food, and drink. Samael nodded curtly, but ushered Balyar and Kristren away.   
Samael glanced toward the elevated sun. “Let’s move on. Noon approaches and we’re expected at the ferry dock. Tharmstron and his companion will be waiting.”
The men arrived at a gateway cut through a rock wall. A line of heavily laden Zampha carts plodded through the gate, and downward toward the lake.
Samael beamed. “Packs for the giant Yaakraya, crammed with furs and garments stitched in Noreldan factories.”
Kristren’s eyes danced.
The men strolled through the gate and down to a series of floating docks located several hundred meters below. Balyar noticed a large boat with a flat deck tied to the dock. Several men crisscrossed the deck, checking sails and fastening rigging. Another dozen men used a huge wooden lever-crane to hoist the heavy packs from the carts onto the boat.
Balyar counted aloud. “Three or four dozen Yaakraya packs at least.”
Samael smiled broadly.
Balyar and Samael approached the ferry. Kristren took his father's bag and hurled it aboard. One of the ferrymen smiled at Kristren and tossed the bag below deck. Samael stepped across a plank and onto the boat.
Balyar bid Kristren farewell. Kristren trotted off the dock and up the road. Jett followed, jumping and sniffing at the boy’s feet.
Balyar watched until Kristren disappeared through the gate, and then boarded the ferry. Behind him, two burly men approached the dock. Balyar noticed both men carried bags fashioned from hides of wild animals. One man was three or four seasons older than the other, and sported a long, dark beard. The younger man was clean-shaven. Both wore fur-lined hats, Mathran jackets, and Alem-hide boots. They strode up the plank and tossed bags to the crew.
The older trapper smiled. “I see you made it, honorable Samael. And you must be the rancher, Balyar.” He reached out and seized the rancher’s wrist. “You have the reputation of a fair and honorable man.”
“Yes, I am Balyar. And I’m honored to finally meet the esteemed Tharmstron. I’ve heard many tales―”
The trapper bellowed, “I hope all you have heard has been good.” He turned to his young companion. “This is Ruppon. He has an interesting story to tell, but only before the Council of Representatives as I have pledged to Master Druiden of Adair.” The young trapper nodded.
The four men watched as the last gigantic pack was hoisted aboard, and secured to the ship’s deck. The ferrymen released their vessel, and three rowboats towed the boat to the bay’s mouth. A southwest wind ruffled the lake, and the ferrymen raised two broad sails. And with the wind at their tail, they sailed toward the lake’s center.
**********
Kristren jogged up the path. Jett followed close behind. Kristren halted and turned. Before him, Lake Norelda glistened in the bright sun. He placed his hand to his brow and spotted a brown platform with two white blotches amid the field of deep blue.
“My time is coming soon, Jett. Next year, I’ll be the one who goes to Tyrie. I’ll be the one who’ll ride the Yaak to the city of the confluence, and beyond; this I promise, Jett. I promise with all my heart.”
Jett turned his brown eyes to the boy, barked, and bound up the path. Kristren jogged after him.
**********
Balyar grasped the railing as the ferry listed and bobbed beneath bulging sails. He turned and saw the outline of the distant settlement atop a thin band at the water’s far shore. High above the settlement, his beloved ranch was lost in the distance.
Balyar sighed and watched lakebirds dodge the ship’s mast. Samael meandered across the creaking deck to Balyar’s side. Both men marveled at the distant, snowcapped peaks to the north and northwest.
The afternoon sun drifted downward, and the ferry sailed southwestward driven by a steady wind. By early evening, Balyar spotted the Yaakrider’s base at the foot of the slender lake. Atop the ship’s highest mast, a keen-sighted ferryman studied the distant site and yelled joyously. The other ferrymen cheered in response.
Samael turned to Balyar. “The ferrymen have spotted the Yaakrider’s banner on the shoreline. There will be no delay. We’ll be underway by morning.”
The ferry moved toward the docks as the sun touched the western mountains. Balyar observed two proud young men standing on the shore: one man was tall with trimmed hair, and the other was shorter with dark hair bound across his forehead. Behind the two men stood a field of huge, stoic Yaak, their whitish-brown hair contrasting the dark forest. Several other stern-faced men emerged behind the row of Yaak.
The ferry eased into the dock. Ferrymen jumped to the wooden planks and secured the ship. The two men on shore approached the dock.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  7

Quintar and Carathis emerged from the Yaakrider’s Barracks just as the sun poked above Tyrie’s snow-laden ranges. Steadfastly, they strode downward along the settlement’s angled streets, their flowing green robes tucked neatly beneath heavy woolen coats. The two men spoke little. Quintar knew well Carathis’s intolerance for minor chat. Quintar lagged a respectful step behind the Supreme Yaakleader whose stalwart face bore a neatly trimmed mustache and gray-streaked beard.
Upon reaching the settlement’s lowest tier, they approached Tyrie’s Great Meeting Hall. Quintar noticed the Hall’s sloped rooftop blanketed with newly fallen snow. He followed the Supreme Yaakleader through the Hall’s ornate doorway
The two Yaakmen entered a huge room filled with lavish artwork and polished furnishings. The wall opposite the doorway supported four deep windows facing northeast to capture the morning sun, and between stood wooden sculptures hewed to the likeness of Tyrie’s wild creatures. Quintar noted the Yaak’s proud image displayed most prominently. Quintar rubbed his boot upon a floor constructed of dark Sohla planks, patterned in concentric boxes spiraling inward to the room’s center. There, within an enormous stone fireplace, Olaf firewood crackled and spat, and emitted a sweet odor that Quintar inhaled with great pleasure.
A group of robed individuals sat at a large rectangular table placed near the hearth. A balding man with a long, white beard rose to his feet, and then bowed curtly. “Hail the noble Carathis and young Quintar.”
“And greetings to you, Pincar,” Carathis said. “Friend and delegate of Tyrie’s merchants.”
Carathis and Quintar removed their coats, and sat.
Ruma, head of the Council of Representatives and delegate of the confluence’s farming community, sat at the table’s head. He rose from his seat with palms outstretched, his ornamented robe flowing gracefully to his elbows. The conversations ceased and all eyes were drawn forward. “All representatives are present. The meeting can proceed.”
Ruma began with an introduction of the Council. To Ruma's right sat Councilwoman Charon― a proud and noble lady with short, graying hair. She represented Tyrie’s tradespeople: the manufacturers, miners, and carpenters. Ruma’s son Hayden sat beside her. Both Hayden and Ruma represented Tyrie’s farmers: a large and most influential faction. Carathis and Quintar sat to Charon’s left. The noble Adairian educator Druiden sat to Hayden’s right, and next to him, the young scribe Porrias. Beside Porrias sat the uneasy representative of Adair’s fishing industry, Barrazan.
Seated opposite Ruma, were the amiable and wealthy Tyrinian merchants: Pincar and Dumas. Dumas was the eldest representative and respected by all for his wisdom and insight. The Noreldan merchant Samael and the Noreldan rancher Balyar sat near the table’s center. The robust trapper Tharmstron was seated to Balyar's right, and next to him, the mysterious trapper Ruppon.
The meeting began with a lengthy summary of the past season presented by each group’s representative. Hayden spoke of an excellent growing season, and a surplus of grains, fruits, and tuber foods grown to supplement the Yaak’s natural diet. Ruma interrupted Hayden, and complemented Druiden on the development of rich, new strains of Charkur and Waax, and grains engineered to resist pestilence and vermin.
Charon talked at length of manufacturing production, and the discovery of new veins of salts and metal ore. Barrazan stood before the Council and spoke of a successful harvest of Quidida and Zariema, dried, and awaiting shipment north to Tyrie and Norelda. And Druiden talked with great passion of advancements in education and the sciences.
Balyar spoke of a huge harvest of Mathran wool, which brought gasps of astonishment from the representatives and smiles from the merchants― all except the old and wizened merchant Dumas, who sat stroking his gray eyebrows with wrinkled fingers. Quintar noticed Ruma glancing frequently at the elder councilman, apparently noting Dumas’s reaction to each topic discussed.
Tharmstron rose and talked of an abundance of pelts for sale in the three settlements. “Heavy and rich they are. Never in all my seasons have I seen such quality on the hides of wild creatures.”
Suddenly the elder Dumas's eyes flashed with a mixture of both dismay and concern. He lowered his head and fell deep in thought.
Finally, Quintar stood before the Council and recounted several successful hunting expeditions into the distant mountainous regions above the northwest river branch. “The lands were strange and the air, thin, but game was robust and abundant.” He talked of expanding trade runs north to Norelda, and south to Adair, and of the nature and disposition of the Yaak-beasts of Tyrie. As he spoke, Quintar felt Ruma’s slicing eyes, sometimes glimpsing signs of admiration in his father’s grim face, yet most of the farmer’s expressions faded rapidly to sadness and regret.
Ruma rose from his seat and paused. He glanced at Dumas, and then toward Carathis. “And now we shall discuss the reason why I have asked for an extra day of council. I realize this is a busy time of year for all of us, and I know you are all anxious to return to your homes, trades, and loved ones. But, I would not have asked for this time, if the matter to be presented were of little significance. I hope we all listen, and debate this subject earnestly and with open minds, for it may affect all of our lives during these coming cycles.” Ruma paused. “The esteemed Carathis will now speak.” Ruma sat abruptly.
Carathis folded his hands and began slowly. “Most of us know that the Yaak is a species of high intellect, which is quite evident in my guild’s daily interactions with the beasts, and the cooperation they have offered humans for untold generations― the nature of which even we Yaakriders do not fully comprehend yet accept gratefully.
“But many are unaware that the Yaakbeasts also possess superior instinct. They anticipate conditions in our ever-changing environment far beyond man’s current understanding, or reasoning.”
Carathis cleared his throat. ”I’ll be direct, good council members. We have observed the Yaak stockpiling huge amounts of Waax and Charkur over the last several cycles.”
“Is it unusual for the Yaak to store food for the winter?” Tharmstron asked. “Why should this concern us?”
“Because my good councilman, even the old-timers have never seen the Yaak hoard so much, in so little time, and so urgently. The beasts have actually accelerated their pace of hoarding as winter draws closer.”
Councilwoman Charon spoke: “Has it not been said, good Yaakleader, that when the Yaakbeasts store food early in fall, the ensuing winter will be long and cold?”
Carathis nodded. “You are correct, Lady Charon. The Yaak’s instinct is seldom proved wrong. We can think of no other reason for their behavior.”
“And this may explain the quality of the pelts we’ve trapped,"   Tharmstron said. “I fear a good season for a trapper may prove a dangerous omen for us all.”
“Yes, and if I may continue,” Carathis said. “I’ll add that the hair of the Yaak is also of unusual fullness this fall― thick and strong.”
The members sat silently, pondering everything said.
The merchant Pincar spoke first: “All of this is interesting speculation, but I’ve heard this all before. Last year we heard evidence that a certain conjunction of Ellini and Alberon would bring a disastrous winter. The year before we were told a drought would bring a cold and harsh season.” He sighed. “And both years, the winters were average. Why should we think this year different?” Pincar shook his head.
Many representatives turned to one another, nodding.
The Adairian scholar Druiden rose. “Let us not dismiss these observations so hurriedly, good council members. I agree with the honorable Pincar. We must not alarm the public without ample evidence, yet these are unusual signs, and call for careful debate.” Druiden sat.
“None can foresee the future,” Ruma said. “Nonetheless, we should always prepare for the worst. A severe winter will cause hardship for all of our people. Only fools would not take precautions. This is the least we owe our citizens.”
Some representatives stared at the table, while others watched the fireplace. Quintar noticed Ruma’s face flush with shadow.
“There is something else,” Ruma said gravely. “But before we debate this most controversial issue, my friend and senior representative, Dumas, has requested some time to address you. Dumas has asked only for our patience, and for us to kindly listen to his statement.”
Dumas lifted his frail body gently from his seat, and then nodded curtly to Ruma. “Fellow representatives, I have seen by my calculations the better part of thirteen springs. I know but a few in all the lands who can make such a claim. Maybe now, there are none still alive.” Dumas paused.
“For this, I consider myself most fortunate, not only for a long life, but also for the opportunity, so freely given to me, to nobly serve my guild, my city, and our civilization.”
Dumas's gray eyes darted from person to person, catching briefly the transfixed gaze of each. “But, alas my bones grow old, and I’m fast becoming weary, and I’m confident that I will not witness winter’s end, and spring’s golden renewal. Yet, perhaps before I depart, I can still be of use to the Council and to Tyrie. And I’m grateful the Council has allowed an old man his opportunity to ramble onward once again…”
“I speak for the entire Council,” Carathis said. “We are all honored to be in the presence of one who has served Tyrie with such dignity, and for so long. Your opinions will always be heard with earnestness, and given greatest consideration.”
There was a murmur of consensus around the table. Dumas lowered his head, eager to continue.
“My earliest recollections are of the winter preceding the spring of my second year. My father was a simple merchant, selling Noreldan pelts in the winter, or grains in summer and fall. My mother was a strong woman, kept busy raising five sons and two daughters for which I was youngest.
“We were not a wealthy merchant family, yet we managed to survive living in a cabin somewhere to the northwest of Tyrie― the exact location I’ll never know, but I do recall our home was located on the wilderness’s edge. As you all know, many homesteads in those earlier times were dispersed many kilometers from Tyrie’s main settlement, even though our population was less than half what it is today. These pioneers did not depend on the settlement for their daily needs, and they remained self-sufficient even through the harshest winters. I don’t recall many neighbors, nor contact with humans other than my family, until my father brought me to Tyrie’s settlement the following spring.
“That particular winter was unusually long, and I can still feel the bitter cold in the depths of my bones. The storms raged for days and days, and sometimes a single storm would pile snow higher than the height of a man. I recall that by mid-winter, the drifts covered our cabin’s roof.
“On a clear and cold afternoon, a strange man arrived at our homestead. He was tall and rugged, and his face was scarred, and his cheeks were burned from cold. A dark beard hung beneath the burn, speckled with frost that stuck to the strands like ice on trees. We had never seen a man like this before, so quite naturally my brothers and I became quite fascinated with the stranger.
“My older brothers urged me outside the cabin and through a tunnel of snow, and up a wooden stair that we had built to reach the snow’s height. There, I remember seeing a huge, white figure. My five brothers and I circled the furry creature, studying its sturdy legs, and stroking its gnarled, white pelt. I noticed a freshly healed wound above a greenish stain on the Yaak-beast’s side. The misfortunate creature carried a harness and pack upon its arched back.
“Yaakman, my eldest brother said, motioning toward the cabin where the stranger rested.
“Long past the afternoon and into the evening, the stranger and my father spoke in hushed tones. Their speech was laced with anxiety and their faces flushed with anguish. To this day, I never forgot the look of absolute fear upon my father's face. My mother trembled with dread and huddled her children, sharing the stranger's secret with only the eldest, whom she reasoned old enough to understand.
“Before dawn of the following day, the stranger was gone.
“For some time thereafter, my father and my eldest brother Gerrob would leave home for days on end, returning exhausted and anxious. Many strangers came to our home, some staying hours, some staying days; all seemed to bring sorrowful news. Food was scarce and my family sometimes went for weeks without meat, surviving on meager rations of stale grains and wild roots.
“One fateful night, my father returned alone. He bled from the head and arm, and was weak from blood-loss. My mother tended to his wounds, and then gathered the family. With her head held high, she told us that our father would recover from his wounds, but sobbed while reporting Gerrob’s death.
“Was it a―? My older sister asked, daring not utter the unspeakable word.
“Yes, my mother said gravely. It was Ordai.”
Ordai! Quintar thought. Ordai! Someone still lives who witnessed a time when the legendary snow-beasts invaded the Valley of the Great Confluence. It was as if a tale told in folklore burst into life through a single eyewitness. No other name could exact a more emotional response from Tyrie’s citizens.
“The Ordai,” Tharmstron grunted above the Council’s murmurs. “Does the honorable Dumas stand here and tell us the Ordai will return?”
Samael shook his head. “In Norelda, the watch for Ordai ended in my father's time. There is no evidence the beasts will return.”
“Please, dear friends,” Ruma said. “Let our senior representative continue. He will explain further.”
Quintar felt a chill draft flow through the hall as the elder merchant’s eyes fixed on the table’s center. Golden embers flickered in the fireplace.
“There is something else,” Dumas said gravely. “I recall my father telling us that the Yaakmen had observed unusual behavior among the beasts during the previous year’s fall season. Some of this, I can’t recall, but two points I still remember: my father told my brothers and me that the Yaak had developed a thick, heavy pelt, and that the creatures were hoarding huge amounts of food, far beyond amounts of prior years.
The representatives sat silently.
Finally, Carathis spoke: "This has also been observed and noted in our oldest Yaakrider traditions and lore, some of which have been passed down through generations in my trade.” He sighed. “The Yaak likely hoard for a reason.”
“There appears to be ample signs the upcoming winter will be harsh,” Tharmstron said. “And I’ve no doubt that others at this table will prepare with earnestness. But I’m still not convinced a severe winter will summon the snow-beasts.” Tharmstron crossed his arms and shook his head.
Ruma spoke: “Talk of the Ordai stirs many emotions amongst our citizens. Tales of the snow-beasts are taught to our youngest children, and are thus an integral part of our culture. But, it has been four generations since the Ordai roamed the Valley of the Confluence, and understandably, to us, they are more legend than real flesh and blood.”
Ruma rose to his feet, eyes steadfast with resolve. “But make no mistake fellow representatives: to our forefathers, the terror was real. I still recall the icy terror on my own grandfather’s face, when he spoke of the horrible beasts from the north. Before he died, he warned me never to forget that the snow-beasts may someday return…”
“Ere long the days of winter fold
Of bitter root and tales of old
Eleven Thermegan shall fly anew
The twelfth shall the Ordai rule”

All eyes turned toward the slender Adairian scribe Porrias.
“May I… may I beg the Council's forgiveness. It was a saying taught to me by my father, as it had been told by his father. I’ve begun to scribe all such sayings, I’ve had the privilege to hear and remember.”
Dumas looked the young scribe over, and then a thin smile formed on the wizened merchant’s face. “I’ve talked too long, and now my work is complete.” He lowered slowly to his seat.
Ruma, still standing, paused for a moment. “We have listened and deliberated much this morning, and we still must hear from Tharmstron and his young companion Ruppon. We must also discuss plans for winter, and those discussions may continue for days.” Ruma glanced out the window as bright sunshine beat down upon Tyrie’s streets, and a steady trickle fell from the Hall’s slushy roof. “It appears that noon has passed, and a break for food and fresh air is in order.”
The representatives rose and began to file from the room. Carathis turned to speak with Pincar. Quintar walked to the hallway and came face to face with Hayden. Their eyes locked.
Hayden’s jaw tightened. “Look at us now, both representatives―”
“Mother would be proud,” Quintar replied.
Hayden chuckled nervously.
“And how are Ari and Marcura?” 
“My sister Ari… our sister Ari, and her new husband have built a homestead north of the city. She was disappointed you couldn’t attend the joining. Mother is the same as always.”
“And Ruma?” 
Hayden hesitated. “Father was interested to learn Carathis had named you a representative. I’d not heard your name mentioned in ages… only mother. Perhaps the passing seasons have mellowed him some.”
A moment later, Ruma and Dumas strolled down the hall toward the two men. Ruma stopped. Dumas nodded to Quintar and Hayden before hobbling toward the door.
The three men stood in awkward silence. Ruma stared at Quintar and their eyes met. “You present yourself well, young Yaakman. All of us are pleased to have you here.”
“Thank you, father,” Quintar replied.
Ruma nodded, and then he and Hayden turned and strode down the hallway.

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  8

The noontime sun shone brightly over the Great Meeting Hall as the representatives chatted and argued politely over the morning’s business.
Ruma rose and held forth his hand. “Let us begin again. The day grows short and we have a great deal to discuss before evening. Let us now turn to the honorable Tharmstron, who has graciously accepted Master Druiden’s invitation to address the Council, although he has gone to great lengths to caution me that his speech’s merits can only be judged by the Council itself.”
Tharmstron rose from his chair, tugging his green robe awkwardly over broad shoulders. “Esteemed representatives, I would first like to thank the Council for allowing us this time to speak. My young comrade Ruppon and me will try not to take up much of the Council’s valuable time. And I apologize for our crude speech, because as you all know, we are an uneducated people, yet perhaps, I will be the last generation to be so.” He nodded graciously toward Druiden and Porrias.
Dumas’s eyes gleamed. “Judge not the manner of a man's speech, but the content of his argument.”
“Well spoken,” Ruma said. “Now, please continue― Master Tharmstron.”
“Trappers, by their nature, roam far into the wilderness searching for new and untapped areas full of healthy game. The educated scholars of Adair know this well, and have formed an alliance with us trappers to share information of the lands we’ve traveled in return for maps and teachers to instruct our young.
“These maps have proved useful to the men and women in my profession, and also to Yaakriders, who hunt far into the wilderness and even to the south, below Lake Adair’s western bay.” Tharmstron turned to Carathis and Quintar, who acknowledged with a nod.
“In late summer of this past year, I journeyed to Adair on business. There, I had the honor of dining on fresh Quidida with Master Druiden in his home overlooking the Bay of Adair. As we ate, I told him a tale that had been told to me by a group of trappers who our party met at an outpost located to the east of Norelda on the wilderness’s edge.
“Indeed, the story was strange, yet as with other tales told and retold at campfires all through the wilderness― and if the truth be known, most of these stories are flavored with Jenna― we trappers accept these tales as questionable at best.”
The representatives chuckled.
“So as we ate, I laughed, and retold the story to Druiden, and apologized for wasting his valuable time.
“But the wise Druiden was not amused. He listened to the tale with great earnestness, and I saw in his eyes a glow of serious thought. He asked me to seek out the tale’s source, and if I found truthfulness in its claims, present the story to the Council of Representatives.”
Tharmstron paused then inhaled deeply. “My esteemed council members, I have not only spoken with the source, but I have brought him here to tell the story in person.” He turned and placed his hand on his young companion’s shoulder. “I present the trapper Ruppon.”
Tharmstron sat and motioned Ruppon to stand.
The young trapper rose, eyes darting to each of the council.
“Please begin, young man,” Ruma said. “The Council is eager to hear your tale. We are not often prepared in such a tantalizing manner.”
“My name is Ruppon,” he began tepidly. “My family’s been trappers for generations. I grew up at outposts all through the wilderness. Like most of us trappers, I don’t call any one place my home.
“In early spring of this year, just after the river retreat, me and my older brother Jarem and five Breva entered the wilderness southwest of the trapper outpost that Tharmstron mentioned before. We wanted to get to a small valley between two mountain ranges almost straight east from Adair. The valley’s cut by a branch of a river coming into Lake Adair from its eastern arm.
“Us trappers like this route in the spring. The river is mostly without rapids, and it’s easy to run hides in boats to the lake. There, we can sell them to the merchants in Adair, or peddle them right in Adair’s markets. Either way, a trapper can earn some good credits.
“Jarem and me drove the Breva up the steep ground to a pass between the mountains. Some of you might not know that a Breva is a crossbreed between a Zampha and Mathran. We trappers like this cross, because is has the strength of a Zampha and can climb like a Mathran, which can come in handy when trapping in hilly country.
“It took us a half cycle of Ellini to come down into the valley from the north. The days were bright and there were good signs of game. And we wasted no time setting our traps for the Camorr and Alem that roamed the river retreat marches and stream basins of the valley. We camped close to our traps because we also tracked Pinthra.
“One night, we used Alberon’s bright light to prepare our skins for packing. There was no breeze, and I remember the smoke from our fire drifted straight up into the branches of Sohla surrounding our campsite. Jarem found a wild pig in one of our traps and we roasted it. All I remembered hearing that night was the crackling of Olaf in the fire and pork sizzling on the spit, until…
“Without no warning, our Breva became restless, yelping their high pitch whine and pulling on the ropes that bound them to the trees. Jarem and me dropped our knives and jumped for our crossbows. We pointed our weapons into the dark shadows between the trees.
“Pinthra? I whispered to Jarem.
“No, he said. It’s too early, and Pinthra don’t like a big fire.
“Before I could say something else, we heard a man’s voice call from the woods.
“I must beg pardon for annoying your animals, said the voice.
“Jarem held his crossbow firm. Who are you? Come forward and show your face. Don’t you know that men who sneak up on a trapper after dark risk being split by an arrow, without no questions?
“I know, said the voice, because I was once a trapper like you. But I’m very hungry, and I haven’t talked with another human in two years.
“Through Alberon’s light, I saw a figure creep out from between the trees.
“I’m alone and unarmed, the man said over and over.
“A weak and haggard man stepped into the firelight. His shoulders were stooped, and he had long, gray hair and a scruffy beard. His coat and boots were ragged, and his shirt and trousers were tore. On his back, he carried an old skin pack. My brother and me agreed that he looked like a man who had wandered the wilderness for a long time.
“My name is Darros, the man said. Can I make camp here and share your pig, and some Jenna, if you might? I’ve not had Jenna for as long as I can remember.
“His wild eyes shined at the idea of Jenna and pork. My first thought was the man was crazed, so both of us kept our hands near our bows.
“What brings you to this valley? Jarem asked. And if you are a trapper, where are your traps?
“I said that I was once a trapper, Darros said as he pulled off his pack. Now I’m just a wanderer. I’ve no home.
“Why did you leave the settlements? I asked. Why would a man not seek others for such a long time? Are you a criminal? I let him see that I had a crossbow within easy reach.
“Darros walked to the fire, and shook his head. So many questions, he said. I’m very hungry and thirsty. All the time, his eyes never left the pig.
“We don’t starve fellow travelers, Jarem told him. Then my brother cut a slice of pork and handed it to the stranger. The man ate like a crazed animal.
“After he ate a good part of our pig, he tried to explain his past. Yes, he said, I was a trapper. I lived at an outpost near Norelda. I’ve trapped most northern and southern routes, including this one. Two springs ago, I gave up trapping and decided to roam the wilderness away from men and their ways.
“Darros looked disgusted when he mentioned others, and I gave my brother a quick look. Jarem just shook his head― we both knew the man was not telling us all the truth.”

“Master Tharmstron,” Councilwoman Charon asked. “Have you any confirmation, this man Darros was once a member of the trapper community, as he had told young Ruppon?”
“Yes, Councilwoman Charon,” Tharmstron replied. “After the honorable Druiden asked me to investigate this story further, I talked to others at the Noreldan settlement that Ruppon spoke of. Some say, a man calling himself Darros, once trapped from a northwest outpost, but he had not been seen in over two years.”
Tharmstron scowled. “More important, this man Darros did not choose to leave the trade, he was banished for thievery! I believe this is the same man.”
Ruma lifted his hand softly. “Well, let us continue with this tale. Young man―”
“As the night wore on, my brother and me warmed to the wandering stranger. He ate his fill of pork and drank a good share of our Jenna. As his hunger went away, he started to talk wondrous tales of his time in the wilderness.
“He talked of traveling north and east, and up and through the high mountains, where the air was thin, and huge mountains of hard ice melted into deep, blue-green pools, even during summer’s heat. And he talked of a barren pass, where game was scarce and hunger nearly killed him. On clear days, he said, he could see mountains so high they touched the sky in never-ending rows of peaks and slopes.
“He barely survived the pass, and followed a stream down to a basin that emptied into a bigger river running almost due east. He said he didn’t follow the river right away, but he stayed near the river’s bank the whole summer, hunting and fishing.
“There was plenty of game, he said. And he found at least nine Yaak tribes. He figured about a thousand beasts lived in this one valley alone.
“When winter came, he built a small cabin near one of the Yaak tribes on a plateau overlooking the river. The Yaak didn’t pay him much attention, except for one day, when three of the older female Yaaks stopped by. He’d guessed they were just curious of the cabin he’d built.
“They took a good look at me and my cabin, he said, probably just checking to see if I was dangerous. He laughed. Otherwise, they just left me alone. They acted as if I wasn’t even there, he said… strange beasts.”
“When spring came, he built a hollowed boat and waited for the river to retreat. Then he abandoned his cabin and entered the river flowing east.
“He told us that he floated down the twisting river for many cycles of Ellini, stopping when he found good hunting grounds, or when he just grew weary of traveling. Along the way, he passed many marches and bogs, followed by steep cliffs, and then more marsh. Once, he told Jarem and me that the river opened to a marsh so big that it took many days to cross. And large serpent-creatures lived in this march, so terrible, he spoke of them little.”
The representatives murmured.
“Eventually, Darros found his way out of the marsh, and continued down the river. By the stars and sun, he noticed the river twisted southeast, then south, and even southwest for awhile.
“By mid-summer of that year, he reached a stretch of river that flowed steady and strong. One day, he saw a colony of birds feeding in the shallows below a high riverbank. This made him wary, as he had come to learn that birds often fed just above the beginning of rapids or falls.
“He said, the air was thick with dew, and he heard the dull sounds of water in the distance, so he pulled his boat to the shore. He walked through the woods to the river’s head. There, he said, the forest opened to bare rock.
“Darros described to my brother and me, a waterfall higher than he had ever seen in all his years. The water fell in two tiers: the first he could see below, dividing the river into many streams; the second falling into a valley, he could not yet see.
“Words couldn’t describe the view of that valley, he said. Two mountain ranges towered on either side, and it spread out to the southwest beyond his sight. From where he looked, the river pooled at the bottom of the falls, and twisted down the valley’s center.
“It took him two days to climb to the bottom of the falls and into the valley below. He described the land as green and full of game, and he spent many cycles below the falls fishing and hunting.
“This man Darros told us, he’d been happy to stay in this valley forever, if he didn’t come upon what he saw next.”
Ruppon paused and looked over the transfixed representatives.
“Just a day down the valley from the falls, he happened on a clearing above the flood bank. Strange, he thought, because he had never known Yaak to clear land in this way. The path through the clearing appeared to have been made by men. He followed the path into the forest, where he found a small cabin made of timber and thatched reeds.”
 The council members began to murmur. Some shook their heads while others openly expressed shock. Only Dumas sat expressionless, staring at Ruppon.
“The cabin appeared to be built for four or five men. The beds were crude, made of Sohla branches and Payet leaves. Darros thought the cabins were not made sturdy enough to keep men safe in winter. He also said it looked like no one had been there since the previous summer. When he walked further away from the river, the path opened to a wide clearing. Here, he said, he found a fire pit surrounded by forty cabins.”
Carathis sprang to his feet. “Forty cabins! This suggests over a hundred individuals. Who are these people and where did they come from?”
“Can we not trace our ancestry back five or six generations?” Charon asked. “Do we not have census information?”
“Yes,” Druiden replied. “The scholars of Adair have taken census for over twenty years.
“Then, can we not account for the loss of such a group?” Pincar asked.
“As you all know,” Druiden said. “Men or women may be banished to the wilderness for a variety of reasons― murder, rape, thievery, subjugation. But banishments are rare, and only two women in our history have been exiled, and from all accounts, those women were beyond child-bearing years.”
“Of course,” Charon said. “I follow Master Druiden's thought. A group of this size would have required women, if they wished to last more than a single generation.”
The others chuckled, yet only briefly.
Druiden turned. “Master Tharmstron, our census of the trapping community has never been complete. Could a group of trappers have become lost, or have deserted our lands for some reason?”
“Trapping is a dangerous business. And many brave men have been lost, and have lost their lives in my trade. And some have been banished as thieves or worse. But our community is small, and I’m certain that if a large group of Trappers had abandoned the Valley of the Confluence, it would have been noted in our tales or song. I have asked the old and wise at all of our outposts, and they know of no such tale.”
The representatives talked among themselves.
“Please, fellow representatives,” Ruma said. “Let us not forget this tale was authored by a verified thief.”
There were a few murmurs and nods of agreement around the table, including Tharmstron.
“Nonetheless, we should hear the remainder of Ruppon's story before deciding its merit. Please continue, young trapper.”
“Darros searched the camp, but found nothing to give him a clue of who these men were, or what they were doing in this valley, or where they came from. But he did tell Jarem and me that he thought these men were hunters, not trappers, although he did not give us a reason why he thought so.
“Also, Darros didn’t tell us why he left the valley and returned to Tyrie. When we asked him outright, he shrugged his shoulders, or changed the subject.
“Darros stayed with Jarem and me for almost a full cycle. As the days passed, he told us more and more of his adventure, of which I told the Council just a small amount. He worked hard, helping us with the traps. He even hunted fresh game for us to eat. Day by day he earned our trust.
“Jarem was taken by the stranger, and they talked often of adventure. Darros spoke of returning to the valley of the Great Falls, and my brother listened. One day Jarem told me that he’d decided to go with Darros into the strange lands. He asked me to return to Adair with the furs we’d trapped, and place his profits aside until he came back.
“I tried, but I couldn’t talk my brother out of leaving with this man. Jarem was always interested in adventure and the unknown. So I bid him farewell, and told him I’d return to Adair. Jarem promised to return before the first sign of fall.”
Ruppon glanced downward. “Honorable representatives, it is near winter and my brother hasn’t returned. Jarem is a strong man, and experienced in ways of survival in the wilds, but after learning of Darros's criminal past, I fear for my brother’s life. So I now pledge, if he does not return between now and spring, I will venture to find him, alone if I must. This is the least I owe my brother. I thank you for hearing my tale.”
Ruppon bowed and returned to his seat.
“Thank you, young man,” Ruma said. “And now I must ask an important question. Do you think this man was telling the truth? Or do you think this tale was born in this criminal’s imagination? What does your heart tell you?”
“I, and my brother, believed the man was truthful, except for his reason for leaving Tyrie.”
Pincar asked, “Then why do you not think he might lie about finding the village of men? Perhaps he spun this tale to regain favor with the trapper communities and petition to end his banishment.”
“I can explain my feeling in no other way, honorable representatives.”
Ruma turned to the young Adairian scribe. “Master Porrias, Druiden tells me you are knowledgeable in the ways of maps and their history. Can any of this man’s stories be validated?”
Porrias stood before the Council. “Much of the story Ruppon recounted is consistent with our sparse knowledge of these lands. I have spoken to men, who have heard tales of an expansive valley located over the great dividing ranges to the northeast of Norelda― although none of these men themselves have ventured through the mountains, and returned.”
Pincar grunted. “Tales spun over campfires?”
“Perhaps,” Tharmstron said. “Yet the Valley of the Yaak has been a part of trapper lore for generations. I’ve heard of this vale long before Ruppon recounted Darros’s story.”
“Yaakriders too, have heard tales of a valley over the eastern ranges,” Carathis said. “These lands are said to be rich with Charkur and Waax, and home to countless Yaak.”
Porrias cleared his throat. “The regions beyond the valley described by Darros cannot be substantiated by map, witness, or our many legends. Darros described a large river flowing through the valley of the falls. It is quite possible this river merges with our own Great River somewhere to the southeast.” Porrias shrugged. “And to where that river flows, none can guess.”
Porrias bowed and returned to his seat.
All of the representatives sat silently, deep in thought.
Ruma raised his palm. “Unquestionably, the people of Tyrie have at times endured great hardships, yet our lands are fertile and full of game; consequentially, starvation is rare, even during our harshest winters. Because we have possessed so many natural resources, we have neglected to seek new lands and explore our world. Although we have made great strides in educating our citizens, our knowledge of areas beyond this valley is sadly lacking.
“Honorable representatives, the time will come when we must seek new lands for our children, and our children's children, so they may grow and flourish. I say this time is now.”
“We must also think of our security,” Carathis said. “If there is any truth to this criminal’s story, let us not forget there are other men occupying lands near Tyrie. We cannot judge their intentions. They may wish to harm us, man against man.”
Charon gasped. “Men killing men? Why? For what purpose?”
“The wise Carathis is correct,” the elder Dumas said. “We know nothing of these men’s culture or history. They may have values very different than ours.”
 “I will now suggest,” Ruma said firmly. “We send an envoy of our bravest and brightest citizens into the wilds, to explore new lands, and possibly become ambassadors to the world of men.”
Ruppon rose to his feet. “I will be the first to volunteer. I had already made up my mind to search for my brother, but I’d gladly accept the company of others.”
“And I will go with him,” Porrias said. “The chance to explore the unknown is every mapmaker and historian’s dream.”
Quintar thought for a moment, and then rose slowly. “I will also volunteer my services.”
Carathis’s eyes flared. Ruppon’s face brightened.
“Any group entering the wilderness must be offered protection,”  Quintar said. “And few men can match a Yaakrider with a bow. I’m certain by spring we’ll find other brave men willing to join us.” Quintar caught Barrazan’s gaze before returning to his seat.
Ruma paused for a moment. “This is a promising start, and like Quintar, I’m confident others will come forward before winter’s end.”
“I will now propose this journey be organized by the scholars of Adair,” Druiden said. “I assume this will be a mission of exploration and diplomacy.”
“If these explorers encounter hostile men,” Carathis said. “The blood spilled will be mostly Yaakrider.”
Ruma held out his hands. “Please, please.”
Carathis brushed his palm outward. “Yet I’ll defer to Master Druiden here. All men, including Yaakmen, are free to do as their conscience leads them. But, I must state before the Council that my guild will offer much, yet suffer the most, if good men are lost.”
Druiden lowered his eyes. “Nobody doubts the bravery and generosity of the men of the Yaak, Master Carathis. We all acknowledge the sacrifice your guild is prepared to make.”
“Fine,” Ruma said. “Now we must turn to more tedious concerns, such as our plans for winter.” He sighed. ”Let us begin by talking about the grain storehouses―”

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE
PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER  9

Barrazan wondered between snaking bonfires and stumbling revelers on the eve of the Council’s first day. He halted and tugged his overcoat close, awestruck by Tyrie’s expansive hillside dotted with hundreds of blazing torches. The whiff of pungent Olaf burned his nostrils, and Jenna clouded his thoughts.
“Barrazan.” He heard a voice from amongst the revelers. He noticed Lenna staggering through the crowd holding a flask. “We’ve been looking for you, fisherman.”
“Who are we, my drunken friend?”
“A group of us over at Farissa's Inn.” Lenna wiped his lips. “Are you waiting for―?” He pointed up.
Barrazan gazed upward into the starry night. Ellini hung low on the northwestern horizon casting a dull red hue. “A moonless sky has fascinated me since I was a boy.”
“Yes, and on Council's eve―“ Lenna gulped from the flask. “May we consider it an omen, good or bad?”
“I’ve witnessed it countless times upon Lake Adair, where the skies blaze like crystal jewels over open water.” Barrazan paused. “And what fate awaits me at Farissa’s?”
“Quintar and the Adairian Porrias have been discussing next spring’s expedition into the wilderness. I’ve been sent out to find you, my friend.”
“Why seek me?”
“Quintar thought you might be interested.”
“Is that so?”
“We’ve already decided you’re coming with us.”
“Perhaps you should have asked me first.”
“There seemed little doubt. I told them how many times I’ve heard you speak of adventure.”
“Adventure? Me?” Barrazan laughed. “Was the trapper Ruppon with them?”
Lenna’s smile evaporated. “The trapper’s opinion is unimportant. Druiden of Adair has agreed to sponsor this mission for the glory of Tyrie. I would not risk my life searching for some trapper’s lost brother.”
“Apparently, you have already decided to go with them?”
“Indeed, nothing now prevents me…”
The two men stood in awkward silence. Finally, Lenna asked, ”Are you coming with me?”
“Into the wilderness?”
“No, my slow-witted Adairian friend. Are you coming with me to Farissa’s?”
“I fear the Jenna has gotten the better of you, good Yaakrider, and in the morning you’ll regret what you’ve committed to tonight.”
“A chance like this comes once in a lifetime.”
“Have you thought this through, Lenna? What of your guild, your duties?”
“Our duties will await us, upon our return.”
“And perhaps, some renown.”
Lenna tipped his flask. “If that's what you seek. Come, let us go together and explore this world.”
Barrazan sighed. ”I’ll decide after I listen to Quintar and Porrias.”
“That’s all we ask, good fisherman. Come with me to the Inn. I’ll buy the drinks. Maybe then, you’ll commit to ideas of adventure.” He belched.
Barrazan walked through the crowded streets with his arm over the Yaakman’s shoulder. They laughed, joked, and caught up on recent events. Barrazan told Lenna of the first day of the Council and the odd subjects discussed. Lenna recounted the events in his life following the tragic death of his wife.
The two men stopped beneath a dangling sign: Farissa's Inn and Pub.Two burly trappers staggered out the front door. One of the men stumbled and fell headfirst into the street. The other man laughed and helped the other back up.
Barrazan and Lenna entered the pub. Barrazan noticed a large man pouring spirits at the pub’s rear. The odd trio of Ruppon, Porrias, and Quintar sat in a darkened corner. A huge pitcher of Farissa's brew lay before them.
Lenna patted Barrazan’s shoulder. “Look who I brought back with me. I told you I could snare him.”
Quintar pulled up a chair. “Good work Lenna. He’s a good catch indeed.”
Barrazan gazed at Quintar, and then nodded to the others.
“Please sit, my friend,” Quintar said. “Have a cup of Farissa's brew and tell me what you think of ominous speeches of long winters, snow-beasts, and strange men in strange lands.”
Barrazan plopped down and grabbed an empty cup. “One cannot say this Council has been boring. I feel the warnings of a harsh winter are strong and undeniable, but for the Ordai, I cannot say. Men predict the return of the snow-beasts each winter, and still the creatures have not yet reemerged. And if they did, then I guess we’d have little choice but defend ourselves.”
“I agree,” Porrias said. “We must prepare for a bitter winter, yet we mustn’t panic citizens with talk of Ordai― that is, until we have solid evidence the monsters have revisited.”
Barrazan filled his glass. “There is another thing I don’t understand. If these bad winters and roaming snow-beasts happen every so many years, then why don’t we find this written in our history? Each season we appear to guess haphazardly regarding future events. Why is this so?”
“This has also puzzled the educators of Adair for generations, good fisherman. Although our knowledge of mathematics, linguistics, and science is strong, we are weakest in knowledge of our own history. It’s as though our forefathers did not care, or a large part of our past has been erased, or―”
“For what purpose?” Quintar asked.
“We don’t know, but my mentor Druiden has dedicated a great deal of his life searching for a reason, if a reason exists.”
Barrazan rubbed his chin. “Still, this makes no sense. Knowledge of the past can only help us cope with present troubles, can it not?”
Porrias held out his empty mug for Lenna to fill. “Yes, my friend. For instance, if we could predict when the Ordai will return, we could better prepare for the beasts, and possibly save lives. And, perhaps during off-winters, not waste valuable resources, when it is disadvantageous to do so.”
“This may also explain why Druiden was so intrigued by Ruppon's story,” Quintar said. “Perhaps Druiden feels we will learn more about ourselves by encountering men who are not of Tyrie.”
“Druiden seeks knowledge as a Yaakrider seeks a fine brew,” Porrias said. “Scholars have long reasoned that we are not the only men occupying this world, but there has always been little or no support for venturing forth. Now, Ruppon’s story has given us a reason.”
Porrias took a long sip. “But exploring the wilderness will be dangerous, and we’re grateful Quintar has agreed to help us in this quest. And I hope Barrazan will, also.”
“But I’m just a fisherman,” Barrazan said. “What skills can I bring? I’m not skilled in ways of traveling by land.”
“If the criminal Darros has been truthful, much of the unexplored areas can be traversed by boat. We need someone skilled in raft construction and navigation, if the need arises.”
Barrazan stroked his chin. “Are you planning to travel by foot, or by Yaak?”
“Possibly foot, possibly Yaak, possibly boat.” Porrias turned to the Yaakleader. “What do you think Quintar? Traveling by Yaak, at least initially, may have its advantages.”
Quintar nodded slightly. “Yes, for speed, strength, and mobility, the Yaak have no equal.”
Barrazan sighed and gave each man a fleeting look. “And who will lead our little group? Has this already been decided?”
Porrias and Ruppon glanced toward Quintar.
Finally, Porrias spoke: “We have plenty of time to determine our leader. Maybe this question can best be resolved after our party has been assembled.”
Barrazan eyed Porrias, and then Quintar. The Yaakleader appeared spellbound by the fire’s sparkling reflection in his mug’s crystal.
“This trip will be dangerous,” Quintar said. “And there’s a fair chance some, or all of us, may not return. None can say what we’ll find in the far wilderness away from our comfortable valley.”
“We all know the risks, Quintar,” Lenna said. “But our chances of survival improve tenfold with you and Barrazan along.”
Ruppon filled his own mug, and then the mugs of his four companions. He held his mug high. Firelight danced in his eyes. “May we all return here, to Farissa’s Inn, one year from today, and tell our tale at a council held in our honor.”
The five mugs clinked together. Lenna’s eyes narrowed.
“And to my brother, Jarem, may he be here with us drinking some of Farissa’s fine brew.”
Ruppon, Quintar, Porrias, and Barrazan took a long drink while Lenna hesitated. Barrazan watched as Lenna glared at the trapper, then caught Quintar’s steely eye.
Finally, Lenna raised his mug and gulped.
**********
“Look what I have, great-great-grandfather,” the boy said, holding forth a necklace of multi-colored beads.
Dumas lifted the trinket into the Tyrinian Square’s flickering light. “A fine piece of jewelry… It may make you rich.”
The boy smiled.
“It’s getting late, young man. We should find your grandmother. She will take you home.”
The boy's smile faded.
A woman wearing matching Mathran slacks and coat pushed her way through the crowd. Her gray-streaked hair was braided and tucked beneath a round green cap. She smiled and took the youngster’s hand. “Did you have fun with your great-pa? Now it’s time to come home, out of the cold.”
The boy looked up at his mother, pouting.
“And what of you, grandfather?”
Dumas’s eyes danced. “I’ll be home shortly, darling Zahra. I only wish to see people I’ve known in happy times. You know how I enjoy watching people in celebration. And this fall will be my last.”
“Hush, grandfather, you know I don’t like such talk.”
“Don’t feel sad for me, granddaughter. I’ve lived a life fuller than most. It’s the way of all things. We all face death.”
Zahra lifted her head and smiled sadly. “Just don’t be too late, or we’ll come out after you.” She turned toward her home while the boy waved goodbye.

The evening deepened and the citizens gathered in the streets awaiting Ellini’s disappearance. Some huddled close to the fires to keep warm, while others seemed content to watch, away from the bonfire’s glow. Still, some citizens sought out neighbors and friends to exchange pleasantries, and congratulations for an abundant and successful season.
Dumas ordered another twenty barrels of wine, and the people in the street whooped and cheered, praising him for his kindness and generosity. “If one takes, one must give back in kind,” he said in a soft voice.
Dumas strolled through the marketplace, his withered hand leaning on a cane fashioned of Sohla; its handle carved into the likeness of a Sequippa plant, a symbol of prosperity and wealth. The robe of councilman flowed gracefully beneath his Alem-skin jacket.
Dumas greeted many acquaintances in the square. He stopped and spoke with Ruma, and Ruma's son Hayden. Ruma discussed the Council, and how grateful he was for Dumas’s contribution. And he met his business rival, Pincar, who hugged the old merchant like a long time friend.
He noticed the trapper Tharmstron and the rugged Noreldan Balyar sitting at a darkened table near the square. They appeared to be having a serious conversation, and their faces bore deep concern. Dumas chose not to interrupt them. The concerns of today are for young leaders,he thought. I have given my advice and warnings to the Council. My mission is now complete.
He turned away from the crowds, and walked into a narrow alley between the settlement’s lowest tiers. Closed shops and foundries lined each side of the deserted street. He stopped, lifted a torch from its holder, and held it aloft.
Dumas continued along the swerving road, and up the valley’s basin. He stopped to catch his breath. He turned and saw Ellini hovering just over the western ridge. The marketplace of Tyrie, speckled by dozens of fires, lay before him.
Dumas marveled how the markets had grown during his long lifetime. He recalled a time when merchants were selfish and unorganized, and when some goods were not traded in many parts of the lands. He beamed proud, knowing it was he, Dumas, who foresaw the need to sign treaties with Adair and Norelda; it was he who assured commodities from all three settlements are available to all citizens; it was he who…
Dumas’s head dropped in disgust and disappointment.
He ambled up the winding road, and past the last scattered homesteads. The darkness engulfed him, and he turned from the road onto a worn pathway. He hobbled up the path and emerged in a clearing. He turned and beheld the settlement bathed in soft starlight.
Tyrie is a city now, he thought, not just a settlement. Tyrie is a place of culture and history, a place where my great-grandchildren and their great-grandchildren will live, grow, and educate their young, to advance Tyrie to even greater heights beyond even my greatest dreams or expectations.
Suddenly, a cool breeze whipped through the trees, catching him unprepared. His torch sputtered in his wrinkled hand. The chill paralyzed him, and Dumas pulled his jacket close.
In an instant, long suppressed memories flooded back to him. He fought his thoughts, his emotions, yet he couldn’t halt the emptiness and isolation, rushing through his soul. He clutched his breast.
But it has been a heavy burden that I’ve carried― almost too much for a mortal man. And I bore it my entire life, and now I bear it alone―
The truth…
He staggered along a narrow stone walkway, and across the shadowy meadow. A stone monument overlooking the cliff towered before him. He stopped.
His aged mind spun with memories from his young adulthood: The secret councils, the elitist scholars holding to themselves secrets of science, and mathematics, and of a history that―
Dumas remembered the first time they’d told him, and his complete disbelief. It was too terrible to be true; it couldn’t be true. Yet was it too terrible to keep from future generations? Did they not deserve to know? He shook his head.
And he remembered when they voted― when they debated for days, and cycles, and years, whether to abandon the truth.
Dumas brushed his graying brow, and covered his ears, desperate to muffle voices screaming in his head. He looked upward at a staircase spiraling from the monument’s base to a platform twelve or thirteen meters above his head.
Dumas leaned on his cane and breathed easier. The voices quieted to a whisper. There were memories of scholars of conscience: those who pleaded that the truth must be preserved― those who preached that the truth would someday be revealed anyway.
And then, he recalled sadly, how they were silenced. A mockery… 
He felt proud of these men in later years, but inwardly, he felt painful guilt― knowledge he was not one of them― he had voted with the majority to bury the truth with his generation.
And now, he was the last of the spineless. And he was sworn to uphold the oath of his predecessors. And he knew he would take his oath to his death; he could do little else. Could the elders have been right all along? Are we better off in darkness?Dumas shook his head.
Now at the end of his life, he realized his grave mistake. He would have voted differently, if only he had a second chance. But that was what all men say, who lack the necessary courage to follow their own convictions.
His frail legs carried him up the spiral staircase. He ambled forward and stopped. The voices disappeared, and an eerie calm settled over him.
He thought of the young scribe Porrias, and the new generation of scholars who occupied the academies of learning in Tyrie and Adair. He grinned, a pained expression mixed with remorse and joy. The young will lead us where the old have failed.Dumas could only hope.
He crept upward, and emerged atop The Pinnacle of Time: a monument built by his ancestors to observe the skies above the lands of Tyrie. He ran his aged hands over the stone-etched symbols representing Ellini, Alberon, and the tiny winter moon Thermegan― an eternal testament glowing in radiant starlight.
His thoughts turned to the men occupying lands the criminal Darros had described. The scholars had always known other groups of men roamed this world, yet none knew if these men had access to the truth, or if they would share this knowledge with the people of the Great Confluence. Perhaps this young Porrias will find out.
He sighed. But, as for me, I’ll never live to know.
Dumas buttoned his coat and lifted his head toward the expanding heavens. Ellini had now disappeared behind the western ridge, and the clear sky gleamed with a thousand thousand stars.
His gray eyes strained, searching all too familiar patterns. And he could not help but wonder…

(The saga continues: The Yaakmen of Tyrie  Part 2: Isolation)
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6423