Wisdom and Wonder - Chapter 29
Wisdom and Wonder - Chapter 29
“Well, as a story myself,” Wren patted Morien on the shoulder. “Let me be the first to say that was a well-told tale.”
Human nature has been substantially the same in all ages, differing only in the ardor of its passions and appetites, as affected by the zone of its habitat and its peculiar physical surroundings. Hence almost every nation, barbarous and civilized, has had its Helen and its Troy, its Paris and its Agamemnon, its Hector and its demi-gods; and Hawaii is not an exception.
-Hina, the Helen of Hawaii
Come morning light, after the wounded had been tended to and the quest explained, Tituba agreed to let the Argo pass through the waters around Thule. However, she warned them, there were other ships patrolling the island, ensuring that none unworthy dared set foot on its shores. The Esteban, Tituba’s ark, was but one of a whole fleet, and unlike her, the remaining members of that fleet held no loyalty to the sisterhood of spectral sorcery. Should the Argo come across them unprepared, the sentries would not cease an attack like the Esteban had.
“Then let me make an offer,” Hobie’s glow drew the attention of all those present. “As an Angelic Sphere, I may invite mortals onto Thule, and I may extend that invitation as well. Already I have extended it to the crew of the Argo. The crew of the Esteban seems hardly unreasonable.”
“You… you’d let us set foot on the island?” Tituba gasped, and Wren had to steady her, so in awe was she of the proposal.
Morien and his friends exchanged curious glances. Was the legend of Tutuatuin really so powerful? As much of an honor as it must have been to be invited to the island, Tituba’s joy at the prospect seemed unusual somehow.
“In that case yes!” she grinned. “The Esteban shall escort you safely to Tutuatuin Island. The sentries won’t bother you if they see us.”
“Then it’s settled,” Hobie said, and preparations for a celebratory banquet that night were struck up.
After plans had been drawn and courses charted, the commanding staff of each ship returned to their crews, save for Erin, who stopped Tituba before her departure to deliver a private message.
“Tituba…” Erin clutched the yoke in her arms tightly. How was she to explain?
“What?” Tituba asked in ignorance.
And so Erin told her. And she wept, and prayed, and cursed herself for not having been there to help, even as Erin consoled her.
As Morien knocked on Julia’s door yet again, he hoped that he wasn’t bothering her. After that talk she had had with Captain Cazador, Julia had shut herself in that room and not come out. Morien was starting to get worried, though as the door opened just a crack, his worry was slightly relieved.
“Um, hey,” Morien mumbled awkwardly. “So, uh, we’ve been invited to a banquet on Captain Tituba’s boat, and, um, I just thought you’d want to come.”
“It’s okay,” Julia’s parched lips muttered, as her dead eyes failed to meet Morien’s. “I’m fine.”
“Um… o-okay,” Morien shifted his feet awkwardly. “B-but, like… if you need anything, I’m here. I can… I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m here for you. Always. I love you, Julia.”
For a moment a spark of life rang through Julia’s features, and she smiled sadly.
“I love you too, Morien,” she said. “But I just… I need some time alone now. After the banquet, come see me again, okay?”
“Okay,” Morien nodded, eager to be useful. “Do you want me to get you anything?”
“It’s alright,” she said, as the door began to close. “Go have fun.”
“I… o-okay,” Morien mumbled, as the door shut at last, and he was left standing alone. For a moment, his hand reached towards his saphie talisman, before he thought better of it, and did as Julia had asked.
“So, you’re another… what was it, Spectral Sorceress or summat?” Usuff asked.
Unlike on the Argo, Captain Tituba ate with the rest of her crew, and what a crew it was. Morien saw a plethora of skin tones, hair types, and clothing seated throughout the mess hall where they ate, all of them chatting together in friendly conversation. But how strange it was. They all seemed to be speaking Songhay.
“Yes,” Tituba replied sadly, in a pitch-perfect Eastern Songhay dialect. “I was blessed with the color of Indigo. So, you know, there’s not much else I really could have done with my life, besides sail. Though I guess that’s why old Deus chose me.”
“So how’d you come to guarding Thule?” Erin held Tituba’s hand comfortingly.
At that, Tituba gave a long, sad sigh, as she smiled and gazed mistily into the air.
“It’s where Guin is buried.”
“Guin?” Morien asked. “Wait, like, the Océan Guinien?”
“One and the same,” Tituba grinned. “I still remember her face. It’s the earliest memory I have.”
“You met the Ancient Mariner?” Cazador whispered in awe.
“She’s a legend to us sailors,” Usuff whistled in amazement.
“Yes, I know,” Tituba said. “She’s why we’re all here.”
“Wait, all of you?” Morien gazed in surprise at the colorful crew before him. Had they all known Guin? But she had sailed the océan so long ago, long before most of the people there had even been born.
“Well, I’m the only one to have met Guin face-to-face,” Tituba said. “But when she sailed the océan, she visited each and every one of our islands. Tales of her are still told to this day.”
“That’s how this ark got built,” Wren’s almond-shaped eyes gleamed as she smiled softly. “By everyone who wanted to find Guin, and meet the woman behind the legend.”
“And you found her at last, didn’t you?” Erin smiled.
“Yes, but the people who live near Tutuatuin Island wouldn’t let us pass. They guard it from everyone. So, since we couldn’t sit at Guin’s grave and pay our respects that way, we took up service in aiding the local guard. We thought, maybe, one day for our service we’d be allowed to enter the island. Even if not though, we got to help out our hero. How many people can say that?”
“Sorry, but, um, if I could just interrupt,” Morien interjected, “Could someone explain to me why everyone’s talking in Songhay?”
Everyone stared blankly at Morien in reply.
“We’re not,” Tituba said. “We’re all simply speaking our native tongues, and it’s being magically translated.”
“Translation charms,” Wren pointed out the runes on the ark’s walls. “Neat, huh?”
“Oh. Uh, I see,” Morien muttered, embarrassed at obviously being the only one not to notice.
“Songhay, eh?” Tituba looked Morien up and down. “I take it you’re from there?”
“Uh, y-yeah,” Morien said, as he glanced curiously at Tituba’s smooth, amber skin. Where exactly did she come from?
“My mother was Wagaduan,” Tituba grinned. “I’m afraid I’m a bad child though. I don’t speak a lick of the mother tongue. Heheh.”
“Wagadu!” Morien exclaimed. “Really? I-I mean, I’ve never been there. But I know about it of course. Everyone in the Saheli Steppes does.”
“Well, my mother never cared for it much,” Tituba sighed. “She was a slave there.”
“Oh?” Cazador grunted.
“But when the Songhay Royal Family announced its eastern expedition, my mother was one of the slaves chosen to go on the voyage.”
“Ah, I know this story,” Wren smiled.
“Shall I tell it then? The whole tale?” Tituba asked.
“Yes. Please do!” Morien was always eager to hear a new story.
“Well then,” Tituba’s eyes rolled back as she remembered.
’Twas the Day of Assembly when royal court’s entry
Was granted to a sickly sailor
The last of his ship, he did walk with a limp
And a corpse it could not have looked frailer
But to see in his eyes the pure light of his lies
And delusions as he did proclaim
To have found a new land, witnessed by his own hand
Waiting just for the Empire to tame.
“It was gold, purest gold, if I may be so bold
And a city I saw, yes indeed!
Though my body is frail and I drift towards the pale
I shall never forget it, take heed!
Take your best sailing ships, for mining do equip
Your most stalwart and strongest of slaves
For this city of gold, as I have thus foretold
Shall soon fund our empire’s best days!”
Though he died in the night, his dark tale of the bright
And gold city did cause quite a stir
Soon the whole court indeed was quite bursting with greed
And the plans for the trip moved forward
With such wealth, sighed the crown, we shall never come down
Or decline like those Mandenka fools
Our kingdom shall reign while our neighbors will wane
And our power shall forever rule
So the boats left their docks, braving wind, wave, and rocks
Till at last they reached the fabled land
It was there, as he’d said, that a great riverbed
Did show that their triumph was at hand
Now to simply move in, find the treasure within
And return happy, fat, and wealthy
But if only they’d seen, hidden deep in the green
What lay waiting with arrows ready
The Guarany were old, with their warriors bold
And they fiercely protected their home
And when their eyes set on prey they sought to get
The whole land in their search they would comb
They saw the boats come, sounded out their war drums
For outsiders were swiftly cut down
And the local war chief gathered all of his fief
To discuss these newcomers in town
Destroy them, dispatch them, capture them, or catch them?
Whatever were they to decide?
Just one spoke for peace, and his thoughtful treatise
They did swiftly and loudly deride
This boy, Peri, his name, although he did proclaim
The outsiders had yet to do wrong
Was summarily shushed, for the word from the bush
Was these foreign types did not belong.
So despite Peri’s pleas, with remarkable ease
They agreed to destroy the whole lot
Whilst the voyagers cruised, and made port to peruse
Their surroundings without second thought
Though they had yet to find their gold prize by that time
They were certain it had to be near
And it wasn’t as though some savage cannibals
Could give them anything they had to fear
So the crews went to sleep, calmly counting their sheep
While slaves stood outside camp standing guard
But despite their attempts, Peri sneaked into camp
And found it to be not all that hard
Had he known at that point, as he searched the whole joint
That the slaves and royals slept apart
He’d have probably got a more opulent spot
To have picked in his search in the dark
But as luck or as fate would have had in its way
In his quest to betray his peers’ siege
The very person that he stumbled upon
Was a slave girl named Sia, who screeched
As she saw the strange brave, she soon picked up a glaive
With which she could defend her honor
But with elegant grace, and a calm, silent face
He disarmed her much to her horror
With a hand to her mouth, Peri silenced her shouts
And appealed to her pity and grace
He had not come to fight, but to make a wrong right
And he had to be making much haste
But alas, as he tried, to push through Sia’s pride
The war-drums sounded out in the night
And before the Songhay could grab their war supplies
They were murdered within the moonlight
Oh they put up a fight, just before they all died
And they gave just as good as they got
But though each side did win, they all lost in the end
And their victories were all for naught
Only one group survived, a handful still alive
As they slipped far away from the fray
And none would have guessed the true victors in this
Not the kings, chiefs, or braves, but the slaves
Led by Peri they were, as the boats were all burned
And the slaves were marooned in that land
But through his direction and their own acumen
They soon made a home with their own hands
It was quite hard at first, but they weathered the worst
And as time passed they called that land home
And children were born, and the elderly mourned
As the families continued to grow
And as the town grew, Peri and Sia too
Would soon come to be closer than friends
Still sung are their travels, and triumphant trials
They’re still sung to this day without end
And the city of gold? Well it is, so I’m told
Still existing somewhere in that land
But its gates remain closed, and nobody quite knows
How to grasp its wealth in their own hand
“Wonderful! Bravo!” Wren clapped as though she’d heard that story for the first time.
“Yeah, that was great!” Morien said.
Indeed, Yann was already strumming an appropriate melody to accompany the rhythm.
“You never told me that story,” Erin smiled.
“Well, it never really came up in conversation,” Tituba grinned sheepishly. “That’s only the first song about my parents. There are plenty more, like the one where they found the City of Gold, or the one where they had to fight a mapinguary, or the one where I was born.”
“You have your own song?” Usuff was impressed.
“I-I mean…” Tituba stammered. “It’s mostly about how they met Guin! She was traveling through where our town was, and she ended up delivering me.”
“And you still remember her face,” Cazador said.
“Yes…” Tituba whispered. “She left soon after though. That’s how all her stories go. She never stayed in one spot. She just kept traveling.”
“Guin brought a halt to a war in our land!” one sailor said.
“She helped us tame a mighty fish!” another cried.
“She found us maps we’d thought lost to eternity!” yet another grinned.
“She instructed us in the Way!” still another added.
“And every time,” Tituba smiled. “She never asked for thanks, never accepted the gifts or treasures we promised her, never stayed longer than she could. She would always simply get on her boat, say her goodbyes, and sail away, never to be seen again.”
“From your description she sounds almost like a savior,” Cazador said. “Were your societies so lacking before her arrival?”
“Oh no,” Tituba proclaimed. “Certainly not! There were countless heroes, countless stories and songs, well before Guin ever came to our lands, like Zumbi.”
“Or Kamehameha,” Wren grinned.
“Or Hiawatha!” a stalwart brave declared.
“DAGON,” a strange, fish-like being uttered.
“Or Wurrunnah,” an old, bearded man laughed.
“Or Atanarjuat!” a thin, wiry youth beamed.
“Or Iktomi,” a demure, quiet woman smiled, and the whole crowd cheered.
“Iktomi! Iktomi!” they all chanted, for they had not heard his tale for some time, and were anxious to relive his deeds.
“You see?” Tituba laughed. “We all had plenty of stories before Guin came along. But none of them quite captured our hearts in quite the same way. There was just something about her.”
“Yeah…” Morien’s thoughts drifted back to the book his hero had given him, how it had filled him with such endless joy. “I think I understand.”
“Now then!” Tituba brought order to her crew. “Since you all are so eager to hear Iktomi’s tale again, Pte-san Win-yan, I leave it to you.”
“Thank you,” the quiet woman bowed, before beginning her story. “Once upon a time, as a great medicine man slept, he was visited in his sleep by Iktomi the spider, Teacher of Wisdom, who spun him a web with which to catch good dreams.”
“A spider?” Morien muttered. “Like… Anansi?”
Now the crowd turned, its attention focused on Morien, which caused no small amount of shame and embarrassment in him.
“I don’t know that story,” Wren said. “Tituba? You?”
“I… heard a similar name growing up,” Tituba muttered. “Kompa Nanzi or something like that. But I’m not sure if they’re the same.”
“Well hey,” Wren grinned. “If nobody’s heard it, why don’t you tell it then?”
“Um… I… w-well…” Morien stammered. Shoot! What had that griot said, so very long ago? That same day Morien had first met his hero, he’d been told the tale of Anansi. But how had it gone? What were the proper words?
“It…” Morien gulped as he saw the eyes of everyone focused on him. Was he expected to tell a story under these conditions? Such a task simply couldn’t be done! Instinctively his hand reached towards the saphie that hung round his neck, as he felt the fear and nervousness threaten to swallow him whole.
But then he noticed, among the crowd of strangers were the eyes of his dearest friends. Erin, Hobie, Yann… but not Julia. That’s right, he thought. She was still in her room. How he wanted to take her pain away! How he wanted to say just the right words! But how? Unless…
He remembered their banter, the rhythm they had settled into, the melody of their song. He would light up over something, and she would tease him, and he would stammer and sputter, and she would laugh with all of her laughter, and he would know that she was simply teasing and feel at ease. And at once, they would both be complete. That simple melody, it had played so often since their first meeting. And as Morien remembered every moment they had shared, he knew how deeply he wished it to play forever and ever. Like the story of Anansi, passed down and retold generation after generation, Morien hoped that even as they grew older, even as their love changed and grew with the passage of time, it would never truly die. It would only grow deeper and richer with each passing chapter.
Light up, Morien thought. Say it as you would to her.
The words then came without any effort.
“It was a dark and stormy night, and Anansi the spider was bored, for there were no stories yet to be told in the world.”
And just as the griot had told it so long ago, Morien spoke of Anansi tricking the Sky-God Nyame into giving the world stories, the greatest of all man’s creations. For what else had the power to excite, to scare, to awe, to arouse, to bottle the whole of human experience into a single set of spoken syllables? Histories, fantasies, allegories, elegies, and so many, many more! All could be expressed and told and retold across the centuries, across people, across languages, across cultures and societies. And even if the original words were lost, the stories themselves could never die, so long as one teller remained. What wonder, what joy, what greatness stories had wrought!
As his tale reached its end, Morien was greeted with a standing ovation, and even as he sputtered and blushed, he could comprehend that his story had truly charmed his audience’s hearts.
“Well, as a story myself,” Wren patted Morien on the shoulder. “Let me be the first to say that was a well-told tale.”
“You… what?” Morien did not understand.
“I’m a Fura Girl!” Wren twirled around, as her rainbow waves danced in the light. “From Waku-Waku!”
“Fura Girl?”
“Where I’m from, we tell stories through dances,” Wren explained. “And to preserve those stories, the dances are infused with magic, and out springs a Fura Girl! That’s me!”
“Wait… huh?”
“I’m a story!” Wren beamed. “A living, breathing story, given life and form!”
“What?” Morien could only stare in disbelief at the tiny, joyful figure.
“I’ll give you three guesses as to whose story I am,” Wren said coyly. “And the first two don’t count!”
“Come on, Wren,” Tituba laughed. “Don’t tease the boy.”
“Amazing,” Usuff whispered. “A living story.”
Stranger things had happened in the world, Yann admitted.
“That would explain the energy I feel from you,” Hobie glowed.
“Wait, Guin?” Erin realized. “You’re Guin’s story?”
“Ping-pong!” Wren made a circle with her arms as she laughed. “The one and only!”
“Say Wren,” Tituba smiled. “Seeing as how we’re all in a story-telling mood, why don’t you sing your song for our guests?”
“Certainly!” Wren grinned. And then, to Yann, “Will you assist me?”
Of course, Yann was happy to oblige, and he effortlessly played a melody to accompany the Fura Girl as she began to sing and dance.
Guin is the name, is the name of the sea
Its waves roll across the land, full, formless, and free
You whom I called mother, look upon me now
Have I left you satisfied, have I made you proud?
I know I cannot be you, I must be myself
Still I seek your guidance, still I seek your help
What compares a hawk to the sky through which it soars?
What compares a whisper to the mighty ocean roar?
What compares a word to the meaning found within?
And what compares a life to the story without end?
Guin is the name, is the name of the sky
Its limit shall never be found, its life shall never die
You whom I called mentor, why do you grow cold?
Hear you not the bells that ring your triumph bright and bold?
Why must you be old and frown, when you know I’m right?
Do you seek a student or a blinded acolyte?
What compares a dark to the light within that shines?
What compares a death to the birth so intertwined?
What compares a war to the one that stays their hand?
And what compares a life to the story without end?
Guin is the name, is the name of the song
Its melody plays forever, its harmony goes on
You whom I called master, why did you leave me?
Did you not know what you did, could you not so see?
Wishing for one last refrain, for one last request
Words were left unspoken, dances left undanced
What compares a note to the song in which it sings?
What compares a mind to the thoughts it dares to dream?
What compares a tongue to the heart that understands?
And what compares a life to the story without end?
Yes what compares a life to the story without
All in attendance were silent as Wren sang and danced, until the very end, when a standing ovation was delivered. Morien was amazed. All around him, he saw a sea of faces, all enraptured and in awe of Guin’s story. They had all come together for the sake of her, the sake of their hero, the sake of the stories that had touched their hearts so valiantly. Morien remembered the face of his own hero, the simple book merchant, now a duke in the Carolingian court. He had never gotten the chance to say the things he’d wanted to say, back when the hero had still lain healing in his bed, never gotten a chance to say the words he had repeated in his head for so many, many years. All this I did for you. All this I did because you believed in me. Would he ever get the chance to say those words again? Morien did not know, and not knowing made him sink into melancholy.
It was Tituba’s voice that pulled Morien out of his mental mire, as he noticed her chatting sadly with Erin.
“Fura Girls are almost never made in the same lifetime as their subjects. Meeting the reason for her existence was always Wren’s greatest dream. So when we docked at Waku-Waku, she begged to join our crew, and here we are now.”
“But… she’ll never get to do that,” Erin muttered numbly, and Morien glanced back to see Wren happily singing and dancing to a new tune on Yann’s lute.
“No,” Tituba sighed. “None of us will ever get to tell Guin what she meant to us. She’ll never see this thing we made for her, this crew that crossed nations and peoples to come together, this boat we built in her honor. The one, true desire binding us all together can never be fulfilled. Not really.”
“That’s… so sad…”
And it was. Morien had said “until we meet again”, but what if that meeting never came? What if the only chance he’d had to tell the hero what he’d meant had disappeared the day he’d left Aix? Why had Morien not written more on the note he had left the hero? Why had words failed him at the moment when he had needed them most? He could not find an answer, but as he thought of the words he still wished to say, and of losing the chance to say them forever, an even deeper sadness began to press against his heart, and for a moment Morien felt the pain that lingered beneath the song and dance of the Esteban.
“I don’t think so!” Morien blurted out, and Tituba and Erin turned confusedly towards him.
“Uh… I mean…” Morien stammered. “It’s like Wren said, isn’t it? M-maybe Guin is gone. Maybe you’ll never be able to meet her. But you’ll keep her story alive, and every time you tell it, she’ll… she’ll live a little more, I guess. I mean, I think it’s pretty incredible! What you’ve made here! And I’m sure Guin does too, wherever she’s watching us all from now. I, um, I mean…”
“I know,” Tituba smiled.
“That is- Wait, what?”
“I know,” Tituba gazed upon her crew, pride etched on every corner of her face. “Guin is what brought us together, but we’re the reason we stay that way. Even if our heading has faded, our course remains strong, as one crew, one family, one tribe. Hasn’t the same thing happened to you? You’re on a quest to Tutuatuin Island now, but haven’t you gained something even more spectacular, something that will last long after you’ve resealed Tar-Cruorem?”
Morien remembered the faces of everyone he had met, the countless memories he had made. They wrapped around him, like a gentle blanket, reminding him of everything he had done. All the lands he had walked, all the kingdoms he had seen, all the people he had met who had touched his life in some way. In the end, all that had been far more precious than any Keys or mystic quest.
“Yes.”
“Then take heart in that,” Tituba said.
“Hey!” Wren suddenly burst into the conversation and grabbed Morien’s arm excitedly. “Come on! Let’s dance!”
“Er! Um!” Morien stammered as he saw that quite a group had gathered to dance the night away.
“Go on,” Tituba laughed. “Have fun.”
“O-okay,” Morien gulped as he followed Wren onto the dance floor.
“You too,” Tituba said to Erin.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” Tituba smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Erin still seemed reluctant.
“I am,” Tituba said. “I’ll join you in a bit.”
“A-alright then. If… you say so.”
The newcomers were a welcome addition to the party, and much joy and revelry was shared in song and dance that night. And as Tituba surveyed it all, a long, deep sigh made its way to her lips. Soon the Esteban would be able to accomplish the dream they all shared. Soon they could sit at the side of Guin’s grave, and thank her for all that her stories had brought them. Perhaps she would not be alive to truly hear them, perhaps she would be unable to speak back. But perhaps, Tituba pondered, there was a magic on that island that could reach Guin, wherever she may be.
Perhaps.
“Come in.”
At the sound of her quiet voice, Morien slipped into Julia’s room and lit a candle. From the looks of things, Julia had been unable to sleep.
“Hey,” Morien said.
“Hey,” Julia responded. “How was the party?”
“It was fun,” Morien went over to where she sat. “I heard a lot of amazing stories there.”
“Oh?” Julia smiled wryly. “I should have guessed that’d be the highlight for you.”
“W-well… I mean…” Morien blushed and stammered.
“Will you tell me one?” Julia asked gently, and then Morien knew.
“Sure,” he smiled, and began to tell the tale.