Thomas steadied himself as he navigated the limestone cave after a 3-hour drive into the outskirts. A limestone cave is formed by the weathering of rock and often extend deep underground. He treaded gingerly, much to the chagrin of his liaison who kept looking at this watch. Thomas was tasked to secure a new supply of bird’s nest and extract the mucin-like glycoproteins for use in an experimental drug for lung health, and also for a range of current nutritional product line. e Edible-nest. Thomas has always been a lucky chap, and this lead seemed promising. He was on site to verify the authenticity and potential quantity of swiftlets inhabiting this and a few other nearby caves. Swiftlets are cave dwellers, and their nesting areas are usually inaccessible as they are located in very dim sites in limestone caves. Harvesting the swiftlets saliva was a highly treacherous undertaking. Nested in groups, ranging from several tens to several hundred nests in one area, each nesting area on the wall was called a nest patch whereas a nest site was defined as the area on the cave wall to which a single nest cup was attached.
Reaching these nests are difficult and requires specific skills and experience. Falling from these heights meant certain death, hence the high costs associated in such ventures. Thomas was satisfied after the two hour “tour” that he had indeed hit a “goldmine”, if only he can cut the deal at the price point which he and Aubriet had calculated.
So you buying? The liaison wasted no time in getting down to business.
Thomas cleared his throat. “Thanks for showing me around. We need to discuss the price points and payment terms in more detail. Can you …?”
Thomas was cut off mid-sentence by the liaison, who shook his head vigorously and gave him a thumbs down.
No sir, we give best price. Many companies asking. Decide today, take it or leave it. The liaison’s attitude indicated he was not going to budge.
Thomas could feel the perspiration on his forehead, taking off his hard hat and his throat felt dry.
Thomas clamped his lips together… a sign he was deep in thought…
what can I do to break this deadlock?
* * *
For a moment after stepping through the portal, Tosham felt as though he had become weightless – as though the physical parts of what he was were totally detached from his consciousness, as though he was travelling in spirit and had left his body behind elsewhere. He tried to raise a hand before his eyes to block out the brilliant light, and found he had neither hand nor eyes; he was almost certain that something had gone wrong, that he had died and was crossing the boundaries of reality to wherever souls go when their mortal bodies give up. Then substance came back to him in a violent crash, and he found himself lying on a grassy knoll, blinking his eyes to get rid of the multicolored spots before them.
Something cold and wet nudged the back of his neck. Without thinking, Tosham leapt to his feet and whirled around, twin-globed sceptre in hand, ready to do battle. It was his horse, looking quizzically at him with hazel eyes. Tosham sighed, sheathing his sceptre. “You gave me rather a turn there, Windy.” he said, patting the white steed’s silken mane. Windracer, the horse, nuzzled him again and stamped his hoof, impatient to be off. The trip through the Tower of Dreams’ magic portal had obviously not affected the creature. Tosham chuckled, “Let’s go into town Windy.”
Soon, Tosham found himself outside a shop called ‘Crawley’s Tavern’. He rummaged briefly in his bundle, then brought out the small glass vial which Sheja had given each of them before they left the Tower of Dreams. It was filled with a sapphire-blue liquid that bubbled when shaken. Keeping himself well within earshot of the tavern, he measured a single drop of the liquid into his palm, and touched his tongue to it. At first it was tasteless; so bland he thought perhaps he had not measured enough. Then a bright, lemony taste filled his mouth, and the outpouring of language from the tavern which entered his mind began to find parallels for their meaning in his own mind. They were talking about the weather; about the salmon which would soon be coming down the Shymen River; about the town belle. They were exchanging witty anecdotes, discussing business deals, telling bawdy jokes. Satisfied that he was now ‘literate’, Tosham walked up to the tavern keeper and spoke out loud: “I need to go to the Tomb of Five Wars.”
There was an immediate reaction from the entire tavern. The loud laughter, the shouting and the joking all fell suddenly away, replaced instead by strange looks and apprehensive whispers which revealed more than they concealed. They were not hostile expressions, but Tosham realized that the lack of aggression due more to the fact that he was a foreigner who knew no better than because there was no cause to be hostile. Even Crawley looked somewhat distressed. Still, he asked, “Why would you want to go to such a place?”
“I need to retrieve something which is in the Tomb. I know,” he continued, “that the religions of Talmissra dislike the living to associate with the dead, but I assure you what I need from the tomb does not require me to desecrate any graves, or… “
“You don’t understand,” said Crawley softly, “it is not the dead of the Tomb we fear. The warriors who died in the Five Wars of Talmissra and Tarntora have been dead for many decades, and we do not fear for them any longer. They have never disturbed us before, they never will now. We do not fear the dead of the Tomb, Lord Makidon,” his voice dropping to a whisper, “We fear the living.”
“What?” Tosham looked around him, bewildered. The entire tavern was silent now, waiting for Crawley to continue his explanation. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Necromancers, Lord Makidon,” said Crawley, the name hissing out from between his teeth, “the accursed necromancers.”
The conversation that followed ranged from utter disbelief to serious contemplation. Nonetheless, Tosham charmed Crawley into providing him provisions for the journey for a mere two gold pieces and earnestly bidding him to avoid all the ‘haunted’ spots. By noon, Tosham was well on his way venturing into the forests of Talmisrra. The narrow dirt path before him wound round a particularly messy clump of dense foliage, leading up to where the Shymen River broke away abruptly into the falls; and so Tosham had a hawk’s eye view of the ferocious, frothing white water bellowing into the vast bubbling pool below. It was immense. The falls alone, was at least eighty feet across, of nothing but gurgling, grinding water against spears of grey, hard rock. It thundered into a vast, foaming pool a hundred feet below, and disappeared into the impenetrable forest beyond at a furious pace.
With much effort, Tosham reached what he thought was the “entrance” to the Tomb of Five Wars. Signaling Sheja, the makidon muttered:
“Nothing but death here, Sheja, and even death as the stench of old age.”
The Tomb of Five Wars was gigantic. Walled up with heavy, weather-beaten grey stones, the entire structure was covered with climbing plants with intertwining tendril-like fingers and was made up of huge towers like those on a very lavish castle from of old. In stark contrast was the entrance to the tomb – a very narrow and unadorned affair curtained with hanging plants and cobwebs. The Tomb was totally unadorned; its very plainness was horrifying. It was just one immense, neatly piled stack of black rock. The number of dead bodies that would necessitate the building of so huge a tomb….
“Hello?”
Tosham nearly jumped with a scream. A ghost! He thought.
A little girl with a round, rosy face and an upturned nose stood at Windracer’s left flank, smiling interestedly up at Tosham. Her black hair was done in two stiff braids, and she was dressed in a short brown frock of some coarse material. Her eyes were Tarn eyes, small and black and not quite as round and deep-set as Talmissran eyes. In her arms she held an extremely tattered doll with brown button-eyes. She fell backwards due to Tosham’s scream.
Tosham swallowed his scream hastily. “I am Tosham… I’m looking for the Necromancer?” he tried.
“Do you mean me or my father?”
Tosham stared at the child in bewilderment. Since she evidently expected an answer, he said, “Er…your father.”
“Okay.” The child skipped fearlessly round to the front, patting Windracer fondly as she did so. “Come with me. You’ve got to leave your horse outside, though; he won’t fit into the entrance.”
“Entrance of what?”
“Of the tomb,” she said matter-of-factly. “Hurry up, don’t dawdle. I need to walk Qimery, my doll,” she said by way of explanation, holding up the pitiful bundle of rags, staring morosely out of the wooden eyes. Bedrith beamed delightfully.
Tosham had expected the tomb to smell strongly of decaying bodies, but no such distinctive aroma assaulted his nose when he followed the child Bedrith inside. It was certainly a dark place, but enough burning torches lined the walls for him to make out several things. Although the exterior of the Tomb of Five Wars was predominantly a weathered black, the inside was painted in shades of yellow and brown.
Oh My! was all Tosham could muster at this stage. Thrilled at the prospect of completing his quest, The makidon once more signaled Sheja.
Sheja, can you hear me? I have located the chestplate. I am going to retrieve it.
Bedrith grinned widely upon hearing this.
It has been here for ages, many have tried to take it. But none have been worthy enough.
Tosham’s heart sank.
Of course it wouldn’t be so easy, he reasoned. What am I thinking?
The narrow corridor that Bedrith was leading him through was painted with a variety of coloured dyes that depicted the story of the Five Wars of Talmissra and Tarntora, beginning from a stiff-legged king sitting on a bulky throne ordering his scores of flame-speared knights into battle to blocky-looking wives and children lamenting at funeral pyres. The ceiling was not very high but Tosham was not very tall; it just fitted him, but if Aubriet had been there he would have been walking with a very pronounced hunch.
“Bedrith?” The tomb wildly echoed the weary male voice that Tosham nearly leapt out of his skin. Ruefully he wondered if his nerves would ever be able to untangle themselves after today. “Bedrith, is someone out there? Who is it? I told you not to talk to strangers. They’re afraid of you.”
“It’s all right, Deda, he’s here to see you,” replied the little girl calmly. “That’s my father, Belras the Necromancer, ” she said to Tosham. “Let’s go, hurry. “
I told you not to talk to strangers. They’re afraid of you. Tosham listened to those words in trepidation – but the need to get the enchanted chainmail gave him courage.
“My father,” said Bedrith proudly, “the Necromancer Belras.”
“Welcome, sir,” said Belras. “What business have you here in the Tomb? Forgive me for being so direct, but we have been visited by charlatans before. Mostly they want to exterminate us. It makes a man a little wary when strangers drop by.” A faint smile crossed the Necromancer’s face.
“Well met, mage – uh, sire,” said Tosham, he had never been in the presence of a necromancer before. “I am a makidon in search of the Enchanted Chainmail of the Knight of Light.” The Necromancer started in surprise.
“Has it been that long?” he said, mostly to himself. “Oh well. The Enchanted Chainmail, as that dizzy girl called it, is down in the deepest part of the tomb. King Lentes and Queen L’tara of the twelfth century have it in their tomb. King Lentes wore it in battle. But – before I allow you in there – do you carry the twin-globed sceptre?”
Tosham looked at him, startled. “Why…yes, I do.”
“Show it to me.” Belras nodded as Tosham warily removed the sceptre from his tunic. “That’s the sceptre all right. That proves it – you’re the one.”
“The one?” Tosham gasped.
Belras nodded. “Yes – the one who will face King Lentes and Queen L’tara.”
Workplace Coaching Inquiry by Coach Tom: You’ve uncovered your lifetime mission. Who would you choose and how will you persuade them to join you?
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