Stella has always been the ‘go-getter’, and when it came to ‘fixing’ inter-personal issues, she was the go-to person. But today, she found herself in a bind. As a negotiator, you always make it a point to stay unattached to the situation at-hand, so that one can assess the conditions objectively, and not be swayed by personal biasness due to personal involvement or being emotionally attached to the decisions that needed to be made.
The employees had turned to the Union to address the many workforce issues within the company. Ranging from unpaid salaries to discrimination allegations, coupled with high turnover rates – the unethical practices assailing the firm were many and deeply ingrained. Afterall, the idea was to liquidate the assets and exit while being enriched in the process, thought Stella. No wonder the manpower situation is so dire. A massive strike is imminent unless something extraordinary gets done, today.
Stella was in a meeting with the Union Leader who had been protecting these employees since the company started business in the country. There was an unease in the air, as the Union Leader set out the conditions the workers had demanded in order to call off the strike and resume work.
What? the workers want me to take over your post as Union Leader and protect their interests? protested Stella in disbelief as her back sprung upright and leaned forward, clasping her hands together. and they want me to draft new terms for Aubriet to implement once he takes over the helm of the company?
In some way, the proposal made sense. But this was not what Stella had bargained for. She was a stringer brought in by Sheja for this job on behalf of Aubriet. She did not imagine herself needing to be personally involved.
The Union Leader muttered, “Frankly Stella, you are the best person for the job. In life, sometimes your destiny finds you. Don’t you think?” He placed the clip folder on his desk and leaned back, waiting for Stella’s answer.
What shall I do? Stella’s mind was racing.
* * *
The island of Sheyke was a coral atoll – an island made up basically of sediments deposited in a huge cradle-shaped coral reef. A narrow lagoon of coral fringed the island; fishermen practiced a great deal of in-shore fishing and built meandering wooden fishing stakes which snaked out to sea like very long, narrow docks. Further out to sea they used sturdy boats with vast trawl nets that scooped up the fish swimming close to the surface of the water. There were no big fleets or anything even remotely resembling a ship anywhere on Sheyke – the people here were simple folk who eked out a living with simple ways. And this was where the portal opened for Estella. And her task was to locate Santhea, the keeper of Sheyke.
Sheyke charmed Estella. It was a small, simple island where everyone seemed to know everyone else; little clustered villages rimmed the seashore where the dark-skinned children clambered up the smooth white trunks of coconut trees. Estella smiled as she prepared to journey towards Moon’s Cradle Lake. She had read that the locals call it Moon’s Cradle because the moon, when it appears, always shines her face in the lake, no matter what her position. After crossing a rope bridge an hour later, Estella found herself at the entrance of a fort with a side entrance with the Sheyke characters for ‘Santhea’ on it.
Clearing her throat, Estella jingled a little brass bell by the doorway; a moment later, a lady whom Estella presumed to be Santhea, stuck her head out from behind one of the curtained doorways. She was a fair-sized woman, fleshy but not quite plump, approaching middle age. She had the dark skin and black hair of all the natives of Sheyke, and had a simple, smiling face. Estella was a little caught off-guard. She had not expected the ruler of a whole island, rendered with such mystery in the scrolls in the Tower of Dreams, to look so much like a common housewife. The only sign of her status were the large hoops of gold that dangled in her ears.
“I am Estella, and have come on a grave matter, are you Santhea?” as the Galan showed the Emerald Orb to her, validating her identity.
Santhea nodded and invited Estella within.
“Thank you Santhea. I am here in haste on a dire mission. I have come to …” Estella began.
“I cannot give you the Sandal of the Knight of Light.” Santhea interrupted sharply. Santhea’s friendly smile was replaced gradually with a look of intense distress as they spoke. I see your trouble,” she said in heavily-accented English, “but what you ask is impossible.”
“But I must have it,” Estella insisted, undeterred. “I will return it to you when I am done; I will do anything you ask – but I must have it.”
“No,” said Santhea, looking even more perturbed, “no – you know not what you are asking for Galan. You must understand, Lady Estella, Sheyke is a magical isle. It should not exist, yet it does.”
“But surely it is of little use on this island! Such a peaceful place does not need the powers of the Sandal – please, Santhea, many lives depend on my getting the Sandal.”
“There is a reason it exists in this magical interstice, overlapping the mortal realm.” Sighing, Santhea whispered, “Let us seek out Lord Edwy, the true ruler of Sheyke.”
Estella blinked. True Ruler? she had no idea! “Lord Edwy?”
Santhea nodded. “He has been around for a very long time. Longer, I know, than any human should ever live. He is the real King of Sheyke.”
“What’s he – an archmage?”
“I do not know,” said Santhea softly. “I think it is best that I stay ignorant of how he came into his powers, or why it was he who was chosen. I think that perhaps there are reasons far more complex than I could ever imagine for the creation and preservation of Sheyke and of Lord Edwy, and that I have no right whatsoever to question those reasons.” So saying, Santhea placed her hands against the doors and pushed.
There was a long, slow creak; then the doors gave to reveal what appeared to be a chapel of sorts. The basilica stretched towards an apse where the altar, just barely visible, sat covered in a red cloth and alight with candles. The aisles were flanked by beautifully frescoed columns with flying buttresses; each aisle had a vaulted roof decorated with stained glass. The glass was rather limited in the way of colours; yellow and blue seemed quite predominant, and there was no green at all. Green dye had only just been used in Bretunia some twenty years or so ago. A huge stained-glass panelling of the Herald of Elohim had been built into the apse; underneath it a multi-tiered candelebra burned. A very new harpsichord sat under it, and at the harpsichord, playing a mournful little tune, sat Lord Edwy.
It was an enormous place – there were enough pews to fit the entire population of Sheyke, yet only one man was in the entire room, if it could still be called a room. And this church was dedicated to a Bretunian religion, which was decidedly out of place in an island as far from Bretunia as Sheyke.
“Lady Estella, meet Lord Phoenix, the lynchpin of Sheyke’s existence, the last of his kind.” Santhea introduced. Estella considered the ancient looking person before her, a rather mismatching sight. His clothes consisted of an undertunic and an overtunic with a coloured silk border, and breeches cross-gartered to the knee – but what really caught her eyes was the footwear he was wearing… firmly strapped onto Lord Edwy’s legs!
“Ah, Lady Estella – you have come for these?” Lord Edwy smiled weakly.
Very gently Santhea took Estella’s arm. “Listen, Lady Galan, to the peril that you are about to put us in. The Sandals on Lord Edwy’s feet is what enhances his powers. His powers are what keep Sheyke alive; remember I mentioned to you Sheyke is a mystical isle, Lady Galan? This realm is not a natural one, and without its magical sustenance it cannot exist. Neither I nor Lord Edwy know the reason for Sheyke’s existence, and if you take the Sandal from us, Lady Estella, you will doom Sheyke.” Santhea stated categorically.
“Over many years – more than you would care to know – Lord Edwy has sought alternative powers to support the isle – but these have not been powerful enough. If you take the sandals from this island, Lady Galan, Sheyke will sink even as we speak. It will vanish beneath the waves and disappear – taking with it the lives of a thousand innocent people.”
“Do you see it, Lady Galan?” asked Lord Edwy softly. “Do you understand now?”
Estella felt her throat went dry. She heard the words, but wished she never did.
* * *
The island of Sheyke was alight with a festivity which Estella felt out of place with. Children were running to and fro with paper lanterns and leaf-boats, calling out to each other. They were plying Snow, Estella’s pretty white pony, with all sorts of exotic fruit from the enchanted island. These rare fruits would have cost a great deal of money in mainland Bretunia, but in its native homeland, they were as common as fish in the sea.
Estella had left Lord Edwy’s fort apologetically to consider her options, promising to return the next day with an answer. I need time to think, Estella heaved, and some good counsel now would be most helpful. The womenfolk milled around Estella, laughing and speaking in a mixture of Bretunic and Yinx, the rather antiquated dialect spoken in this particular region of the Outer Islands which Sheyke was part of. The men brought out part of the day’s catch to be cooked over the big community fire while the women stirred up a thick spicy bean sauce. Young girls danced and were courted by young men with seashells and flowers; some of them had attended Bretanic language classes, something which Estella was grateful for. The Yinx tongue – a Sheyke dialect – was exceptionally hard to understand for the unlearned. Far in the distance was the only mountain on Sheyke – a perfect example of the island’s oddity, for mountains do not customarily form on coral atolls of such a small size. It watched over the merriment silently, its windy head sheathed in mist.
Over Moon’s Cradle Lake, the crescent moon gleamed in a silver arc over the still waters. Looking down at it from her vantage point atop a fair-sized seaside cliff, Estella was reminded of the Greek Goddess of the moon, Diana, which in turn made her think about her girlhood friend who was her namesake. Sweet Diana, always so patient and kind. Estella was suddenly homesick for the Galanic Temple back in Sherwood Forest, where her most challenging decisions had been whether to let a lame horse live. For a brief moment – very brief – she wished she had never been made High Priestess; never been sent on this mission. Life was simpler for simple people like Diana, who was undoubtedly happier back in Bretunia. For Estella, ever the determined, outgoing adventurer, life consisted of hard decisions and potential regrets.
Galans like Estella, who lacked the genuine self-sacrificial core of galanic virtues, always faced the ambivalent pull and tension in their souls in a life sworn to servitude, which otherwise would be the source of peace for their more self-effacing sisters. Estella decided to seek the Matron’s advice, unsure if she would be chided or praised for doing so. Gingerly, she brought the Emerald Orb to her forehead. The impact was even more drastic than she had expected. Colours swirled in a rush; lights sped through a fog like night cloaking day, forming and regrouping in a vast circular arc. A flood of greenish light suddenly exploded in Estella’s mind’s eyes, causing her to almost withdraw from the sight; instead she stared through the green ooze-like colloidal window and saw the first outlines of the Temple – her home.
Her heart skipped a beat. The green tone gradually faded into a jade-like hue before the sharpened image of the Matron came into view within an emerald kaleidoscopic landscape.
“Yes, dear child?” Estella was relieved to hear the matron’s voice whispering in her mind. She was half-afraid the telepathic powers of the Emerald Orb were mere myth.
“I need your help, Mother Galan,” she said hesitantly.
“Speak, Estella,” said the matron gently, “I will render help where the need can be met by our galanic powers.” Estella quickly explained the situation.
“I see,” said the matron thoughtfully when she was done. “As far as I can deduce, child, all you have to do is find a way to keep Sheyke from sinking after you’ve taken the sandals, isn’t that so?”
“But..” Estella blinked, a little confused, “I can’t do that! I don’t have the power!”
“Perhaps not the magical power, Estella…but I did not make you High Priestess because of magical talent. No, Estella, though the other Higher Galans disapproved, I made you High Priestess because of – how do they say it, now? – because of your fortitude.” The matron’s voice had a smiling tone to it. “There are more magical beings in this world than any one has ever bothered to count. And there are those who can be persuaded to help. The Phoenix, for example.”
“The Phoenix? You mean the legendary Firebird?” Estella felt a sharp mental ache. This is certainly getting insane. “The Phoenix has been known to dwell at certain times on Sheyke, child. Or rather, for the moment he does. You must seek him out in the caves of the mountain, and ask his advice. Be shrewd and cunning for the Phoenix is sentient, but, according to legends, it is not known for having empathy. He will not do anything for nothing. You must bargain with him. You must win him over.”
Estella blinked. “Bargain…with a Phoenix? But Matron Helena, I can’t do something like that, I’m only a…”
“You’re a High Priestess of the Galanic Order. Not only that, you ascended to the position even more quickly than I did, and you’re levels ahead of your fellow galans who joined the order at your time. Estella, you have shown great potential. You must believe in yourself.” Estella was silent for a moment, thinking on this strange information with a certain amount of incredulity.
“All right then,” she said carefully, “assuming that I can somehow find the Phoenix, how can I make him help Sheyke? Tosham told me once that the Phoenix is a wild animal and has no concept of gratitude. It might fly away at once and forget all about the island if I try to bargain with it.”
“Tosham is right,” said the Matron, and Estella’s heart sank. “The Firebird is a wild animal and cannot be taught empathy. So there is only one way, if it comes to that. The Firebird must be given empathy.”
“What?” Estella had started from her seat at this. “But…I can’t do that! No-one can!”
“There have been empathetic and sentient animals in the world before, Estella. The unicorn, the centaur, the dragons. Most of them have been driven back to their respective primeval planes now, but the fact remains that animals can be sentient and can have empathy.”
“But nothing in this world has such a power! Only God can give an animal human empathy – that is, if Elohim so chooses!” Estella protested.
The Matron admonished. “My dear Estella, you have been chosen to take this quest. Only you can find the way forward. May Galania watch over you, dear child.” The light from the Emerald flickered and extinguished itself as Estella slumped over, utterly exhausted.
Coach Tom is an 2021 Official Member of the Forbes Coaches Council.
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