Chapter 20 (Original edit)

Chapter XX

Frothbreaker and his crew from Wavestrider were fortunate in one respect. Although their vessel had been badly damaged in the battle off of the Isle of Mists, they had captured two intact pirate vessels which were nearly a match for their own craft in size and speed. Between their own salvage efforts on Wavestrider and scavenging from their two prizes, they were able to find much of what they needed to make their craft at least seaworthy once more. Most of the replacement parts came from one of the buccaneer ships. They stripped it almost to its hull for there was no more need for it. They couldn't take it back with them, they had barely enough sailors to crew Wavestrider and one prize vessel. If they left it here, the pirates might come back and recrew it.

The latter did seem rather unlikely, though. The waning of the full moon was fast approaching for the repairs had taken all night and half of the day. The Isle itself would disappear on the morrow's eve if the legends about were accurate as they had so far been. The island would take all of its contents with it including the pirate vessel -- and even themselves if they hadn't sailed ere then. But they were going to depart long before that, precisely because Frothbreaker and Urki feared that the pirates might return in the meantime. So it was necessary to raze one of the pirate ships and, since it was necessary, such destruction might as well be put to what good use it could.

The sailors were bone weary by now. They had gone without sleep and worked frantically to get Wavestrider whole or nearly so as soon as they could. Frothbreaker himself was no exception. He whipped himself into a frenzy as he feverishly conducted the dismantling of the pirate ship on one hand and the reconstruction of Wavestrider on the other. Even Urki and Derazha, battered as they were from the battle on the beach, strove mightily to make sure that they and their allies could soon set sail. Only Jerrod and Brianna did nothing, the latter because she was still lost in the fell coma into which she had fallen, and the former because he was lost in a haze of grief and guilt.

The mage spent most of his time in the hold sitting and staring morbidly at Berit's corpse. Occasionally, he would sob or shake his head sadly. Such expressions of sorrow were all that there was to indicate that the young mage was not yet statuary. Even more rarely he would get up and go to Brianna's cabin and stare morosely at the comatose cleric. His comrades left him alone. Although they were concerned by the depth of his depression, they still viewed his bereavement as fresh in both time and kind.

Jerrod had never experienced this type of loss before and it always hit one hard to lose one's close comrades in battle. The cadaver-sitting, though, did worry them. None of them had ever seen such behavior before. Well, that was not quite true, for Urki had seen someone sit and stare at corpses for hours just before he went berserk and began to attack anyone who was near, friend or foe. But that was a hardened old veteran and there had been several corpses, so it wasn't quite the same.

The rest of them couldn't wait around for Jerrod to snap out of his funk. Someone had to get Wavestrider ready to sail. And by evening fall someone had. The unflagging efforts of captain, crew and half of the passengers were enough so that the ilvan warship was just barely able to catch the evening tide. Leaving the peaceful lagoon of the mist-shrouded Isle came none to soon for most. While their achievements there had been great, their losses had been grievous, and there was no one aboard either Wavestrider or their prize that regretted seeing the island of legend slip silently to the stern. Not even the three survivors of the trip to the barrow lamented that they were leaving behind enormous wealth and countless works of beautiful artistry and craft.

Urki and Derazha were anxious just to get back to Rendor, to see what fate had befallen Urki's sister and the rest of the absent colleagues and to inform them of their success in acquiring the Sword. Jerrod simply didn't care about anything much right then.

* * * * *

The remainder of the two-day trip back to Barabel went smoothly. On the way, the trio of surviving adventurers questioned Matthias about getting in touch with smugglers. To no one's surprise, their hireling was acquainted with the smugglers and their haunts. Matthias informed that contacting the night shippers was really quite easy and that they should have no trouble in doing so once they had arrived in the pirate port. He would be happy to show them to one of the smugglers' dens as soon as they docked.

The `expediter' was as good as his word. As soon as Marcus' ship had been made fast to the pier, the gangway was lowered and Matthias and his employers were heading once more into the seedy harbor district of Barabel.

It wasn't long before the quartet came to Cannon's, a dark, disreputable place hidden away among the black alleys of the seaside streets of Barabel. Small and cramped, Cannon's was filled with sad and shady characters who wandered in from the neighborhood's streets. The bearded barkeep looked little more honest than his customers and, after asking his employers to wait for him for a moment, it was the barkeep that Matthias approached. A few murmured words and Matthias returned to where Enki, Wolf, and Neun Ja stood and said, "It is all arranged. We are to wait over there at that table in the corner. Someone will contact us shortly. I must warn you though, that I have never found it quite so easy to arrange a meeting with one of the dark captains. It is passing strange, so be on your guards."

Matthias' apprehension turned out to be ill-founded. Within moments the very smuggler who had brought the adventurers to Barabel was sliding into a chair at their sides. Looking first at the trio of adventurers, then at their new sidekick, the night runner raised an eyebrow.

Enki smiled and softly said, "He is alright. We have trusted him with more than this ere now. So speak freely captain, when can we sail for Rendor?"

"On the morning tide, milady," responded the captain in the same hushed tones. "We feared for your safety, for Miranda's ship sailed soon after you had departed. We thought perhaps that she had followed you and would do you ill. But you survived. At least most of you did, where is the mage that accompanied you? Is he hurt? Or worse?"

"Ah, that is a fell tale, captain," whispered Enki sadly. "It is one which the bards will sing of for many years to come, for now though, let me say just this: Ordolf is slain, slain by the Child of Night who fell to the archmage's magic, but was able to take our good companion down with him as he toppled. We still will have four passengers for you, for I think we will bring good Matthias here with us."

The rogue from Barabel grew suddenly alarmed, but before he could utter a sound. Enki hand slipped to the hilt of her dagger as she turned to him and murmured innocently, "You would miss our company far too much to remain here wouldn't you, Matthias?"

After a mute nod from their new bondsman, Enki continued, "But you had the right of it. Ware the minions of Miranda, for she did follow and she sought to purloin our hard won gains from us at Dead Key. Fortunately, we escaped her overtures and left her to rot on the beach of the island. We believe it exploded soon after we left, but we know not whether she was slain in the blast or whether her lackeys arrived in time to save her and themselves. We can always hope, but walk carefully when her servants are present, for if she survives Miranda hunts us. And if she hunts us, she will seek to extract information from you. If not, then those who serve her may seek vengeance for their mistress' life."

Whether Miranda survived her marooning on Dead Key or perished on that desolate rock, she did not appear ere Enki and her comrades departed for Rendor. Nothing particularly noteworthy happened either on the docks of Barabel or on the four days of the return voyage to Rendor aboard the smuggler ship. The same was not true once the three surviving adventurers docked once more at the capitol of the Ilvan Kingdom of the southern seas. The trio arrived quietly enough, but once word of their arrival had spread they were besieged with curious visitors seeking word of what had befallen them in Barabel.

Kahlan and Springbuck, of course, were necessarily the first to be apprised of what had befallen in Barabel on Dead Key. When they met, the triumvirate of surviving adventurers told the ilvan lord and lady of their encounters with Miranda and of their battle with the Child of Night. It was during the latter exposition that Nynaeve knocked on the door asked to be admitted. Enki had been dreading this moment. Nynaeve and her rediscovered love had had many dreams ere Ordolf and the rest of the Seremorans had left and telling her that those dreams would never be anything more than dreams was something that Enki had not looked forward to doing.

Wolf came to his younger colleague's rescue. "Alas, fair Nynaeve, we have little good to report. As you can see, Ordolf is not present. I know of no way to break this evil news gently. Whatever your worst fears, they can be no worse than what befell. Ordolf is slain. Slain while he saved the rest of us from a fearsome beast that was about to slay the rest of us, but slain nonetheless. The archmage died a hero, but we cannot give him a hero's rest for his body fell into a great chasm in the earth where it was consumed by first an explosion and then a flow of firerock. While we cannot know your pain, we, too, grieve, for the necromancer had become our companion and, I dare say, our friend. Would that we could change it, but since we are not gods, know this, that if there is ought we can do for you, it is but yours to ask and it shall be done."

Nynaeve said no word. For a brief moment she stood stock still, then she was wracked by a profound sob. Nodding, she fled the room.

"That is fell news, indeed," Springbuck sighed. "would that it were otherwise. You say that you have done nothing in the way of a memorial for the archmage? Perhaps we could have a service here. I think it would do much to give our friend, the lady Nynaeve, solace if we sent her love regained on to the afterlife as we do those ilfs that pass from this sphere. Perhaps in a five-day or so we shall commend him to the sea. I would fain wait till your other colleagues and Berit return on Wavestrider but I would not wish to wait too long. Although we of the ilvankind do not often grieve, when we do it can be a terrible thing, and I would not deem it prudent to let Nynaeve simmer to long on the fire of mourning for there is no telling what she might resolve to do. Thank the gods that she still has Berit or I fear she might slip into caramargh."

"Caramargh, honorable lord," interjected Neun Ja. "Forgive my ignorance but I am not acquainted with that term. Please, can you tell me, what does it portend?"

Kahlan answered. "It is no failing of yours to be unacquainted with that term. Few non-ilfs have ever heard the word and fewer still know its meaning. We have hosted you and named you Ilf-Friend, so you may know now of one the shameful secrets of ilvankind. Caramargh is a condition of high dudgeon and deep grief which ilfs occasionally fall prey to in times of great woe. Afflicted ilfs lose all concern for life. They lose touch with the land, with beasts, with all other living entities. Over time their rage and isolation turn outward and they seek to slay those whom they deem responsible for their loss. Unfortunately, those in caramargh lose all compunctions and discernment about how to accomplish their task and often slay many innocents in the process of exacting their vengeance. Often they are slain long before they reach their bitter goal, but even when they accomplish their black mission it avails them naught. For in its realization, they lose the impetus which drove them and, looking back upon the fell deeds they have done, they can no longer live with what they have become and take their own lives ere anyone else can. Such is what we fear for Nynaeve and, should we let her wallow in her misery too long, I misdoubt not that it will come to pass."

The days passed surprisingly quickly as word of the fate of Wavestrider was awaited. Business continued much as it did normally in Rendor for few there knew or cared about Ordolf's demise. He was not an ilf and his passing meant little to the average person the street even if they were aware of it. Nynaeve was another matter. The ilvan lady rarely was seen in public. When she was she seemed to be escorted about town by a small dark cloud which made everything near a little bit more dreary and dismal. Passersby would mutter and cross the street when she was about. Cats would hiss and dogs would begin to howl. Rendor became an uncharacteristically cheerless place wherever she was.

Springbuck and Kahlan became more and more worried about their vassal's delicate state of mind. Finally, six days after Enki and her comrades had returned from their mission to Barabel, the two ilvan rulers requested that the three heroes attend them once more. When the Seremorans arrived, the two ilfs came right to the point.

"We can wait no longer," Kahlan declared. "Nynaeve will soon be lost in caramargh. We would that we could wait longer for your other friends, but if we do not act soon it will be too late. We shall have service at the harborside for Ordolf tomorrow noon. It is the ilvan way."

Seeing the confusion on their faces, Springbuck continued smoothly, picking up where Kahlan had stopped, "What my love means by the `ilvan way' is, that we of Rendor believe that the sea is the mother of all life and from her all things flow. Thus, when one of us passes, we commend them to the sea that they might return but a little of what she has given them. We choose noon for two reasons. First, we believe that all should bear witness to our loss and to our gift to the sea. It should not be a hidden and secretive thing. And what better time to display that which you would was seen than high noon? Second, we believe that the symbol of the sun over the sea represents life. Father Sun bathes Mother Sea with his golden light, the Blue Madonna absorbs the suns gift and then with it begets the wondrous world of living beings that fill her every measure. These in turn provide us with our sustenance. Noon symbolizes this cycle at its peak when the sun shines most radiantly. So it is then that we chose to send off the dead, with the hope that their passing be not shadowed and wan, but filled with new life and light."

"We would like you to join us in the ceremony. Among ilvankind, those that were close to the departed in life are asked to participate in their passage to the sea. Unfortunately, that usually involves the body. Since we have none we would like each of those that knew him well to choose something that they believe symbolizes the person that they knew. We will then commend whatever that item is to the sea with our good wishes and the hope that they serve in Ordolf's stead. Do not feel obligated, for this an ilvan rite and we will understand if you feel uncomfortable. But please consider our proposal, for we can think of no better way to bid your comrade farewell."

* * * * *

The funereal ceremony which the ilfs of Rendor held for Ordolf was subdued but beautiful. Kahlan was dressed in a simple gown that matched the color of the sea in the harbor nearly perfectly. Her consort wore raiment that was the unrelieved gold of the sun. Nynaeve also had chosen to wear special garb. Her choice seemed eerily appropriate, for it was a dress in two hues. Mostly a brilliant scarlet of passion (or perhaps of blood), it was edged in the somber black of mourning and death. It was the first time that any of the human visitors to the isle had seen either color displayed on or around any of the ilfs.

Of the three ilfs, only Nynaeve carried something. It was in her hands, which were clutched to her bosom. From where she stood, Enki could not tell exactly what the ilvan noble held, but she thought it likely that whatever it was, it was Nynaeve's choice for something that she thought symbolized the slain archmage that she loved.

Enki wondered what it could be. She, herself, had selected something that had been Ordolf's. It wasn't a book, thought she had considered that he must have a lust for knowledge else he wouldn't have become a mage. She had never seen that from him though, so it didn't really represent the Ordolf she knew. Nor did she choose an item of arcane power, though she had seen just how puissant a mage he was when he slew the trolls in Ekirigilio. No, her choice had been far more pedestrian, a set of the mage's spare clothing. Dull and drab though it was for such powerful spellcaster, Enki could think of nothing that captured the essence of the strangely contradictory man that she had just begun to get to know half so well as the grey, innocuous garb which he habitually wore. Somehow it seemed to Enki that Ordolf's choice of garb represented something fundamental about the mage that made him the necromancer and the man that he was. He sought no glory. Nor did he seek to be viewed as someone or something singular. Ordolf had viewed himself merely as a part of humanity, nothing more, nothing less, and his clothing symbolized his sense of unity with the common man in a way that nothing else could. Enki thought it fitting that it be included in any ceremony which sought to lay Ordolf's memory to rest through the use of tokens that characterized the nature of the archmage.

Neun Ja, too, had selected something which she thought symbolized the man she had known -- one of her daggers. Plain and unadorned, it represented Ordolf like nothing else of which she could think, for it was both deadly and keen as the necromancer had been. The shadow mage thought it a fitting representation of the enormously deadly man that she had known.

The last of the three heroes who was then present in Rendor had also selected something for the pending ceremonial sacrifice. Far different than the choices of the others, Wolf's selection was based on more knowledge. Of all of those who had left Pond Eddy what in reality was just a short time before, but which seemed to have encompassed a lifetime, only he and Brianna had known the archmage ere that fateful day when the full eight of their company had met at the Horse Brass. Their acquaintanceship had been sporadic but long term and, over the course of time, Wolf had come to know Ordolf fairly well. It was that long-term knowledge which informed the ranger's choice for a symbol that represented the true core of the necromancer. He did not choose a symbol of the archmage's humility, nor did he choose a representation of the man's terrible power, rather he had selected something which, he thought, truly was a token of that which was central to Ordolf's true self, a single perfect gem.

And not just any gem. It was a diamond. Brilliant, translucent and indestructible, to Wolf, nothing else symbolized half so well the man and the mage that he had come to know. The modesty which was a part of Ordolf was an important element in his nature to be sure, as was his awesome magical ability. But neither was central to the mage as far as Wolf was concerned. No, the things that Wolf saw as unique in Ordolf were his unflagging strength and determination, his will to overcome all obstacles which were placed in his path, and his clarity of purpose. Without them, he could not have brought down the Child of Night. Without them he wouldn't have been Ordolf and nothing else symbolized each of those components of the archmage's nature half so well as the diamond which Wolf held gently in his powerful hands.

The three adventurers who had traveled so far together were not the only ones on the docks that day for it was a brilliant sunlit morning. There were others on the quay. Some had come to pay homage to Nynaeve's love and some, the curious, to watch the spectacle of the rulers of Rendor honoring the powerful human mage. The gawkers knew not why Springbuck and Kahlan had chosen to venerate Ordolf as one of their own, but they recognized the funeral as a singular event which might not be repeated ever again, for few non-ilfs had been paid such a tribute throughout history. So they came to see, for even ilfs have curiosity and this was indeed a curious happenstance.

Once the mourners and the spectators had all gathered and once the sun finally reached its apogee, Kahlan began the rite. "Brothers and sisters, friends from both near and far, we gather today not to mourn, for mourning is best done in private. We gather not to say farewell to a dead hero, though he whose spirit we send on is a great hero. No, we gather here to reverence the memory of a great mage who strove to save all of us from a doom which still threatens. We do so to acknowledge our affection for a lost friend. We do so that we may free his spirit by commending him to the sea and the sun that he may be reborn to pass among us again."

Without missing a beat, Springbuck picked up where is mate had stopped. "Our friend's body is gone. We cannot deliver it to the Mother of us all, so we have asked those who knew our brother well to select tokens of his essence that we may array them in his place. His love and his comrades have we chosen, and to them I now humbly beg: Bring us the symbols that you have chosen that we may honor them as we Ordolf himself."

Motioning to Nynaeve and the three adventurers who stood beside her, Springbuck held out a cushion of black and red velvet. One by one, the quartet approached and placed the items which they had chosen on the satiny pillow. First, Neun Ja, then Enki, placed her selections on the cushion. Wolf came next, and there were murmurs from the crowd, for the exquisite jewel which he had selected shone brilliantly in the sun. Last of all came Nynaeve. As she approached, at last the item which she had clutched so tightly to her breast became visible. It was a small, golden heart wrought with exquisite craftsmanship. Enki had never seen its like before. Nor, it appeared had any of the others there assembled, for a collective sigh escaped from the gathered throng as they saw that the lady Nynaeve offered her heart as a token of who and what the departed mage had been.

A tear welling in the corner of one eye, Springbuck took the proferred items and held them high for all to see as he said, "So be it. With these tokens of our love and esteem we commend our brother to our parents in the hope that one day they may see fit to give him life once more."

Turning toward the sea, the ilvan ruler lowered the cushion and then suddenly stopped and began to gaze intently with consternation out to sea. The rest of those in attendance each soon took a similar pose for on the horizon as if by magic upon the sea, two warships had appeared with black and red pennants fluttering in the noon breeze.