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The first view of Abaddon from the encircling mountains is breathtaking. The Abaddon plain is two leagues below sea level. The mountains add another one-half league to the stupendous drop. Yet the plain is the size of a small continent, stretching some three hundred leagues in every direction. In the center of the plain, it is rumored that there is another deep chasm, falling more than a league to an inland sea. Why the enormous pressure of the sea does not percolate through the surrounding rock and fill up this void is a mystery.
A scout standing on the mountains would see the plain climb slowly to the level of the mountain base in the west, in the huge peninsulas that we call the North and South Mandibles, enclosing Fang Bay. Perhaps that is how the armies of Abaddon keep coming to Feiramar to trouble us.
Alas, most of the history of Abaddon is actually a history of Abaddonian attacks on our land culminating in the greatest calamity of all—the treachery of Meglir and the Great Plague he unleashed in the last desperate days of the siege of his great stronghold. Apart from what we learned from several bold climbs to the surrounding mountains, we know little of Abaddon itself. Discounting the implausible tales told by the fantasy writer, Jandor Longwalker, the little we do know has been gleaned from documents captured in the long war against the Bent Ones. No firsthand reports are known of Abaddon itself.
The History of Abaddon by Kendor ap Karnellian
Dave pushed back from the table in his kitchen and looked out the large window down the long western slope of the Barrier Mountains to Lake Tolbar. After a brief look, he took another mouthful of siph, the Hansa drink he relished so much. It tasted like coffee and chocolate mixed together. He had just finished telling Ferris the story of his survival test, and of Teledon’s charges against him, from beginning to end.
Turning to look at Ferris, Dave waited, expectantly, for his comments.
Ferris was a slender, clean-shaven young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties (although as an Ancient, Dave knew he could be much older). Although Ferris appeared tall because of his slim build, he was a couple of inches shorter than Dave. He had dark curly hair, in contrast to his cousin Arlana’s blonde hair, yet Dave could see a resemblance around the eyes. Ferris’ skin color today had what Dave would have called a “Middle Eastern cast,” not white, but also not the dark brown Ferris would likely choose in intense sunlight, or when he was in stealth mode at night.
I wish I had that kind of control over my skin pigmentation, thought Dave. I’m still a child and have times when my skin pigments change unconsciously and everyone can tell I’m still just an Ancient infant.
Ferris cradled his own cup of siph and looked thoughtful. “It goes without saying that I believe you Dave. You have always been an honest man who has invariably told me the truth. I think if it were only your word against Brandor’s, the tribunal would rule in your favor because of Brandor’s behavior in the training combat, and the fact that you carried him back to the wagon for rescue. However, Teledon’s testimony as a Ranger will carry great weight, and ultimately, may tip the balance against you.”
“So, what’s the probable penalty?”
“I think attempted murder is unjustified. You could easily have left Brandor where you found him. Teledon can only testify to the first combat. If he had seen the second, more serious combat, then why did he not intervene and bring Brandor back himself?
“To fully answer your question, in case of a guilty verdict at your court martial, I think the tribunal will expel you from the Academy for ‘conduct unbecoming.’ With that charge on your record, the Academy would never let you in again. Still Brandor’s claim—that you killed his brother indirectly—will give us something to work on.”
Ferris allowed his last statement to hang in the air until the silence became awkward. Then he picked up the book Dave had been reading. “Oh, you’re reading Abaddon Journey by Jandor Longwalker. How Arlana and I loved that book! Longwalker’s adventures are so wild and frankly unbelievable that the implausibility may put you off. I think that’s why children like it so much; when you’re a child you believe almost anything an adult—or a book—will tell you.”
“What do you know about Abaddon, Ferris?”
“You have already read The History of Abaddon, which I loaned you, so you know what I know, and what the rest of us know, for that matter. Abaddon is the source of all of our troubles. We know well the troubles the Bent Ones have caused us. We know almost nothing about the place itself. A long time ago, our people sent several expeditions to climb the mountains surrounding Abaddon. They reached a pass, saw the sheer drop, and saw the huge Abaddon plain far below them. They observed for a while, and then returned. They did this from many locations.”
“Isn’t there a map of what these observers saw?” asked Dave.
“Yes, there is a map compiled by Kandor ap Karnelian from a synthesis of maps that various observers drew of the Abaddon plain and the edge of the drop-off to Sheol. But it is obviously woefully incomplete. There are no rivers, mountains, or cities on Karnelian’s map.”
“How far is the plain below sea level?”
“They took some geometric measurements using the shadow of the rim. In your measurements,” Ferris thought for a moment, “in your measurements the plain is about ten kilometers below sea level. Sheol, the huge deep chasm in the center of the plain, is much deeper still.”
“But there has to be some way to get from the plain to the coast. How else could they build ships and launch attacks on us? They must have settlements, or at least ship building sites somewhere on the coast. Haven’t the Gurundarians looked for them?”
Ferris raised his finger indicating that Dave should hold his questions, then left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a large paper roll, which he flattened on the table. It was a map. “This is the map that Kandor ap Karnelian compiled,” he said. “We also believe the Bent Ones must have settlements, or work camps, somewhere on the coast. But we have never found any. In the days before the plague, and the sundering of our people from our brethren to the west, we had a sizeable navy. Our fleet would periodically sail here into Maw Bay and try to surprise their ships to stave off future attacks. We always caught some, but never their whole fleet. There are huge caverns at the end of Maw Bay. The admirals of the time thought the Black Fleet was hidden there. A few adventurous captains tried to take longboats in to reconnoitre, but none ever returned. Eventually the loss of manpower grew too great, and the benefit proved nonexistent. The admirals gave up sending in expeditions. Still, we believe that somewhere in Maw Bay, the ships are built that plague us so.”
Dave shrugged. “There has to be a way in and out from the Abaddon plain to Maw Bay.”
“Undoubtedly. Maybe one of Jandor’s crazy notions hits near the truth. Perhaps there is a subterranean passage that connects the caverns on Maw Bay to the Abaddon plain.”
Just then there was a knock at the front door. Dave was just getting up to answer it, when Hanomer came in carrying his pack, sword, and bow.
Hanomer was mammalian, about three feet tall. He had a long prehensile tail with a tuft on the end that opened up into a third hand. His glistening fur was dark. He wore a primitive body armor made of tough, yet pliable leather. On his belt he carried a long knife. He had a quiver with arrows slung over his back and a short bow. The overall impression he gave was of a badger, walking upright.
Hanomer and his mate, Endowyn, and their close relatives had moved to Gurundar as Hansa ambassadors at the request of the Council of Thirteen. Their Hansa clan had, of course, moved with them since it would have been unthinkable for Hanomer and Endowyn to move without their community. The Council of Thirteen had shown extraordinary trust in letting Hanomer set up a link to The City of the Trees using a pair of black swamp oak acorns. The Gurundarian end of that connection was planted in a well-watered meadow in the midst of the new Hansa village so that the black swamp oaks could be guarded day and night.
“Hanomer,” said Dave, “it looks like you’re going on a long journey. What’s up?”
“Friend Dave, I believe I am going on a long journey, but I thought that you could tell me what the long journey was about.”
“You thought I could tell you? I don’t understand. Did someone send you a message on my behalf? As a prank?”
“No message came from you friend Dave. The message came from elsewhere. Endowyn and I were sitting on our new veranda singing to the Creator as we like to do in our morning time of contemplation, when we were interrupted. It was as if someone were speaking to me mind-to-mind as you and I sometimes do when I touch your arm. Only no one was touching me. It came as a poem. Here he began to recite in the Common Tongue.
A path united divided
A day of sundering
A week of trials
Prepare for the journey
Prepare your friend
Prepare to descend
A lamp will light your feet
A goal will loom out of the gloom
Look for new birth out of dying
Look for hope in the hopeless
Look for heaven in hell
“And because of that poem you came here to go on a long journey? What does it even mean?” asked Dave, bewildered.
“Friend Dave, Endowyn and I independently heard exactly the same poetical prophecy mind-to-mind. Although we do not know what it means, we know enough that we were to be parted for a time, perhaps a very long time, and that it would be a trial for Endowyn, me, and our three children. Still if the Creator sends us a message, even if we don’t know what it means, we ought to follow it, as far as our poor understanding allows. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I have been a fool to come here with my ‘goodbyes’ said and my pack loaded for a long journey, but Endowyn and I want to be found ready and faithful to obey the instructions. The Creator is never wrong.”
“Well,” said Dave, “put your equipment down and join us for some siph and a bite to eat on the veranda. It’s too nice a day to sit indoors. I’m glad you’re here.” Dave made Hanomer a sandwich.
Ferris had left, and Hanomer was into his third sandwich when Arlana came into the room holding a letter in her hand. “I found this letter waiting for us in our black swamp oak water meadow.” Dave recognized Pam’s elegant handwriting, and saw a short note from Al at the bottom in spidery script.
Dave’s eyes widened as he read. “She’s pregnant!”
Arlana laughed with deep joy. “Isn’t it wonderful news?”
“I can’t help but think that this will heal some of their hurts,” she continued. “We’ve been away so long at the Academy; this letter could be old news. I’m going to write a quick reply to congratulate them and tell them of your predicament with the Academy.” She kissed him tenderly, then said, as if in an afterthought, “With the black swamp oak growing so quickly in our water meadow, I may be able to visit Pam when the baby comes.”
Dave felt himself begin to tense up. “You know how I worry about my government back home and what they’ll do with you and to you if they find you there. Anyway, do you really relish being scrunched up in the fetal position overnight until the transfer to my world is complete?”
“I wouldn’t mind the scrunching. As for the other, I know your worries, sweetheart. I would be careful. Pam and Al live in a secluded place in your world, don’t they? I would stay away from trouble. Besides, I would come back immediately if there were any question of government interference or danger.”
Yeah, thought Dave, “immediately” to her means hiding out in a tree overnight until the transfer is complete. She has no idea of police, FBI, police dogs, or snoopy neighbors.
Dave watched her leave to write her reply, then settled back into his chair on the veranda. Once again, he looked westward down the mountain side. Lake Tolbar glistened like a mirror in the sun. At the horizon he could see the Callabar Islands. Far off, beyond sight, were the forbidden western lands. To the north, storm clouds were forming, large and black.
“Hanomer, I hope you will stay a while before you head back to Endowyn.” Hanomer gave Dave a look that said “Didn’t you hear anything I said?” but went off to store his gear in the room that he used whenever he visited.
Alone now, Dave settled deeper into his chair on the veranda. Arlana’s home was far down the mountainside, nestled near the water’s edge, where the healing plant grew that had made him into an Ancient. It was good to be close to her home, but not too close. They needed the space to start their lives together.
He thought of the book he had read, A History of Abaddon, in the Ancient Tongue. What a dreadful place Abaddon seems to be. A continent so far below sea level that the atmospheric pressure is high. Life forms, which need the high air pressure to survive, live there. People full of violence, weird experiments on people and living things—if this book is to be believed. Now I know why people shudder when that name is even spoken.
After that tome, he had needed some lighter reading. Arlana had suggested a childhood favorite of hers, the fantasy called An Abaddon Journey by Jandor Longwalker. It told of the author’s imaginary adventure in Abaddon. But Dave was looking for real information, not fantasy. Still, since he had started reading Longwalker’s book, he couldn’t put it down. Now that he was out of the Academy and supposed to stay home, he would have plenty of time to read. When Ferris came he had been reading about Jandor drifting in a small sailboat after a storm had dismasted his craft. He was being blown into Maw Bay on the west side of Abaddon and his situation looked desperate. Of course, no one could walk around that continent and come back to tell about it.
Dave opened the book and read for a while. Jandor was shipwrecked on the west coast of Abaddon, captured and taken to an underground tunnel that led to the Abaddon plain. But eventually, despite the excitement of the book, Dave felt tired from the tension of the last few days. He closed the book and dozed off. He was soon dreaming a vivid dream of giant reptiles, winged creatures so large they could never fly in our light atmosphere—all warped by the malevolent hands of sorcerers, human experimenters, and Bent Ones. Some were even Ancients that had been so warped and changed that they were unrecognizable, but still, they had that spark of consciousness that made human beings and Hansa so different from beasts.
He woke with a start as he heard footsteps on the veranda. It was Arlana. She was pale, her cheeks glistening with tears, and clutching a letter. “I found another letter from Al when I went to send off my reply. Something terrible has happened.”