The Forgotten Land of Myria

ANGUS

One thing every human has in common is the ambitious quest for “paradise” during their lifetimes. Everyone has had moments where they close their eyes and picture their own little version of paradise, sometimes as a getaway place, an exotic jungle that no one has ever seen, or just the most peaceful place in the world. Now take all those dreams and images that you’ve ever thought up, drop them in a kaleidoscope, and you’ll get what I was seeing with my own eyes as I approached “The Forgotten Land of Myria”, as Eleazar had called it earlier.

My heart hammered my chest. A blend of fear and astonishment stirred a breathtaking moment. A minute ago, I was inside four walls then found myself stranded on a sandbar. Now I stood on a raft along with Eleazar, the “nurse” I had met at the hospital who called herself Livia, the jujoo Banebee, and the injured kid, Roy--the only survivor of the Brisbane disaster--whom I had been using for research.

It was all so unreal, I couldn’t come up with one thought or word to describe it. Birds flocked above me and I could hear loud horns blasting in harmony. The emerald green water shimmered under us, crystal clear. A few clouds crept across the blue sky, with the sun at its peak. Tall thin trees towered over the islands, along with such exotic vegetation, so colorful, as if a prism might be hovering just under the sun. One side of the main island was surrounded by massive rough rocks comprising a formation that lead down below the water towards a reef. Colorful corals and underwater flowers I couldn’t immediately identify, had delightful fish swarming about it. Near the reefs, scampering around on one of those rocks were two small boys, about seven or eight-years-old. They were wearing light woven tunics, and had necklaces that each bore a shark tooth. They were so busy digging their spears in the water they didn’t notice the intricate geometric patterns of their body paint dissolving with each splash--much less, our arrival.

“Who are they?” Roy blurted out, as if he had just seen two tigers. “Indians?”

“The correct term is Boniquippa,” Eleazar snapped. “The Boniquippa are the original people of these islands. They arrived here long before us. They’re responsible for much of what we know, but not what we live by here in Myria.” He caught Livia’s eye as he said it. “We’ll explain more soon.”

I quickly pulled out my notebook--that, to my disbelief, was completely dry and in perfect condition--and made note of what Eleazar had just said. Frustrated, Roy sat down in the raft.

“So you don’t civilize them?” he asked.

“Be patient,” Livia said, trying to spare us from anymore baboon chatter. “You’ll understand it all soon.”

I, on the other hand, had no need for reassurance or comfort. Instead, my skin prickled with excitement as we neared the shore. I didn’t know if I was mental for this, but I felt eager to see what was on that island. I felt eager to see this society because in a way, I sensed I had some connection to it. One of the reasons was the medallion that I had been fingering in my pocket. A pair of smooth angular boulders opened at a 35º angle at the beach shore, forming a passageway. The sand was pearlescent, as if no one had ever stepped there before.

I’ve never been one for quirky mysticism, but I couldn’t avoid the awe that gripped me at that very moment.

Eleazar waved his hand and we jerked forward as the raft came to a halt. We stepped onto the sand and grabbed our bags. Eleazar then whistled and the raft began to flexure itself, rolling backwards like a sleeping bag. It twisted and curved until it looked somewhat like a giant turtle shell. In fact, it didn’t just look like one. It was one. To my bewilderment, four large scaly limbs popped out of the shell, two in the front and two in the back. And with one last jerk, a head snuck out of the tip of the shell and stretched its neck upward.

“Wh-what is that?” Roy gasped. “The Loch Ness monster in a turtle shell? What happened to the raft?”

The creature turned towards Roy and groaned something like “gurrglasssst”.

“Easy now, Fern,” Eleazar said. “The boy’s just a little shocked.”

It grunted through its slimy nostrils.

“It has a name?” Roy asked.

“Of course,” Livia said, as if we didn’t know the most obvious thing. “And I’d recommend that you be kind to him. The ride probably wasn’t the nicest thing for him, either. Fern is your ticket to and from here.”

“We were riding this thing? Then why did you turn it into a raft?” Roy asked.

“I didn’t want to scare you. Would have been overwhelming.”

Roy’s cow eyes swept the scenery, landing back on Fern. “Great job with that,” he said.

“Well, we better get going before night falls,” Livia said to Eleazar.

“Right.” He whistled at Fern once more and the creature moaned, then swam out of sight. Banebee hopped onto Eleazar’s back, making its way to his shoulder as we walked.

We stepped through the boulders and neared a small trail that lead into a forest; I clutched my leather bag. The trees in the forest each stood at least twenty feet tall. Its dense canopy layer coated the skies, making it darker than usual. Only a few sun beams were able to weave through the tree leaves.

“This is commonly known as the Trail of Nixies. We take it to get to Musgrave Pen. Brace yourself. It’ll be a pretty long walk,” Livia said towards me.

“Nixies? What now?” Roy asked.

“Take a look,” she said, pointing toward the trees that towered over us. A huge mass of buzzing butterflies streamed down from over the trees. Although, like every other creature I’ve seen since I got here, there had to be a little twist. Under the butterfly wings, they had tiny little human bodies. Thousands of them swooped down and began circling around us, and there were a few high-pitched giggles and smirks.

“Ok, I get it. You’ll spare us the Nessie in a nutshell, but hey, bring on the Tinkerbell hive!”

“Nixies are individually the most unique creatures. You’ll never find similar looking ones. They all differ in colors, patterns, or glows. This trail is named after them because it goes right through their nesting area. Therefore, they guide it.”

The nixies fluttered around, a few circled us, examining me with tiny onyx eyes, as we hiked on down the trail. It seemed awfully quiet compared to the horn blasting a few minutes ago. Now, all we heard was the gentle buzzing of the nixies’ flapping wings and Eleazar’s humming, disastrously out of tune.

“How do they communicate? Can they talk?” I asked.

“If a nixie chooses to talk, it can only be with his or her unique counterpart,” Livia responded. “But of course they talk to each other as freely as we do.”

The rocks in the trail shimmered, reflecting the sun’s rays that crept through the leaves in the forest. Everything seemed so perfect. Roy kept his head low as he walked and I appreciated his addition to the silence. After a few more silent, tiring moments, Eleazar, who had been leading the way, stopped. The buzzing grew faint and the nixies slowly dispersed. He stood in front of the biggest tree I had ever seen. Its width was at least twice a Sequoia’s, and its trunk was composed of tangled bark roots. The branches flopped out almost touching the ground. The tree was filled with cuts and carvings that trailed all the way to the top of its trunk.

Livia handed Eleazar a razor-sharp blade shaped like a saber tooth. He gripped it with two hands and began carving at the tree trunk.

“What’s he doing?” Roy asked.

“This is Erita. It’s the tree of history, where we log dates and events. Anything that marked the history of Myria is registered here. He is now carving the date and event of your arrival.”

“Why would we be important to Myria’s history?”

Livia turned her head, drawing her attention to something else. I noticed she was reluctant to respond. Eleazar took two steps back, bowed at the tree in courtesy and handed the saber tooth blade back to Livia. He skirted the massive tree and pushed through some bushes, and naturally we followed.

Up ahead of the bushes a bunch of bamboo-like trees formed an arched model that overtopped us. Though the clearance was easily 15ft., I instinctively stopped when I realized the tunnel was better described as a funnel. The ceiling sloped gradually down leaving the end at about half the height of the entrance.

“Welcome to Musgrave Pen,” Livia said. ” This is the main village where all Myrians gather for big events and feasts.”

The tunnel of trees slowly thrusted back revealing a large plateau under us with green grass and flowers running through the meadows. Other than the mountain we stood on, the region was surrounded by shores and outlets that led to the sea.

At the core of the valley people--dressed in a variety of styles and manners not unlike rush hour in the London underground--filled the village. Unlike London however, it was overtly medieval in character. I spotted some folks selling armor, weapons, and other items and immediately looked around for a potion shop.

“This is insane...” Roy muttered.

“Right?” I responded. Even he was amazed.

“First, I almost die in a cyclone...attacked by a sea monster...”

“What kind of armor is that?”

“My disabled sister goes missing, I’m now homeless...”

“There it is! The potion shop! Is it?”

“Then you guys pull me out of my wrecked life, teleport me here...

“Do you actually brew potions?”

“I ride a turtle monster, see human butterflies, talk to a jujoo, like what the hell is a jujoo?”

“Kupo!”

“I follow you guys, starting to think things are going somewhere--”

“As in... ”

“AND YOU TAKE ME TO A REN FAIR? I mean LOOK AT THIS! This is a damn geek show! No wonder Einstein over here is so worked up!”

“We--we should get him one of those Old Megs...” I responded. “You familiar with it, Livia? It’s an instant-kill potion. Not very well known--”

SMACK!

Roy had decided to take his anger out on me and attempted a swing at my face, but Eleazar caught his arm and threw him on the ground. While he kept him pinned, Eleazar whispered something in his ear that I couldn’t understand--but it didn’t seem to make Roy feel any better.

He picked Roy up and we hiked down the hill and into the valley, as we came to the entrance of the village. A large golden gate had “Musgrave Pen” at its front, followed by a large carving over it, seemingly the same language used in Erita, the tree of history. The gates opened abruptly and a man stood under the entrance. A rather small man, about four feet tall. He wore a full body robe with shoulder pads, a breast plate and brown boots, which made me notice his feet were unusually tiny, even for his frame. He had thick shaggy eyebrows over round caramel-red eyes that curved down in an angry manner, and his hair and beard grew out in all directions, like curled hay that hadn’t been cut in a decade. The little guy had abnormally big round ears and a large hook-nose. He was a most indelicate sight.

“Good evening, Kanrig!” Eleazar said extending his hand to greet him.

“Who are the two boys?” he responded in a high-pitched nasal voice which didn’t really go well with his appearance.

“Where are your manners you feisty little marblenugget?” Eleazar said in a mocking smile.

The little man grunted, clenching a fist. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“I apologize for Eleazar’s manners, Kanrig,” Livia stepped in. “This is Roy and Angus. Roy, Angus, meet Kanrig.”

Roy waved foolishly. “Hi, Kanrig.”

“They are kornitis,” Livia said.

“Korn-” Livia interrupted Roy, waving her hand in a “shut up, I got this” gesture.

“They have just arrived,” she told him. Kanrig approached us, glancing up and down in examination.

He grunted again.

“Very well,” he moaned. “Get going.”

We walked past him as he closed the gates. He then sneaked up to Eleazar and shouldered him, although, considering his height, it barely hit Eleazar’s lower back.

“Hmph!” Kanrig grunted in an attempt to prove authority as he trotted away on his bulky legs.

“Moody little midget,” Roy muttered, getting an ugly stare out of Livia.

“I would say,” Eleazar added, “that ugly licarin never liked me.”

“The proper term is ‘grogan’,” Livia said. “Grogans are mountain dwellers, known for being, at most, four feet tall. They mainly dwell in Roonbottam, a village in the Greengulch Mountains up in Timbervale, which is basically on the other side of Myria.”

“Timbervale? Is that a province of the island?” I asked.

“Technically, yes. Musgrave Island, being the main island, is divided in four sections: Timbervale, up north, Witvale, basically the center, Crow Valley, far west, and Juetsvale, down south. Where we are.”

“Interesting. Where to now?” Roy asked, dryly.

“Well right now,” Eleazar said, “there’s someone we need to introduce you to.”

Under a small tent, a group of people were perched in the grass. They waved at Eleazar and Livia as we approached them. One man stood and walked over to greet us.

“Thought you guys were never gonna come,” the guy said. From his accent, I concluded that he was of some African-Caribbean descent.

“Roy, Angus, meet Sky. He’s an archer and warden apprentice of the Galacia guild,” Eleazar said.

Sky stood about half a head over me, which is impressive since I’m technically tall for my age. His hefty build would have been intimidating, but he was far too friendly for such a thing.

“Okay, enough fleisherry,” Eleazar said. “How about you guys get going.”

“Where are you gonna go?” Roy asked.

“Well I must settle some errands of my own. Sky, Livia, will you mind showing them around?”

“Sure thing,” he answered giving Roy a pat on the shoulder.

“Let’s get going!” Sky said, in a stern tone. “First off, we’ll go to the center of Musgrave Pen. The village plaza.”

The village plaza was quite cheerful. All around, there were villagers laughing, talking loudly, and performing. A couple of jesters jingled by, hopefully for a theatrical skit, others played exotic instruments, and so on. All in all, the whole place was rather comforting. It made me feel at home. We came across a small fountain where a few villagers sat around, watching what looked like fireflies flutter in circles over the sky. There were also—

“Are those…pigeons?” I asked Livia, pointing to the roof of one of the houses ahead of us.

“Yes, that’s the Commonland term for them.”

“So even a missile in Myria couldn’t get rid of them...”

“Get rid of them?” Livia said, frowning. “They’re from Myria. In fact, they are our main way to communicate and keep ourselves informed about the Commonland. Why would we want to get rid of them?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I only knew one person that actually valued street pigeons and that was the late drunken beggar Loose-Tooth Joe. We sat at the fountain while Livia explained a little about the whole society, in a very strict, direct way, like a 4th grade math teacher who still kept a crumpled Fields Medal acceptance speech in her drawer.

“Our system revolves around the Matahi Chairmen. They are the seven elders that make up the leadership of Myria.”

“You see that?” she said pointing towards a monument at the center of the village plaza with tall pillars and staircases to its sides. It had seven bulky thrones that stood in a semi-circle, facing each other.

“That is the council where the Matahi Chairmen gather to discuss concerns and plans involving our society.”

“Now, since you guys got here you’ve probably heard people being introduced as members of the specific guilds.”

“Yeah, what exactly is that?” Roy asked.

“One thing you should understand is that there are no Myrians who don’t contribute to society. Everyone has a role. Your speciality determines your guild and your skills determine your order. For example, the military is a classification of an order. As an army, we all have different roles. Therefore, we are split into seven guilds: Alyven, the guild of druids; Galacia, the guild of archers; Bigolle the guild of forgers; Nalini, the guild of charmers; Teva, the ranger guild; Sevarea, the guild of summoners; and the Taiowen warriors.”

“But one can only play the role of the guild they’re in?” I asked.

“Not quite,” she responded. “The guilds are solely based on your specialities. Our training goes by Supreme Arts. They are the arts and skills that Myrians have developed--some have been around even before the First Invasion. Citizens are free to learn any Supreme Art they like, or invest in any skill, but commonly it is recommended you put into use whatever you’re best at.”

“Wait, so there’s seven guilds and seven Chairmen, meaning each chairman represents a guild?” Roy asked, once again exposing the obvious.

Livia nodded. “Exactly. The supreme leader of each guild is a Matahi Chairman.”

I watched as Sky ran over to a few performers and began dancing and clowning around with them. The whole thing just seemed so fascinating, yet so far from my reality. Roy scratched his head in confusion. “Wait a minute,” he said through knit eyebrows. “You guys have this whole system of guilds and different arts and skills for your army, but why do you guys do all this training?” Livia’s expression darkened, as she looked toward the sky. “That’s a complicated part that we’ll explain later. For now, I have to finish showing you around.”

She called Sky over and we continued walking.

“One more question,” Roy began, pacing to keep up with Livia and Sky. “How exactly do you guys speak our language? I mean, since you’re--foreign.”

“I’m glad you asked,” Livia let a sleek smile onto her face as we rounded a corner of the plaza. “For two reasons. One, Myria was originally discovered by Commonlanders. Englishmen, precisely”--I hadn’t a clue what she meant by that--“and the second reason--well we’re about to meet him.”