Tiwald the Traveller - a fable for Christmas.

I know ghost stories are traditional at Christmas. This story is lighter and, as people often travel around the holiday season, a traveller's tale, written in a saga style. Hope you enjoy.

Tiwald the Traveller

                                                    

 

There was once a man, Tiwald by name. He was a traveller, a mariner who loved the dancing seas—the salt spray and curving foam, the slapping sail and screaming gull, the smell of pitch and Frankish wine. Many times had he crossed the whales’ road in his tall, deep-bellied ship, carrying furs and spices and silver to all countries, every god-fearing people.

One day in late spring he made ready his boat and set forth, a good wind behind and silken seas following. Two days the ship journeyed, slipping through the waters, easy as the sunshine, the crew singing

rowdily, sleeping soundly.

But with the dawn of the third day came a strange wind, which the boat could not avoid, despite the clear and shining seas. Tireless and unceasing the wind blew the ship off course, far out into deep water and empty, unknown skies.

The crew could do nothing. They took down the sail and mast, then unshipped their oars and huddled together in the hold, silent and fretful, forgetting even to pray.

Tiwald alone along them remained stout-hearted and would not quit his post. Standing solitary at the helm, her urged the crew to follow his example. His pleas were all in vain. The master mariner scanned the strange stars alone. The crew had turned bloodless, they had no spirit.

For three days the wind moaned, bursting down on the boat and driving it on a single straight course while the sea around lay flat as beaten iron. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, as sudden as it had come, the wind ceased. Though no land could be sighted, Tiwald fell to his knees, praising the Almighty. He strapped up the tiller and slept for the first time in five nights. His crew were still below.

When he woke, the mariner found that the ship had beached itself and was lying, clear of the water, on a narrow sandy strand. They had been driven to a mighty estuary, full of shallow salt pools and black sand dunes. Across these flats, farthest from the sea and at the very edge of the estuary could be seen the beginning of a great forest, dark and hostile-looking despite its array of spring green. Above this forest rose mountains, snow-clad and glittering, their tops lost in the clouds. In all of this place no animal could be seen, but strange birds, brightly coloured and mute, flew in an settled on the clear water to feed. A few, bolder than the rest, even alighted on the bows of the ship.

Tiwald and his followers stood on the dunes and gazed silently at the forest and the mountains beyond. As they watched, a wide and even path of green stones emerged from the trees’ edge, where none had been before, and wove its way back through the forest towards the hills.

Tiwald looked at his crew. “We follow the path,” he said. “Over the mountains perhaps there will be a city and people to aid us, if we approach in good faith. But,” he warned, “do not linger on this road or stray from it, for whatever reason.”

So speaking, the mariner directed two men to remain with the ship and then, seeing the rest provisioned for the journey, strode off, wading through the shallows to the green path.

The crew walked far that first day. The path was straight and level and no man was tempted to leave the way for the damp and tangled woods. At sunset they bedded down on the stones, too wary to light a fire lest they drew attackers. Wrapped shivering in their cloaks, the men listened fearfully to the cries of the owl and wolf and to other sounds which they dare not think on.

Dawn when it came was welcome and welcoming—birds sang, the earth was warm, the woods tranquil. Tiwald and his men were merry that morning, singing and running along the path. Some of the crew, heartened by the blue cloudless skies and gleaming sunshine even crept off the road to the edge of the forest. There flowers sprang form every tree stump and encircled every tree base, each different from its neighbour, wondrous to behold and with a sharp yet heady scent. Many there were that day who wished to pluck these blooms and tear them from their rightful home, but Tiwald, being wiser than most, forbade it.

Onwards they travelled until one man, farther along the path than the others, gave a great shout and left the green stone path completely. Sprinting forward, Tiwald saw the mariner kneeling in a grassy clearing some way from the track. Beside him stood a most fair and lovely maiden, slim and straight, naked and golden-haired, though cruelly used. Thick chains bound her shapely arms, wound around her slender middle, hung heavy from her hips down to her tiny feet. A great iron ring, thicker than Tiwald’s thumb and as wide as his clenched fist was threaded through the chains and embedded in a massive boulder.

Much moved to pity by this poor beauty’s plight, Tiwald and his men left the path and fell to hacking and tearing at the chains with swords and axes. All their efforts were in vain, the chains were not even scratched by their blades.

Suddenly the maiden spoke. “The ring,” she urged, looking directly at Tiwald as the tallest and strongest of the group, “You must break the ring.”

Instantly a man lurched forward to obey her but was himself stopped by Tiwald.

“Wait,” said the master mariner. “Something here is not right.” Indeed, Tiwald was much troubled, for he had seen an uncanny gleam in the maiden’s eyes when she had spoken to them and he had watched a look of ravenous and hideous anger cross her face as the sailor had tried to approach the iron ring.

The lady, sensing his bewilderment, appealed now to his crew.

“Please, free me,” she begged, with such a breaking voice and so many tears that her face was most beautiful, even in despair.

Again, Tiwald tried to prevent his men from meeting the maiden’s demands, but his followers, maddened by lust and greed turned upon him and beat him down, knocking him to the ground where he lay as one dead.

When the master mariner woke, the maiden, his crew and the forest had disappeared. He himself was lying on a golden couch, set upon a raised dais in a great high-gabled hall. Sitting up, he looked about, full of awe at the strangeness of the place. The hall was a palace, brightly painted and richly adorned, filled with cunningly carved chairs and tables of pure gold. Around its walls glinted tapestries of ruby and gold and at its entrance was set a pair of copper gates, finely wrought and burnished to a gleaming glory. Most wondrous of all in the centre of the hall there rose a mighty spring, a fountain such as might be seen in ancient Rome. Soundlessly its waters flowed up and fell back again like a fire, lighting the whole building with a strange silver radiance.

Tiwald gazed in delight at the fountain, unheedful of the light tread behind him. A voice, very sweet and low, broke the silence.

“Welcome to the hall of healing, Tiwald, wisest of men.”

The master mariner turned, ready to answer the speaker, but found his tongue stilled at what he saw.

There before him stood a woman, tall and dark and comely, dressed in green, with green veil and headrail. Her eyes shone silver, like the fountain, and her smile mazed his wits, like wine. Beside her, the glories of the hall were feeble, as cobwebs in the morning dew are before the rising sun.

The lady spoke again. “The hall gives you fair blessing and I, keeper of the hall, do likewise. Yet I fear I come with poor tidings, though this be your first waking hour for a year.”

Stunned by her words, Tiwald remained silent for a moment. Forcing his limbs to move, he leapt from the couch and bowed low before the stately dame, stammering a reply. “Forgive me, my lady, for being so surly. I am a simple man and gratitude for all you have done for me and the wonder of this place has stolen my tongue away.”

The mariner paused, but for shyness dare not look at the lady. Yet the keeper of the hall seemed not angered by this but pleased, and she held out both her hands to him, touching his brow. “Come. We must go from this place. There is much to do.”

Thus speaking, the lady turned and walked slowly away, towards the copper gates. Tiw lad, followed, quick as he could. The gates swung open for the lady, closing silently behind the mariner, as he crossed over the threshold.

Outside the hall was desert. An eerie land it was to Tiwald, empty and soundless, where the sun shone hard and brilliant but cold, like a crystal. It gave a man no warmth. Nothing dwelt here but sand and wind. The barren dunes lay heaped, colour upon colour, even up to eves of the hall of healing.

The mariner stood silent for a long while, looking all about him. Finally he spoke. “I must again crave pardon of you, my lady. I know that I am a blunt ignorant fellow, but my mind is not easy and forces me to speak. Do you know aught of my men? And the maid bound by the iron ring, do you know what became of her?”

The keeper of the hall looked steadily at the mariner, her face full of sorrow. “Alas!” she cried, “Your men are no more. A great evil has befallen them. The maid they strove to free was not all she seemed. In betraying you and cutting the iron ring they loosed a merciless beast upon my country. They freed none other than Swiftbane, the deathly dragon of Albaessa. A wily, subtle beast it is, too, much skilled in shape shifting. She bewitched your men, but gave them poor reward for their service. Seven she devoured and the rest she burned, your ship too. You alone escaped her venom, yet how I know not. You were brought here from beside the very boulder to which the dragon was tethered.”

Seeing Tiwald’s pale and saddened face, the lady paused a moment, but then resumed her grim tale. “Swiftbane is free, and how this land has suffered! And I fear you yourself might suffer too, for you must seek the dragon out and face her. Your men’s actions have placed this fate upon you.”

This time, Tiwald did not hesitate. “I will find this worm,” he answered, “though I spend my life in the task, and I will rebind it, or perish in the attempt.”

The lady smiled and clapped her hands. “Well spoken, Sir mariner!” she said, her eyes gleaming brighter than stars, “but soft,” she continued, gently touching his spear arm with a cool hand. “First you must forge anew the iron to bind Swiftbane. You and you alone must seek out and quarry and forge the base metal, for to my people, the touch of iron is forbidden.”  

Tiwald gave a grim smile at this and would have made a bold reply, had not the lady checked him.

“Listen, Tiwald! Though the worm has magic, I too have charms to guide and keep you from harm, but you must obey my words, else all will be lost. Once you have made the chains of iron, you must travel east, towards the rising sun, and into the plains. There, along the edge of a great green lake, whose waters you must not drink, you will find a narrow path. Take this track, which leads to a gorge and the gorge leads to a cavern and in the cavern’s deeps is Swiftbane’s lair. The worm goes to the cavern to devour her prey and there she sleeps off her slaughter, resting on the very bones of my poor folk!”

So speaking, the lady turned away and without a backwards look, re-entered the hall of healing. Tiwald was left outside—he knew he could not go there again. Instead, with a heavy heart, the mariner turned eastwards, ready to begin the long journey over the endless dunes, seeking iron first and Swiftbane after.

Of his travels, his long wanderings, his sufferings, men have heard nothing. All that is known is that Tiwald the sailor journeyed and toiled for a year in that land before he found the green lake and the path beside it. Though dry-mouthed and thirsty, he obeyed the lady and did not drink the emerald waters but staggered on, dragging the iron chains behind him. Down into the gorge he went and down into the cavern, where he found the dragon Swiftbane, sleeping, as the dame had foretold, on a great mountain of bone and half-devoured, half-charred flesh.

Beautiful was the dragon, brilliant as Lucifer, with scales of beaten gold and a silver underbelly. Her wings were as hard and glowing as rubies and her great winding tail was a royal purple. The whole cavern was lit amber with her presence and was warmed and perfumed by her breath. A pleasant scent it was too, like rare spices burning on coals.

For a long time Tiwald gazed on the creature, almost forgetting his task. Yet the bones scattered beneath the dragon were mute witness to her evil nature and reminded the mariner of all he must do.

Soundlessly. Tiwald lay the first chain across the beast’s jaws. Swiftbane shifted slightly at the iron’s touch upon her head and a dart of flame spurted through her teeth, but she did not stir. The second chain was easy, too, but the third scraped over her brow and the worm awoke.

Instantly uncoiling herself, the dragon rose up before Tiwald, tossing and shaking her head in an effort to snap the chains. Great gobbets of fire scorched the cavern roof as she twisted this way and that, but miracously her bonds held firm. Furious, Swiftbane turned on the mariner instead, rending the air with her claws and tail as she pursued the man through the central hall of the cavern, her flames licking at his heels.

Tiwald ran on, as he had never run before, racing across the cavern’s sandy floor, seeing nothing but the small passageway at the far end of the cave. Sweating and breathless, he reached the small tunnel and flung himself face forward into it, not caring where it led, glad only to escape the beast’s hellish fires. For a moment he lay there, still and silent as orange and gold tongues of fire spurted up the tunnel, singing his back and hair. Then, as the dragon tried again to tear the maze of chains off her head, Tiwald took up his spear and cast it at the creature.

The deadly dart flew and landed well, full in the belly of the dragon, where it would have stayed, had Swiftbane been of mortal kind. As she was immortal, her flesh expelled the spear and she remained uninjured. Still, the blow had been enough to enrage the beast Swiftbane. For the first time in her long life, the dragon forgot her wisdom and, in her rage, tried to follow her attacker up the narrow passage. There she was soon caught, trapped by a vice of stone and her chains of iron, unable to turn or free herself.

So it was that Tiwald the mariner freed the land of Albaessa of the bane of the deathless dragon, winning for himself the great glory and honour in the place. Albaessa made the sailor king over all their lands, with much treasure and many followers. And it is said that when Tiwald returned by ship to his own home, many years later, he brought with him the keeper of the hall of healing, to be his bride and true companion.

So ends the tale of Tiwald the mariner.

Lindsay Townsend