A New Beginning - Episode 1

Basilea! I was taken aback by her sheer beauty. When I first gazed upon the town, the setting sun was casting a glittering veil over her face, while the blue moon of Sirius rose majestically between the twin peaks of Mount Folleton. The town started to glimmer and sparkle as the sun and moonlight reflected off her face— the riotous colors fusing together to form a brilliant Trinian sapphire bow that reflected off a crystal arch – Basilea’s gateway. It was mesmerizing and Basilea was drawing me in, calling to me like a beautiful song.

Trade had flourished in Moria, and now I was tired and looking for a sanctuary. The people in Moria had told me Basilea would be an ideal place for me to dock, so here I was sailing in with the west wind, across the clear blue water. As my ship prepared to dock I wondered if the people of Basilea would be as interesting as the hypnotic beauty of the town suggested. Drawing closer however, I was overcome by a sense of foreboding. Instead of the usual bustle of any port town, a strange silence greeted me. An almost eerie silence, carried by a soft wind.

The sun was setting fast now and the moonlight was filling the darkness. Cold air rolled down the mountains and hung a thick blanket of fog over the warm waters. I dropped anchor and alighted from the ship. As my feet touched solid ground my weary sea legs swayed. I was ravenous, and looking forward to a warm meal and a strong drink, so I started up the path towards the town.

As I approached I observed the houses. They were all built of stone, with a framework of a resplendent wood that I had never seen before. Each had it’s own distinctive style, with nice porches and small attached gardens. I would like to own a house like this someday, I thought to myself. They made me think of my home. I noticed that though they appeared well maintained, all the houses were dark, and the streets were empty. The blue moonlight reflected off the echoing stone pathways and walking further I wondered where all the people were, and why there were no lights. A chill ran up my spine, but I told myself it was probably just the north wind. I quickened my steps, hoping to find someone who could direct me to a bar, but there was not a soul around. After walking around aimlessly for several minutes I turned a corner and finally saw a light. It was far off in the distance, like a beacon beckoning me, and I walked quickly towards it.

The light was emanating from a lantern that hung beside an old wooden sign that said ‘Welcome All’, above the doorway of a small stone house. This must be a bar, I thought, and as I got closer I could see a fire burning in the hearth, through the small window in the front. It looked warm and inviting. The fog had begun to engulf the street in front of the house, so I quickly opened the gnarled oak door and stepped inside. And then I saw her.

Flame red hair flowing down her back, skin as smooth as the finest silk, and piercing green eyes smiling and looking right at me – I was astonished to see such a beauty here, and so, trying very hard not to stare, I casually said hello and looked around at the rest of the bar. There was a fireplace with a hearty fire in the east wall. Six or seven tables, with chairs, were scattered around, but no one else was there.

“Hello stranger, how are you? She asked.

“Very well, thank you. And you?” I replied as I approached the counter behind which she stood.

“Fine, thank you. Can I get you something?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a warm meal and a strong drink for a weary traveler would you?”

She smiled and then laughed. “Why of course! That’s what I’m here for. Have a seat anywhere you please, and I will bring you our best bitter and a plate of food that will warm your soul.”

I sat at the table closest to the bar and watched her as she filled a pitcher of frothing liquid from the tap and set it down on my table.

“So what brings you to Basilea?”

“I’m just a traveling merchant passing through.”

“That’s interesting! What do you deal in?”

“I trade fine jewels and artifacts around the world. Basically anything that will make me money!”

Her eyes darkened for a second, and I was a little surprised. Then she smiled a sad sort of a smile, so I decided to change the subject.

“Where is everyone? It’s like a ghost town outside.”

She glanced at me.” That’s a long story.”

“I have all night.”

“Let me get your food, and then I’ll tell you.”

“That will be nice. I love a good story.”

She walked to the kitchen in the back, and I could hear her humming a haunting melody. I had hardly met her a few moments ago, and already her easy manner made me feel as though I’d known her a long time. Her presence exuded a calming peacefulness; the kind one feels with ones dearest friends, and after weeks of haggling with irate shopkeepers and shrewd traders it made me feel at home. I drank my beer and eagerly waited for her to return.

In a little while she appeared with a sizzling steak. She placed it in front of me and the delicious aroma reminded me how hungry I was. She pulled up a chair and sat down while I appeased my appetite.

After a few mouthfuls I asked her “What about the story?”

“Ah yes. The story.” She grew pensive, but continued with a faraway look in her eyes. “It happened seven years ago today.”

“Beautiful Basilea was but a reflection of the people who lived here. They were gentle creative artists, craftsmen, songwriters and musicians. During the day children played in the streets. People had the time to smile and greet one another as they went about their work. At night the bars were full of laughter and gaiety. Music overflowed. Music of every kind, the most beautiful heard anywhere.”

“It sounds very different from the Basilea I’m seeing tonight”

“I told you it’s a long story,” she smiled and went on “There is a particular tree called the Golden Samatran.”

“So, that’s what the framework of the houses are made of. I’ve never seen anything like it before”

“That’s not surprising. It’s only found in the forests around this town.”

I noticed a hint of pride in her voice as she continued. “Centuries ago our ancestors discovered that the wood of the Golden Samatran produced a tone quality deeper, richer and smoother than any other wood found anywhere else. They started by making small flutes from the branches, but soon progressed to manufacturing every kind of string and woodwind instrument possible. They realized that the knowledge needed to be preserved and encouraged the young men to learn the secret craft. Generation after generation passed down the legacy of creating fine, hand crafted instruments, and music and the making of instruments became the very heart and soul of this town. Musicians from all across the region would travel here just to purchase one of these exceptional instruments. As the popularity and demand for the instruments grew, the people realized that they needed to protect the forests so that they remained healthy, to ensure the production of these beautiful instruments for all time. They established huge forest reserves and built a factory at the edge of the reserves where most of the young men were trained to work.

“All the men worked in the factory?” I was a little incredulous.

“Mostly all. The instruments were the town’s main source of income. If the men weren’t working in the factory, then they were caring for the trees. But maybe I should tell you a little about the way of life in Basilea, then it will be easier for you to understand.

The people of Basilea were different from the people you meet anywhere else. You see, when our forefathers first settled here, they did so with one ideal in mind—they no longer wanted to be part of the greed and corruption that was devouring the outside world. They were a like-minded lot who just wanted a place where they could settle and live quiet lives with the people they loved. To ensure this kind of existence they realized they had to be self sufficient and so each member of the community had to undertake some specific task to provide some amenity for the rest of the community. Some men undertook agriculture to provide grain for the people, some women grew vegetables to supply the grocers, while others became seamstresses to make the peoples clothing and some men became carpenters.”

            “I thought you said they all worked in the instrument factory?”

            “That happened much later. You see, once the initial settlement was ready the people realized that there were still things they required from the outside world, which they had to purchase. They needed a source of income. They tried various things, but the discovery of the Golden Samatran was the one that fulfilled the requirement the best.”

            “So they had to get back to the material way after all then.” I said smugly.

            “Not at all. The people were a peace loving lot and did not care much for material things. They only produced and sold as much as they needed to meet the costs of the things that they could not do without from the outside world, and no more. The rest of their needs were still met internally. They wanted to, and still lived simple lives enriched with joy and love.”

            “Joy and love? How can that sustain anyone?”

            “Why? Haven’t you ever been in love?”

            I was startled by the question, and my wife and child’s faces flashed before my eyes. Of course I loved them, but a man had to make a living. She must have realized that the question was too personal for such a short acquaintance, and so she continued without waiting for a reply.

            “Love was valued above anything else by the people and was found all around. People in love were cherished and celebrated. There were many lovers, but this story is about two of them in particular. Their names were Zoye and Marsan.”

            I was quietly relieved. Something about the way she had been telling the tale had been getting to me, but this was going to be just another harmless love story after all.

            “Ever since she was a child everyone knew Zoye was special. Her innocent charm and beauty thrilled them all. Where ever she went she brought laughter and joy with her. Her being emanated a thirst for life and her soul danced with the wind. Always ready with a helping hand, she was especially good with the children, and so when she chose to become the teacher of the school no one was surprised.

            Zoye loved the children and they all loved her. To her each child was special and she never forgot to tell them that each day. She would teach them to appreciate life and live and love, and never take things for granted. All the parents knew that with Zoye their children were not only in safe hands, but were also learning the ways of the community from the best possible teacher.”

            “She sounds wonderful, what about Marsan?” I interrupted, my curiosity a little peaked.

            “Marsan was different. He was a grave little boy who was always getting into trouble. As the years went by he grew into a reserved and grim young man.”

            “You say he was a grave man. That really doesn’t seem to fit with the image of the people you’ve been describing so far.”

            “Yes. It doesn’t. You see Marsan’s mother was lost in childbirth and that probably made his father the bitterest man in Basilea. He blamed Marsan for his wife’s untimely death. Instead of nurturing the boy, he showered him with insults. It seemed as though he hated him, and so naturally Marsan grew up with a lot of complexes. He was always trying to please his father, to prove himself worthy of his fathers love, but the old man would have none of it. The harder Marsan tried, the more he mocked him, telling him he could never make up for his mother death.

He was an extremely gifted child, and when he came of age one of the best craftsmen in town took him under his wing as his apprentice. He learned faster than the rest of the young men and was soon earning more than some of his elder peers. But his father was still unsatisfied. Nothing seemed to appease the old mans wrath. But Marsan promised himself that he would make good and win his fathers approval no matter what it took.

Marsan was a very handsome man. His blonde hair and startling blue eyes, along with his grave and serious nature made him quite a mystery amongst the townsfolk. Many a young girls hearts would flutter as he walked by, lost in his own thoughts, but he was always disinterested, only conscious that he had to win his father over. Then, it happened.” She paused. Her eyes sparkled.

“What happened?” I asked, impatient to hear more.

“It was during the fall festival when all the young people of the town got together for the annual moon dance. In Basilea the tradition is to wait until midnight when Sirius shines the brightest over the town to start the dance. The young men had to offer a lady some special gift in order to gain a dance at midnight. The legend goes that if the light of the moon, refracted through the crystal arch, shone upon a couple at midnight, then a blessing of love would fall upon them for all time. That year Zoye attended the dance for the first time. She was approached by many men who offered her the traditional gifts of flowers and flutes. She shyly refused them. In her heart she knew that none of them were meant for her. When there were only a few minutes till midnight she was certain that she would not dance this dance. Then she saw him.

Marsan was looking at her from across the square with those steel blue eyes, a strange smile playing on the edge of his lips. She tried to look away but couldn’t take her eyes off him as he started walking across to her, never taking his eyes off her. Flustered, she felt the heat creeping into her cheeks. He stopped in front of her, extended his left arm and opened his hand. In his palm he held a clear moon stone on a silver chain. Zoye had heard about the stone, but had never seen one.”

“I deal in fine gemstones but I’ve never seen one either. They are extremely rare.” I exclaimed. “What happened then? Did she accept his gift?”

“Of course! She accepted his gift and his hand as he led her into the center of the square.” Her eyes grew wistful and I could almost see the scene reflected in them. “As they danced, at the stroke of midnight, all of a sudden there was a strange aura engulfing Zoye and Marsan. Someone pointed at the crystal arch and they all turned to see a single ray of moonlight passing through the ancient structure, to fall gently on the new couple. The blue moonstone glowed softly in the light, and the people saw the ancient legend unfold in all its grandeur.” She sighed at the memory.

“That’s quite a love story.” I drained my mug.

“It’s not the whole story.” She stared off into the distance, unsmiling.

“What happened next?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me, even though she didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore.

“Can I get you another drink?”

“Yes please.” Why was she trying to change the subject? I was more interested than ever, and when she walked back after topping up my mug I looked at her enquiringly. She gave me a sad half smile and started back on the story.

“Zoye and Marsan were soon the talk of the town. They spent as much time as they could together and were seen everywhere, walking hand in hand. Marsan would drop by the school on his way to the factory to play a few songs for Zoye and the children. Zoye would meet Marsan after work and they would sit for hours in the fragrant verdant pastures. Through the fields and the valleys, their love resounded in sweet music.    Everyone was waiting for the day when Marsan would ask Zoye to marry him and when, within a few months of their courtship, he finally did the whole town celebrated.” She paused and her face became solemn.

            “Didn’t she accept?” I could not fathom the reason for her sudden sullenness.

            “ She accepted. Marsan’s the one who didn’t.” Her eyes flashed.

            “What?” I was taken aback at this sudden show of emotion. It really didn’t seem to fit in with her general temperament. “This doesn’t make any sense. I thought you said he asked her to marry him? What do you mean he didn’t accept?”          

She seemed to check herself and gave me that strange half smile again. “I’m sorry. I seem to be getting ahead of myself. Let me explain.

            When I said all the people rejoiced the news of the engagement, I forgot to mention one person – Marsan’s father. He was the only one who was averse to the idea of the wedding. In fact, he was completely against it. The loss of his wife had turned him into an extremely vindictive man. Marsan’s very existence had stolen away all the joy from his own life. He couldn’t stand the thought of Marsan finding any form of conjugal happiness. He scornfully reminded Marsan of all his earlier assertions of making something of himself. He ridiculed him, saying he was just taking the easy way out, getting married and tying himself down to a mundane life. He called him a liar, making him feel more worthless than he had ever felt in his life. Dejected, Marsan confided in Zoye.

Zoye realized where the old man’s wrath was coming from. She couldn’t understand how a father could hold a life long grudge over his own son, over something that was obviously not his fault. However, she understood that the wound he had inflicted in Marsan’s psyche was a deep one – one that would take a lot of love and understanding to heal. She made a silent promise to herself to give Marsan all the care and security, which he had so desperately lacked as a child. In the meantime she told Marsan to ignore his father. She was sure of their love, certain nothing could come in their way. After all, Sirius had blessed them. Once they were married Marsan would get over his constant need to please his father and the old man would also come around.” She gave a cynical little laugh.

“Poor, naive Zoye. She was counting on their love for each other to keep them together. She hadn’t anticipated the power of filial duty.”

“You mean Marsan didn’t marry her after all, because of his father?” I was beginning to take a dislike to Marsan. Yes, he had to deal with a cruel unloving father, but wasn’t this taking things a little too far?

“You could say that I suppose, though it wasn’t as simple as that.” She looked me straight in the eye and I felt trapped by her gaze.

“ It’s easy to blame someone for the choices one makes, but when there is a choice, the one who chooses is the one who must bear the consequences. All the others in the equation are only incidental.”

The way she said this made me feel a little edgy. It felt like she was directing it to me and it had nothing to do with the story. The story had taken such an unpleasant turn, I was sure I was reading too much into the whole thing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear more, but curiosity is known to have gotten the better of finer men than me, and I was just an idle traveler, so I thought I’d indulge myself just a little longer.

“ One evening when Marsan returned after having spent a few hours with Zoye his father started on him again. The old man had been drinking and was in a mean mood. Relentlessly he belittled him, calling him a purposeless man. Over and over again he mocked him about his upcoming marriage, saying it was just his escape route. “I’ve always known that you would come to no good,” he said. “Now you want to get married instead of concentrating on making something of yourself? What more could I have expected of you anyway?” Marsan tried to calm him down but his quiet demeanor only enraged his father all the more. He told him “from the moment you took your first breath and sucked the life out of your mother I knew you were cursed. You are and will always be a curse for me as long as I live.” Unable to bear it any longer Marsan told his father that he would prove him wrong. His father laughed in his face. “I will make my fortune father, no matter what it takes, and maybe then you will see that I am not cursed. I will be blessed. I will make my fortune.” His father only told him “don’t come back until you do.” Marsan blinked back his tears and slowly walked out of the house.”

I was beginning to feel really bad for Marsan. I thought of my parents – kind, gentle creatures, forever ready with a helping hand and an encouraging word. They had always been there for me. In these times, with all the traveling, years would go by without me having the time to visit them. I suddenly missed them very badly. I looked up and saw that she was looking at me intensely. I realized my mind had wandered, so I took a quick gulp of my drink and told her to continue.

“All night Marsan walked through the darkened streets. Night cast its heavy wings over the sleeping town. The dew fell leaden on the ground and Marsan felt cold and alone. He desperately wanted to earn his fathers respect. He thought for hours and finally decided that if material success was what it took to get his father to take him seriously, that’s what he would give him. Personal ambition was the last thing anyone in Basilea thought about. It didn’t fit in with the general mentality, it wasn’t taught in the school, and it certainly wasn’t at the top of any ones priority list, so Marsan had to come up with a plan on his own, without anyone’s help. He decided that to make his fortune he would have to venture out of Basilea. This was his personal battle and he didn’t want to involve anyone in it. But he would tell Zoye. He would take her with him and they could both seek out their fortune together. It would be a tremendous adventure. The more he thought about it, the more the whole plan made sense to him. They could get married and leave Basilea together, in love and on a quest for a better life.”

“That sounds pretty reasonable to me. So they sailed off into the sunset together and lived happily ever after right?” A happy ending always made me feel good.

“That’s not quite what happened actually.”

“I’m sorry. I keep interrupting you. Please carry on” I didn’t have a very good feeling about this.

            “As the sun rose over the waters the next day, Marsan gathered an armful of fresh wild daisies from the fields. He walked to Zoye’s house and knocked on her door. Surprised to have a visitor so early in the morning Zoye answered, her face breaking into a smile when she saw her unexpected guest. Marsan gave her the flowers and led her into her house. His face was flush with excitement and she looked at him questioningly. He asked her to sit down and when she did he knelt in front of her and held her hand. “I must ask you something very important Zoye.” Zoye was amused. Was this Marsan’s idea of a formal proposal? He had already asked her to marry him a week ago, and she had later pulled his leg about how awkward he had been. Maybe he was trying to make amends with this extravagant gesture! She looked at him indulgently. Marsan told her his plan, watching her expectantly. Zoye was silent. Then abruptly she got up and walked to the window. The sun, concealed behind the left crest of Mount Folleton was throwing jagged shadows on the valley floor. The air was moist with a light drizzle of rain. What had promised to be a dazzling day had turned ominously dismal. “I cannot go with you Marsan.”

Marsan was shocked. He had never anticipated that Zoye would refuse him out right like this. He tried hard to convince her – they could venture out into the world and make their fortune and always return, but she held her ground. She loved her life in Basilea, and there was no reason why she should leave. She was satisfied here. Moreover, she had a job to do, taking care of the children in the school. She couldn’t just abandon them. They needed her. “I need you too Zoye” Marsan tried his last ploy. “This really isn’t about you and me Marsan is it?” she said. “It’s about your father.”

Enraged Marsan stormed out of her house. He ran through the fields up the mountainside, to a sheltered nook where he often went to sort out his feelings. Thoughts were racing through his head and he paced up and down to keep up with them. He tried to reason with himself. The whole plan had seemed fool proof. He would prove his father wrong and he would have Zoye by his side to help him out. He had not taken into consideration what Zoye wanted. But she knew about his problems with her father. Why wouldn’t she understand? She was right of course. This whole thing was more about his father than about him and Zoye, but he would be making his fortune for her too. They would always have what they wanted. But Zoye said she was satisfied. How could she be satisfied with so little? Why couldn’t she understand? Maybe she doubted him. Maybe she thought he was incapable of making a fortune. What was he going to do? Should he stay behind and face his father’s disdain for the rest of his life? Should he just go ahead and hope Zoye would wait for him? He had never known such unconditional love as she had granted him. How could he leave her behind? After what had passed between his father and him, how could he stay? Arms raised, Marsan’s frustrations resounded across the canyons all through the night. His world was being torn apart. His felt like his heart had been hung up on a cross to bleed. In the morning he found himself on his knees, weeping. But he had made up his mind.

The next day Marsan packed his things and gave notice at the factory. He walked by the school without stopping, his head hanging down. He had to be strong and seeing Zoye again would weaken his resolve. The townsfolk were all talking about Marsan and wondering how he could leave Zoye. This was the first time ambition had super ceded love in the community and everyone was aghast.

As Marsan reached the dock and turned to look back at Basilea for the last time before he started on his journey, he saw a lone figure running down the pathway from the town, towards him. It was Zoye. Marsan’s heart leaped. She had changed her mind. She was coming with him. When he saw her unsmiling face as she drew closer he realized he was wrong. He looked at her; his blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. She rushed to him and held him. They both wept. She apologized for not understanding, but told him that though she couldn’t go with him, she would wait for him to return and marry her. Marsan held her for a long time and said, “ I love you Zoye. I’ll always love you and I will come back.” Zoye held out a cross on a chain in her left hand. She slipped it over Marsan’s head. It rested across his heart, and all she said was, “come back to me Marsan.”

As Marsan sailed away, Zoye never took her eyes off him. Only when his ship was no longer visible on the horizon did she slowly turn away. The sun was setting and the moon was rising. The moonstone round her neck was beginning to glow. What curious blessing had Sirius granted them? Her steps were as leaden as her heart as she made her way back home alone, through the desolate town.

Marsan watched as Zoye gradually blended into the landscape, the distance between them growing greater with every waft of wind. He couldn’t stop wondering why she wouldn’t go with him. Why was it so hard for her? When she finally drifted out of sight Marsan turned his back to Basilea. He had to look forward. He had a lot to achieve. He couldn’t let the memories of the past drag him down. He had to look ahead and gain strength from the promise of the adventure that lay waiting for him. There was a whole world out there, just waiting for his embrace. He felt the cross Zoye had given him hanging heavy over his heart, the wind blowing on his back. Suppressing the tears he faced the horizon resolutely, “I will make my fortune, then she will see, my father will see, everyone will see that I needed to do this.”

            In the days following Marsans’ departure Zoye held steadfast to her promise. She spent extra time with the children to keep sadness at bay. She took long walks down by the sea, watching the horizon, dreaming about the day Marsan would come back home and marry her. Everyone knew that her heart was lonely, yet Zoye smilingly continued to help others, and teach the children as always.”

She paused and leaned back into her chair. Her eyes had a haunted expression in them as she glanced at me and then looked at the fire in the hearth. It was dying, and I could see the last flames reflected in her blazing jade eyes. She looked up at me again, but said nothing. The silence was weighing me down. I had to break it.

“So that’s it? Marsan left? Did he never come back? And Zoye? What happened to her?” I knew I was asking too many questions all at once, but anything was better than the somber quiet that had suddenly taken hold of her.

“The story isn’t over, it’s just that the next part gets all the harder to tell. Are you sure you want to hear the rest?”

 I wasn’t sure at all, judging by the tone of her voice. But I was too involved by now to just let it go. What did happen to Marsan? Did he make his fortune? What about Zoye? Was her dream fulfilled? By the sound of her voice and her manner, it was obvious something had gone wrong. I had to know what.

“ Yes. I want to hear the rest.”

She looked deeply into the fire burning down in the grate and started again.

“Basilea was preparing for the half yearly moon festival. All the towns’ people – the artists, the musicians, were busy gathering their wares to display in the new city center. The artists were setting up their easels, mixing vibrant colours onto their palettes. The musicians were tuning their instruments, strumming enchanting melodies. There were colourful flags and pennants strung through the streets. They even had an adventurous couple that year, performing a ritualistic dance, regal in their sequined costumes. In the schoolhouse the children were practicing their various instruments for the concert that always concluded the celebrations. The craftsmen were busy in the factory, trying to finish the last of the instruments for the day, so they could attend the festivities.

It was an unusually hot day, with a dry wind blowing in from the south.” She stopped. Her eyes were boring into the flames. She seemed far away, almost in a trance.

“No one really knows how it started. Some thought a spark from the factory, others, that it was one of the Northern Mechen tribals, and still others that it was just fate.”

“What happened?”

“A fire started at the edge of the forest, by the factories. The south wind fanned the flames into an all-consuming rage. There were trees exploding all around, and in no time, before any warning could be given, three of the factory work sheds were destroyed.

The workers who managed to escape ran for help towards town, but nature’s wrath was not to be appeased – The wind swept the fire along the forest edge towards the town. A tongue of fire flowed like angry lava deeper into the forest, roasting and reducing to stumps the beautiful Samatrans that were the lifeblood of Basilea, and.” She stopped and a shadow flitted across her face.

“And moving at lightning speed, giant walls of flames approached and surrounded the school at the south west corner of the forest.”

“The children?” I was dismayed. She had just said the children were practicing in the schoolhouse.

“Zoye and the children.”

“Zoye.” I whispered. My worst fears were rising to the surface, but she suddenly looked at me steadily and I felt oddly calm.

“Zoye was helping the children with their rehearsals when one of the craftsmen rushed in to warn her about the fire. The din of the instruments had drowned out the sound of the raging inferno, which had already seared the dry brush just outside the back yard, some flames licking at the edges of the school building. Immediately Zoye got up and told the children to be calm. Panic had started amongst them, and several of them were crying and screaming, but hearing Zoye’s reassuring tone of voice they settled down and listened to her. She made them hold hands in pairs and instructed them to walk out of the building with the worker. The children responded obediently and soon most of them were outside. By then a lot of parents, having heard about the fire from the other workers, were rushing towards the school, and Zoye felt at ease that the children were safely reunited with them.

The flames were engulfing the school faster than she had imagined, and after a thorough check to ensure that the last child was out, Zoye walked out of the burning school. Smoke was pouring out behind her, and she could hear wood crackling and popping all around, but the children were safe, and that’s all that mattered.”

I felt relief wash over me. I had become peculiarly attached to Zoye, though I didn’t know her and she was only a character from this town’s past, and it felt good to know that she was a hero. But it was short lived. She continued without a pause, and the moment passed so quickly, it was like I hadn’t even felt that instant’s respite.

“Once she was outside, Zoye comforted the little ones and some of the parents. They were all very frightened, and though her heart too was beating rapidly, she knew she had to be strong and not give in to her fears, if she were to help them. She told them to get away from the schoolhouse to the water’s edge, where they would definitely be safe, till the workers had got the fire under control. As she urged the parents away from the building one of the mothers, who had just reached the scene approached her, tears streaming down her face. She could not locate her little girl. At the same time one of the little boys screamed and pointed in the direction of the blazing school. Peeping out from the window upstairs, Zoye saw Taara’s terrified, smoke blackened face.

Taara had always been a lovable, but mischievous child. She must have gone upstairs to escape the practice session. Zoye was about to run back into the school, when one of the workers held her back and said “It’s no use Zoye, the building can collapse at any moment now. Let it go. Let her go.” Zoye wrestled away from him. “That’s my child and she needs me now. I must do what I have to,” she told him and rushed into the disintegrating structure. They watched as Zoye disappeared into the smoke. She made it up the stairs to the second floor, hacking and coughing, flames singeing her skin. She found Taara, cringing near the window, almost unconscious from the fumes. She cradled her in her arms and ran for the stairs. There was a deafening roar. The stairs had collapsed. She looked around. The window. That was their last chance. She broke the glass pane and flung Taara out into the outstretched arms of the workers. She took a step back to jump. But.”

“But what?” My hands were icy.

“The school caved in on her.”

The statement rang out, harsh and cold in the silence.

She continued, her voice gentle now. Like she knew I needed to be comforted.

“They say, when the building collapsed she was smiling. She had protected her wards, and she was at peace. She died smiling.”

My eyes were moist.

“The fire continued to rage across the town and the forests, scorching everything in its path. Finally, like a miracle too late, the cool north wind rolled down the mountains, bringing with it blessed rain. The shower slowed down the fire enough for the people to gain control and put it out, but much had been lost already, without any hope of retrieval. That night, as far as the eye traveled, all one could see were ashes, mud, smoke and the smoldering remains of trees and buildings. The north wind continued to blow and the rain continued to fall. The people were silent.

In the days following that fateful night, the people sifted through the ruins of the schoolhouse, searching for Zoye’s remains. No body was found. They only found her precious moonstone amongst the ashes.

The children say she never died, that they can still see her running through the fields, fresh wild daisies woven in her hair. Why is it so silent today you had asked? It is because today it is seven years to the day that Zoye died. The townspeople remember. They hurt. They vowed to be silent on this day. Their hearts still mourn for Zoye.” She looked at the fire in the hearth. It had nearly gone out and the coals were giving off a warm amber glow, with hardly a flame remaining.

            We sat in silence for a long while. The weight of the story was bearing down on me. I kept thinking to myself how could she die? She was so young. She had her entire life ahead of her, and all her dreams of happiness. How could the fates be so cruel? But do the fates wait for anyone? Is destiny really separate from the decisions we make, or are the choices we make the deciders of our fate?

 It was getting cold, so I asked her if I could feed a few logs into the fire. She shook herself out of her reverie, gave me a weak smile and gestured for me to go ahead. I got up, threw a few pieces of firewood into the hearth and stoked the flames. They leapt to life. It was getting late, but I needed to know what happened to Marsan.

“Did Marsan ever return? Maybe none of this would have happened if he had been there.” When the words were out of my mouth I realized that I had been thinking this ever since she had told me about Zoye’s death.

“ Maybe if Zoye had gone with him, she would still be alive,” she answered simply.

That thought had never crossed my mind.

“ They both made their choices. And, she’s gone, so what’s the use in these surmises. You wanted to know if Marsan ever came back? Yes, he did.

Word of the fire spread throughout the kingdom. Marsan was in the east when he heard rumours of a great fire in Basilea. Not wanting to believe what he heard, he decided to head back to Basilea, to see for himself. He set sail, willing the wind to take him home as swiftly as possible. He pulled in to Basilea’s harbor about a week after the fire.

The sun was awaking on the horizon, its first rays seeping crimson on the snow-capped mountains. The blue moon threw its last purple shadow on the peaks and languidly descended out of sight. Basilea looked as bewitching as ever, caught between the dual dawn lights, but the breeze wafted the acrid smell of burnt wood towards the sea and with a sinking feeling Marsan realized that all the talk had been true. He dropped anchor, leapt out of the boat and ran to Zoye’s house, only to find it empty. Everywhere people had arisen, and were busy, clearing up the ashes and the sludge, trying to reclaim charred homes. She must be at the school he thought and hurried towards it.

As he approached, he could see the blackened skeletons of the carrion trees, hanging askew and macabre against the early morning sky. Caked thick with ash and soot, stark as the face of death, the wounded ground gaped at him, harsh and naked. He arrived at the schoolyard, only to find a deserted smoking plot. Not knowing where to look next, he decided to go to the old town, certain someone there would be able to tell him where he could find Zoye. As he walked the baked pathways the full force of the devastation dazed him. The forest reserves had practically disappeared. Barren, battered earth, glared at him from all around. Cowed down he quickened his steps.

Once he reached the town, he walked towards the square. He would certainly find someone he knew there. The usually bustling area was almost empty, but he saw a group of factory workers sitting around, talking, so he walked towards them. When they saw him, three of them sprung up, and rushed to meet him, their faces concerned. They were old friends. When he urgently asked them if they knew where Zoye was, they realized that he was still unaware. Eyes cast down; they told him what had happened. Marsan was quiet. Realizing he was in shock, his friends made him sit down. He was unresisting. He was silent for a long while, dark shadows flitting across his eyes. And then he wept. How he wept!” Her eyes were brimming, and I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she blinked back the tears and continued.

“ Twilight had set in when the crying finally ceased. Marsan’s friends had stayed with him. Hoarsely he thanked them for being there for him, and then got up and walked into the gathering gloom. As the darkness swallowed him they knew they would never see him again.”

The story was over. She sat gazing into the fire. Suddenly she looked at me.

“We have been talking all night and I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Kyren.” Before I could ask her the same question she carried on.

“Have you been in love Kyren?” Again the personal question, but this time I was neither startled, nor offended. She had lain open the soul of her town to me, through her story. She deserved a reply.

“I have been and still am very much in love with my wife – Christiana. We have a son. Why, he’s to be eight years old soon.”

“You must not see them very often?” This definitely startled me. Why was she asking me such a strange irrelevant question?

“What do you mean? I see as much of them as I possibly can. My travels permitting of course.” I was sounding defensive to my own ears, and as I thought of my son I realized I had left behind a baby who was now a little boy.

“ Of course.” She slowly shook her head, a half smile playing on her lips. “Do you think your coming here tonight happened by chance Kyren?”

She was making me edgy. I was starting to feel uncomfortable again.

“Of course it happened by chance! Basilea happened to be close to Moria and you happened to be the only bar open in this ghost town!”

“Everything has a purpose Kyren. Your coming here tonight happened for a reason. Think about it.”

“ Of course I came here for a reason. I was starving, and you saved me with that incredible steak!” I tried to lighten the mood with a little humor, and she smiled and let it pass, but her words kept ringing in my ears. What purpose had drawn me to this place?

What was she trying to tell me? I didn’t want to think anymore. I was very tired. The story had drained me of the last vestiges of my energy. The liquor was taking its effect on my senses. I could do with some sleep. I decided to take her leave.

            “I think I better say good night now. I need to return to my ship and get some rest. It’s been a long and interesting night, and it was a real pleasure meeting you and hearing your story. How much do I owe you for your hospitality?”

            “You owe me nothing. Just think about what I said. That will be my payment.”

            In the course of the night I had gotten used to these sudden eccentricities of her character, but this was more than I could accept.

            “I cannot agree to that, I must pay you.” I was insistent. I could not accept this kind of charity from her. She was after all a mere acquaintance, and I always avoided taking favors from anyone.

            “All right. Why don’t you come back in the morning and I will have your bill ready. I have lost track of how much you had to drink.”

            That made sense and I promised to return in the morning to clear my dues. I said goodnight and made my way to the door. All the way I could feel her eyes on me. I felt pinned down, and quickly pulled the door open. The blast of cold air was refreshing, and I hastily stepped outside. The fog immediately engulfed me, and when I turned back there was only wet whiteness around me. The building had been swallowed by the thick pallid shade. I hurried in the general direction of the pier, desperately hoping I wouldn’t get lost in the haze. The silence was overpowering. I could only hear the sound of my labored breathing as my feet treaded noisily on the damp ground. I felt cold, and covered by the blankness that surrounded me I found myself thinking of the story. I thought of Zoye and Marsan, and of their unfulfilled love. I thought of the fire and the devastated town. How in a moment lives could be saved and lives lost. How in an instant lives could change forever. How fragile life was. Thoughts pounded my brains like never before. “Think about it” she had said. I was powerless not to think about it. She seemed to have cast a spell on me. Things I had never considered before were thrown up in sharp relief on my minds eye. I shook my head to relieve my aching head, and for a moment I was rewarded with silence. Before I knew it the waters edge appeared out of nowhere, and I was back at the harbor. I walked along the waterline to the quay where I had docked my ship. As I ascended the plank up to the main deck I felt the air sweeping across the water, cool on my face. I turned for one last look at the town before turning in for the night.

Basilea looked ghostly and enshrouded in mystery. The moonlight reflected silver- blue off the fog, and the crystal arch was only just visible. Nature seemed to have joined the townsfolk in their mourning. I shivered.

Once in my cabin I quickly pulled back the covers and got into bed. I had to set sail tomorrow and I needed my sleep. I settled down and closed my eyes. After a few minutes I was still awake. I was exhausted but sleep eluded me. Instead I found myself tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable but failing. I was restless. Disturbing feelings and emotions skittered across my mind like the watery shadows that flitted through the porthole across my cabin walls. Eventually I slept, but fitfully. Images of fire filled my dreams. I could see children crying and screaming, and through it all a shadowy elusive figure, familiar yet distant. I shuddered awake. My cabin seemed to be closing in on me. I had to get out and get some air. Bleary eyed I stumbled onto the deck and made my way to the front of the ship.

As I sat there, staring out at sea, my mind was once again inundated with thoughts. Why had the story affected me so much? It was after all just a story and had no relevance in my life.  I thought of my town, my people, and my family. How long had it been since I had last seen them? I realized with a chill that it had been seven long years. Her words echoed in my head “today it is seven years to the day that Zoye died.”

Was this just a coincidence? I didn’t think so.

I was a skeptical man. My travels had hardened me, and I rarely believed in, and never relied on coincidences. Through my various expeditions I had heard numerous tales, a lot more horrific than the one I had heard tonight, and had been amused but unmoved. This time something inside me paled with fear. I knew this time it was different. There was a reason I had been guided to this place and to the bar. There was a reason I had met the mysterious beauty – I realized that I still didn’t know her name – and been enthralled by her story all night long.

My head ached again, as unaccustomed thoughts overflowed. Images of the fire flashed in front of my eyes. I found my thoughts turning homewards over and over again. When was the last time I had thought about home this desperately? I couldn’t remember. I had always been more wrapped up in my own dreams of success. All my thoughts were directed towards where and how I could make more money and earn more respect from my fellow men. Why, I had made such a fortune in the past years that I didn’t even know how much I had. I had started out with good intentions – I had wanted to make something of myself for Christiana and our baby. I had wanted a good life for us. I had wanted to erase want from our lives. But I had made enough for our needs years ago. When had greed overtaken and need left off? I couldn’t remember.

Somewhere along the line I had faltered and lost my way. Once the power of the gold and the lust for the respect that power brought took hold of me I was constantly gripped with the fear of losing it. I had to keep making more and more and more. But what if a fire raged and I lost Christiana and my son? What if, like Marsan, I heard rumors of some such devastation in my hometown, and returned to find I had lost everything, what would I have left then? Would my gold bring me the comfort only the warmth of my wife’s embrace and my baby’s smile could provide? Had the respect of my fellow men been worth more to me than the time I could have spent watching the young girl I had married, who had taken and respected me for I was and not for the weight of gold I held in my hands, turn into a beautiful and mature woman? I had wasted too much time in these worldly pursuits.

I had promised my year old son I would be back every year to see him, and my innocent child had believed me. I had misused his trust –“He is just a baby, he would never know the difference between a year or two.”— and I had kept wandering for my own egoistic ends, years piling upon years, and time passing by without me even realizing just how must of it had been squandered. When I returned now, would he even know me? Probably not. I had missed all those precious years of his growing. Christiana – my beautiful angel wife – would meticulously write to me about when he took his first step and when he said his first words. I had missed it all. Could any weight of gold bring back those priceless moments? How could I have never thought of these things?

I hung my head in shame. Had I made a disaster of my life? Had I chosen all the wrong things? Her words kept ringing in my ears “when there is a choice, the one who chooses is the one who must bear the consequences.” What consequences had I had to bear till now? I had wasted time. I had lost out on some of the best moments of my son’s life. I had lost out on a whole portion of my wife’s youth. But I still had them. I still had time. Time had not run out for me the way it had for Marsan. Maybe that is what she had been trying to tell me. That I still had time. That I could still make amends.

I stood up on the deck. A gentle breeze from the sea wafted through my hair like a caress. I was at once filled with a sense of peace. I opened my eyes, which had been clenched tight as a fist till now. The moonlight enveloped me and I felt fulfilled. I knew what I had to do. I had found my answers. It was time for sleep now and tomorrow would be another day – a day when I would embark on a new journey – the journey back home.

The next day I rose early. Even though last night had been an emotionally stormy one for me, I felt strangely refreshed. I had my answers and I couldn’t wait to get back to the bar to tell her I had realized what it was that she had been trying to tell me. I also had to clear my dues.

            I got dressed and when I walked outside I could see that the harbor front was already abuzz with activity. Last night seemed like a dream when I was faced with the absolute normalcy with which people on the pier went about their work. Was this the same deserted place I had alighted at last evening? It seemed difficult to believe. Gone was the strange enchantment that had surrounded Basilea at twilight yesterday. Today she seemed just another ordinary port town by the sea, awaking to another busy day.

            As I walked down the waterline several people smiled and nodded to me. I passed a little girl playing a haunting melody on her flute on a side street. It was familiar and I realized I had heard it hummed at the bar last night. It must be a popular tune here, I thought to myself. Basilea and its people were just as she had described to me.

 I tried to retrace my steps to the bar. It wasn’t easy. Two or three times I found that I had gone around in circles when I saw houses that I had already passed. I saw a youth approaching along the path and I thought I had better ask him for directions.

“ Hello there! I am looking for a bar. Could you please help me?”

 He smiled and nodded, then told me to take a right along the path and keep walking straight, keeping the crystal arch in view. That way I would reach the new city and there were plenty of bars there. I tried to explain to him that I was looking for one bar in particular, since that was the only one that had been open last night.

He looked at me strangely.

 “ Sir, there must be some mistake. Yesterday was the Day of Mourning in Basilea. No one would have kept their bar open yesterday.”

  When I was insistent, he just shrugged and told me that it would probably be best if I went to the new city and had a look at the bars there to see which one it was that I had been to last night. I thanked him and decided that would be the best course of action. I started walking down the path. When I reached a fork in the road instead of taking a right turn as he had said I found myself taking the road on the left. There was something familiar about it, and instead of walking towards the city, I found myself walking away from it. After a little while I passed a house that I had particularly liked last night, and I was certain that I had taken a right turn after this particular house and the bar had been a little distance away, around that corner. When I took the turning, I could again see several familiar houses and I kept walking, knowing I was on the correct path. After walking for several minutes and still not finding the bar I retraced my steps. I must have missed it somehow.

Last night the bar had been the only lit structure, and had been easy to reach, with the light guiding my steps. Today, in the daylight, everything looked similar. I wandered up and down the block of houses. I passed a shadowy garden I didn’t remember seeing yesterday. And then, suddenly, hidden amidst the foliage of the garden’s entrance I saw an old wooden sign. It said “ Welcome All ”! I was a little unnerved. The sign looked just like the one that was hanging above the bar’s entrance. This must a common sign all over Basilea, I thought to myself, but I couldn’t shake off a sense of apprehension. I continued my aimless wandering, but my feet seemed to carry me to the garden over and over again.

I was quite certain that the bar had been just about where the garden was, but there were no other buildings close to the garden that even remotely resembled the bar. Could I have been mistaken and taken the wrong road?

            I decided to walk into the garden. It was shaded and cool. The breeze murmured softly through the leaves of the regal Samatran trees that bordered the avenue leading up to the heart of the plot, which was partially hidden from view by the thick sweet-scented shrubbery.

As I wandered in I met an old woman. I smiled and said hello and she returned my greeting.

“ You don’t seem to be from around here young man.”

“ I’m not. I’m just passing through. I docked in Basilea last night for a little rest. In fact I had a hearty meal at a bar near about here, but today I can’t seem to find it. Maybe you could help me?” Even if the bar was not on this street, it definitely had to be close by.

She told me I was mistaken. There was no way anyone would have kept their shop open yesterday and in any case there were no bars in the vicinity. They had all moved to the new city after the great fire.

How could that be possible? I was certain I had gone nowhere near the new city last evening. I tried again.

“ Madam, I am certain the bar was somewhere around here.”

“It was a foggy night my son. I’m sure you are mistaken. And I can’t fathom how anyone could keep their shop open yesterday.” She looked at me a little dubiously.

“ Well, the bar owner did tell me why the town was so silent, but she definitely served me.” I quickly narrated what had happened at the bar last night. How the bar owner had told me the tragic story of the lovers and of the great fire. “Maybe if I describe her you’ll be able to guide me better. She was a very beautiful woman with flowing red hair and brilliant green eyes.”

The woman looked at me long and hard. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind. Then suddenly she told me to come with her. I thought, finally she knows what I’m talking about. But instead of walking out of the garden, she turned and asked me to follow her inside. As we walked down the avenue of the golden trees she started talking to me softly.

“ My son, at first I didn’t believe what you were saying. It did not seem possible that someone would keep his or her bar open yesterday. We, in Basilea, hold last night sacred. It is a day of remembrance and sadness for us. We lost one of our most precious people seven years ago, last night. But I realize that if you’re not from here then there is no way you could have known the things you are telling me, and therefore there must be truth in what you say happened last night.”

As she talked we approached the center of the plot. There seemed to be some kind of monument in the middle of the velvety patch of grass that covered the ground. Beautiful flowering shrubs surrounded it. The grass was speckled with white petals that had blown off from the surrounding trees. They looked like fresh snowflakes against the green. The effect was enchanting. The garden was well maintained, but it had an aura of wildness and untamed natural growth. The earth smelled of fresh dew. It was heady and magnificent. She led me towards the monument – it appeared to be a memorial of some kind.

Pointing at it she told me that the garden we stood in was the old school yard that had been destroyed in the fire. The people had built this garden in honor of Zoye, and had placed the memorial stone at its center. Her body had never been found, so they had placed her moonstone necklace on a ledge embedded in the stone face. The children she had so lovingly taught and taken care of had written a memorial line for her. It was engraved on the rock in simple bold letters —

“ We never found you

 So we have not lost you

 You still walk with us

 Our guardian angel forever ”

“She did tell me the children say that Zoye never died and they have sometimes seen her!” I exclaimed, a little amused but also very moved by the children’s simple faith.

The woman looked at me smiling a little. “Yes. The little ones. Who knows what fancies flitter in their heads.” Then her expression became a little troubled. “ The thing is.” She paused and a frown creased her forehead, as if she was concentrating very hard on what she was about to say next. I waited patiently and she continued. “As you can see, I am an old woman. I am one of the elders. I am a part of the group that founded this community and will be seventy this year. In all my years in Basilea there is only one girl, I know of, who fits the description you have given me of the bar maid.” She paused again, and I could again see her thinking very hard. Finally she shook her head and said,

“Yes. There is no doubt about it. The only girl I know who fits the description is Zoye.”

My knees felt weak. What was this woman saying? None of this made any sense and my rational mind fought hard against what was right in front of me. I decided that I had had enough and the sooner I left Basilea, the better it was for me.

However the kindly old woman continued, apparently unaware of the condition her statement had put me in and I had to stay and listen.

“ When Zoye was born everyone in this town knew there was something different about her. None of her parents had red hair or green eyes. It was like the gods had gifted her to them. She was special and she made everyone she encountered feel special. She was always helping everyone. My son, if you saw Zoye last night, it was an omen. She must have been trying to tell you something.” She suddenly reached forward and picked up the necklace from the ledge. Before I knew it she had placed it around my neck.

 “ I think you should have this. I shall explain to the others.” And in a moment she was gone.

Her words had calmed the unrest in me. She seemed unafraid and made me realize I too had nothing to fear. The situation was unlike any I had ever been in, but I found my mind opening up and accepting that all though something strange had happened to me, it was all good.

As I walked back to my ship there was still a lot of things that remained unexplained in my mind, but I felt at ease. I had learned so much from this encounter. I mentally thanked Zoye, wherever she was. She had made me realize I was on a perilous path. One that would have in the end left me empty and dissatisfied. When the error of my judgments had stared me in the face and I was ready to sink into despair her words had given me hope and gently guided me in the right direction.

In the evening I set sail for home. As my ship sailed into the star-studded night I turned for one last look at Basilea. She looked like a fairy queen bedecked in sparkling lights. Bewitching Basilea! I sighed and decided to retire.

That night I dreamed of home –I had arrived and I could see my wife and son running to the quay to meet me. I was so overwhelmed I felt like my heart would explode with joy. I reached out to pick up my boy in my arms. Just as I was about to touch him I woke up. One of my arms was out stretched just like in the dream. But my other hand was clasped around the moonstone round my neck. When I opened my hand I could see it glowing softly in the moonlight. Though the night was cool I was covered in sweat. I decided to go outside onto the deck.

The sea was placid, the night was lit and over the whistling of the wind I heard a distinct melody –it was the same haunting tune I had heard her humming in the bar. It dawned on me then that maybe she wanted me to do something for her. Maybe she had chosen me, because in me she found a spirit similar to that of her beloved Marsan. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. But then I decided that everything else had to wait. I had to first return home to my wife and son.

Quietly the music faded into the swishing of the waves and I returned to my dreams of a new beginning.

Distant Dream debut album
A New Beginning