The Unexpected Water Fall

Short Story for the Beginning of the Month

Plistomonder was feeling proud.

It wasn’t every year that his fine island kingdom received a deputation from the Farandimium Academy of the Magical Arts. Their stated purpose was to persuade him to send more of his subjects to study at their school, and they’d even sent one his father had sponsored, their Head Gardener, Aspidistrel, to help persuade him of the value of doing so. He’d agreed to send more young girls to study there, for the young women who returned had useful skills and young girls with magic on the island had no place and were seen as nuisances. But the ban on young boys being sent abroad would remain, boys with magic were needed in the priesthood.

It seemed as if the entire visit had gone very well. He had personally shown the delegation all the key buildings of the kingdom, and had dined them well in the palace every evening.

Today, however, was very special. The clouds had rolled in overnight, making this the first day of the Spring rains, and it was a long tradition in this land for the High Priest to thank the gods for the rain at noon.

So, Plistomonder had taken the deputation to the Temple to see the ceremony. It would be the first time that anyone from Farandimium had ever seen this. It was a very special day.

Plistomander and the High Priest, new this year for the previous one had died over the winter, played their roles in the ceremony to perfection. Finally it was time for the High Priest to step forwards out of the courtyard onto the porch, raise his arm to the clouds above, and thank the gods for the rain they were about to give.

Plistomander watched as the new High Priest entered the appropriate posture, and then started to speak the short passage in the language of the gods, not spoken amongst men in centuries.

About halfway through the invocation there was a muttering from amongst the assembled delegation from Farandimium. Plistomander’s temper started to boil. How dare they disrespect this sacred ceremony! He got angrier as the muttering grew more heated.

The gods normally demonstrated their generosity by sending their rain almost immediately after the incantation was complete. Today was different. The gods were obviously very upset, for the High Priest’s right hand and forearm burst into flame. Then instead of a light rain, the gods sent a heavy rain that showed no sign of stopping, and might even be getting worse.

***

Einarion was only a mid-level lecturer of Magical Theory at Farandimium, which was why he was deemed a suitable choice to lead the deputation to the Bapraside Archipelago. The population wasn’t particularly high or dense compared to the continents, so it wasn’t seen as a particularly important delegation. This was the third island that they’d visited, and they had another couple to go before they could head home, and he could be reunited with his wife, the magiveterinologist Elegria, and Felina, the flying feline that called his office home.

This particular island kingdom was unique in its practice of seeing its girl mages trained abroad while training its boy mages itself. It was a long-standing desire amongst the senior staff at Farandimium to attract the best students from all across the known world, so the king’s refusal to countenance sending any of his male subjects to train at the Academy was irritating. He had tried his best to be polite, and pretended that the promise to send more girls was good enough, having been briefed before the delegation set off that it was likely to be the best he could expect.

The island’s architecture was unusual, and quite interesting, but the feasts of an evening were quite bland compared to the variety on offer at Farandimium’s staff canteen.

Today the delegation had been unexpectedly taken to the island’s main temple for what the king had called a special ceremony of thanks for the rain to come. Einarion had been warned before the visit that the pantheon on the islands were a variation on the gods of the mainland, but the precise variations were unclear. It was important to respect the religious traditions of his hosts.

The ceremony appeared to be a fairly standard example of its type, albeit heavily modified by local traditions. Then the High Priest stepped out and adopted a spellcasting pose, right arm pointed to the cloud-filled sky. Einarion listened as the priest started the incantation. It sounded familiar, but initially he couldn’t place it. Then he realised that it was pronounced very differently to the standard forms taught at Farandimium, either Tarlag or Old Lantar.

He turned to Aspidistrel and whispered in Kalantarian, “Do you know what this is supposed to be?”

She answered in the same, “No. I was never allowed to hear the ‘language of the gods’, and I still wouldn’t had I not been a representative of Farandimium.”

“I think it’s Old Lantar.” The last sentence had contained a construction that was extremely rare in Tarlag, but not in Old Lantar.

“Not well pronounced. I’d severely censure any of my gardeners that tried to cast a spell like this.”

Then she spoke with more urgency. “What did he just say?”

Einarion had heard the same potential mistake. “It sounds as if he’s split the Old Lantar for ‘rain’ into its constituent parts ‘water’ and ‘fall’. I fear he’s about to cast a far more powerful spell than he intended.” Even if the High Priest understood the intent of the spell, it wouldn’t matter. One of the key rules of magic was that the spell does what you tell it to do; intent may guide a choice between multiple interpretations, but if intent was contrary to the meaning of the text, the meaning of the text was what the spell did.

The incantation came to an end, and Einarion was horrified at what happened. He had seen spell overload before, it was frequent amongst students, and he’d suffered from it more times than he could remember himself while he was studying magic, but this was extreme. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone cast a spell so far beyond what he was capable of focussing that the heat generated by the additional magical energy the spell required had caused his hand to ignite.

The High Priest needed to be helped. There wasn’t a trained healer amongst the group, not even a trained magiveterinologist. So as the husband of one of the latter, he may be the best they had.

He switched to the standard tongue of the mainland, to ensure that all understood. “Those with healing knowledge with me. Aspidistrel, if you can come up with some plan for fixing this mistake, I think the island will be grateful.”

In complete defiance of the apparent procedures, he stepped forwards and approached the middle-aged man, now on his knees, burning arm still pointed upwards, flame starting to eat away at his robes. Einarion thought quickly, if the spell was still ongoing, the excess heat radiation would continue and cause even more damage.

He constructed a simple heat dissipation spell, in Old Lantar for that seemed appropriate, variable so that he could control how much power he focussed himself. He didn’t need to recite the incantation out loud, but he did so in order to propagate the spell to any colleagues who couldn’t come up with their own. He put out his right hand and focussed the magic through it. Once cast, he turned up the flow of magic until he could feel a warmth in his hand—that was the sign that he was slightly into spell overload, but as long as it was a mild warmth there would be no damage resulting.

He heard muttering around him as others cast their spells, but took little notice, merely noting that each new mage was capable of casting a more powerful spell than he. It took about half a minute before the High Priest collapsed to the floor and curled up in agony, the spell over. Einarion kept up the heat dissipation spell for another few minutes until the fire had completely died and he could no longer feel any significant heat radiating from the priest’s right hand.

“What did you do?” It was the island’s king.

The question made no sense, so Einarion ignored it, and tried to think what a healer would do next to help the High Priest regain some use in his destroyed right hand.

“The gods are angry, and it is all because of something you did. What did you do?”

Einarion took a deep breath as he turned around. The king was visibly furious, not that anyone could have told that from the tone of his voice. It was obvious to the magically-trained—or at least to those from Farandimium—what had happened, but the king was not magically-trained. Whatever he said needed to fit the existing narrative. “How does it work here? The gods do whatever is asked of them because they are gracious and caring?”

“That is how it should work. But not today. How did you upset them?”

“That is how it did work today. Rather than asking the gods for rain, the High Priest asked for a water fall, and the gods did as they were asked.”

“Impossible!” said a nearby priest. “That was exactly the same incantation as has been used for centuries!”

“I do not doubt that it was intended to be, but I doubt that it was so in practice. But that is easily settled. Could we see the text of the incantation?”

“The language of the gods is sacred. Those not of the priesthood are forbidden to see it.”

“The language is sacred here, but it is not so on the mainland.” Einarion then risked demonstrating his knowledge of Old Lantar by repeating the sentence in that tongue.

The king asked the priest, “What did he just say?”

“It sounds familiar, but I cannot place it. It isn’t anything found in the sacred texts.”

“It was a translation of what he had previously said into the ‘language of the gods’.” The new speaker was Aspidistrel. “The mainland accent is quite different from the island accent, but it is perfectly understandable with practice.”

“Who dared to teach you this sacred gift?” The priest was furious.

“As I said, it is not sacred on the mainland. All mages who wish are taught ancient languages no longer spoken for use in spellcasting. Kalantarian, Tarlag and Old Lantar are the standard three. Others more rare are taught to those who wish to delve into their esoteric depths.” Einarion carefully didn’t specify the name by which he knew their ‘language of the gods’. If they knew its modern name, they would recognise it. Otherwise, it may be better to leave them with the implication that it was one of the rarer tongues.

“Any who wish to apply to be a member of staff at Farandimium, even the non-teaching staff, are expected to have some basic knowledge of the standard ancient languages, and no-one can reach the highest levels of their profession without speaking all three fluently,” added Aspidistrel, not necessarily helpfully for she implied that their ‘language of the gods’ was one of the standard three which all were taught.

“You dare to profane the sacred by teaching it to all?” The priest was, if anything, angrier than before.

Einarion took a deep breath. What he wanted to say was that it wasn’t sensible to cast spells using modern language as the meanings of words can change over time. So it was only common sense to teach magic students dead languages that they could use for that purpose. Since some students found some dead languages easier than others, and it wasn’t possible to know which in advance, Farandimium taught them all. But that didn’t seem diplomatically sensible under the circumstances.

“We do not teach it to all. We teach it only to those studying magic. Almost everyone else has no need of such tongues, so we do not teach them.”

Einarion wasn’t sure that this mollified the priest to any extent, but no further complaint was made. He returned to the previous subject. “Is it possible to see the text of the incantation? We need see no other text.”

All of a sudden there was silence. The downpour had stopped. Einarion joined everyone in looking up at the sky. There was no cloud to be seen. Einarion had half-expected this, but he’d need to confirm why when he saw the incantation.

The king shook himself. “Let’s get this settled quickly. Two of you will come with me into the Temple Outer Chamber. There the text for this ceremony will be brought to you. You will not be permitted to touch it. The rest of you will remain out here, on pain of death should you depart without permission.”

Einarion sighed inwardly, then signalled his agreement. “Aspidistrel with me. The rest of you continue to help him.”

***

Plistomonder was quietly seething. Not only had the visitors from Farandimium done something to anger the gods and cause the ceremony to fail, but they were claiming that they were innocent, and that the High Priest had done something wrong instead. On top of this they had clearly no respect whatsoever for the sacred, and had taught the language of the gods to those who should never ever learn it, thus angering the gods even more.

He hoped the gods would forgive him, but by appearing to comply with the stranger’s request Plistomonder was seeking to give the mage enough rope to permit him to hang them all. Farandimium probably wouldn’t be happy, but seriously, what else did they expect when they sent him such impious representatives.

He led the small group through the courtyard and through the arch on the far side into the Temple Outer Chamber. This small chamber, decorated with murals of the gods, was as far into the Temple that those who were not priests were permitted to go, and Plistomonder had no intention of angering the gods any more today, not given how angry they already were.

“Here we wait,” he directed the Farandimium pair. To the priests “Someone needs to check the records to see if anything like this has happened before. Any guidance as to how we might assuage the gods’ anger will be essential. In addition, would you please bring us the relevant sacred text.”

Then it was a matter of waiting. He made no attempt to engage the mages in conversation—they didn’t deserve it. They were muttering to themselves, acting as if they were innocent of everything. The priests were also whispering to each other. Plistomonder let them do so.

It didn’t seem that long before a pair of priests returned to the Outer Chamber carrying a rolled-up parchment. They unrolled it to reveal a text in a language Plistomonder couldn’t read, which they announced to be the text of the request made to the gods in today’s ceremony. The two mages moved forwards in pretence of studying it.

The chief mage, the man who would be the first to be executed, was the first to speak. “Elegant. Very elegant. From the way it’s structured, I’d say it’s old enough to be written by a native speaker. What’s your first impression, Aspidistrel?”

“This is well constructed. As written, it has a wide area of effect but requires little power.”

“As written. But break this word” the mage pointed at one of the longer words “into its constituent parts and the grammar still works. The meaning, however, is very different, and the effects and power requirements are much more extreme.”

Plistomonder didn’t follow this exchange. He asked one of the priests “Does this make any sense?”

“No, my Lord. This is the only appearance in the sacred texts of that particular word. Nowhere does it appear divided into two.”

The male mage turned around. “The word for ‘rain’ in this particular tongue has an interesting construction. It’s a combination of the two words for ‘water’ and ‘fall’. So say ‘waterfall’ and you mean rain, but say ‘water fall’ and you mean water falling.”

“My Lord,” said the priest, “The meanings of the language of the gods have not been supplied to us by the gods. This particular argument is not possible given the knowledge of the sacred texts available to man.”

***

Einarion sighed. It seemed as if the priests here had kept a set of texts in Old Lantar for their ceremonies, but hadn’t maintained the knowledge of the tongue itself. His explanation of the problem was being rejected, not because it was deemed wrong, but because the priests didn’t believe that he could have the necessary knowledge.

If that was the case then he could repeat himself until he was hoarse and he would get nowhere. It seemed that the only way to show what was happening was to demonstrate.

“Would it be possible for a bowl of water to be brought here for demonstration purposes?”

The king appeared to think about this for a few seconds before giving the order for water to be fetched.

Einarion turned to Aspidistrel. He whispered his plan to her, and they then discussed the spells that would be required in whispers. Spells, for the only way Einarion could see to demonstrate what had gone wrong was for two spells to be cast, one without the mistake and one with the mistake.

When the bowl arrived, Einarion requested that it be placed in the centre of the floor, and that the sacred parchment be moved as far away from it as possible. While he saw nothing sacred in the old spell, the locals did, and he didn’t think it sensible to risk damage to the text.

“I propose that Aspidistrel demonstrates the effect of the word shift by casting two spells, one after another, in your ‘language of the gods’. The only difference between the spells will be the splitting of the compound word for ‘rain’ in the first into its constituent parts in the second. In order to demonstrate that the variation isn’t being generated by our intent, but is a genuine effect in the language, I would request that a priest then casts the same two spells.”

“My Lord,” said one of the priests, “I would repeat my statement that the meanings of the language of the gods have not been supplied to us by the gods. There is no point in this demonstration for it is certain to fail due to the mage’s lack of knowledge.”

“If it certain to fail, then we should certainly see it,” said the king, now smiling. “Proceed.”

Einarron nodded to Aspidistrel, and she proceeded to cast the first of the two spells that they had come up with. She spoke the incantation out loud to ensure that there could be no dispute over the text of the spell.

The top layer of water rose into the air and dispersed to form a small cloud at about shoulder height. Then the cloud burst, and a gentle rain fell into the bowl, and continued until the cloud was no more.

It was time for the second spell. Aspidistrel spoke the next incantation. Einarion smiled inwardly as he confirmed that the only variation between the two incantations was the splitting of ‘rain’ into ‘water fall’.

The top layer of water rose into the air and dispersed to form a small cloud as before. Then the cloud burst, and the water fell in one lot into the bowl below, taking only a couple of seconds to completely return. Water sloshed out of the bowl and splashed everywhere.

***

Plistomonder smiled. He almost had enough to execute the mages. All he needed was for one of the priests to show that they were playing games, and that the two identical incantations (for he heard no differences between them) had identical results at the hands of a trustworthy caster.

He motioned to one of the priests to proceed. The priest took his time confirming the text of the incantations, but Plistomonder didn’t mind. It didn’t matter how long it took, what mattered was getting the evidence he needed to punish the mages for their impious angering of the gods.

The priest cast the first spell, and everything happened as before. This was expected. It was in the second where they were playing a carnival trickster.

The priest then cast the second spell, the one that was identical to the first but had previously had very different results. Plistomonder watched intently, expecting to see another demonstration of indoor rain, and prepared to summon the temple guards. Instead, the water fell at pace into the bowl.

“Explain,” he ordered the priest.

“I can’t, my Lord. The variation in the pronunciation should have had no effect whatsoever.”

Plistomonder proceeded to order another priest to cast the second spell, and the same effect occurred. Three more priests tried to replicate the indoor rain with the second incantation before there was insufficient water in the bowl for another attempt.

Plistomonder was now somewhat worried. If he was unable to placate the gods’ anger by executing the impious mages who had enraged them, what would he need to sacrifice to make things right between them and his kingdom, and what would it cost him to do so?

“Explain,” he ordered the chief mage.

“Incantations do what you tell them to do. Pronunciation isn’t necessarily a problem, for intent can guide the magic should there be any possible confusion as to which word is being said. However, if rather than saying one word you say a different word entirely, that is the word that will guide the magic as it performs the spell. Compound words are particularly tricky, for if you pronounce the parts as separate words, and the incantation makes sense with that separation, that is what the spell will do. Intent in this case cannot override the spellcaster’s explicit instructions to the contrary.”

Plistomonder didn’t follow the explanation, and turned to the senior of the priests present. “My Lord, the gods are clear that as long as we pronounce the incantations correctly, they will do as we desire. There we agree. As for the rest, the knowledge of the language of the gods has not been given to man, so the analysis proposed cannot be tested.”

The mage seemed to sigh. “Yes, pronounce the incantation well enough, and the gods will do that which they have been asked to do. Mangle the pronunciation badly enough that you ask the gods to do something else, and the gods will also do that which they have been asked to do, which is not what you wished to ask them to do.”

Plistomonder was getting even more confused. This was not helpful, for even if the mages and the priests finally agreed on how the gods had been angered, unless he understood how it had happened, how could he, as the land’s king, placate the gods enough that they would not continue to demonstrate their rage against the island?

A priest then entered the chamber in a hurry, a record’s keeper by the ink on his fingers and the colour of the sash around his robes. He fell to his knees before the king.

“My Lord, the records have been consulted. This is not the first time that the gods have been angered during this ceremony.”

Plistomonder’s rage returned. “Why have I never been informed of this? It would have been very helpful about an hour ago.”

“My Lord, it was the decision of the King and the High Priest at the time, made a month after the incident, to seal the records to avoid needlessly worrying the people.”

“What happened, and how was the gods’ anger placated?”

“The records say that the rain fell like thunder, and that the High Priest burned to death on the porch of the Temple. To assuage the gods’ anger, the King sacrificed a bull from the royal herd, and the next High Priest sacrificed a ram from the temple flock. At the next cloud the ceremony was repeated, and the gods were satisfied for the records say that the rain fell as it ought.”

Plistomonder smiled in relief. His biggest problem right now was how to placate the gods. The records he hadn’t been told about had provided a solution to the problem. “Very well. Tomorrow at noon, I shall sacrifice a bull from my own herd, and at noon the day after the High Priest shall sacrifice a ram from the Temple’s own flock. At the next opportunity we shall reperform this ceremony.

“To ensure that we do not risk angering the gods once more, our current High Priest will be stripped of his title and status and banished from the kingdom, and the Temple shall name his replacement by noon tomorrow.

“Just in case, the mages from Farandimium will remain until the ceremony has been successfully performed. They will take the former High Priest with them back to the mainland.”

***

Einarion was not surprised that this issue had arisen before. The complete loss of knowledge of the underlying language had left the priests horribly vulnerable to the sort of grammatical error that had generated today’s mistake.

Nor was he surprised that the king had opted to proceed according to previous precedent. Given that the primary cause was the mispronunciation of an incantation, and that there was therefore no sign of the gods being angered, the steps taken were likely to have minimal preventative benefit. However, the practice of following the precedents of the past until they failed, and only then coming up with something new, was common to all the religions he was familiar with.

But the solution that the king had proposed would fail if the next high priest mispronounced the incantation in the same way, and given the evidence of the spell variation test they had no understanding of the issue, nor any way to prevent its recurrence. It had probably been sheer good fortune that they had not had more ‘water fall’ incidents in the past.

“If I might suggest, it may be helpful if I work with the next High Priest to ensure that the incantation is pronounced well enough next time. We have already seen that two spells can have very different effects but that the difference between the two incantations is not noticeable by everyone here.”

The king responded, “I am not inclined to believe that that is necessary. We have seen how the gods’ anger was assuaged last time. Performing the same will suffice.”

Einarion breathed deeply. From the king’s perspective, his answer made sense. Einarion didn’t want to have to argue that the king’s solution missed the point, for he was supposed to respect the islanders’ beliefs. He was still trying to marshal his thoughts when one of the senior priests spoke up.

“My Lord, while the mage’s arguments hinge on knowledge that the gods have not supplied to man, there is something going on that we priests do not understand, for otherwise we would be able to explain how the two spells did very different things despite having the same incantation. While I do not believe that it will make any difference to the next ceremony, the small likelihood that his assistance might prevent any repeat might make it worth while.”

The priests’ persistence in insisting that Old Lantar was some unknowable language that he could not possible know and understand was irritating, but the lukewarm support was welcome. “I assure you, I understand that the ceremony must sound right. I will respect the pronunciation of these islands.”

The king seemed to think for a moment. “Very well. It will make no difference, but if the priests see no harm, you may assist them.”

***

Plistomonder had been reluctant to grant the chief mage his last request. The Temple records were clear that the pair of sacrifices already planned were sufficient to calm the gods enough that they would grant rain when next requested. That made the request unnecessary, but the priests seemed to be of the view that it would do no harm, and accepting it made the mages happy, so he acquiesced.

The initial crisis had been solved. Various steps still needed to be taken but those were known, and he knew what he needed to do next.

Plistomonder turned to the senior of the priests present. “Inform the former High Priest that he is no longer in the priesthood, and no longer welcome in my kingdom.”

He turned back to the chief mage. “Under the circumstances, it would be best if you took the former High Priest under your protection now. If you do not do so, I may be forced under the laws of the kingdom to order his execution.”

“I appreciate your gracious concern for his welfare. Using the authority that is mine as the leader of this deputation, I will take him under the protection of the Farandimium Academy of the Magical Arts.”

Plistomonder made no response. If the mage wanted to view him as being gracious and concerned for the welfare of his former subject, he wasn’t going to complain, but it was a purely pragmatic consideration. If the former High Priest didn’t depart his kingdom soon enough, which wasn’t unlikely given that he had just ordered the mages to remain for an undetermined length of time, he would be required under the law to order his execution, which would upset the priests, and that might upset the gods, so placing the former High Priest under the protection of an authority he would prefer not to irritate unnecessarily was a suitable way to avoid the potential problem.

There was no longer any need to remain at the Temple, so Plistomonder made his ceremonial farewells to the priests before returning to the palace.

His first act on returning home was to order a servant to find his Steward, and inform him that his king requested his presence in the Throne Room.

It wasn’t long before the relatively old man who had entered the service of the palace during his father’s reign walked calmly into his presence. Plistomonder waited until after his Steward had bowed before him before rising from his throne and stepping off the dais.

“You will have noted the consequences of the gods’ anger earlier today.”

“Yes, my Lord. It sounds somewhat similar to something that happened during your great-grandfather’s reign.”

“Am I the only one who knew nothing of this previous incident? No, don’t bother answering.” Plistomonder waved away his Steward’s instinctive response. “I’m still irritated that the priests had to discover it through checking their records. At least their records contained the details of how the gods’ anger was assuaged last time.

“I need you to select a bull from my personal herd. Since it is to be sacrificed to appease the gods, it must be healthy and of a reasonable age. Select from amongst my best. I will need it up at the Temple ready for the sacrifice at noon tomorrow.”

“It shall be done, my Lord. May I depart from your presence to begin my task?”

“Yes, of course.”

The next day, just before noon, found Plistomonder standing in the Temple courtyard, before the main altar, dressed in full ceremonial robes with the sash of a senior priest to symbolise his role in what was to follow.

The bull from his personal herd, a fine specimen with proud horns, had been moved to the Temple, and was standing, hobbled, by the altar. At Plistomonder’s signal, the servants on the leading rope pulled, ensuring that the bull’s neck was fixed in place, over the altar.

Plistomonder took up the ceremonial dagger, and used it to sever the bull’s carotid artery. The blood flowed out, filling the basin in the heart of the altar. He then stepped back, to allow the priests to fulfil their parts in the sacrificial process, dividing the newly dead bull into its constituent parts, burning some on the minor altars inside the Temple, and keeping others to feed the priests and their families that night.

***

Einarion was once more present in the Temple courtyard. He had been required to attend both sacrifices, the bull and the ram. Now, a week later, it was time for the rain ceremony to be reperformed.

The requirement to wait until the clouds reformed had caused a significant delay in the delegation’s leaving the island, but since the delay was necessary to ensure that they could depart peacefully and with the king’s blessing, he was willing to accept the consequences of doing so.

The former High Priest had been left in the delegation’s lodgings with one of the delegation’s mages. The man had suffered badly from the spell overload, and would be sent back to the mainland under escort as quickly as possible. Einarion was not confident that the man’s right arm could be saved, but Farandimium could teach him to cast spells using his off-hand if need be, so his spellcasting was not over.

Einarion had spent much of the days waiting for the next cloud working with the new High Priest. Now that Einarion could follow the island’s heavily accented Old Lantar, he understood how the High Priest should pronounce the key incantation. The new High Priest had initially made three pronunciation errors, two fairly minor, but one was the same compound word disassembly that had tripped up the former High Priest. Following Einarion’s assistance, the new High Priest performed the incantation perfectly. The rain fell slowly from the cloud to the ground.

After the ceremony had completed, Einarion offered to send a male mage to the island to teach the priests the intricacies of Old Lantar. To no-one’s surprise, the new High Priest declined to accept the offer. Einarion would make a note of the need of this so that future delegations could offer assistance in understanding the language.

The next day the delegation finally departed. The king sent them on their way with his blessing, and the priests had sent one of their own to offer them the gods’ blessing for the rest of their journeys.

He would need to apologise for their late arrival at each of the other two islands, but better that than the potential disaster that might have been given the king’s anger following the ‘water fall’ incident.