and ho! All hands on deck! A-all ha-ands o-o-on
Could it be? Ciosa already? For a moment I freeze in my chores.
There, I hear the mate raising his voice again: "Land ho, land ho! T' Foggy Old
Lady's all aglow!"
From way down in the hold up through the opened trapdoor I peek, just to get a
glimpse of the crow's nest from where I’ve heard the yelling. The lookout waves
avidly down at us. A few moments later loud cheers ring through the whole ship
and the thrill and the excitement of arrival spreads like wildfire. I drop my
ropes as well, enthused, no less amused by the emotions among the men, then head
off towards starboard: Someone needs to have a look, firsthand.
Yes, so it is. Ciosa. The splendor of Port Cael.
Ciosa's breathtaking landmark, the ever present Brooding Jepp - a millenia
old stone formation on the east side of Hawkeye Quarry resembling a giant's
face. Image drawn by
I barely recognize her tough
through the early morning haze, said Old Lady, the ancient Avennorian
metropolis, town of many cultures, voices, colours and creed, Sarvonia’s gateway
to the other continents, that stalwart bastion defying the ever changing sands
of time. But then from the still lingering remnants of the night she gently
emerges, unwraps bit by bit her scantly lit glory, still dreamy, but steadfast
and magnificent she awakens from her slumber. There it is indeed, the long
awaited sight of the quay, bathed in shimmering moonlight, droves of tiny
fishing boats rocking quietly next to it. A couple of whalers are also moored
there, traders too, some full-rigged brigs, even heavy bareks and tritons are
interspersed. The day calls and there's already commotion on some of these
ships, and here and there one can spot the occasional sailor stopping and
pointing out at sea to announce the arrival of the newcomers. The newcomers -
that's us of course, and some of our crew wave back at them. As we head for
shore they sport a smile and remind the fishers of the millenia old, indubitably
proven piece of lore: that "to those who catch the day’s first fish Baveras will
grant a heartfelt wish"... Ah, Ciosa.
The closer we draw, the more the rolling hills the city was built on slowly peel
out of the twilight’s curtains, and with them arise the majestic walls of the
Astrendum overlooking the city... Aye, and then there’s one more thing that is
for certain: Somewhere in the far distance – still hidden yet, but there he must
be – yes, there’s the guardian, the familiar face of Jepp, good old Jepp. Always
watching, always knowing Brooding Jepp, the gargantuan stone-face that dominates
the nearby quarry, for ages and ages serving as the warden of this ancient
Avennorian harbour, unchanged, gigantic, adamantine. Perhaps his features are a
mere whim of the Gods? Maybe they were once hewn into the mountainside by
unknowns? Or the quarry face is a remnant of a giant that never aged, once
petrified by wizards when the War of the Chosen raged... Who would know? Could
even be the colossus will rise again when the spell wears off someday, at least
that’s what you can hear the most superstitious among the Ciosans say. Whatever
the truth, Jepp's always here – to bid you well on your way, here to greet
returning souls, be it morn, bright day or eve. He knows your path, that’s the
commoner’s belief, your quests and goals, the worries, doubts, your grief –
whether bliss or woes, the giant knows – don’t ask why – but sure he knows.
"Land ho! Land ho! Hoi, hoi! How're things up there, Jepp? Just for a change:
Won't you look down below?" I hear the sailors chant, and thus round and round
the teasings go, yet the stone-face won’t even signify a no.
And so our ship reaches the harbour and the dock, ends its voyage, comes to a
rest, while out of the nearby huts the workers flock unloading cargo of the
"Land ho! Land ho! Hoi, hoi! How're things up there, Jepp? Won't you look down
A smile my mates earn, though join in I shan't, just grab my things, and off I
go – up and about spreading my wings. Aye, back I am, it's my city that calls,
far too long I've been away. Too long I've missed those grey, yet proud and
trusted walls, and the farther away, the more I’ve longed to stay.
Returned they are, those tired feet, from labour strained, they've ploded
through cold and heat. Returned they are, welcomed home, in the distance gone
are all those places they once set out to explore and roam. Now the pier where I
once left lies quiet, mysterious and calm. There bathes in the morning breeze
and yet there’s already business going on. The sailors' to and fro I barely
notice as I go, and constant cobblestone beat accompanies my leave. Slowly –
almost unnoticed – the nearby market comes alive. The bakers lay out their
rolls, divers present their pearls, and fresh fish are put on ice. Kegs are
carried, sausages varied are sorted, cut and hung, and with an eye's twinkle
pastries turn sugar-sprinkled, and happy tunes are being hummed. The smell of
spices fills the air: from tangy, bitter, sharp, austere they range – some are
common, others rare, from every tribe and place a share.
I shoulder my seaman’s chest and move along. A nod here, one there, then I purse
my lips to whistle a song. Through still dim and shady alleys I stroll, and then
there's Sneaker's Ave, the place where poor Knupp once found his death, and I
observe myself sneaking up that very lane, as a personal tribute – well, to the
Sneaker's disputable fame. Another lane, and after that one more, all up
Skandvansk hill I walk, past stalls and taverns, inns and seedy places – many a
stranger I meet, amongst them just a couple of familiar faces.
Once on top, I pause, let my feet rest. I turn around, look back and catch my
breath. For a while my gaze drifts over all the hustling and the bustling, and
as I look down I can't help but sigh – 'cause my eyes follow all those people
moving, from here to there, up, down and around. As if they all know what they
want, as if what they seek is only a matter of when its found – and in all that:
a sense of purpose, determination abounds. It’s like a recurring celebration:
Once more the Injèrá has circled, a day has risen, and with it life in an
ancient harbour town. My gaze wanders back to sea from where I’ve come: By now
the early morning wafts are almost gone, chased by the sun, their misty veil
replaced by dawn.
"How're things up there,
Jepp? Won't you look down below?"
The crew's blitheful ditty comes to mind as I look down at our vessel –
unreal, distant, tiny, appearing like a toy. And now that I'm up here
myself, on the porch of the world, I let my eyes drift, over the town, the
port, the ships, the sea, and think about that cheerful song: Up here now
it's almost as if they're addressing me – as if the sailors wave and laugh
and ask what I see. With a smirk I turn to find Old Jepp in his own way
now awakened, the sun’s brilliant light finally has brought him back –
it's hard to notice, but in all the morning glory he's as alive as a face
in a rock might ever get. Still, while he sees it all his eternal wisdom
remains unspoken, never he seems in the mood, he just observes,
contemplates and broods... And somehow I understand. Thus by the same
token I follow his example, watch and wonder, I reminisce, dream and
ponder, however I keep things to myself. What other wisdom might I
conceive at this very moment anyway other than how great it is to be alive
and greet the day? So I say to myself and eventually I turn, and, well, in
that spirit walk away.
It’s not far from here, just a few corners. Already I've reached my street
– there's the well, the giant oak and Tinker's Square, the place where we
as children used to meet. Ah, what memories it holds! Well then, just a
few steps more and I’m home at my humble, ever patient abode waiting
Waves on the open Adanian Sea. Image drawn by
A lock, a key. A step. The door falls shut...
I take a deep breath. One moment I pause, look around, take in what I see.
The well, the giant oak, Tinker's Square, a street ahead that beckons me.
And though I tarry as I stand, yet I feel excited, adventurous, prepared
and ready – my heart will tell me where to head. Let my feet be my trusted
guide, bold or hesitant, cautious or confident, delight lies in the will
to stride. Whatever they may stumble upon, I trust my feet will find their
way – it's by the Gods’ fancies they’ll abide, I never fear they’ll lead
Dawn has long broken as I start out, no need to look back. Past the
stone-faced guardian I go, sowed like a leaf in the breeze, towards the
market's to and fro, cobblestone beat accompanies my leave. The nightly
shadows now have fully retreated, even Sneaker's Ave is suffused with rays
of light. Once again Ciosa's pride has emerged undefeated, well, a rimmer
howls in a corner – probably just out of spite.
Wherever I look, more and more the streets become alive. I grab my chest,
in it only a few things – an apple, a bottle, a knife, there’s a deck of
cards, maps, some books and clothes – just the stuff a sailor needs to
board, pass time, survive. Through alley after alley I walk, run down a
flight of stairs, on passing I can’t help but pick up some latest talk,
along with vendors incessently praising wares. Fare thee well then, Jepp,
fare thee well, Ciosa, a chapter is closing, a new one begins, so let's
hear that brand new tale fate is now about to spin.
And then I find myself back where I once stood, where I’ve always been
standing, or so it feels. The baggage tucked away, my hand on the railing,
mind wandering. For quite a while now the sails have been set, I catch a
last glance of what I left, and while I might once return I know that
there's never ever a going back.
Thus I stare out there, listen to the creaking of the planks, I feel the
sea's eternal breathing, the heaving and the splashing, watch the passing
of the banks. The anchor is now hoisted, it's right here with me, and
we're heading together out there, the air – once cold and foggy – again
smells fresh, smells free... – Aye, there's a place somewhere we don't
know yet, my anchor and me, but it's the place we'll find and maybe
conquer, the place where we're both going to be.
Let bygones be bygones, I have to remind myself. Smell the breeze of
what's becoming, new things are on the verge. Be brave, I hear myself
talking, face the change. A world's ahead, a shore wants to be reached!
Onwards then, traveller, towards and with the teachings of the sea. Fear
not, just listen, look and learn: On and on, arrived then gone – a wave is
but the wind's next pawn. Far out there in midst the deep blue sea,
forlorn, reborn, and still, oh wave: I harken thee. Thou, fleeting soldier
among soldiers, ordered around and around, on the move from here to there.
Nowhere you've really been, but yet you wish to be everywhere.
Ah yes, some say a wave is always on the run, your will is not your own. A
moving spot is your existence, a spot you confuse with home. Lacking
ground, how could you ever be profound? But trust me – in me you've got a
friend, my comrade: I'm the one to rejoice in your mumbling and your
grumbling, whether you're quietly gurgling or rushing aloud, merely
drifting along under glistening sun, get enraged by the odd stormy cloud.
May a gale pick you up to dance and twirl, make you sink back, let you
rise, toss and whirl, may you be a maelstrom's pet, aye, even split by a
ship, on and on, arrived and gone, ever on, just a pawn – on that endless,
endless, endless trip. Ah, how I feel with you, how I live and breathe
your gentle swaying, I, sailor in deed, sailor in heart. We might be
close, we might be apart, wherever we are, whatever we see, whenever we
are out there, admit it, my sibling, we both do agree: 'cause we share
more than a pulse, but a notion, a need, fear, longing, a hope and a dream
– that's us, a wave on its way and that sailor, that's me. Be my companion
and I'll be yours: Horizons far, horizons wide, weren't we all chosen to
be in for the eternal ride? Bleak and dreary or gurgling, cheery, the
command is given by the tide.
I am but a wave. A wave I've been, a wave I'll be, a wave that rocks on