Island People is a young adult fantasy book centring on a young prince. The book starts with his kidnapping and follows his adventures as he not only escapes from his kidnapper but gains critical allies and friends.
The entire book is scheduled on Substack, and there are several sequels. This is a book I wrote years ago, so it is in a bit of a rough form. Critiques and comments are more than welcome, they are requested.
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In the morning, Seth was startled awake by a loud clapping sound. He awoke and looked about him, seeing and then remembering the bower. Made of sticks, it didn’t keep out all the light or, indeed, block his vision. As a child hiding in a bush can see his friends seeking for him, while they can’t see him, so he could see out of the dark bower into the mottled sunlight of the marsh. Off to one side of the door, he saw a Marshman male standing, staring at the side of the bower and clapping his hands.
“Good morning, my Brother,” the Marshman was saying.
Seth had never fully understood the various Marshman customs, but he had at least understood the basic greeting style. Marshmen, like Elves, placed a high priority on privacy. But unlike Elves, their privacy was physical, not relying on mental borders. It would have been unthinkable for the Marshman to have placed himself toward the door of the bower, where he could possibly have seen into it. But it was not considered at all rude of him to stare at the outside of the bower, where the walls prevented him from seeing in. And, far from waiting to be recognised, the Marshman custom was to assume that the people inside the bower did not see or hear him approach (which had happened to be true in this case) and thus to announce their presence outside loudly.
Nor would he be impatient waiting outside. Any private thing that needed to be finished inside would be done before the occupant would emerge and greet the visitor.
Seth had no private acts to complete before exiting his bower. Merely pulling the shirt down decently, he stepped from the bowe and said, “Welcome to where I stand.”
The Marshman’s eyes widened in shock. He had tracked three Elves across the swamp, but this was no Elf! The stance was completely un-elflike, broad and firm. His feet were webbed. And his skin had taken on the mottled green and brown hues of the Marshman. (Though it was true, in the western swamp, some Marshman had skin of a mottled tan and purple.) But his face--his face (he had been able to see it clearly several times yesterday afternoon) was that of the stranger Elf!
While Elves travelled the world round, they did not usually travel through the swamp on foot. And the differences between the two that travelled and slept in the trees, eating their own food, and this one who travelled on the ground and ate what the swamp provided so bountifully… they had roused him to curiosity. He had spent time with his Wife last night relating the curious events, and she had, reluctantly, agreed that he should greet them this morning. She was even prepared to have dinner ready for them if her Husband succeeded in inviting them.
He heard a noise and turned to see the other two Elves, they at least were still Elves, climbing down from the tree where he had seen them climb to sleep. The eldest said, “We too welcome you,” in that curious abstract way the Elves had of greeting.
He finally managed to compose himself and respond, “I thank you for your greeting. Can I be of service?”
This was a standard question, but much more than a formality. The Marshman culture was built on the exchange of services. It was not only a pleasure to serve another, but it was part of an intricate network of exchange of obligations that was most of their economy. While they understood, in a vague sort of way, the exchange of ‘money’ among the Visserin, Farmers, and Dwarves in particular… and even more vaguely but in some sense directly the exchange of information that was common among the Elves… Marshmen relied among themselves on exchanging services. One Marshman would help another today, knowing that sometime in the future he would be helped by another at a different time. The Marshwives did not, obviously, participate in these exchanges (a Marshwife only left her bower when she was married, for a funeral, or to help in a birth) but they were the central repositories of their history. Any good Marshwife could tell her Husband at any time what he owed to whom, and who owed him.
This custom was of particular use to Seth at this time. His teacher had pounded its rules into his head. Thus he could in clear conscience respond, “Yes, we do have needs.”
The Marshman, extremely pleased, stood and waited, as Seth continued. “First of all, I need clothing. These clothes are excellent and made by someone whom I shall always be indebted to (this was a high compliment in Marshman, indicating someone who had performed a service so stellar that it could not possibly be repaid). But, as you see, they are not fitted to the where I am now.” (This last phrase was unique to Marshman. In the swamp, they had no real territory, there was no possession. Thus places were indicated by the people that occupied them. The swamp was ‘where Seth was now’.)
“Then, as you know, the Elves always seek information. It would be an excellent service to them, and a significant service to me, if we could spend time with you talking; learning from you of the nature of what is now among the Marshmen.”
“And further, my young friend, who knows much else, does not speak Marshman. If children are available (meaning male children, and shying away from asking the Marshman directly about his family life) and they spent time together, then a pleasant time could be had, and language could be learned. Even the other children could learn about an Elf boy.”
The Marshman’s pleasure increased with each request. Truly these were substantial requests and represented an excellent service! As Seth stood transformed into Marshman, he never even doubted that he was participating in their sense of exchange. Seth continued, “And perhaps there are services that we can provide.”
The Marshman was jolted back to earth. Indeed there was one. He wondered how it measured against their requests. He would have to talk this over long with his Wife. “All of these things would be more than my pleasure to provide. You are generous indeed to ask them of me.”
“Since you have asked, yes, I do have a need.” Seth, this time, stood and waited. “When you were where you were yesterday, I saw you. And yet, unless my eyes have grown old and deceive me, what you were then is not what you are now. It would be… of unquestioned service to me to know… if my eyes have indeed grown old.”
Seeing he was finished, Seth turned to Tristan, “My young friend here, although his Marshman will not permit his telling you directly, is, among the Elves, the expert in the knowledge you seek. With the help of his companion, I am sure he will be glad to perform this service.”
Seth finished the transaction with, “I am Seth, Son of the man the Farmers call ‘King’. This is Wynforr, of the Elves, a person who has studied much of the way Farmers behave, and learned in other ways. This is Tristan, young among the Elves, but now the expert on how it is that one may walk as an Elf one day and as a Marshman the next.”
The Marshman responded, “I stand here, called by those who wish to address me, Pnornto. It is my custom to move around the swamp and provide food to those whom I am responsible for. It also happens sometimes that others of my people come to me for advice when they have various disputes.”
So, Seth thought to himself, a Father and a judge among the Marshmen.
Pnornto continued, “If you wish, we could go this way. It is the way to where I usually sleep, and there I can better help you with that which you need.” As they went, Seth thought about being a Marshman, and his latest transformation. His Father had always told him, “If you are going to do something, learn to do it well.” So, over the last few days on the river he had used his Elf brain to analyze the features of each of his two transformations.
His conclusion had been that what triggered the transformation was the totality of the life experience, plus a willingness to adapt. By speaking Marshman, eating Marshman food, walking in the swamp, discussing how Marshmen did things--all of these might eventually have led to the transformation. But what of the willingness to adapt? He remembered the Expert talking of the Farmers’ daughters turned Visserfrau. Once married to the Visser, each girl must have eventually made, in her heart, the mental transition to “I am a Visserfrau” and no doubt the physical transition had quickly followed.
Seth, when kidnapped, had been frustrated by his inability to compete with the Heroiini on horseback and thus must have unconsciously willed the change. Then, among the Elves, he had had no real reason to keep his Heroiini body and had moved to the more useful body of an Elf. For this last transformation, he had deliberately provoked the change.
Of course, he had the advantage of already knowing the language and much of the customs of the various groups. He pitied those poor Farmer girls, thrown into the Visser culture, not knowing the language. His trips among the Visserin had been extremely enjoyable… but they were always in the nature of a vacation… not a sudden plunge into a new life. He also had gone first as a young lad, which, thinking it over, would be an advantage.
After a couple of hours, Seth started to hear voices ahead, which suddenly cut off. Soon afterwards they came around a group of trees and saw the Marshman’s bower. Unlike Seth’s crude affair, this was a complete family bower of the Marshmen. In addition to the hut was a fence surrounding a large area outside the door, a fence whose ends overlapped without touching, providing total privacy for the area inside it. In front, or rather on the side toward which they were walking, sat two logs arranged in a V shape around a smouldering fire.
The Marshman waved them to sit down and then said in a loud voice, “Are there Sons, ready to do my bidding?” From behind the wall, four forms immediately emerged and came shyly over to the fire. The eldest looked to be between Seth’s age and Tristan’s (apparent) age. The next two seemed to be twins, around nine years old and the youngest six. Seth knew that they were probably younger than they looked, as Marshman (and Visserin) tended to mature more quickly than Farmers, while Elf, Dwarves, and Trolls all matured more slowly.
The Marshman turned to the eldest of his Sons. Indicating Seth, he said, “This our guest has need of clothes. I have agreed that we will serve him in this way.” That boy nodded and hurried off. The Father then turned to the other three boys, “My Sons, there is a service that you also can provide. This your Brother the Elf is interested in learning Marshman. What he really needs is for you to take him off, and teach him all your games, talking to him all the time. This will provide an excellent service.”
As he spoke, the boys’ eyes lit up, gaining brightness with everything he said. When he finished, they were positively glowing. Taking the reluctant Tristan by the hand, they dragged him off to the jungle. He looked as if he didn’t quite know what was going on and wasn’t at all sure that he would approve if he did.
“Now for your third need,” the Father began, and he and Wynforr began discussing what passed for ‘politics’ among the Marshmen. The eldest Son soon came back with clothes, which Seth took into the jungle and put on.
Then, he and the oldest Son began their own conversation. It seemed that the Marshman boy was of the age where Marshmen often left home to begin ‘wandering’; sometimes just within the swamp and sometimes, though less frequently than Elf, outside of it. So, he was very interested in learning from Seth about the outside world.
Thus, the morning passed. Noises from beyond view proved that the swamp boys were enjoying their new colleague. And certainly, Seth and Wynforr were enjoying themselves. But the most enjoyable event was preceded by a loud rattling sound from behind the fence.
Seth had always known that Marshmen could cook. But the meal that the boys brought from behind the fence wall (after a wailing cry from the oldest Brother had brought them running home, hauling a bedraggled young Elf behind them) far surpassed anything he had ever eaten. He remembered the palace cook’s constant mutterings of how he ‘couldn’t get decent food or spices’ in the capital city, but Seth had always discounted it.
In the end, they decided to spend several days with the Marshman. Tristan, dragged off to ‘play’ with the young Marshmen, was learning language at a rate that only a young Elf immersed in an overwhelming environment could do. Wynforr and Seth, in their conversations, were learning much more prosaically, but still very satisfactorily.
The last day they dedicated to the meeting of the Marshman’s ‘need’. Tristan, with Wynforr translating where necessary, spoke almost the whole day to the Marshman, with Seth and Wynforr putting in occasional comments. As the premier of Tristan as an ‘expert,’ he did well.
But it was an exhausted Tristan who prepared to leave the next morning. His clothes were in rags, and his muscles were in tatters. His life in the trees among the high forest had in no way prepared him for several days of fun and games among the swamp children. His mind had been stretched almost beyond enduring, but he was used to that; what he wasn’t used to was the physical and emotional stretching.
While boys the world over played games of run and catch and chase… most of them didn’t do it in a couple of feet of muck. Only his ability to grab and leap from branches had allowed him to compete at all with the Marshman youth… which had included, after the first day, boys from several other nearby families. Although their outward demeanour might not indicate it, Elf boys were just as competitive as all other races, so he had not been inclined to lose.
The result had been a Tristan who came home each night bruised, battered, exhausted, and filthy. After the first day, he had, reluctantly, given his clothes to one of the boys to give to his mother for cleaning and repair. He hadn’t much in the way of spare clothes, and while he was sure the Marshman mother would do her best, he despaired that his clothes would ever be the same.
It was not just Tristan and his companions who prepared to leave. It had been decided that Mgwan, the oldest Son of the Marshman, would be accompanying them. More direct than the Elves, the Son had approached Seth and requested a position of his personal cook and pharmacist. This was a request that led to a mutual equitable service exchange; the one party gaining a paid position, the other a loyal servant.
Tristan was a little jealous and nervous. Accustomed to large blocks of uninterrupted time with Seth, he, while enjoying the time with the Marshman children, still hadn’t enjoyed not being with Seth. He was hoping that that would be reconciled over the next few days.
To his extreme joy, it was. It seemed there was a backwater way to Koenig, and so they had hired a boat and a boat master. On the boat, Seth and Tristan rejoined the position in the bow, conversing, it was true, in Marshman, but conversing nonetheless. In the back, a somewhat reluctant and frequently exhausted, Mgwan sat with Wynforr, alternately being lectured to (about manners and customs and life among Farmers) and being asked to lecture (about manners and customs and life among the Marshmen, cooking and pharmacy). Occasionally, the boat master would interject a comment of his own, clarifying a point of culture on which Mgwan was unclear.
Although they all enjoyed their trip to Koenig, everyone was glad when that city, the second largest city of the Visserin, finally came into sight through the trees. An enormous city, at least by the standards of the Island, it was built almost entirely of wood and lay at the junction of the Great River and the ocean. The city itself was only half the metropolis. The other half consisted of enormous docks with myriads of boats tied up to them. All of the trade coming down the Great River: from the Elves, the Farmer estates, and the Marshmen transshipped here. Koenig was filled with enormous warehouses. It was a boisterous city that reflected the nature of the Visserin, who were the principal inhabitants: loud, busy, and joyful.
The skyline beyond the walls of the city was filled with the billowing white sails of fishing Schippen, either arriving or departing. The name Visser was, in part, a misnomer. While a great many of the Visser did indeed spend their time catching, cleaning, preserving, and selling the incredible variety of fish found in the waters around the island and beyond, the Visserin were also the island’s principal traders. They managed large warehouses and stores throughout the entire island and shipped goods from city to city in their large Schippen.
Tristan was extremely glad that his language learning of Marshman was about to be put on hold and that Visser happened to be the first language he had ever learned (after Elf, of course). The Visserin frequently came up the river to trade with the Elf, and so he had had more opportunity to learn that than any other language, and so his parents had thought it a good first start.
Seth was also very glad to be getting to Koenig. He hoped that there might be, or soon would be, a message from his Father. Mgwan, eyeing the city of Koenig, entertained hopes that it would be the end of his mind-stretching experience; Wynforr, as he always did, looked forward to new learning. And the boatman looked forward to getting his pay and returning to his Wife and family. Thus, a contented, if tired, group of people made fast at the small side dock that served this small waterway. After paying the boatman, who turned gratefully upstream, the four travellers set off in search of an inn, a bath, and a change of clothes--all of which they found quickly enough, this being a city of Visserin.
The inn was run by a Farmer. Visserin loved inns but did not usually run them. Occasionally, oddly enough, a Dwarf would run an inn. But this inn was run by a Farmer. Seth had debated whether to transform back to Farmer, but he and Wynforr agreed that while the odds were strongly against anyone from Duke LaCrosse finding them and attempting, again, to kidnap Seth; the odds were obviously less in his guise as a Marshman. Walking around as a Marshman would not be as comfortable as it would have been had he transformed back to Farmer, but whoever said life was comfortable?
After taking care of these basic needs, the next business was to find out if Seth’s Father had sent instructions. Mgwan was sent to the inn where they had agreed to forward letters and soon came back with an excited look and a letter in his hand, which Seth took into his room to read.
“My Father would like us to go to Zu Hause; he is obviously thrilled to know that I am alive and has given me an assignment. There have been a series of attacks on the Dwarves by Farmers.” (Seth’s Father had of course, used the term ‘Humans’ instead of ‘Farmers’, but Seth politically translated it) “and he wishes me to go as an ambassador to the Dwarf king, explain that I was kidnapped and that he believes these bandits are part of a plot against his rule. He has enclosed a letter of credit to pay for our trip and speaks of hiring people to accompany me--”
Wynforr broke in, “That should not be necessary. Unless you object, Tristan and I will continue with you.”
Seth did not object and went on “--and of hiring a passage on a Visserin’s Schip from here to Zu Hause.”
Wynforr again responded, “I shall arrange passage. Mgwan and I will go. An Elf and a Marshman are not what they are looking for if they are looking at all.”
So Wynforr and Mgwan went off. Seth, switching to Visser, began to converse with Tristan. Both Seth and Tristan were excited about the upcoming trip, Tristan, in that naïve way, all children have of the prospect of a voyage, while Seth had been on several such trips and stayed busy regaling Tristan with stories of trips he had taken. He was a Farmer, but he did love the sea.
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And now I'm caught up. He'll be Visserin next. Then he'll still need dwarf and troll.