1. On Orileja’s beautiful hem

Introduction- beginning of the novel

What might Ottmar Silbring have said when he first sat in front of the green wall that is the jungle? What was Arlando Fjordt thinking about while Tabea Montu was sharpening her knife for lianas? And what was going through the mind of Hannok Ringeisen after he had rescued his captain from the flood? ... We will never know. But the sea in front of us and the jungle behind us know. They know all the stories. The stories of the stranded and those who stayed. They also know their dreams and longings. ... You see, up there a few of them are hanging in the sky fruits, right next to the Pyllbacko tree! And over there on the horizon, cheek to cheek with the Dancing Mermaid, there lies a thought of Arlando's. It vibrates like a glittering wave on the water. If you listen very carefully, you can hear it. And? What is he whispering?

Introduction to the “Ostinker Book” by Raiko Olafsur

The calm before the storm

On Orileja's beautiful hem

When Orileja spreads her wide mermaid dress along the edge of the waves in the setting sun for the last time of the day, all my ideas are reflected in it like mother-of-pearl discs. They glitter within reach until the next wave overflows them and they are discarded, lie down to sleep in the sand and seem to thirstily swallow the next wave, the next push from the horizon, the next inspiration. I can't touch it, can't change anything. I watch the waves arise and pass away like my thoughts, so many of which slip away from me again, unseen, unprotected, never dried. And yet all of Orileja's wings, all of the shadows and colors of her wave dress give birth to something new in me: the calm of knowing that I don't have to do anything when Orileja performs the last evening dance with Aureus.

Text from Ostink

We are now in the year 1030 AD with Lando in the east off the jungle coast in the “Bay of Death”. Lando is now 19 years old.

Isobald Eismann: The fruits of my desert

When I was young and believed that I could only live, live properly, thanks to all those who read "me", I made myself dependent on them. I wanted to please, I wanted to provoke, I wanted to offend, I wanted to displease. But above all I wanted one thing: to attract the attention of as many people as possible. Isn't that what all great poets and thinkers want?

Back then, I thought I would be destroyed by the fact that the people in the north were so simple-minded that they didn't understand me and that my number of followers dwindled after I returned to the Northland. But it was probably my hunger for recognition that was not satisfied here. Neither here nor during all those years in the desert.

Today I realize that it wasn't the others and their uncontrollable reactions that tormented me, but me, I tormented myself. My need for recognition and my megalomania made me sick with disappointment. It was never enough. Never enough recognition and applause. But what would I gain if I gathered more and more people around me? Why should more and more people read my books without understanding them? Just to get recognition and silver? That doesn't make me richer. What makes me rich are my experiences, my memories and my great love: the love of the written word, the love of writing.

What difference does it make to a good text if only a few people read it? That doesn't diminish its value! It doesn't change the fact that I wrote it. And it doesn't make it any worse, perhaps on the contrary, it makes it more precious, better, more exquisite, like a rare grape that only a few can taste.

And didn't I always write primarily for myself? Didn't I lie on my bunk in the desert behind the dive bar in South Varan with my head next to the cattle shed and write? That's where "Homesickness for Long Winter Nights" was written.

The realization that I write for myself because writing is my life expands my mind many times over! I no longer have to chase after opinions, thousands of faces and their applause, I no longer have to challenge anyone to a duel with the pen like Lambert Bentzander once did. No, I can sit back. I can breathe deeply. I enjoy being alone.

All my longings and my old homesickness remain in my chest. My desert years lie hidden where they belong! In the desolation and in the time of deprivation, many beautiful words flowed from my soul that would please the people here. But the time for wanting to please is over! I will not reproach the city lord and his people for a single line of my golden or even slightly rusty poems.

Now I'm sitting behind my bay window. I look down at the weekly market in Unlivaster and witness all the vanities that are human. A young man struts past a seamstress as if she were measuring his chest. I've never been modest either and probably never will be. But I'll never have to prove myself again like the young fisherman down there! I'll never make myself dependent on the applause or criticism of others again!

Because I can only write, true, deep writing, without them: without the search and addiction for recognition, without vanity, without the market down there, without the others!

After writing this, I feel more empty than I have in a long time. Was it all the others that I had in mind when I wrote these lines? Have they now gone away like a great pack and left me hollow and dilapidated like a fish market after an auction?

Now I am nothing but the dwelling of my thoughts. Now all my walls are built of sentences. Of light and heavy ones, of holes and windows, of ideas as pillars and memories that run through the masonry like cracks. Now I am ready to build myself a house, a city, a country, a world. Now I am ready to write!

Part 1: Like a fish in the jungle

In the year 1030, Lando is 19 years old.

1. Evening on the coast

Lando took a bath. He thought of the paradisiacal bay on the Slómo. His hands burned like fire. He needed to get rid of the fishy smell again and, as he had been doing for a few days, he used a rather strong bitter fruit soap that he and Ken had made themselves. He soaped his hands, his long arms, his face and even his hair with it. Soon they would also make a shampoo, but until then he only used the soap. It was as if he had made a pact with Ken to only let her own products touch his body. His mother groaned every time he returned one of her skin care gifts with the words: "Thanks, Mom, but I don't need anything! I only use my natural soap." Fortunately, William didn't notice. He wasn't interested in such things anyway. The company only sold the cheap curd soap from "Haman's Corner", as it had for a hundred years. William's grandfather had probably already negotiated this with Willi Haman's grandfather, a curd soap delivery at particularly favorable conditions for half an eternity.

Lando showered the light yellow foam from his head. He closed his eyes to prevent soap from getting in. He let the shower spray down on him for longer than usual, while the water rolled off him and the soap spread a light yellow ring of foam around him. He slowly opened his eyes again. This must be what it looks like when the Nordic volcano lets its lava flow into the sea, he thought. There were many stories about Roterberg. It was actually a shame that the Dancing Mermaid in this bay was not a volcano but a simple rocky island, he thought now.

Suddenly the clatter of his neighbor's shutters tore him from his thoughts. He turned off the water, got out of the tub and dried himself off. The mirror was fogged up. Lando quickly wiped it with his right hand and then looked into his narrow face. His blond hair was now hanging down to his shoulders, so that he could already put it in a braid. And that's what he did now. He would probably soon have a braid as long as Hartwig's. He liked the thought. He would like to be like Hartwig. With his calmness and his pleasant ability to keep quiet, the cliff guard was almost like an old Trohpa who guarded the bay here. Only when Hartwig thought he had discovered a pirate ship did he behave as if he had been bitten by a Malut mosquito.

Lando opened the bathroom window to let the damp air out. It was already getting noticeably cooler in the evening. Now he could hear sand crunching under wheels. He went into his living room, which was actually more of his bedroom, because the bed was in the middle in front of the large window. From there you had a perfect view down into the bay. But he didn't get much out of it, because he always came home late. Either he was at his parents' house for dinner, at Brandon's in the "Aureus" or he was sitting with Ken in the small room in the boarding school, frying or stirring pots to make ointments and tinctures. Ken tested the products and Lando also had to rub them on himself to test everything on himself. In nine out of ten cases he got a rash, which confirmed Ken's and his suspicion that gill people had much more sensitive skin than other people, or that they did not tolerate the same products as the gillless ones. Ken still didn't understand it, because he thought that such good swimmers and divers, who could survive in the North Sea for quite a long time, must be tougher than all landlubbers.

Now Lando was standing in front of the window with just a towel around his waist, shivering. No, he wasn't hardened, definitely not. Nevertheless, he opened the window. He needed the sound of the waves, at least now, just before he lay down. He had given up sleeping with the window open since bats kept wandering into his room. Now he stepped back and stretched. Then he held on with both hands to the old beam that connected the side walls and supported them. He arched his back. It cracked. Standing in the fish hall for so long was hell for him.

Although the wind blowing in from the sea gave him goosebumps, Lando remained staring outside. He carefully observed the outlines of the bushes, which moved so tirelessly in the light of the lantern, as if a large animal lived in them, made up of many round limbs covered in leaves. He smiled, happy that he still saw such things, that he could still see them. No, Anna had not taken his imagination with her to Sîlard. That was good. She couldn't have done that anyway. Because now, when he looked back, her imagination had always been just one borrowed from other people's stories. His, on the other hand, was unique. And it had nothing to do with the books that Anna had secretly hoarded in Ken's and his basement!

Now it was enough. He had half the sea in his room. At least that's how it smelled. And it was cool too. Lando released his hands, took a few steps forward and closed the window. As always at this time of day, a few bats scurried from the roof towards the cliffs. At the very back of the cliff path he could make out two figures. Their voices were faintly audible. It had to be Jimmy and Liana. Were they walking hand in hand? They would wish it. Or rather: Jimmy would wish it. None of the fishermen could stand him any longer, with his lovesickness, his constant infatuation and his whining. Liana here, Liana there. And yet he had had fun in the summer with Nelly, a simple but extremely rich South Varanian who had now sailed back south with all her belongings. "Jimmy and love..." Tyron had said quietly to Lando, "...it's like a Jagjaru and the sea - it just doesn't go together!" Tyron was probably right. But as this sentence had stuck in Lando's head, he had felt addressed by it. Did it not go together for him either?

He looked out again, this time to the other side, to the banister on the cliff. Hartwig often stayed a little longer. Lando felt as if the cliff guard had, for whatever reason, made it his mission to be the last one down there. He often waited on the top landing until the first moonlight, but today the two moons Monarch and Spy were already crescent-shaped in the sky. Had he completely lost track of time?

As if Hartwig had read Lando's thoughts, he suddenly stood up. Lando quickly backed away so that he wouldn't see him standing at the window. He put on a pair of cotton trousers and lay on the bed with his upper body bare. He grabbed his neck with both hands. There they were, his two necklaces: one from Aponi and the other... from a clan from the Northland, probably from one of the first settlers. Aponi had only given him the pearl necklace because she hadn't wanted to accept a gift. Now it seemed to Lando like an inappropriate exchange. Because all the lapon fish and moon shells that she had brought her clan from him - from the "trader from Ostink" - had long since been eaten. And he, he still had the pearl necklace from her. He should give it back to her. Again and again he saw her beautiful face in front of him. Aponi Magena. Soon he would see her again!

Lando set his alarm for five o'clock. Tomorrow the drudgery would start again. He had suspected that he wouldn't enjoy working in the fish market, but he had never imagined that he would get so fed up with it all after such a short time. How did his father manage it? How could someone seriously spend his whole life gutting fish, putting them in ice boxes, hauling them to the market and selling them? That couldn't be a fulfilling life. Lando wondered if he was perhaps too spoiled, as his father often claimed. Maybe. He should pull himself together. His mother had worked much harder when she was his age. On the desert cattle ranch in South Varan, she had longed to have an afternoon off at least once a month. Lando had three afternoons off! And he didn't have to work on Aureus Day either. So he really shouldn't make such a fuss. He sighed.

All these thoughts and the inner persuasion were of no use. He had no desire to slave away in the fish hall or on the cable winch and it would stay that way. Of course, no one would be able to persuade him to go out to sea. Hopefully he was done with that. But you never knew with William. He probably hadn't assigned him to any of the fishing boats because some young gill men had come from the south bay and the boats were all well manned.

The only thing that gave Lando joy was his secret medicinal herb project with Ken. They still called it "Nath's Flea" after their teacher Nathan, who had long since moved away. It was the flea that he had put in their heads back then. They wanted to produce medicine for gill people. And now that Ken was studying medicine and had turned the caretaker's apartment at the boarding school into a small witch's kitchen, the breakthrough would probably not be long in coming. Soon they would produce THE groundbreaking ointment that would make him and Ken rich.

Then Lando could finally break away from the Fjordt company and persuade his father to hire Tyron as his successor. He would be much better suited to running a company than Lando anyway. But that was still a long way off, because William was not yet fifty years old and he would certainly run the Fjordt fish trading company for as long as he could still stand and give orders, that was clear. And that also meant that Lando still had several years ahead of him in which he would be a son every day and would get to experience what that meant from William's point of view. It also meant that he would probably be able to sell his new horse Sunny soon, if he only made it to the jungle on Aureus Day anyway. Sunny was not made for boring laps around the paddock. She had to go out, she belonged in the jungle or the steppe. She had probably belonged to a Trohpa. Randolf had lied to him about the mare's origins. But Lando couldn't hold it against the cheeky horse dealer, because in a way he was doubly pleased that Sunny was probably from the Trohpa. Firstly, he thought it was brilliant because he was secretly getting one over on all the Trohpa haters, especially his father, and secondly, she wouldn't be afraid when he rode with her to Slómo to meet Aponi there.

He was now lying on his bed with his arms outstretched. Jimmy had finally dared to speak to Liana, Lando thought. And Jimmy's voice had sounded quite high, excited and not like it usually did. That was probably what it was like when feelings were involved. Did his voice sound strange when he spoke to Aponi? He didn't want to know. He also didn't want to speak slowly or clearly on purpose because she wasn't from here, because that wouldn't make sense. After all, she spoke his language so perfectly, as if she were an East Indies native. How that was possible, he didn't know. Perhaps the Trohpa were naturals when it came to languages. Berrowak had also spoken without an accent. He had even sometimes woven in a few typical Nordic expressions.

It was crazy how quickly Lando had gone "under the Trohpa." Maybe that sounded a little exaggerated. But at least he could get a much better picture of them. And they were definitely not "savages" or "corrupt traders." He didn't know why, but he felt more and more drawn to them and their world. Both the clawed bear Trohpa at the market and Aponi had radiated a strange calm. Lando had been more present in their presence, more alert and more attentive. Not like in the fish hall, where after a certain time the smell, the voices, the rattling radio, the fish in the hands and the movements mutated into a single mushy consistency of a now feeling that was not very noticeable. Then everything receded, everything became a mere backdrop to his thoughts, which either reveled in good childhood memories with Ken on the coast, conversations with Hartwig and of course in every little detail and every gesture of Aponi. She hadn't taken off her headband, she hadn't exposed her third eye. If she even had one.

All the talk about the third eyes was probably nothing but sailor's yarn. The crazy descriptions of the jungle researcher Orkideus Feuereisen were also surely just figments of his imagination. And yet Lando would not be a Fjordt and a descendant of the fantasy-loving gill people of Unlivast if a small part of him did not still firmly believe that there could be some truth in each of these spooky rumors. Just like a Northman in Angus Norwin's time who still believed in demons. But with the difference that Lando did not attribute anything fundamentally bad to the Trohpa. Rather, he believed that they had special abilities, that some of them had a penchant for magic and that they simply saw more than the people of Ostink. The Trohpa could not only perceive animals and sounds in the jungle that a fisherman would probably not see or hear, but they were also obviously given the ability to look inside people. That was what Aponi had done. He had felt naked, completely exposed under her long gaze. And in that moment he had felt that she now knew everything about him.

He would have to find out if she had a third eye. And then? What then? He couldn't be so rude as to ask: "Say, Aponi, do you actually have a third eye in your forehead? Yes? Then show me!" Either he would incur the magical wrath of the Magenas, their clan, or Aponi would laugh uproariously and he would make a fool of himself again. He definitely didn't want that. He had embarrassed himself before. Back then with Anna. Yes, that was "back then". It seemed so long ago to him. But it had only been a year and a few months ago. He, the "stupid fish", had stayed in Ostink, not to "rot" here, but to stay true to himself. That was how he saw it now.

Everyone who had moved to Sîlard had bent over backwards, or would sooner or later, in order to adapt to the metropolis. A different wind blew there. There were laws and rules of conduct that no one in Ostink had ever heard of. Profession, income, clothing and residential area were much more important than here, and that was saying something! How did he know that? From Brandon, of course. Brandon knew all of Rodiwana. And there was no Ostink traveler who had not spoken to Brandon Montiga in the "Aureus", because one look from this apparently always cheerful waiter - or was he not actually the owner of the "Café Aureus"? - was enough to draw out the innermost thoughts of anyone, better than any psychiatrist could have ever done.

The new settlement in the north was already developing into a small Sîlard, Lando thought now. The rich from the metropolis lived there. And he could only count himself lucky that his school days were behind him, because he kept hearing from Brandon that the children of the Sîlardi were becoming more and more arrogant and brazen and that they were trading in moker nuts. This was a new type of moon nuts that was even more addictive and could lead to hallucinations and paranoia. These nouveau riche and drugged people behaved here as if the whole of Pagus belonged to them. Everyone had their own Toschgab, a modern telephone that Lando had also been given as a gift from Paola some time ago.

Ever since Aponi rode into the jungle with Sunny and he thought for a short time that he would have to fend for himself, he always carried both the Toschgab and his old revolver with him when he set out for the Slómo. But now that he thought about it, he wondered if he would ever really call for help with a Toschgab. Who would come and help him? Who would save him if a Jagjaru or a magical Magena stood in front of him? The Ranger Albert? Brandon? ... He certainly wouldn't come, even though he was the best shooter.

Brandon's parents had been killed by two Jagjarus. So if there was danger, Lando would rather use his revolver or defend himself with Aponi. Aponi would probably be an even better weapon. She could fight and hunt. He didn't know that, but he assumed so. It was a bit pathetic for a man to have to rely on a woman's martial arts, but the last time he had met her, he had actually felt safe next to her. He had only brought the revolver and bow and arrow up to the rock because she had asked him to. He hadn't even noticed.

Now the surf could be heard even through the closed window. He could also hear a seagull screeching. The sounds that were so familiar to him formed the background music for the images in his head. He enjoyed lying on his bed with his eyes closed and remembering how Aponi had emerged from the slomo in front of the waterfall. And even if she had put a spell on him, he was now grateful to her for it.

Then he fell asleep. Lando dreamed of his first long dive. The hoverfish hung several meters above him. The tips of its tentacles glowed red. Air bubbles gushed out of its mouth. His fingers reached into the net. In his dream he suddenly knew that he had experienced all of this and yet something was completely different: he was no longer afraid. Lando looked at the net more closely. Now he wanted to tear it apart. He pulled on it with both hands. And then, as if by a miracle, it opened very easily. The hoverfish was so irritated that colorful fireworks sprayed from its tentacles. At that moment Lando recognized countless small, colorful fish. "Spawning time," said a voice behind him. "The Trohpadi are coming." Lando turned around. He looked into the face of a dark-haired mermaid. It was Aponi Magena. And she was smiling.

22.02.2024 by Bente Amlandt, Copyright 2024