Before Allamar brought his scaled, water-dwelling colossus to the village, the succession of chieftainship had been passed generationally, from father to son, for as long as any living member of the village could recall. The passing of time had been so considerable since the last catch-to-chieftainship, that none of the villagers could specifically remember whose relations had taken the last measurement, nor could any make a reasonable guess regarding which other family had been the prior holder of chieftanship.
When no great catch had occurred, and a chief neared his last days, he would draw his son, and close advisors near to him. He would then give his blessings to his son, and his affirmations to his counsel, that his progeny would take his place upon his expiration.
There had been no ceremony, nor lavish display, as care of the village had been passed from father to son, time after time, generation after generation.
When the sextet bearing the piscus ingens laid the fish upon the wooden slats by the pen, all could see that the succession would no longer be passed behind closed doors, and casually. There was only one appropriate recourse to take for the villagers.
There would be a celebration.
An abundant feast would, of course, be part of the commemoration.
The former chief consulted the logs of succession, and found that, when a large catch had granted a fisherman the new title and position of chief of the village, it was customary for the captured fish to be cooked and prepared as part of the celebratory feast.
The former chief dispatched a coterie of villagers to retrieve the great fish from the pen, but the news of their dispatch travelled quickly through the village, and when it reached Allamar, he leapt from his seat, and raced to intervene.
He caught his fellow villagers as they descended the wooden stairs on their approach to the pen.
“Greetings friends. What is your purpose here?”
”We are on orders from chief Antonin to retrieve the great fish from the pen. It will be cooked and prepared for the celebration.”
”Why does this need to happen? Why kill and eat such a magnificent creature?”
”Antonin consulted the logs, though it has been many years since a colossal catch has made one chief, the preparation of the great fish, and consumption by the village is custom.”
”Antonin gave this order?”
”Yes, Allamar.”
”Has he, in the last day, produced a catch that eclipses the magnitude of the fish you have been sent to retrieve, then prepare, and feast upon?”
”Allamar, you know that this is not the case”
”Then, as current chief, you will give me one day to review these logs.”
”Of course Allamar.”
Allamar dismissed the group, and made his way towards the largest hut in the village.
He banged insistently on the door of the hut, until one of the chief’s attendants jerked the door inwards, causing Allamar’s swing to sail awkwardly in the air, connecting with nothing.
“How may I assist you Allamar?”
“I want to review the logs, and any other documents of succession, or village customs.”
“Please come in. Allow me a moment to consult Antonin.”
Allamar stepped through the doorway cautiously, and paused in the tiny entranceway, backhanding the door closed behind him.
“I shall not be long, please make yourself at ease in the room to your left.”
Allamar moved towards the indicated space, then stepped through the doorway into a moderate area, furnished with a square-shaped table, around which several wooden benches were placed. There were plush, ornate, crimson, cushions atop the benches, embroidered with silver and gold threads. Against the walls of the room were several uncomfortable looking chairs, and in the opposite corner from Allamar, there was a triangular bookshelf housing a scant amount of books, several inkwells, and a few items of indeterminate use. Allamar felt an air of formality in this room, and imagined this was probably a place where mercantile arrangements had been conducted, or where meetings with the chief and his consultants had occurred.
Before he had chosen a seat upon which to place his posterior, Antonin shuffled into the room, his assistant trailing a few paces behind.
Antonin directed a curt query towards him, “I am told you wish to review the village logs Allamar?”
”As the new village chief, I simply wish to be prepared for the responsibilities of my position.”
”Allamar, you will have considerable time to review once I have vacated this space, and you and your family have moved into these lodgings.”
”Assuredly I will, nevertheless, I wish to review them now. It is a small request, will only delay the festivities one day, and will serve to put some of the restless thought in my mind at ease.”
”This is most unorthodox, there is no real precedent for this type of request.”
”Then you have my sincerest appreciation for your assistance in satisfying my wish.”
”Very well. Baptiste, please show Allamar the logs.”
”Of course sir.”
Baptiste made a subtle gesture toward a room beyond Allamar’s field of vision. Allamar moved slowly toward the indicted, yet unseen space. The largest of huts in the village was far from a palatial dwelling, and Baptiste stood, unmoving, at the juncture where Allamar needed to pass. Allamar found himself having to turn sideways to pass Baptiste, after which he followed the invisible trajectory of Baptiste’s recent motion.
“Final door on the right, Allamar, ” said Baptiste as Allamar moved down the short hallway.
Irritated by Baptiste’s unnecessarily uncouth behavior, Allamar turned his head slightly to the left, just enough to catch Baptiste at his periphery, and provided the slighter man a guttural “Mmmm,” while continuing to walk towards the door.
When he reached the room, the door had already been opened for Allamar. He was greeted with a scant space in which no more than eight, standing, men could fit comfortably. In the tiny room, there were two, five foot tall by one foot wide shelves, one to Allamars left, against the wall, and one two his right, also, flat against the wall. Directly before him, slightly beyond the bookshelves, was a fragile looking desk, and an even more delicate looking chair. Atop the desk the gnarled stub of a candle barely peeked above the rim of a cracked bowl.
“Is this everything?” Allamar asked.
“That is everything.”
“I shall be a while.”
“Very good. Please let me know how else I may be of assistance.”
“A light for the candle?”
“The matches are in the bowl.”
“Thank you.”
Allamar closed the door to the small room behind him. Though the rays of sunlight provided some illumination to the tiny library, Allamar lit the candle, to provide a bit more light onto the desk, that he may better peruse the manuscripts.
He started by retrieving a tome from the top of the bookshelf to his left, then placed it upon the desk. Allamar opened it, and scanned through the entire log, cover to cover. Book by book, he began to work his way down the shelves of the village’s tiny repository of knowledge.
Allamar ignored the noisy, intermittent, comings and goings in the hut, and dedicated his entire focus to the books. He failed to notice the fading sunset, pausing only to request a fresh candle, when the wick of that in the bowl dipped into a paraffin pool, thereby extinguishing the flame.
Allamar didn’t notice when the pattering of feet ceased in the hut. He didn’t notice the replacement of the muted orange rays of the sun by obsidian. He paid no attention to the chirping language of the insects of the night. He had no sense of weariness or fatigue, he was completely engrossed with his task.
Allamar didn’t even notice the rapping on the door the hut, until the ferocity of the knocks caused the wall to vibrate in front of the place that he sat. When he became away of the shuddering of the wall, he heard his name.
“Allamar? Allamar are you in there? Allamar?” A concerned, and familiar voice questioned.
Recognizing the vocal intonations of his beloved wife, Allamar excused himself from his readings, and proceeded to the front door of the building.
When he opened it, his wife stood at the door with a look of displeasure upon her face.
“When were you going to let me know that you were here? What are you doing? How long do you intend to stay? Why wouldn’t…….”
Allamar interrupted her concerned barrage. “Zara please. Yes, my choice was inconsiderate, I should have told you what I was doing, and, how long I would be at this task. I was concerned that you would attempt to dissuade, branding my search a substantial waste of time. But I have, what I feel are, legitimate reasons for being here, and I truly did plan to return before midnight. Though it is close to that hour, I still need more time here. Give me until daylight, I implore you. I think this one evenings absence will be more than beneficial for you and I, and Abigail.”
“You have already concerned the village with your unusual request to delay the ceremonies. What are you hoping to gain from these peculiar actions?”
“I’m simply looking for information. I’m searching through the village’s history for details about the succession of new leaders.”
“But why?”
“I already know that you do, but in this moment, I am leaning on your trust, and asking that you just give me until the morning to look over these books.”
Zara furled her brow, cocked her head, and eyed Allamar curiously, “Allamar. What are you about?”
“Please, Zara.”
Zara shrugged her shoulders, then drew herself close to Allamar, and into his embrace, nestling her cheek against his chest, “Very well, I will see you in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
Piercing rays of dawn shot into the tiny white crescents of Allamars eyes that weakly bulged against the fleshy shutters of his eyelids. Once jarred completely awake by this powerful insistence of the sun, Allamar shook his head vigorously from side to side. Allamar then blinked in the dim light of the room, and noted the absence of candle light, and the ivory-white tree trunk that filled the bowl.
Having sat all evening in a most uncomfortable chair, he shuffled in his seat, and thought to rise, to give his tingling legs some activity before continuing his study.
He began to engage the numb muscles in his legs, when he thought of the late night conversation that had occurred with his wife, the highlight of which was his promise to return at dawn.
He halted his rise, then slowly leaned back in his rickety chair, the front legs rising barely half an inch from the floor. He shifted forward, and the front legs of the chair connected with a muted scrape upon the floor. Dejectedly, he shifted his gaze to the open book in front of him, then solemnly, and slowly, Allamar drew a finger down the greying parchment on the right-side page. He could feel the coarseness of the handmade paper even through his pronounced callous as it grated against his fingertip.
Once the traverse of his finger had reached its southern destination at the bottom of the page, Allamar drew both hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes. He pulled his hands back, then forcefully pressed his eyelids closed. When he opened his eyes, a burst of tiny red circles shot across the page. Allamar shook his head again, to dispel the blurry orbs from his vision. He refocused on the book, expecting the crimson dots to disappear, but found that one remained. It hovered on the right side, just at the edge of the page, and seemed to bounce, ever so slightly.
In disbelief that his vision was still uncorrected, Allamar repeated his ocular fist-rubbing motion. Once he completedt his action, Allamar, once again, opened his eyes. Several, red, dots, of various sizes, glinted into his field of vision, then faded; all except for one.
Allamar recognized the persistence of the singular, bobbing, red, dot as a sign, and, decided to follow to where he felt that this sign was pointing. He placed his index finger just below the carmine, pin-point pointer, and turned the page.
Serendipitously clipped from the aging leaf, a tiny flake of parchment launched into the air as Allamar flipped the page. Allamar caught its ascent, then watched as it glided, feather-like, down through its one and a half-foot descent, gently alighting on the left side page.
The tiny fleck, had landed directly between paragraphs in the weathered log.
Allamar read through the paragraphs after the space where the tiny piece of parchment had landed.
After poring through the logs through the entire night, he had finally found the information for which he had searched.