A BOOK OF SCROLLS: The Garden Map of Finomal

THE BOOK OF TALES:

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After the great departure, it was, the Lady Hol-math, the wife of Be-ir-dan who reached out to everyone, in gathering them to sit at the same table for an evening meal. In this way, the individuals grew into becoming more of a community. She had learned their food preferences and made the best of their shared delights for them. It proved to elevate everyone’s spirits and encouraged talks about why they even stayed, rather than leave the world Men behind in chaos.

Her meals were made with attention to detail and always delivered with a smile and cheerful conversations that spurred the others to share their minds more freely. For, everyone had witnessed firsthand the many hardships on their all families by either leaving on those parting ships or the horrific effects of the great war. The tall Gnomes had left, leaving only their remnant behind, as even now the gray Dwarves had begun fading from sight, as well as the others of the Fay Realm. Yet, those of us who watched their departures, – we Gnomish Watchers remained ever striving to define our purpose. The evening meals became the beginning of many more, such meaningful new traditions, and this one in part was largely due to the loving care of Lady Holmath.

. . . . .

One day, the middle son of Holmath, Fin-o-mal, by name, was the first of our people to go beyond the gated walls, since those Watchers took up residence in the abandoned seaport of Mithar.

His ventures beyond Mithar involved long walks upon the wide plains. Finomal found it most pleasing, enjoying the outdoors away from the ever-growing, bustle of life in the city. He would often ponder what lay ahead, about all the plans being devised upon all the other layering of complex designs of the new king and his advisors. He grew tired of listening to them all and knew it would be years for them to slowly unfold.

Finomal said to himself, surveying the spaciousness of the quiet land, “MY! It has come to me all at once in a sudden rush. I see a great expansion of things with the coming and going of many people in all directions and this place alone shall become one of relaxation.”
Then, seeing a lone spruce tree, his smile faded with a grave thought, “Yes, it will also be just that, one I perceive which shall bring many together in memorializing the passing of many loved ones as well.” Finomal bent down where he stood and gathered up a handful of dirt in his hand. He let it sift through his fingers, “It shall begin here on this very spot I think.” A small red pebble the size of his smallest fingernail remained. Holding it up and seeing the city of Mithar blurred off in the distance, he smiled, “So my little friend, you will be the centerpiece of everything, indeed!”

Beside him stood the shoulder-high sapling from which he snapped off a single branch. Using it held at arm’s length Finomal drew in the dirt a rough outline, a few feet about himself, He laughed aloud with glee, “It shall be grand indeed.”

Again, not far from where he stood and near the Spruce, was the trickling end of a stream of water, where further up ran a creek, an offshoot from the river called Silver Shine. It would be the source that would feed Finomal’s newfound dream and purpose, his contribution for having stayed behind. As for him, he knew in his heart that of all creatures, Men needed contemplations away from constant warring and strife the most. Upon that thought he returned home to collect his supplies and would begin his ambitious endeavors the following day.

. . . . .

Now, come early the next day Finomal gathered some supplies and food bundled in a pack with him to his earth-sketched area, beside the lone spruce sapling on the wide open plain. After arriving he constructed a block frame, hoeing the soil and mixing water and clay began making bricks. One by one he laid them out the full length of his envisioned site, allowing them to dry beneath the sun. File and rank, row after row, hundreds of them. In-between mixing, he would sift and set aside the various sizes and types and colored stones he came across, its area also grew into great piles.

It was late spring and the time for doing such activity was never better as autumn would be sooner than any thought. The following day he returned, compiled the sun-dried claybricks, and repeated the events all over again. On the third day, he built a kiln, glazed, and baked many of the bricks. Each time he returned Finomal repeated what he did the day before, making, firing, and gathering up his work. On the sixth day, he began tilling the earth where his initial earth sketching was made and there, he began crushing the larger undesired rocks and mixing them into a mortar paste. There, in the tilled space, Finomal laid out rows of bricks, end to end making a wide platform.
The following day, bricks were made, bricks were glazed-fired and compiled, then he began with the first pebble he had kept tucked away in his pocket, “There you are my friend.” Gathering peers from the stockpile of gray and white pebbles Finomal began laying them in a great circle adding mortar as he went. With connecting lines within the circle, he began building upward upon these, strengthening and reinforcing the pebbled walls as he went.
This became his custom and how he filled his days beyond the city walls. Finomal would manifest his own thoughts, while those within the walls of Mithar planned on what to do with the growing number of Men who strived to pour into their city daily.

For, the Watchers had lost all control of the twin seaports, and King Ven-du-mar was determined to regain his power using the most cunning of measures devised. The pagan Men of Lindol took full advantage of its weakened northern gates, even as Bedious from the south clamored at the bolted one daily. The King would use the tent villager's interest in learning from the mysterious Gnomes to their masterful advantage. The world had quickly become a dark place in its post-war gloom, and Finomal began to understand for himself why they remained. He also knew the seclusion of the Watchers, as Keepers of ancient knowledge, they had much to share with the younger races.

On the seventh day, during the evening meal, Lady Lyreah inquired before everyone gathered, “Finomal, it has not gone unnoticed that you have ventured beyond the city walls every day this week, pray, do share with us your findings.”

All eyes were now undeniably directed on him. He smiled back at her, “I am most flattered indeed my lady that you measure my every comings and goings but forgive my absence which has given you pause.” Looking directly at the King, who was seated at the head of the long table, he told Vendumar, “Be assured my lord, my ventures impede nothing of the grand plans nor undermine their unfolding.” He caught his father’s glare, then added, “The people beyond are interested in who we are, as their mythic rumors see something different in person.” Galadir’s look softened as the answer seemed to have encouraged the others about the King to resume their own conversations.

Tirelessly Finomal would return to his personal project upon the ‘wide unexplored plain’ he called Ith-ril-moor, as his attention now turned to crafting a monument – for others to enjoy. He continued adding pebbles to the configuration he began. Building it ever higher, adding to it more detail, until one day it was finished. Standing back to take it all in Finomal smiled at his creation, then stepped closer and inspected the tiny windows and all the furnished chambers within, when suddenly a woman’s voice came startling from behind Finomal, “Most exquisite!”

Caught off guard he spun about, “Lady Lyreah! Gratitude for the compliment. Please do not –.”

“Never, your secret is safe with me.” Leaving a basket of food on a stack of glazed brick, she added, “This is for you, something to eat and drink.” Without touching the pebbled structure, Lyreah began inspecting its details, “The Watchtower of Varlendur! Amazing, looking through its windows I can even see a tiny figure of Vendumar on his raised throne. My you are most talented.” Noticing the platform of bricks, she was standing on, “Are you intending to do the entirety of the city after this fashion? Most impressive.”

He said nothing but returned the smile as he was inspecting her gift, “It is a work in progress, a – gift to the people, call it my small contribution.”

“I believe its completion will be far from small and I foresee it lasting far longer than the other’s – devised plans. That is a compliment.”

He nodded a smiled as she turned back heading for Mithar leaving him to his project. He returned to the making of more bricks to dry, then brushed on more blue glaze for the ones needing to be fired, all the while thinking about his lovely visitor. The following day, while working on the rest of his city planning, a group of boys from the tent village of Slavath approached and began enjoying his model in miniature form. A boy of twelve calling himself Niba asked, “You have done a lot of hard work all by yourself, may we help?”

Finomal had realized he was being watched from afar early on but gave no attention to the onlookers. “Your visits are enough encouragement, gratitude young Niba of Slavath.”

His friend, Sojo chimed in with, “Sir we heard you tell the lady it was a ‘gift’ and we wish to only thank you by helping in any way you would allow sir. Please.”

Finomal inhaled a slow-deep breath, with a stern look on his face peering down range back to where the boys had come. Then back at them with a most serious gaze said, “If I allow you to assist me in this grand endeavor know that the labor will be very hard, and for many days but also know this, upon completion both of your names will be recalled even unto your grandchildren. For what we do now has such lasting consequences, and this thing will be a part of your family history.”

Sojo laughed to himself, “Sir we are too young and don’t have any grandchildren.”

Finomal looked very shocked, “No? No wives either? Well, hum. Of course, you do not. But I should say that one day both of you will, and they will remember your names with great pride.” Smiling at their earnest enthusiasm he started walking away, “Come.” They followed as he led them toward home. Their faces sank. About midway to Slavath Finomal took the claimed discarded stick and began drawing on the ground an etched line. The huge circle was about the size of the entire circumference of the tent village itself. The boys followed in silence even as the Gnome brought his sketch back to his area. “If you still desire to help, you must follow and do everything I instruct without fail, this you must understand fully or do nothing at all.”

Niba and Sojo nodded profusely smiling, “Yes, sir we understand,” they intoned in unison.

“Good. The etched line must be dug out, and the earth tossed beyond over on this side. The depth must be your height, Niba. All the area within the circle must be dug out just as I drew it. The displaced earth must become a mound over there.” Finomal turned to his friend adding, “Sojo, if any others ask to join you, you must echo my words precisely to them and Niba is the one in charge, as it was, he who asked first, do you understand?”

“Yes sir, and if they ask what and why we are doing this?”

“Tell them, ‘It is a gift to the people of Slavath from us.’ Say no more. Now, let us start this great venture together.” With that, Finomal smiled, pointing to two shovels that lay on the ground, he had made and left the day before. With that, the boys began their task.

Finomal smiled to himself knowing their efforts would allow him time to work on his own unfolding plans. Upon returning to his area the mapmaker began redrawing lines in the earth and making several superficial holes with twigs sticking up. Again, he returned to his brickmaking.

. . . . . . . . .

After breakfast the next day he was visited by Baal’yick, one of the King’s advisors. Feeling he must have been followed Finomal called out, “My lord, greetings. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, all is well. We have missed you the last few evenings, again for a third time, and now I see firsthand what you have been up to. Quiet an impressive industrial project you’ve undertaken. A map of the city in miniature I see, and what about all of this – the rest of the world?”

“No lord Advisor –.”

“It was Baal’yick between us, my boy, long before any new titles were bestowed.”

“Yes, godfather. Baal’yick all of this is to be –.”

The old man laughed, “No, don’t tell me let your secret endeavors remain a surprise as long as you wish.” With that, he began to turn away and head back to the city smiling.

Finomal called after him, “Gratitude, Baal’yick. Thank you for the visit. How is Lady Lyreah?” Wondering if she told of his venture.

The Advisor returned, this time with a worried expression, “Forgive me, I thought you were aware.”

It was the architect’s turn to look concerned, “Aware of what?”

The older man pondered, “That she left –.”

“SHE Left?”

“To seek her twin brother.”

Finomal was seriously confused, “Searfym, has left also?”

Baal’yick continued, “Yes, in the middle of the night, both, left days apart and only the briefest of notes.”

“They left notes.” Finomal was indeed unaware so much had occurred.

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