The Chronicles of Merila 1

The Chronicles of Merila

By Dimitrije Ignjatovic
The Chronicles of Merila 2

Preface
I, Dimitrije Ignjatovic, wrote this book as a “light-hearted fantasy novel”. I have, it is no nay,
since learned that writing fantasy is writing from a pagan or heathen perspective—but I have,
since I discovered the Linköping site, decided to emulate paganism while staying a Christian
writer at heart, teaching moral, not immoral, values.
If you have anything against the stranger-in-a-strange-land trope, then you may not call the
book “lower fantasy than Tolkien’s,” for it is not intended to be so. You can find, on closer inspec-
tion, that I deserve to be among the modern, debased Inklings such as Marijke Mahieu, Karen Jean
Baker, Inger Marie Hognestad, or Larry N. Morris.
I will detain you no more, since I write mainly for kids.
The Chronicles of Merila 3

I.
A Stranger Among The Many
Godwin was walking home. He was unnoticeable in the crowd of the huge town, but he stayed
close to the kerb and, so far, he stayed safe. Godwin, a nine-year-old boy, was still recognisable by
those who would know him because of his ash blond hair noticeable from five yards away. He was
wearing summer clothes, his last untorn clothes.
However, Godwin was walking home. He was not far from there—no, not a district away!
When he arrived home, his mother told him a lot of rubbish about living at a better home and
learning not to be such a “no-nonsense sconehead”.
The next day, after Godwin, awakened by a noise, burst out from the bedroom, he found a
lean, tall man in a gentleman’s suit, having breakfast with his mother. “The stage is set,” said the
gentleman.
“Child, come,” said the gentleman. “My name is Marcus Wainscot.”
“Wainscot?” said Godwin in utter wonder.
“What is your name?” said Mr Wainscot. Godwin presented himself.
“Age?” asked Mr Wainscot. “Nine,” replied Godwin.
“Yet you sound so reasonable. I am going to wash your mind from black truth and fill it with
motley fancy.”
Mr Wainscot stayed with Godwin at Godwin’s home and called for Godwin to draw pic-
tures of impossible things, like animals whose names begin with Y in their spelling, like yapok,
yut-yut, yamane and yak—together; and then look at those drawings immediately before he falls
asleep. Godwin was called for to write accounts of impossible things—to no avail. Godwin could
not draw a smidgen of imagination from himself.
“The time has come,” said Mr Wainscot, “when you will rediscover yourself, Godwin.”
It has begun.
The Chronicles of Merila 4

II.
The Manor of Daysborough
At first look, Mr Wainscot appeared to Godwin like a man nearing forty-five, but a closer look
revealed that Mr Wainscot was in his sixties, with dark grey hair, but a nearly unwrinkled, merry
face; with small sacks beneath his eyes, but not limping for an inch.
It was a long climb up the mount. After the train-ride to Daysborough, Godwin felt ready for
anything, but Marcus Wainscot seemed incapable of weariness, as though he was no earthly
wight; after the climb Mr Wainscot asked Godwin how he felt. Godwin was out of breath.
“This is the manor of Daysborough,” Mr Wainscot finally uttered.
Mr Wainscot and Godwin entered the manor of Daysborough. It was a rich and motley place,
where all of pain ended and was superseded by a state of bliss. Godwin wanted to explore, but Mr
Wainscot did summon him to the balcony.
“All this,” said Mr Wainscot, “is mine. Mine, er, and of the children who went here to be cured
of scholarship.”
“That means,” asked Godwin, “it is mine, too?”
“For a period.” Mr Wainscot took a swig from a nearby glass of juice. “Namely, that period is
now, meaning until you get rid of the scholarship bug.”
“You don’t drink wine?” was all Godwin could frame.
“Dear me, no! Never ever mention wine in this manor!”
This accustomed Godwin to the somewhat odd manners in this manor somewhat.
Further speaking to Mr Wainscot taught Godwin many things: among other things, that there
were levels of fancy, thus;
0: Scholarship
1: Proper Childhood
2: Writing
3: Phantasmagoria
4: Skaldism
5: Madness
And so the talk went on until the clock tolled midnight.
*
How quickly the days pass when one is in good conversation and in merry jest! The nine days
of good meals and teaching vanities, merry japes and much tea, have passed like a breeze. On the
tenth day Godwin awoke round noon—quite unusual for him—and promptly after breakfast he
began exploring the manor. There was a corridor with big, wooden crates in fields. Godwin
amused himself by imagining an engineer push them into place.
Godwin did it! His imagination is launched! There was a cutaway depiction of a house in one of
the murals. And finally he found a wardrobe which no one had ever explored, and on which was
glued a note of, “HC SVNT DRACONES”. He opened the wardrobe and was sucked into a place far
wilder than anyone would imagine.
The Chronicles of Merila 5

III.
A Neverland of Alluring Options
Children’s dreams are, in one word, strange. Children can dream of the most morbid things, not
getting scared a bit. For example, they could dream of doing the worst sins in their religion as if
‘twere done by them, not thinking of sin the least bit in reality. They could dream of dragons,
knights and magic, or of pony-riding; some, whose imagination is more scholarly, would not ven-
ture that far; they would go to dream of not only enacting plays but also of the Valkyries in all their
glory riding through the evil sky of the Ragnarok. Some would dream of action movie re-
enactments, and others would dream of merry anthropomorphic animals and Bee Fly Ptarmigan.
Some dream of medieval dungeons, while others dream of art deco skyscrapers.
However, there is one uniting thing among all those fantasies by full ready Phantastes-to-be:
the better one—a longing for a better world; and the worst one—scaping into fantasy.
Of course, fantasy is not all evil if you would accept the concept of the lucid dream as the con-
cept of going a-travelling, and, finally, scaping to a better world: but fancy, myth, fantasy and
dream—all of them have equal lures for to be acted out in reality, and seriously harming the soul of
the enactor.
Yet no matter how much these fantastical universes differ from each other, they are but one
neverland of alluring possibilities and options, but unique for every child. And between this and
reality lies a chess board over which sleeping children are taken across by a jester guide, who for a
reason says when he comes to guide a child,
“I Jester am come here to guide thee where thou’lt play,
Me many would disdain, but I would help to-day.”
The Chronicles of Merila 6

IV.
A Land, Unlike Any Other
Merila was a land unlike any other. Godwin appeared in a clearing with odd trees with narrow
leaves, and tall, green grass. Following a country road led him to a place where the grass was
shorter, and from whence Godwin could see a village nearby.
Godwin daringly approached the village. The peasants scuttled around, and he went further in.
The village consisted of adobe huts whose roofs were made of hay. The people of the village
wore mainly medieval European clothing. Godwin caught several phrases of the peasants’ speech.
He could understand all they said. And he was sure he has travelled to a distance not even he could
trace!
Uncomfortably, he approached a peasant and asked where he is.
“Why you’re an odd fellow. You are in the village of Valkeala, in the province of Sotanmaa.”
“Sot ... ?” Godwin was not quite handy with geography. “I don’t know. What is your name?”
Godwin finally said.
“Ahti,” replied the peasant. It kind of amused Godwin to hear those names. “Yours?” Ahti re-
plied.
Godwin presented himself, but Ahti smiled, “I’ve never before seen or heard of one calling him-
self ... Godwin.” Ahti just barely withheld his laughter.
“As a traveller, you must be hungry.” “No really—“ “—I have a tabard where you can—“ “—I am
well fed. Got it?”
“As you wish ... Godwin,” said Ahti, turning back, “but truly, I have an errand for you. I have a
hare. He is, however, no ordinary hare. He is a Jänis hare. A talking hare. Now he wants a thyme
from me.”
“A thyme?”
“Ay. He wants to eat some thyme. He is sick of all the mint our grass grows here. Maybe you
can go to the opposite outskirts of the town.”
“Thanks for wise advice. I’ll waste no more time.”
Godwin went away through the village and got many a strange look. A woman, who was carry-
ing a wooden cauldron, did look at Godwin and cried, “Who let this tosspot into our village?” She
turned back, muttering to herself, “A sachet of ground parsley, four marks and seventy-three pence,
what a rip-off ... “
It took Godwin a good hour to walk to the opposite outskirts. Godwin found the grass a little
smaller there than it was where he entered. He found a dark green plant with a pink flower, and
took four of its leaves.
“This plant will do,” thought Godwin.
The Chronicles of Merila 7

V.
The Hare and the Ogre
After taking the plant, the return towards the place of his entrance to the village seemed to
Godwin a breeze. Godwin found Ahti and they entered Ahti’s house.
The Jänis hare waited for them. “So where’s my thyme?” said Jänis.
Godwin gave Ahti the leaves and Ahti gave them to the Jänis hare. The Jänis hare smelt them
and coughed. “Mint!”
“Is it all right?” asked Godwin.
The Jänis hare jumped to the floor and left the house through the door left ajar.
“Now we’re screwed,” said Ahti.
Ahti took Godwin out of his house. Outside, the sky was red and a huge ogre was advancing
towards Valkeala.
The ogre had only one eye at the middle of his head, and he was thirty feet tall. At the thump of
his foot the ground did shake, and people did panic at the sight of him. A woman called for some-
one, anyone, to defeat the ogre.
Godwin hesitated nary a second, but climbed up the back of the ogre’s leg. At one point he
hung from the ogre’s back, but at once he held up to the ogre’s shoulder. It was a shending and
mazing view from twenty-seven feet above the ground, on the ogre’s shoulder. Godwin waited.
Then, when the ogre ran forestward, Godwin punched the ogre’s eye. Godwin descended as the
ogre fell and bashed into a nearby tree. The sky went to its normal colour, and people gathered.
Godwin was unwounded.
Everything was quiet for a moment. Even the wind seemed to have calmed. A knight came in.
He said he was a sentinel between Valkeala and Pitkälä, and that he would like to take Godwin to
the palace.
At first Godwin was shocked, but he responded, “To see the King? But the King has not even
the slightest idea that I’m intruding on his province!”
“Nay,” said the sentinel, “I want to take you to him because of your courage. He will be more
than glad to see you once you tell him your account!”
The Chronicles of Merila 8

VI.
Make Way, Make Way
The majestic palace loomed from half a mile as the sentinel trumpeted while leading Godwin
towards it.
“Make way, make way!” cried the sentinel. “Make way for the hero!” The sentinel trumpeted
again before they entered a clearing that led to the mount the palace was on.
After they passed the clearing, they climbed a steep climb and the sentinel cried the watch-
word, “Foxes in henhouse!” out to the doorman. The door did open.
Another sentinel asked, “Wäinö, who is this intruder?”
Wäinö, the sentinel who was leading Godwin, said, “He is friend to the kingdom. He just de-
feated a thirty-foot ogre.”
“A wh—! He what! This is a news for the King!”
The sentinel, dumbfounded, let Wäinö and Godwin pass through.
Wäinö led Godwin through the entrance hall and, after permission from another sentinel, up-
stairs. Godwin could see lords and ladies pass by him, and there was another sentinel Waino and
Godwin passed; he was guarding another staircase.
This staircase was long, dirty and curved so as to form an arc of half a circle. Beyond the hand-
rails and wooden pillars, a chamber was visible, dark, dank and full of doors and stairs leading
down—this must have been the dungeon. However, the next floor landing was a mere sentinels’
room and its staircase up was unguarded.
However, the staircase from the sentinels’ room formed the other part of the circle, and beyond
its handrails and wooden pillars was a well-lit dressing-room. Finally Wäinö and Godwin arrived
at the fifth floor, in front of the king.
“His Majesty Kimmo the Eighth is a-waiting for you.”
The Chronicles of Merila 9

VII.
A True Friend of the Kingdom
Godwin was led in front of His Majesty Kimmo VIII; and Wäinö told Godwin, “Now will you
tell His Majesty how you slew the ogre?”
Godwin said, “Believe me, Your Majesty—I did it by accident. I only tried to lead him away by
closing his eye. I did not know his weak point was in his eye; nor could I imagine that his eye could
splatter so easily.”
The King stood in surprise. “Not that I would like to act like my ancestor Kimmo IV the
Twisted; but I dare not award heroes who have committed only one heroic deed; Thus, you will be
taken as a spy-thief, to steal the Sampo of Surullinenmaa, a mill of infinite riches. Surullinenmaa is
a land of cruelty and no internal money-exchange, where peasants are treated unjustly.”
“Worse than that,” said Wäinö. “When we went to our last war with them, we barely won, and
yet gained not an inch on our territory. They are a remorseless and ruthless empire without feelings
or emotions!”
“I suppose that it is their Sampo that corrupts them. So, when you take the mill, grind not from
it, but go to the lake of Surullinenmaa, and throw the Sampo into the water; the bottom of the lake
is the only place where the Sampo would be safe.”
“By Ukko and Akka,” said Wäinö, “many lives are in trouble, and it is up to you to save
them.”
“But I don’t know where in the world Surullinenmaa is!”
“You will be led to it, like every younger spy.”
“And, of course, well equipped, like every thief.”
“There is thief nature in you, kid.”
This was said and Wäinö took Godwin away.
The Chronicles of Merila 10

VIII.
Surullinenmaa
Throughout the ride through the peaceful land of Rauhala, Godwin saw sights of a true utopia
from the haystack. He, Wäinö and another sentinel named Kullervo were disguised as “local yo-
kels”, and Wäinö was driving the ox-pulled wagon. It was near midnight. “Hey Kullervo,” whis-
pered Godwin, where are we?”
“Near da soudern Surullinenmaa, ay?” said Kullervo, probably disguising his voice into a local
accent. “Iss a land o’ pure antwackies, dem: darrafact, Wäinö?”
“Hay? Ay.”
“Why are you talking like this?” whispered Godwin, nearly chidingly.
“Because,” whispered Kullervo, his eyes wide open, “we don’t want to get spotted.”
They went through the road behind a border guard between Rauhala and Surullinenmaa, and
weren’t noticed by the border guard. Several hundreds of yards past, where they could not be heard
by the border guard, Kullervo told Godwin, “Familiarise yourself with your equipment.” Godwin
looked in his bundle. A hammer, in case there are glass windows, a diamond knife, and a map of
Surullinenmaa so he doesn’t get lost. “Good,” Godwin said and jumped out of the wagon and tried
his best to con the map. He took the knife from the bundle-on-a-stick and put the map back in.
Godwin slashed through the barbed iron wire with his knife and passed through dense shrubs,
ending up with many an eager bruise.
Godwin seemed burdened. “What have I gotten myself into?” he thought as he sneaked behind
the homes where everybody slept with a dreamless sleep. Godwin felt uneasy as he spurred himself
to speed up to the castle. Near the castle was the moonlit Lake of Surullinenmaa.
He espied a glass window on the castle. It belonged to a dungeon. Godwin took out his ham-
mer, swung the hammer at the window-glass and crash! The window went to smithereens, and
Godwin entered, wounding his right arm on the glass.
The dungeons were dark and Godwin could barely see. He wondered how in the world would
his Majesty, being an enlightened and wise person, expect him to do such a task.
There were no sentinels in this dungeon. There were only skeletons of peasants who did not
pay the tithe and courtiers who betrayed Surullinenmaa. One skeleton had a glass in its hand. The
glass was broken in half.
Godwin passed through a staircase on the rock floor, that led down. That room had a sentinel
in it, but the sentinel was sound asleep. Near the sentinel was a case in which there was a mill that
looked much like a coffee-mill; it had three branches, each ending in a handle. Godwin so wanted
to grind from the mill, but he remembered, “Do not grind from it, lest it enchant you.”
Godwin took the mill and sneaked away, up the stairs and out of the dungeon. After that, the
rest seemed a breeze. He threw the mill into the lake, and went back to the cut-out portion of the
barbed wire where Wäinö and Kullervo awaited him. Kullervo said nothing. He just pricked the
two oxen like mad. Godwin soon fell asleep in the haystack.
The Chronicles of Merila 11

IX.
To The Fanehold
“Arise, arise!” cried Waino.
“What! I’m awake!” Godwin jumped out from the haystack, and slowly got onto the ground, on
his feet.
“You are back in Sotanmaa, though of your safety, I can not guarantee. We will make a deal
with the King.”
They rode the wagon further on, unto the castle.
Waino and Kullervo led Godwin through the castle. His Majesty Kimmo VIII awaited them.
“How did it go?” said the King.
“I threw the mill into the lake,” said Godwin.
Waino protested, “Er, will Godwin be safe with his reward? I mean, would the people of Surul-
linenmaa want to catch Godwin?”
“I have a foolproof plan. I will send him to an Elven fanehold. They seem to consider the Sampo
cursed.”
“Er, Elven?” Godwin wondered, all in angst. The Janis hare, the ogre and the Sampo were also
weird, but they—somehow—passed off without scrutiny from Godwin.
“Ay, Elven.” All Godwin could think of is, “Hotchpotch!” His Majesty Kimmo VIII made a dra-
matic pause.
“Henkila is the nearest Elven fanehold. It is the home of the Elves of Henkila. They do not usu-
ally accept humans in their fanes, but I guess—I am not really into those elaborate customs of
theirs—they do accept heroes of any race.”
Waino and Kullervo went away, and Godwin went after them.
The Chronicles of Merila 12

X.
Names and Purpose
Henkila was said to lie far away from either Surullinenmaa or Sotanmaa. It wasn’t bordering
with either of them, and since those lands were mainly as small as rather big cities, their towns,
cities, villages or hamlets consisting of a maximum of fifty houses or so—and Henkila was not that
far away—it seemed that Wäinö, Kullervo and Godwin reached Henkila in—at most—five days of
riding in a horse-pulled wagon.
They saw the fanehold ahead and Wäinö, who was pricking the two horses that pulled the
wagon, pricked them faster, and they soon arrived at the fane.
The fane was a strange kind of palace. When they tried to enter, an Elven porter in a white robe
blocked their way, “Names and purpose!” Godwin was dumbstruck when he saw the porter’s leaf-
like ears, unwrinkled face, yellow eyes and white hair.
“I am Wäinö, this is Kullervo, and this is Godwin, a hero from Sotanmaa. We want to protect
him by keeping him in the fane.”
“Sister Hafridis will be more than glad to help you.”
The porter stepped into the guides’ room, and said, “Brother Olaf! There are two gentlemen and
a boy, all three of Human race, they say the boy’s a hero—“
“Forsooth? What is the boy’s name?” said the voice from the room.
“Godwin.”
“Well, that is one name I’ve never heard before.”
A well-fed elf in a white robe appeared. The elf was Father Olaf. “An—you say,” says he, “a hero,
he is? And his name is, er, Godwin? Godwin, you may call me Father Olaf. I am going to lead you to
Sister Hafridis, but you should call her Mother Hafridis. I have never seen nor heard of such a
young hero!”
Soon, when Godwin’s and Wäinö’s account was told, Godwin and Father Olaf arrived on the
upper floor. This floor-landing, like the ground floor, had an immensely tall ceiling. Mother
Hafridis was engrossed in writing into a chronicle. She measured out her last verse she wrote with
her quill, repeating it to herself to check the scansion and rhyme. A perfect alexandrine couplet.
“Welcome,” she noticed Godwin and Father Olaf.
“This boy is a hero. A sentinel told me this boy defeated an ogre with his bare hands and threw
the Sampo of Düsterland.”
“That is nothing short of amazing, macushla. We will have a rede on the balcony.”
The Chronicles of Merila 13

XI.
The Tale of Mother Hafridis
The balcony had on its walls many crawling roses, and consisted of two wings. The first had a
rede of scholars from other schools of thought. Godwin stopped to listen to them.
“—credo, pumilio, as much as the grass is green!”
“We agreed. No slanders. It is immoral to tackle the credo from the Hiisi’s point of view.”
“’It is over, Länsilä is deep beneath the sea!’”
“Your proverbs tackle me from such a—“
Mother Hafridis called Godwin to the second wing. The second wing was empty save for a ta-
ble with five chairs—four of them blue, one red—round it. On the table were a crystal ball; and a
fifteen-stringed musical instrument that looked like a harp, obviously one played horizontally,
with a bottom cover.
“I will tell, macushla. Just sit in a blue chair and I will play a spell on my kantele, to bring you
to attention.”
She took the harp-like musical instrument, and played a tune in pentachord on it. Then, con-
tinuing the tune, she sang a melodious song, to old words,
“Master of renowmèd glory, Singer of old kannel-legends:
Bring the merry rede to listen; Thou, the Singer, bring to hearken,
Use Thy power, us to gather, us to gather, or assemble,
Into singing, into glory, into noble inner wantings.”
Godwin did not know what to say. It seemed that his mind and that of Mother Hafridis are one,
connected. It seemed that Godwin could not carry his mind away from what Mother Hafridis was
instilling in him.
“What is your name, macushla?” said Mother Hafridis.
“Er, Godwin,” Godwin stammered.
“Godwin,” said Mother Hafridis. “A fine name, although I am sure I have never heard it before.
“There is crisis in Meerland. Once upon a time—in the time which not even I truly remember,
but in the time writ about fully in our books and so immortalised—the people of Meerland were in
free, direct contact with the gods, and they truly could do magic nearly unlimited; with their Spell
of Myth the people could create whole worlds; and they needed not sow, for gods Tapio, Mielikki
and Tellervo could be summoned to bring up plants in an instant.
“And soon there was a rede of young minds who were elected to rule Geistland, who decided
that rulers should have a wisdom check with a questionnaire; and they cancelled the etymology
that linked the word ‘wise’ with the word ‘wizened’. They cleared ideological informality from
Meerland, and drove their magic force into a groundbreaking attempt.
“The gods devised a distraction, later to be called the Great Fire of Langeland, to make for a di-
vine punishment called the Chichevache, a giant, always thin, cow that feeds only on our castles,
palaces and towers. When they sent Chichevache out, we destroyed her, and they sent a wave to
sink Abendland ... or as you call it, Länsilä.
“And as Abendland is lost forever, so is direct contact with the divine. An horrid limit was im-
posed upon our magic. The link between ‘wise’ and ‘wizened’ is restored, but the wisdom check
vanished not. Gone is our ability to divine in full truth, and we are forced to labour hard.
The Chronicles of Merila 14

“We are left a proverb to remind us of that, and it is still, ‘It is over, Abendland is deep beneath
the sea!’ Many of us, however, do not even know its true meaning.”
At that moment, Godwin was released.
The Chronicles of Merila 15

XII.
One Can Never Escape Fate
Godwin absorbed all that was said. Somehow, this kannel-legend told him the whole history of
Merila in short, and so vividly that flashes of the sinking of Lansila passed through Godwin’s mind.
“The crystal ball,” said Mother Hafridis, “is a dangerous tool. It tells in all three cardinal ac-
count-telling tenses. It tells things happening now, things of olden, and things that have not yet
come to pass. Each of its tales is the bane of one who takes them literally.”
“Why?” said Godwin.
“The spirits that come can be either good or evil.”
She paused, put her arms on the ball and incantated,
“Any Spirit patriotic, tell us what is next to happen:
All opposing Spirits counter; try Thy best to get Thee forward.”
The crystal ball did glow an eerie, bright cyan, saying in a voice, “Mistress.”. A palace was
shown in it. Soon, a horrid dragon comes and breathes fire at it. “The final Hiisi attacks the palace,”
said the crystal ball in a voice more emotionless than even that of Mother Hafridis. The monster in
the ball roared so loud that the ball shook. The ball spoke again, saying, “The final Hiisi drops an
ague on Merila.” It went black and said, “And Merila dies.”
“One can never escape fate,” said Mother Hafridis. “It may seem like our will at first, but it
never is. A Scholar named Ilmari the Guild-founder, who founded the first Blacksmiths’ Guild, il-
lustrated that in an example: ‘Mass murderers not knowing why they committed all those mur-
ders.’ Fate is an odd, eccentric Determination. It is she picks the person’s Alignment out of nine.”
“Alignment?”
She recited these verses in scansion, probably a conning reminder,
“Nine alignments, nine of golden: the Crusader, Keeper, Corsair;
the Citizen, Stinter, Starver; Doomsayer, Dire Thief, Destroyer—
Same and different, fate-directed, each of them has equal sizing,
each of them has different purpose; hearken to their lives intended:
The Crusader, Keeper, Corsair, sympathize but each is different—
The Crusader stops at nothing Good t’ enforce, for cost not caring,
But the Keeper is odd person, somewhere twixt Crusader, Corsair,
And the Corsair recks for nothing law-related, nor the races.
The Citizen, Stinter, Starver, feelings have but each is different—
The Citizen stops at nothing law to keep, for cost not caring,
But the Stinter is the middle ‘twixt Crusader and Destroyer,
And the Starver recks for nothing law-related, nor the races.
Doomsayer, Dire Thief, Destroyer, feelingless but each is different—
The Doomsayer wants to keep law on his person with much daring,
But the Dire Thief is betwixt the Doomsayer and eale Destroyer,
And Destroyer recks for nothing and is true anarchic Evil.
Their intended stories sometime match and sometime live their own ways.”
The Chronicles of Merila 16

XIII.
The Death of Merila
“Simply put,” said Mother Hafridis, “the ball told us that Merila, or Meerland—that is, this
world—is going to die. This time I believe, according to ancient sources, that the prophecy is safe
and that the ball is telling the truth.”
“The death of Merila?” Godwin asked. With a twinge in his right arm, Godwin remembered his
wound he had forgotten about before.
“Ay,” said Mother Hafridis. “And there is one person that can save us.”
“Who is it?” asked Godwin. The ball filled itself with mist and Godwin saw his own face in it.
“It is I,” said the face of Godwin from the ball, and vanished.
“It is ... me?” asked Godwin.
“The prophecies never fail inadvertently, except if a clash between worlds occurs. And, accord-
ing to the clash between the two prophecies, it has.
Mother Hafridis got up, with Godwin explaining how he is from another world. “Figures,” was
all she said. She led Godwin to the other wing of the balcony, where a heated debate had begun.
“It is true, there is a round blur in the Alignments, credo, pumilio, as much as the grass is green!”
“I tell it you with your credo and your pumilio and your green grass!”
“Will you two just—“
Mother Hafridis silenced the three with a husht gesture.
“You may be wondering, why the Presence of Fate was giving us contradictory—and muchel
self-gainsaying—oracles lately. The cause, forsooth, is an intruder from another world, and it is this
very boy you see next to me. I have been wondering why I sensed no Alignment in him—
apparently his world has no pre-set fate-stream. He calls himself Godwin.”
“Godwin? I haven’t heard of any Godwins before!” said the elf.
“Ah hah ha hah ah hah ha!” said the man with his credo pumilio.
“Or hor, Godwin: ar har!” said the so-called dwarf.
The Chronicles of Merila 17

XIV.
Setting Off to Kill the Hiisi
“Sister Hafridis? You are saying that a child can kill a Hiisi of a ten thousand pounds and stay
unharmed?”
“Ay. He is the only living person we can entrust with the magical sword of Ilmari. The true
problems are, how will the sword itself accept an intruder from another world?”
“I have the sword, Votaress,” said the man with his credo pumilio, and pulled the previously
unnoticed sword out of a case in the corner. On the case was the inscription, “TAKE THIS
SWORD ONLY IN UTTER NEED!” On the sword, however, were nine signs that merely looked
like glyphs of some sort. Mother Hafridis took the sword and recited monotonously,
“Godwin, our Saviour, accept thou this Sword to receive and take thou on thee thy duty, to serve Meerland truly,
until it be time for thee to die. Say, I accept, or I deny.”
“I accept,” said Godwin.
“Godwin, our Saviour, accept thou not to give this Sword to anyone until thy task and full errand is accomplished.
Say, I accept, or I deny.”
“I accept,” said Godwin.
“Godwin, our Saviour, accept thou to use this Sword for Good, never for Evil, as have accepted thy predecessors.
Say, I accept, or I deny.”
“I accept,” said Godwin.
“Godwin, our Saviour, the Sword is thine.”
Godwin held up the sword. He knew it was heavy, but in his hand it felt as light as a feather.
The sword imbued Godwin with a kind of friendly courage as he held it, and the sword emitted a
bright, eerie magenta light; it also emitted a tone that sounded less to a rumbling, than an organ’s
note. The sword did seem to prompt Godwin, in this very note, to be tested. Godwin stepped into
a vacant area of the balcony and swished several times with the sword.
“Sigurd,” the man with his credo pumilio told the elf, “methinks the Sword has chosen Godwin
as master successfully for a clash between two worlds.”
“And successfully for one without an alignment,” said Sigurd.
“Godwin,” said Mother Hafridis, “you will be deployed to Hiisila, the cave where Hiisi resides.”
The Chronicles of Merila 18

XV.
The Final Strife Begins
Exiting the fane, Mother Hafridis gave Godwin fifty marks as a first award for his heroic deeds.
A horse-pulled wagon, driven by an Elf, awaited Godwin and Mother Hafridis at the temple’s
door.
“This is the saviour. Hiisila is your destination,” said Mother Hafridis. “But stop at Kaivola,” she
added.
“And,” said Godwin, looking at the scab on his right arm he’d acquired by touching a smashed
castle window from Surullinenmaa, “go somewhere I could get medical herbs.”
“First we’ll go to Geschmacksland, the land of many spices,” said the elf driving the wagon.
“Both Geschmacksland and Kaivola are in the Pitkälä federation, ay?”
“Ay,” said Mother Hafridis.
Godwin, who was already in a seat, said naught but, “Go ahead.”
Either Godwin had slept all over his ride to Surullinenmaa, or the elven driver was pricking
really fast. Perchance Geschmacksland was far away. And he could have sworn he had heard of the
Pitkälä federation back in the village of Valkeala. How come? Did the Pitkälä federation have a ter-
ritory really that long?
Soon they stayed in a town on a promontory from which the palace of Surullinenmaa was easily
visible. Godwin thought he saw an army procession, an army general walking through the ranks of
his troops that stood at attention. From this distance they looked to Godwin as small as ants; their
soldiers looked as if they scuttled like ants, too.
The Chronicles of Merila 19

XVI.
The Bard
Godwin saw an inn along the highway and decided that he and the driver, who told Godwin he
was named Pasi, to stop at the inn.
The inn was horribly neglected, smelling of beer. Many bards who were staying there—it was a
hostelry—were fordrunk and sang raucously.
The night passed more in carousing than in eating—especially when they found one bard who
was ready to sing a song, for he had his kantele at hand. Godwin asked the bard to sing a song. The
bard did sing an old conning-song, to these words,
“Master’d by an urge ignited, wish for words of wit and wisdom,
I do speak to call on spirits, I do call ancestral guidance,
I am ready now for singing, ready to begin the chanting
Of our world’s transmitted stories, for to keep our kannel-legends:
Words of ancient wit and wisdom, hasten from me not unwilling.
Four professions, four of classes, four in cardinal directions;
And another, fifth profession, these divide our world’s religion:
First profession, very mossy, is the Thief Bard, Rogue or Minstrel;
Stealeth often, loveth singing, raucous laugher, gambler, drinker—
And the Second, morrow’s heading, is the Scholar with his thinking;
Thinker eager, looks at crystal, satirises wise and wizen’d—
Third profession, moss avoids it, is the Warrior or the Fighter;
He protects, defends his kingdom, sometimes ‘tis for altruism—
Fourth and last one, which keeps sunset, is the Mage who does his magic;
He cons magic, sorcery, crystals, and depends much on alignment—
And the Fifth one, golden middle, is the Worker of diverse trades;
He works hard in any trade-work, least affected by alignment.
In these five Ways Merila does grow and work and function worldly.”
Godwin and Pasi applauded, and returned to the wagon. They slept the night in it, and Pasi
pricked the horses before Godwin awoke.
The Chronicles of Merila 20

XVII.
The Jänis Hare
Godwin awoke when the wagon halted, the horses neighing and rearing. “What’s happening?”
asked Godwin.
“An hare, that’s what it is,” replied Pasi, “he’s blocking the road!”
A familiar nasal voice asked, “Hey! What ch’ you doin’?” Godwin could swear he has heard it
once, and he opened his eyes.
Godwin’s sight was blurry at first, but within a few seconds he could see, clearly, a hare on the
road. He was grey, and he was sitting in the dirt awaiting an answer. “What!” says the hare, “Ha-
ven’t seen a Jänis hare before? I have seen you a-meddlin’ with dat Ahti, ‘e’s such a biff about herbs,
‘e can’t distinguish mint from thyme, ‘e?”
“Ahti?” Godwin was astonished. Gone was his wondering as to the identity of the hare. It was
Ahti’s Jänis hare.
But something was different now. Godwin sympathized with the hare insomuch that he de-
sired to apologise.
Godwin jumped down from the wagon and said, “In the name of both Ahti and myself, I apolo-
gise to you for our true ignorance about herbs.” Godwin shook the hare’s paw. “Granted,” said the
Jänis hare and went off into the woods.
“Odd things, those Janis hares,” said Pasi; “they verily get nasty at our ignorance about herbs.
They love herbs more than anyone; however, it is very good to have a Janis hare at hand when you
need to have someone distinguish between mint and thyme.”
“Er—“ Godwin wanted to say something, but then decided to mind his own business. Pasi
pricked the horses as if he were mad, and soon the land of Geschmacksland did loom in the dis-
tance.
The Chronicles of Merila 21

XVIII.
The Magic Plantain
The sorcerer of Geschmacksland gave Godwin a magical plantain that Godwin rubbed onto his
wounded arm and his scab healed instantly—all for a mark. Godwin devised a guileful plan. He
bought all the plants from him—well, all he could buy for twenty-four marks. He had spent
twenty-five marks and decided to stay with the sorcerer to learn about these plants.
The sorcerer gave Godwin a conning-script. It was writ magically, in a black script, complete
with images, like a catalogue,
1. Hemlock
The Hemlock is a parlous magickal Plant. It causeth Mad-
ness, and is oft yclept the Insane-root. It is parlous unto Lu-
nacy and, in worse cases, Death; and it may be the bane of its
drinker. DO NOT CONFUSE WITH PARSLEY OR FENNEL.
2. Black Pepper
The Black Pepper is the most expensive Spice-plant in the
World; it is the most expensive for its Peppercorns, the
which have an extremely hot taste. When ground it could be
put into food. A good fodder for Dragons’ fires.
3. Thyme
The main food for Jänis hares, and also a good spice. Usually
indistinguishable from Mint except by Jänis hares. Wards off
magic from eale Dragons’ presence, much like Mint. Distin-
guishable from Mint by way of branching.
and so on. Godwin was mazed and shent. He has devised an excellent plan he could use to kill
the Final Hiisi. These herbs Godwin has collected are only going to help him defeat the Hiisi.
Godwin left the sorcerer’s store.
“Let’s go,” Godwin told Pasi and mounted the wagon, taking his sachets and his twenty-five
marks with him. Godwin soon saw the waterfalls and springs of Kaivola.
The Chronicles of Merila 22

XIX.
The Point of No Return
When Godwin saw the springs of Kaivola, he shook his fist in joy. He will finally be awarded
for helping Merila.
One catch to this, is to deceive and kill the dragon, like he deceived and killed the ogre. How-
ever, the greatest trick in the catch, is a way, that was thought, in all worlds, to be non-existent,
that one can transcend spontaneity and do intentionally what they would be able to do by accident.
Godwin asked Pasi to stop the wagon. Pasi stopped it.
Godwin went to another sorcerer to buy the herb-preparation tools he had forgotten to ask for
from the previous one. They cost Godwin twenty-five marks. He had no money left. He came with
them on the wagon.
The blade of Ilmari, calm so far, suddenly emitted an intense cyan glow and a high-pitched or-
gan note. Danger was ahead.
But Godwin stopped not. He examined his toolbox. A blunt penknife, a small mortar-and-
pestle set, corked Erlenmeyer flasks of solving liquids, test tubes, a corked flask of water, corks and
drainpipes.
They passed the springs and came by a cave out of which smoke as black as night was coming.
“This is Hiisila,” said Pasi in a hushed voice, “take off the cargo and I will leave you.”
“Right,” said Godwin and took all the herb sachets, the toolkit, and the magical blade of Ilmari,
off the wagon. Pasi took the wagon away.
This is a point of no return for Godwin. He ate some thyme from the thyme sachet, took a deep
breath, entered the cave and faced what was inside. A horrid dragon, the Hiisi, was lying on a
malachite stone, breathing choking black smoke.
The Chronicles of Merila 23

XX.
The Deception
The thyme did protect Godwin pretty well. The Hiisi awoke and said, “I am the foolproof
Hiisi.”
“And I am,” said Godwin in a well-imitated shaky voice, “a trader in herbs.”
“So, the world of Merila has finally decided to bow to me. Let me try some of your herbs or
what you call them.”
Godwin gave Hiisi some pepper, and stood aside as Hiisi spouted out a jet of fire. Godwin gave
Hiisi more and more pepper, and Hiisi spouted more and more fire.
The Hiisi seemed nearly at full power, and Godwin gave him hemlock. The Hiisi now seemed
frail, and he flapped his wings in sorrowful pain.
It was then that Godwin noticed an off-coloured spine on the Hiisi’s back. The dragon was a
greenish grey, but the spine was a bluish green.
A perfect plan shone into Godwin’s mind.
“Merila ... must ... die!” The Hiisi flew up. Godwin mounted the Hiisi, taking the blade of Ilmari.
Hiisi’s tail mauled and was trying to get Godwin off it.
Godwin was soon hanging seven hundred and ninety feet above Merila. He could see all of the
villages and all the lands. Now even Surullinenmaa looked no smaller than an ant. The skies dark-
ened.
Godwin was vainly attempting to climb up the dragon.
The Chronicles of Merila 24

XXI.
I Am The Game
Godwin somehow made it. He climbed up Hiisi. Now Godwin was at the off-coloured spine.
The sword of Ilmari did glow a bright yellow, emitting a rumbling organ note.
The dragon mauled still. The organ note of the sword of Ilmari did increase in pitch. Godwin
held on firmly.
Finally, Godwin got a firm hold of Hiisi and cut Hiisi’s off-coloured spine. At the place of the
cut-off, the dragon’s white nerves were visible. The Hiisi was falling.
Soon it landed, not harming Godwin. It landed on a badland, far away from any population. In
the distance there was a canyon.
The dragon was dying. He coughed blood.
Godwin’s task was done at last. He is going to be rewarded for his noble errands. He wondered
if other communities were so cruel towards heroes. The blade of Ilmari stopped glowing.
The dragon breathed fire for one last time, and spoke, saying, “Foolish hero. At least I would
not have the stupidity to call you a hero. You may think you have won. In fact, it is I have won. You
may think you have finished the game. In fact, I am the game. Therefore, I always win ... don’t I?”
The dragon died.
Godwin was dragged out of Merila by an invisible force, forced to drop the blade of Ilmari, and
put back into a familiar chess board garden. He was healed again, and he was in his old clothes he
had on before he went to Merila ... the land unlike any other.
The Chronicles of Merila 25

XXII.
The Chess Board Garden
Godwin wandered the chess board garden. There were trees growing out of the ground, which
was a black-and-white chessboard with fields large enough for a human to stand on them. There
was no sun in sight, but the sky was a bright, intense cyan; and the land was bright.
Soon, a motley jester came in, dressed in all three primary colours, and danced before Godwin
in quick jumps. It was the jester guide, and he was come to take Godwin back across. He spoke,
saying,
“’Tis over, I will now thee from thy dream take:
Me many would disdain, but I do ne’er forsake.”
The jester took Godwin hand-in-hand, and they proceeded. On one tree was a bird—it is no
nay—that Godwin could, at best, recognise as a toucan.
“And be thou sure to do whatever’s in thy power,
Into Fancy to scape, for when Truth turneth sour.”
Soon they arrived at a huge cyan swirl. The jester looked at Godwin sadly, and said advisingly,
“Enter thou this great door, ‘tis where thou ‘dst enter here,
And thou’lt be back where thou didst come from. Do ‘t sans fear.”
Not knowing why, Godwin jumped into the swirl. Godwin finally found himself in his own
world, in the manor of Daysborough, lying on the ground, next to the HC SVNT DRACONES ward-
robe.
The Chronicles of Merila 26

XXIII.
There Is No Land Like Merila
Godwin was looking for Mr Wainscot. Godwin found Mr Wainscot in the shooting range, on
one of the lower floor landings.
“Oh, hello, Godwin. How’s it going? Is your imagination unleashed?”
“You would not believe me. I was sucked into another world, and saved it from the end of its
time!”
“So, you have passed my course with a grade of 4.5 out of 5 – Skaldism bordering with Madness,
that is, Manifold Fancy.”
“Er, thanks.”
For the last few days of “postgraduate fantasy exam”, Godwin drew not only yapoks, yamanes,
yut-yuts, yaks, or idols of Bee Fly Ptarmigan, but also an overview of Merila; wrote not only mil-
lion-letter nonce words, but also dream poems called “momeraths’ adventures”; his creativity was
running wild.
Godwin jested in a way that could nearly equal that of Mr Wainscot. And Mr Wainscot was
indeed very pleased.
Soon came the day when Godwin was to be sent back to his mother’s house. Mr Wainscot ex-
plained Godwin’s worries, “Once started, fancy is permanent, and it can sometimes guide life.”
Back at his mother’s house, Godwin declared, “Here be no dragons, but I shall bring them in.”
Since then, Godwin presented a scary personality to his deceived mother, who thought Mr
Wainscot was only going to loose Godwin’s imagination a little. In fact, Godwin was only disen-
chanted by the real world, and was truly captivated by Merila ... the land unlike any other.
The Chronicles of Merila 27

XXIV.
Epilogue
Night-time. Breezes are playing over these coarse malachite mountains, over this coarse land
that, although mainly coarse stone, carries its own beauty. On the mountains there are scattered
clumps of grass, the only signs of life within miles. On them the winds do carry a song, a call upon
the heroes ...
Ditches the breezes pass build the breezes into winds. The winds are not satisfied; however,
they proceed quickly onwards to send forward their wit and the uncouth lore they are breathing.
The winds echo through an unpeopled valley. A desert of malachite, the valley looks not quite
as any wight would imagine it—a wilderness, empty and rocky, and full of pure malachite.
And so the winds go, over limestone karst, and part when they enter a bridge of limestone over
a river, and meet again when they pass the bridge.
The winds did scape to a clearer area, an unpeopled plain, fraught with malachite. They climb
up a completely white cliff, and arrive at a village.
By now it seems like the dawn is rising slowly. Weaker and weaker still, they arrive at a house,
apparently a hostelry. With dying strength, they enter an open window and notice a soldier lying
asleep on the bed.
As a means of strength, the winds echo against the walls. They succeed in building their song
into a chant.
Soon, the chant builds itself into a song. It succeeds in entering the ears of the young soldier,
and confesses its tale.
THE END
Copyright 2007 by Dimitrije Ignjatovic.
THIS WORK (The Chronicles of Merila) MAY FREELY BE PUBLISHED AND RE-PUBLISHED,
IN PART OR IN WHOLE, OR QUOTED, UNDER CONDITION THAT THE AUTHOR-PROPER
(Dimitrije Ignjatovic) IS CREDITED, AND THAT THE WORK (The Chronicles of Merila) IS
LEFT AS-IS. PLAGIARISM IS NOT ALLOWED. THE PERPETRATORS OF THIS LAW SHALL
BE PROSECUTED TO THE ROUGHEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.