Somewhere back in the fogs of Time, in Her twisting trails of memories, there lay a realm forgotten to Beast. This was an era anterior, an age antecedent, when the tides of revolution had only begun to well, and the wave had yet to come crashing o’er the shores of Reptilia. It would be a wave that rocked the world, the aftershocks of which would reverberate for a long time to come…. But this change, and the great enlightenment which would attend it, were not yet, here, arrived, and as such, knowledge of this particular time was lost to posterity.
And little wonder was this, considering those who dwelt in it scarce knew more themselves.
They did not know what realms lay beyond their own, what sort of races there resided, what all the scientists and historians and philosophers of the world, oblivious to each others’ knowledge and existence, lay pondering on sleepless nights… and they certainly didn’t know the name of the sixth-born son of their distant sovereign. Sometimes it seemed even his own father had forgotten it. So paltry was the chance of his one day assuming the throne that his family seldom paid him any mind, and his elder brothers all considered him a bit odd. Thus, it was the favorable arrangement for both parties involved to leave kin within the palace indulging petty luxuries, and he wandering without to seek satiation of his queer tastes.
This was found, most typically, at the merchant-dominated square, for the selection of goods vended herein changed frequently enough to maintain his interest. Whether the same was true of the traders could not be said, for he never paid them much mind- scarce anyone did, in those days, for strangers were strangers. And yet, on this day forgotten to posterity, in the midst of beasts unnamed and unnoticed, there stood one who was, quite evidently, new.
In scales of green that recalled virescent swampland, a slender gharial was leaned against a post, bright eyes studying it intently and clawed fingers gripping a reed brush, dripping with crimson paint. There was something inexplicably distinct about him, a wholly separate entity from the other beasts who thronged about him. He did not seem foreign, exactly, not in the way of the stout crocodile who skulked by his side, but almost… familiar. An intriguing, enigmatic sort of familiar, deeper than bonds of kith or kin, but as of something that had been known once to everybeast and then forgotten for a long, long time. And perhaps it was this alluring sensation playing subtly in the depths of his mind that bade the prince approach- though he assured himself it was merely desire to examine the stranger’s exotic silks.
“Hail, Gharial,” he called as he reached the beast’s cart, gazing up at the colorful fabrics draped over its top. The stranger turned from his work and gazed down upon the lizard, not in the intimidating manner of most of his height, but with a gaze evincing an easy affability. A soft smile ran the length of his narrow snout. “Oh, hello, there,” he said. “Are you a beast of wisdom, good sir?”
“I’m a beast of wealth,” the prince replied, for this was typically the more preferable attribute in the marketplace. “Fine silks here…”
“Oh, yes, they’re from Rajah.” This last word elicited a grimace from the silent crocodile, though one unnoticed by the lizard prince.
“Are they?” he asked, forked tongue sliding furtively from his mouth, as it was wont to do in his distracted states. “Very good… how dull this place would be if not for inter-kingdom commerce.” He turned his gaze to the lower regions of the double-tiered cart, with which he was more level, and engaged its contents in close scrutiny. “What have you got in here, then?” he asked of a pale, bulky sack stashed away in the corner. The crocodile regarded this unwelcome ingress into his friend’s property with undisguised resentment, but still he did not speak.
“Oh, they’re writings,” the gharial replied, peering over the cart’s surface to where the prince was hauling a stone tablet from the bag. “They aren’t for sale, if that’s what you want. Just educational purposes. We’re collecting them on our travels- would you happen to know any beasts of wisdom here with whom we can exchange knowledge?”
And now the sixth-born son of the kingdom’s sovereign really did look upon the gharial, finding himself for the first time regarding a merchant with more interest than his goods. And the stranger seemed, oddly enough given his last statement, possessed of some powerful sagacity, an insight suggesting that even if the world did not function in the way he described, perhaps that was how it should.
But it was not a powerful enough sense to overturn the prince’s world view. “Where are you from?” he demanded, for surely no beast of this realm’s aloof population could be more concerned with the knowledge of other lands than their own profits and affairs.
“I hail from this wonderful world, sir,” the stranger declared with unwavering earnesty, “and I am kindred of all Her beasts.”
The prince regarded him dubiously, then, a possible explanation dawning on him, asked, “you’re not one of those foreign ‘prophets’, are you? Come to spread the teachings from your revelations? And this,” he flicked his tail at the stone tablets peering from the sack, “is the ‘divine knowledge’ you’ve been bestowed with?”
“Oh, no,” the gharial protested, seemingly staggered by the suggestion of such a prospect. “I’ve scarcely any knowledge at all- that’s why I’m traveling, you see, so I can learn from the beasts of other lands, learn of all the philosophy and history and science they have to offer, and from their pieces, perhaps, assemble the world. I’ve never met a ‘prophet’, but I doubt even the wisest of beasts could know everything.”
The suspicious gaze of the sixth-born softened slightly, for there was something endearingly familiar in this earnest peculiarity. And although he was not the most open-minded of beasts, the faint idea occurred that perhaps this behavior was aberrant only by his own standards, and maybe, just maybe, there was truth in these words. Having been so often exposed to the ignorance and indifference typical of the residents of his own land, the prince very much doubted this…. But perhaps there was a chance, a small chance, that somewhere out in the world, there existed beasts not unlike this stranger, beasts unbiased and desiring enlightenment… and a greater chance, of course, that the outward realms were treasure troves of exotic goods to which the marketplace was a mere window.
“It’s… enjoyable, I suppose, to travel the world,” he remarked carefully, and the question was welling up inside him now and all he could do was attempt to mask, with a measured tone, the childishness of it: “...What’s it like out there?”
“It’s different,” the stranger explained, his thick tail swishing slowly in the sand. “Different and interesting, with new languages and customs and clothing and food… but of course, it’s all the same, really, because all kingdoms, all societies, are created by Beast.”
The prince nodded solemnly, eyes now reserved solely for the cart, and slowly his gaze traveled up it, to where rested at its summit a blue, silken garment, its delicate folds unmoving in the stagnant air. “I’ll buy your blue silk there,” he gestured, withdrawing a gold-embroidered pouch from his robes. “And if, when you’ve finished your business here and are back on your travels, you need some company to fund your mission...” he jangled the pouch in intimation.
“Oh, goodness, how kind you are!” the gharial expressed gratefully. “But we’re glad for company with or without the wealth- just two of your coins that’ll be for the silk,” here he stooped slightly to exchange garment for gold, “and I shall have to tell him the news!” He turned to his companion, beaming, and imparted some spoken message wholly unintelligible to the prince. The crocodile seemed less than pleased with this new development, but sensing his friend’s evident enthusiasm, he mustered a tentative smile and nodded shortly.
“Well, sir,” the stranger declared, returning to the prince and that lizard’s own language, “this marketplace seems to attract considerable attention, so with some luck, we may find some fellow knowledge-seekers during our stay, and then we’ll be off roaming about the kingdom- I’ll be sure to tell you when we mean to leave.”
Well, I’m here every day,” the prince muttered, draping the silk about his shoulders and fondling it idly. “Not much else of interest around for me...”
“But now that ought to change before long,” the gharial assured him, bending nearer to the lizard’s level and extending a clawed hand. “Lovely meeting you, my friend, and undoubtedly I shall see you again soon.”
They shook.
Somewhere back in the fogs of Time, in the drifting, swirling dust of ages, there stood these three, just united through a simple deal, still nameless to the world and not expecting much more. And here they stood at the root of this thing, this unparalleled, unprecedented, and so utterly unanticipated revolution, the winds of the waking storm as yet invisible, all unknowing of where their path may lead but eager, still, to walk it. And the sixth-born flicked his tongue, in that odd, off-center way of his, and he asked the stranger’s name.
“Oh,” said he, as if mildly surprised. “Ah, yes- it’s Gavialis.”
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