It took the man longer than a day to reach the plains. He took the journey at his leisure. Lower down the mountain the woods began. They were full of beautiful trees, their bark a much lighter gold or silver colour than ordinary terrestrial trees. Countless green leaves of every shade hung thick upon them. Small bright flowers grew among their roots. In the clearings there were grassy swards. The forest was still except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the bubbling of the brook. And this had been first a sea bed and then a desert!
The man spent days and weeks wandering on the plains and hills and valleys of this new land. He bathed in the brooks and slept on the daisy-strewn lawns. He wondered if animals and birds would come to the woods; the sight of several insects gave him hope that they would.
The days were long and warm. It may have been summer, but it seemed to last and last — much longer than summer should. The man watched his friend the Moon at night: he waxed and waned five times, and then one morning, the man saw some small specks approaching from the west, high in the sky. They were a flock of birds. They passed overhead and disappeared into the forest.
The next morning the air was full of the chirping of grasshoppers, and the next, the buzzing of bees was added. On the third morning, as he awoke early, the man heard a single birdsong in the stillness; then, suddenly, the whole forest came alive with singing. So, at last, the land was full of life. There were rabbits and mice and hedgehogs and badgers, foxes, lizards, toads, frogs, and moles. The rivers, lakes, and streams abounded with fish and deep in the forest there were deer, bears, cats, and boars.
The man was happy. He watched the moon and stars and notched the passage of time on his silver staff, yet time seemed to stand still. Death never touched that land; truly it was a golden and enchanted place.
Yet there were no people. The fruits that grew on the branches and fell and grew again were the food of the animals. The man did not eat. He realised, too, that he had not spoken for a long time and had forgotten his skill in framing sentences and naming things. Here in this land things had no names.
He thought about his own name. What was it? He could not remember it. And yet this did not trouble him. He was the only human being here, after all. And what had been his life before the flood? How had he come to be floating on the face of the water? What had been his occupation, who were his people, before he was set adrift? The past was dark. Life in this reborn land was all he knew.
The Messenger
One day the man wandered far to the West, farther than he had been before. He came at last to the seashore. Here there was golden sand and here the Western Sea moved gently against the beaches. As he walked along the shore looking out on the blue Sea which, they say, reaches to the end of the earth, he saw far away a figure approaching along the beach. His heart leapt when he saw that it was another man. The stranger was very tall: in truth, taller by far than an ordinary human; seemingly a giant, yet not daunting to look on like the Gangri. He had long white hair and a beard. He was robed in white also and, in the bright sunlight, was dazzling to look at.
The man ran towards him, and as he did so, the stranger stopped and watched him. He held his arms wide and smiled. The man dropped on to his knees in front of the stranger, bowing his head.
‘Welcome, master,’ he said. He offered him his silver-hued staff. ‘Let my staff be yours. It is all I have to give.’
The stranger took the staff. ‘Welcome my dear friend,’ he replied. ‘I thank you for your gift; it is indeed a kingly one. But take it back, for it is your sceptre.’ And he returned the staff. ‘Do not kneel to me, my friend,’ said the stranger, ‘for I am only a messenger, while you are the Lord of this land.’
‘I?’ Asked the man, as he got to his feet.
‘Yes. You, Ingos, are the Lord and steward of the land.’
The man stood still in thought. ‘Ingos,’ he said, slowly, ‘yes, that was my name: Ingos.’
The Messenger replied: ‘You have forgotten much, Lord Ingos. All that occurred before you were brought here on the great flood. But fear not, your memory shall be restored. That is one of the purposes with which I have come. But first, know that this Land is set apart from the mortal world; and so, as Lord of this land, you are Ingos the Immortal, for Immortals do not fully belong to the plain Earth.’
‘I an immortal?’ said Ingos with a gasp.
‘Yes, for you have tasted the golden fruit of the Immortals, and are transformed. He that tastes is set free from mortal human wants, from hunger, thirst, pain, longing, fear, and death. This land of Aphelos, which you have planted with the seeds of the golden fruit, is deathless too. It is liberated from time.’
‘The honour is great,’ said Ingos, amazed.
‘As great as is the charge,’ said the messenger. ‘This land is not fenced from the world; anything, good or ill, may enter it. But for now it is in its season of perfection and free from care.’
‘But master, I would know what befell in the between time. I remember nothing of how I came to be adrift on the flood.’
‘Let us find a shady place and be at ease,’ said the Messenger. ‘And there I will tell you the story of your former self. For though you have forgotten your past, you should know that you have merited the privilege of this Land through your deeds and calling of old. And, Ingos, the guardianship of this Land will not be the last of your deeds. You are still appointed to fulfil what was said at the beginning: thótaressi Ingos veithi folúmedor a-tautazar “Ingos was to live until he had completed his task”.’
When they had seated themselves beneath a fair spreading tree, the Messenger began to tell the tale of the first life of Ingos:
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