Nightfall (Book 1)

by L. R. Flint

  “He was not one of ours; he reports directly to Zigor.” Koldobika led his horse off the road, bowing his head in gratitude for the information. The leader also inclined his head as he passed Koldobika, his four men trailed behind him in a more orderly fashion than they had halted. Once past our group they eased their horses back into the mile-consuming gallop and soon all that was left of them was some dust that spiraled back to the ground.

  “What happens now that Zigor knows where I am?” I asked, though as soon as I had spoken, the words seemed to be eaten up in the silence around us.

  Shortly the wizard broke the silence which had grown increasingly uncomfortable. “He will only know within the week the general direction in which you were heading yesterday—and things change. We will be long gone before he can get anyone over here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  We were no longer on the forest road and ahead of us the dirt path we followed came to a fork; one sign indicated that in its direction we would find a fishing village, while the other simply said: Danger, Cliffs. We took the first option and eventually came to the village; its only permanent inhabitants were elves and I was glad to find that the place did not stink as much of decaying fish as I had expected. My companions had told me that seaside villages were supposed to smell horribly of the carcasses of sea creatures. The cottages all had clean, white-plastered walls, and thatched roofs. The sun shone brightly and was not scorching hot, but just warm enough that the salty breeze coming up from the ocean was perfect. If I listened carefully, I could hear a distant sound a bit like thunder.

  As soon as we arrived in the village we found the only inn and made arrangements for a single night there; we would be moving on, the following day, to the seashore itself. I was excited to see the sea for the first time—I had only ever heard about it in detail from Koldobika’s stories told back in Caernadvall and the only time I had viewed it was in the directions Alaia had scried to me, though that was nothing more than a blur of color.

  ~ ~ ~

  As the sun rose into the clear sky the next day, my companions and I, with our horses and newly-bought supplies, left the small village and headed off along a well-used dirt path. Thick grass grew along the road and a perfect shelter for small animals which we occasionally heard scampering away through the foliage. To the Southeast the forest and grasslands merged together, in the Southwest the grass grew for as far as the eye could see, but about a mile away to the Northwest the ground seemed simply to end. The grasslands to the Northeast were eventually disturbed by a line of trees which had a thick screen of vines growing along and between them and so blocked the view of anything beyond.

  The path led East for a while, but eventually turned a little to the North; as we reached the place where the path led into the shade of the tree line Alesander called us to a halt. “We will continue from here in single file, slowly.” Then to me he said, “There will be steep places, so just keep your upper body vertical and you should be fine.”

  Alesander led us through the trees and down the side of a ravine; Koldobika followed Alesander and then the rest of us made up the line of riders with three short-term pack horses added to the one we already had. The trees with their screen of vines continued along the entire length of the descending dirt path. As we neared the bottom of the ravine the sound of distant thunder that I had first noticed at the village grew steadily more pronounced. When the path finally leveled out, the constant booming of thunder was almost deafening.

  As we emerged from the trees and seemingly inescapable vines, we came onto a twenty-foot-wide rock ledge which dropped down to the icy seawater of a fjord. The rocky, mountainous peninsulas to each side of the fjord stretched out into the sea like the huge fingers of a giant trying to scrape away the floor of the ocean. I realized then that the deafening sound of thunder actually came from the waves beating against the stone of the ancient mountains, which stood firm in the path of the ocean’s fury. A wall of icy, white, sea spray shot thirty or so feet into the air directly in front of me and a wave of energy washed over me, making my skin tingle. As the wall of spray fell, some of it reached our company and we were sprinkled in ice-cold droplets. “How can there be magic in the water?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Koldobika replied, intrigued.

  “Whenever there is magic around me I can sense it; each person’s,” I thought for a moment, trying to think of an applicable word and finally found one, “aura—I guess—is a little different. The magic from the sea is much stronger than any I have sensed before.”

  “Interesting,” the wizard murmured and I could not help but wonder what type of questions he had brewing.

  “Keep moving,” Alesander reminded us all. The ledge continued to lower as we continued toward the place where we would be getting our ship. At the place where the two peninsulas connected to the mainland there was a large cove; the rock seemed to have been quarried for the ground was flattened out from the rigid base of the mountains to the edge of the water. There was a line of stone buildings at the back of the space, each with a various purpose relating to ships, or for housing the people who worked about the place.

  On the seaward side of the small settlement was a shipyard that held two ships, currently under construction, and each at a different level of completion. The first was a mere skeleton and the other looked as if it needed only to be painted and then it would be sent on its maiden voyage. Beyond the shipyard was a huge pen, protected on the far side by a set of massive storm gates which were usually used to protect seashore cities from raging storms coming in from the sea. The storm gates were at least ten feet thick and made of a special stone able to withstand the constant battering of the powerful seas. From where the storm gates met the mountains, it was another ten feet up to the ledge where the road was, that we had just come down, and from there the towering cliff continued to rise.

  At the sides of the pen, two long wooden docks stretched from the storm gates to where the cove floor dipped below the water at an easy slope so that a newly constructed ship could easily be slid into a berth, or a damaged ship could be pulled onto land for repairing. Two huge constructions made of stone and wood rose from the large stretch of flat ground between the buildings and shipyards; each construction was located directly in front of a berth. Down the center of the pen was another dock, though it was only just longer than the two moored ships. There were three ships’ lengths of empty space between the end of the middle dock and the storm gates, in which a ship could be maneuvered out through the gates or into a berth. Two completely seaworthy ships were moored in the berths, each a little different from the other though they still shared similarities.

  I wanted to get a closer look at the ships, but Koldobika led us toward the small cluster of buildings opposite the direction I desired. With a quiet sigh, I nudged Aitor in the ribs and we followed the others across a stone courtyard toward the middle building. A man with a long, silver-streaked beard walked from the entrance to the house we approached, as the whole group dismounted in one fluid movement. Koldobika and the man greeted each other like long-lost friends, embracing and clapping each other on the back. The wizard then introduced each member of the party to the human, whom he called Garaile. The man welcomed us into his home for a large meal and our entire company gladly accepted. It seemed that all the others had been to this place before, as they were comfortably at ease and the meal was already being praised without even having made an appearance. When I entered the building a strong, yet pleasant, aroma swept over me, making my mouth water. Another pleasant note was that the thundering sounds that permeated the air of the cove seemed muted within Garaile’s lodge, giving my ears and head a respite.

  18 THE SEA

  That day, after an early supper, we boarded Wavewing (the ship Garaile had lent us) and prepared for departure. Harkaitz, the ship’s captain, stood at the fore—or front—of the ship, ordering, and occasionally helping, fourteen of the fifteen men who were his personal crew. The single mast rose fro
m the center of the deck and fore of it was the hatch that led into the vessel. Koldobika, the four guards, my sister, and I had been sent aft, or to the back of the ship, to keep us out of the way of the busy crew members. Between us and the rest of the crew, the last crewman sat behind a large drum, which he would beat while the other fourteen were rowing. Harkaitz joined us, aft of the ship, as the piercing sound of a horn interrupted my observations of the crew hands at work and I looked toward the storm gates, the direction from which the horn had been blown. The storm gates looked like a solid, seamless wall of grey stone and it seemed unlikely that they could part to let us through. Garaile stood on a rock ledge over the dock to the right of the gates, quickly surveying the situation below. He gave an order to the crew of men in a hidden compartment built into the cliff face.

  Harkaitz held his hand up for silence on the ship and then he whispered, “Watch,” though he could have been yelling it because there was only the momentarily calmed sound of waves still crashing on the rocks. Everyone looked to the storm gates, and after a few seconds of suspense, a deafening boom rang through the fjord, though nothing had visibly happened. Then the sound of stone grinding on stone preceded a perfect crack splitting right down the center of the massive gates, and then the separated sections slid away from one another, receding into the cliff faces. As the gates parted, the water from the sea gripped the two ships in the small harbor and tried to push them onto the stone ramp, but they had been tied up well enough that they would not move from their berths. With the sea water came a fresh, crisp breeze, the smell of which I could not help but love. After the first rush of water the waves washed repeatedly in and out of the pen.

  Harkaitz blew a single, clear note on a small whistle he wore on a leather cord around his neck. The sound was a signal for his men to prepare for castoff and two of them jumped from the ship, one on either side. Harkaitz knew better than anyone else near the docks what should be done, so the two men awaited his command. Since the rowers faced aft, I could watch their silent faces as they also waited for the command from their captain. Just before it happened, I sensed a subtle change in the air and in the ocean water, lapping at the surrounding stone and the wood of Wavewing. Suddenly Harkaitz yelled out the order to untie the ship and, in the small amount of time it took for the two crewmen to untie the vessel and leap onto the deck, the waves changed direction, headed home to the vastness of the sea.

  “Row,” Harkaitz yelled, though not angrily, and his deep voice sounded loudly through the ravine; he was used to being heard above the crashing of waves. The two men who had untied the ship got to their stations just in time to help their comrades in paddling the ship on her course out of the potentially hazardous fjord. As the ship began to move seaward the drummer started a loud, booming beat, perfectly in rhythm with the swoops of the oars. He would swing one huge drumstick down onto the taught hide, while his other arm swung up, poised to fall and continue the rhythm.

  Harkaitz stood just ahead of us, raising his right hand in farewell to Garaile and everyone else who would remain. Those of us who were not busy followed the Captain’s example. Just before the part of the gates that protruded from the stone wall hid Garaile, I saw him return the sign of farewell, and then he turned to give a command to the crew in charge of the gates.

  I watched attentively as my first real view of the sea became closer by the second; ahead of us was a bend in the fjord, so it seemed that I had to wait forever. I did not notice it, but Koldobika began watching me carefully—I was too intent on getting to the sea to notice the glances. Suddenly the sea was calling too strongly for me to resist, and I meant to leap from the ship into the swell of water that would carry me out to sea—my mind seemed unable to realize that I would only dash myself against the rough rocks of the peninsula and, after falling from them, I would only drown for I had never learned to swim. At the last moment, something stronger than me caught hold of my shoulders, restraining me; I turned around and saw that it was Sendoa, keeping me from the sea. Something finally broke through to my senses, telling me that something was wrong and I suddenly realized that I had no clue what I was doing.

  My gaze met Koldobika’s eyes and I snapped completely out of my daze and fell to my knees. Sendoa slowly released his death-grip on my left shoulder. “What happened?” I croaked. After a second or two my gaze met Koldobika’s again.

  “Sirens,” the guard replied.

  Izar came and sat by me, the grim look in her eyes startled me; I had never seen her so worried before. “Did you see what happened?” My sister nodded. “What?”

  She sighed quietly. “Your eyes lost focus and it looked as if you were in a daze.” Izar paused for a moment. “Then you started walking toward the edge of the ship and as you got closer you sped up. Sendoa grabbed you just before you leapt from the deck.”

  “And I would have been beaten against the rocks,” I mumbled, looking toward the side of the fjord. I was angry with myself for the loss of self-control, and disturbed by the fact that I had nearly committed suicide. What were these sirens that they could so easily sway my mind?

  I stopped reprimanding myself just in time to hear Koldobika quietly say to Sendoa, “We will both have to keep a closer eye on him from now on.” Oh, splendid, I thought in mild annoyance. I knew it was for my safety, but it made me feel as if they could not trust me.

  Izar nudged me in the ribs. “We are almost out of the fjord,” she said, her face less grim. We stood and looked beyond the front of the ship. As we came around the bend, the towering stone walls dropped steeply off and we were suddenly surrounded by the endless seas. The color of the sea was a vivid, and deep, blue-green. The salty smell washed strongly over me again as Wavewing slid through the top of a small wave; the white, briny spray splattered the entire deck of the ship. Two oarsmen rose from their seats as soon as we were out of the fjord, ready for Harkaitz’ command to unfurl the single, huge sail.

  Harkaitz relaxed his grip on the long, wooden pole that controlled the steering of the ship and waited until there was some distance between us and the mainland before he gave the next command. “Unfurl the sail.” It was mere seconds after the two waiting men had let down the sail and slid down a rope hung from where the spar and mast were attached, that the breeze caught in the sail, filled it and pulled us further out to sea. “Cease rowing.” One final boom of the drum accentuated his command and the oars were pulled in and stowed away.

  I looked back at the cliffs rising from the ocean. Combined with the vastness of the sea they made me feel as small even as the Wall of Caernadvall had. Waves crashed at the feet of the cliffs, turned back on themselves, and washed back out to sea. Now that the towering land mass was no longer there to block it, the strong wind had filled the single square sail and was pushing us along at a hearty speed.

  “Izotz.”

  I turned to face Koldobika, who had just addressed me. “Yes?” Sendoa turned an attentive ear to our conversation, taking seriously his mandate to watch me.

  “What you told me this morning, about sensing magic in the ocean, can you explain?”

  I shrugged. “I also sensed it before Sendoa saved me from jumping ship, though it was not nearly as strong,” I said as I contemplated how to explain my sixth sense.

  “How do you know that there was magic in what happened?”

  “I told you that I can sense magic,” I reminded him. “I do not know how I can, but I have always been able to.”

  “Even before you were an elf?”

  I glared at my sister halfheartedly—I had always been an elf, I just had not been complete. “Yes.”

  “Cool.” I shrugged, I had originally thought that it was a common ability and so it had never seemed much of a specialty to me. Koldobika pointed out that we were getting off topic.

  “I can just feel its presence, somehow,” I said. “Do you know more about it?” I asked him. He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head.

  “No.”

  ~ ~ ~<
br />
  My homeland, which had only just been beginning to hold any real meaning or purpose for me, disappeared over the horizon not long before the hot sun set, letting the air cool to an almost perfect temperature. The moon slipped up over the horizon; the waves mirrored the dim light in the East and the stars far above twinkled to life, one at a time, guiding our way across the trackless ocean.

  19 EGUZKI DESERT

  Even though the days were sometimes blistering hot and the nights were often the exact opposite, I enjoyed the majority of our journey across the wide ocean as we neared the land of the Eguzki desert. Lucky for me elves have a natural affinity for the ocean and rarely is there ever an elf born who will get seasick. This came in handy our second day out to sea when we were overtaken by a powerful storm; the waves reached higher than the cliff faces of Garaile’s fjord and a few of them came full circle and nearly engulfed our ship.

  At one point I thought that the ship was going to roll completely over because we managed to catch the wave wrong, but other than that it was a thrilling experience. Wavewing would slide up one side of an oncoming wave and slice through its peak, sending ocean spray a hundred feet into the air to be swirled forcefully down into the last wave she had gone over. At the wave’s zenith, everything seemed to freeze for a second and then the ship would be flying down the far side of the wave—it felt as if the deck were vertical and Wavewing might topple completely over, spilling the crew into the tumultuous waters. Just as it seemed the ship was going to capsize, she would reach the almost flat space of the sea’s boiling surface between monstrous waves, and then the ascent would begin anew.