The Dragonstone

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “Well, it’s just this: what good does it do to try to be fair and just if our paths are already fixed? And if paths are immutable, determined, then nothing we do will change things one whit: evil will be evil, good will be good, and nought anyone does will move us away from our preordained track. And if, for example, I must be good to obtain the reward of a pleasant afterlife, but if my predetermined path is to be evil, well then, how can I possibly be held accountable for the evil I will have done?” Delon flung his arms wide, taking in all that could be seen. “I mean, isn’t it the fault of those who set the planes in motion? Aren’t they the ones to be held accountable since they determined my path at the moment of creation? And another thing: why are we even here if everything is already determined? Why play out a story which, as you say, is one completely told?”

  Burel shrugged. “I know not the minds of those who let slip the leash of existence, but if they are indeed all powerful, all knowing, then how can they not know down to the finest detail how each of us will react as we are acted upon and as we act upon one another? If they are all knowing, then they must apprehend the outcomes of each and every last thing.”

  “Perhaps,” said Delon, “they deliberately created something with ambiguity in its nature. Perhaps it is as Ferret says, and they gave us free will. If so, then they may not know that which is to come.”

  Burel shrugged. “You may be right, my friend, but then again you may be wrong. Yet right or wrong, I know not how to answer your questions with any certainty.”

  Delon stroked his jaw. “I understand, Burel. But listen, if everything is already determined, if the story is completely told, I can’t think of a single good reason as to why we are even here. Can you?”

  Burel laughed.

  “What’s so amusing?” asked Delon, smiling.

  “Ah, my friend, you have just asked me: what is the purpose of life?”

  Delon sighed and shook his head. “I did, didn’t I?” He looked out to sea with its sapphirine waves rolling from rim to rim. But then he turned back to Burel and said, “Still, Burel, given your philosophy, can you think of even a single reason, good or no, as to why we are here?”

  Burel frowned in thought for a moment, but finally said, “Perhaps there is a clue in what Lady Aiko related as a Ryodoan belief: perhaps we are born and born again, living many lives before we reach Paradise, or reach the next world, or move on to whatever awaits, indeed if there is anything awaiting us at all. If it is true that our souls migrate from one life to the next, then it may be that all is predetermined so that each of us will learn by experience exactly what it is to be good and to be evil and to be a mixture of each, what it is to be hated and loved and ignored, to be a thief and a murderer and a rapist and a priest and a devout worshipper and an unbeliever and any other thing you can name, including worms and gnats and snakes and all other things which swim and slither and crawl and walk and fly. And perhaps when we have learned all—all sides of what it is that we can do and be—perhaps then and only then are we permitted to leave this world and progress to the next, be it Paradise or no. For then and only then may we have lived enough and know enough to measure up to this new place in which we will then find ourselves.”

  “Good grief, Burel, that would mean we’d need live countless lives throughout an eternity!”

  “Don’t take me wrong, Delon: I’m not saying that I know this to be true. I am also not saying that one should countenance evil, or believe in the migration of the soul, or in Paradise, or in anything else whatsoever. I am merely saying that I do not know aught for certain, yet I have faith: faith in the goodness of Ilsitt; faith that those above the gods are all knowing and, hence, they know all outcomes, then and now and forever; faith that what we do is preordained; and lastly, faith that one day I will know.”

  Delon took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Finally he said, “Burel, you are indeed a keeper of faith.”

  Burel glanced forward to where Aiko stood in the bow, then turned to Delon once again. “There is, of course, one thing I do know for certain.”

  Delon cocked his head. “And that is…?”

  “I do love Lady Aiko.”

  Delon laughed and lifted his voice in a brief but glorious song of adoration unbound.

  When quiet fell again, Egil looked at Burel and said, “I once would have claimed that the purpose of life is to live bravely, but experience has taught me that living bravely is not enough. Besides, living bravely is not a purpose at all, but merely a manner of thinking and behaving, a manner in which one gains approval from one’s love and family and clan…and perhaps from the gods themselves. Perhaps our only purpose in life is to gain the approval of the gods.”

  “I would not go too far down that path, Egil,” said Burel.

  “And why is that?”

  “Let me give you an example: the Fists of Rakka say that the purpose in life is to fear Rakka, to worship Him, to obey Him. They claim there is no God but Rakka, and we are here to glorify Him.”

  Egil shook his head. “I could not glorify a god who rules through fear.”

  Burel nodded. “Neither could I, yet this is an example of how one goes about gaining the approval of a given god.”

  “Ah, Burel, I see.”

  Aiko made her way back from the bow and sat down beside Burel. He took her hand. “Tell me, Aiko, what is the purpose of life?”

  She looked at him and finally said, “The first rule of life is to live.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Nothing more.”

  Alos snorted. “If you ask me, the only reason we are here is so the gods can have someone to meddle with for entertainment.”

  Delon laughed. “I think you have it, old man. If indeed the gods—or those above the gods—are responsible for life, they did it to be entertained. And that is our purpose: to put on a show.”

  Burel looked at Ferret, but she merely shrugged, and so his gaze moved on to Arin.

  The Dylvana cleared her throat. “We can’t know what the prime movers had in mind when they set all in motion. Perhaps each of us is but an insignificant link in a long chain which arose from a lowly beginning and is meant to span to some exalted end. Just where that chain began, I cannot say; nor can I say where it now stands nor where it will ultimately end, if indeed it will end at all; for I know not the minds of those who forged the very first link. Yet each of us is but a link from the past to the future, and none I know of can say what the chain overall is meant to do. In this, I believe Ferai has the right answer.”

  Delon turned to Ferret, his eyes wide. “What did you say, luv?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Ferret answered. “I merely shrugged my shoulders, for when it comes to the purpose of life, I simply do not know.”

  “Exactly so,” said Arin. “Exactly so.”

  * * *

  “According to the charts,” said Egil, “we’re verging into Rover waters. Keep a sharp eye, and if you spy a sail—”

  “A maroon sail,” blurted Alos, his voice high and tense.

  “Ah, yes, a maroon sail, well then, call all hands and make ready to drop our own canvas.”

  “Drop our own canvas?” asked Ferret. “But why?”

  “So we’ll be harder to spot,” replied Egil. “Our hull rides low in the water, and a bare stick—a bare mast, that is—will be difficult for them to see. But should they spot it regardless, well then, with all hands haling, we can be up and running within twenty beats of a heart.”

  “Can we outrun a Rover?” asked Delon.

  Egil turned up a hand and looked to Alos. Drops of perspiration clung to the oldster’s upper lip and he snapped, “Adon’s balls, how should I know?”

  Egil swung back to Delon. “Perhaps they’ll not bother to come after us when they see we’re but an insignificant sloop and not a fat mercantile ship instead.”

  Aiko growled and gestured to Burel and Arin, saying, “Should any draw near they’ll first have to deal with our arrows, and I’ve see
n Dara Arin’s skill, and I know my own and Burel’s. And should that fail to stop them, then they’ll have to answer to the edge of our steel when we board them.”

  “When we board them?” asked Delon, then laughed.

  He was joined by the others, all but Alos, who sat at the tiller heaving and puffing, his breath coming in tremulous gasps.

  * * *

  For twenty days and twenty nights, through fair weather and foul, the Brise had cut through the Avagon Sea, beating a zigzag away from Sabra to run a westerly course. And in all that time they had seen but one other ship and absolutely no land whatsoever, not even a tiny isle. But just at dusk on the twentieth day, with the seas yet running high from the blow of the day before, below the thin crescent of a new moon standing on the far western rim, like ebony clouds of a gathering storm lying low in the distance ahead, they saw land at last, seemingly black in the onrushing night.

  “There it is,” said Egil, “the Island of Kistan.”

  CHAPTER 60

  Arin glanced at the crescent moon, new and vanishingly thin, the slender arc now sliding downward beyond the dark silhouette of Kistan. “Alos, I have decided: we must make the run at night. Art thou up to it?”

  Alos’s jaw dropped. “Are you mad?”

  Aiko leaned forward in the dusk to come nearly nose to nose with the oldster, the Ryodoan’s dark eyes glittering. “Answer the question,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  “It’ll be night, Dara. Black as pitch. There’ll not even be moonlight by the time we get there.”

  “Indeed, it will be dark, Alos,” agreed Arin, “yet what better time to slip in unnoticed?”

  “Look, I told you before, I can’t pilot the Brise through the fangs if I can’t see. No one can.”

  “And as I said before, Alos, there will be starlight, in which I see quite well. I will be thine eyes.”

  The old man puffed and wheezed, and finally said, “There’s a good chance we’ll all get killed.”

  “Regardless, Alos, canst thou pilot if I guide?”

  “Those rocks are like fangs!” he sissed.

  Egil spoke up. “We’ll use an old Fjordlander trick when raiding in unknown waters: go in when the tide is high to better the chances that there will be more water ‘tween lurking shoals and hull.”

  “When is high tide, I wonder?” asked Delon, glancing at the disappearing crescent of the moon, then across at Arin. She in turn looked to Alos.

  “With a moon like that, it’ll be ’round mid of night,” groaned the oldster, “but even so, it would be a damnfool thing to try to sail the fangs in the depths of the dark.”

  “Wouldst thou rather sail in under the eyes of the Rovers?”

  “Madness. Madness. It’s all madness,” moaned Alos.

  “Nevertheless…”

  “All right. All right,” the oldster whined. “We’ll make the attempt at high tide. But when we get killed, don’t come running to me for forgiveness.”

  Delon burst out in laughter.

  * * *

  With the seas yet running high from the storm of the day before, onward they sailed toward the isle, the offshore wind now blowing directly from the land with the coming of the dark. As the stars wheeled through the sky, the night inched forward by six candlemarks, and they came to where Arin could hear the roll of distant surf crashing against jagged rocks. Still they tacked onward, and soon all could hear the surge and swash of billows dashing against uncounted teeth of stone and purling back through, leaving behind a faint swirl of luminous wake. On they sailed and on, drawing nearer to the thunder of surf whelming on unyielding rock. Egil scanned his charts and conferred with Arin, who gazed at the stars above. Finally he said, “If these charts be right, Alos, then we’ve struck land north of the cove. Bear south a league or so.”

  “Prepare to come about,” called the oldster to his seasoned crew, and Delon, Aiko, Ferret, and Burel all laid hands upon the sheets, ready to uncleat the lines at Alos’s command and pay out or take up as needed. “Coming about,” called Alos, and he shoved the tiller hard over, his crew on the starboard loosing sheets while those on the larboard took up. And the Brise swung her bow through the eye of the wind, her momentum carrying her past the luff, her sails bellying full and snapping taut as she came onto the new heading and bore south on a starboard beam reach, running parallel to the glimmering coastal waters thundering upon the shoals.

  As she fared this direction, Egil bade the crew to lower all sails but the main and jib, for maneuvering through the Serpent’s Fangs at night would be a dangerous task, requiring swift response on behalf of all, and this meant running without four of the canvases: the jib top, the fore stay, the square, and the gaff top. Yet though they fared on but two of her sails, still the Brise ran fleet, for the offshore wind blew braw and filled the canvas fair.

  South they scudded along the shore for a full league and a half, and then Arin pointed to the fore and right and said, “There is the mouth of a cove.”

  None other aboard could see aught but the faint glimmer of the pounding surf and the dark silhouette of the isle looming nigh.

  “Sail on past,” Egil commanded Alos. “’Tis a goodly while ere midnight, ere the tide is caught high ‘tween flow and ebb, and Arin will see if this is Serpent Cove and if the guide-rocks yet stand.”

  “Bear starboard somewhat,” said Arin, and Alos, shivering, edged the tiller over until she called “Enough.”

  Now the Brise skimmed alongside the rocks, the fangs some tens of yards away, great surges lifting the ship, surf booming against the rocks, as across the width of the cove fared the sloop, with Arin leaning out over the starboard rail and peering ahead.

  “Aye, there’s one of the tall ones,” said Arin, “and across another, and…finally the third.” She turned to Egil as the ship clove onward. “This is indeed Serpent Cove.”

  Egil shook his head in wonder, for all he could see were shapes black on black in the upflung water, shapes he surmised were rocks.

  “Turn to the larboard,” said Egil, “and run her out to sea and back up the coast. We’ll come again when the tide is slack, but this time we’ll take her through.”

  “But the surf, Egil, the surf,” wailed Alos. “It’s too high and hammering against the rocks. We’ll never get past them all.”

  “The seas are still running with yesterday’s blow, yet we’ve no choice,” said Egil. “We cannot remain standing offshore until they settle down, for Fortune alone has kept us from being spotted; we cannot count on Her keeping Her smiling face turned our way. Nay, Alos, to delay risks all, and I would not have us taken by the Rovers while we wait for the waters to run calm.—Now run her back north and fare in an oval till it’s time to take her through.”

  Moaning and trembling, Alos called for the crew to make ready to come about, and then he and the others swung the ship away from the rocks. When they were well out, he made another turn to the north, chill sweat adrip from his brow.

  * * *

  “You have the eyes of a cat, love; either that or the gaze of an owl.”

  Arin smiled at Egil, then clasped his hand and leaned her head on his chest. Yet she said nought.

  “I need a drink,” said Alos. “Medicinal brandy will do. And don’t tell me you have none, for I saw what you put in that locked chest of herbs.”

  “Nay, Alos,” replied Arin, without lifting her head. “We need thee steady and sober to get us through.”

  “But that’s just it, Dara, I ain’t steady. Instead I’m shaking like a leaf. Surely one little tot would settle me right down, don’t you know?”

  Aiko growled and moved away from Burel to sit next to the oldster. Then she whispered something in his ear. “Eep!” squeaked Alos and clutched his crotch and flinched aside.

  As Aiko returned to Burel’s side, Arin loosed Egil and moved to Alos and put her arm about his quaking shoulders and began to hum a crib song she’d heard a human mother sing long past. In the starlight she did not miss the dolefu
l look that stole over Alos’s visage and crept into his good eye, a look which only she could see. Finally she whispered, “Fear not, Alos, together we shall succeed.”

  * * *

  “Stand ready on the jib; stand ready on the main,” shrilled Alos above the roar of the surf.

  “Starboard a bit, Alos,” cried Arin, leaning out over the larboard rail and peering ahead into the spray. “That’s good. That’s good. True her up now.”

  The Brise cut a foaming white wake in the water, the churning trail faintly luminous as the sloop ran at an angle toward the jagged Serpent’s Fangs, waves booming into the stone though the tide stood between turns. And the glittering stars, cold and silent, looked down on the desperate run, for speed was needed to keep the surf from carrying the ship and all her crew onto the deadly rocks.

  Now the ship fled in among the fangs, the first guide-rock nearly grazing the larboard hull as Arin quickly moved to the starboard to sight on the guide-rock ahead. Billows crashed in against the stones, upflung water hurtling over the Brise and down upon all, drenching ship and sails and crew. Swiftly Arin swiped at her eyes and stared steadily at a rock taller than the others, the salt stinging and filling her gaze with tears, tears which she blinked away.

  “Larboard, ease larboard, Alos!” she called. “Now steady as she goes!”

  “Stand by to come about,” screeched Alos, his frightened voice all but a squeak.

  And the ship sped through the roaring blackness, death to the left and right, her bow crashing, waves smashing, spume flying, water drenching all.

  “Now, Alos! Now!” shouted Arin.

  “Now,” shrieked Alos, haling hard on the tiller, “bring her about!”

  Zzzzzz…Loose ropes buzzed against cleats as strong hands haled hard against the lines. ’round came the bow of the Brise, a tall rock to the starboard looming but an arm’s span away.

  As the ship heeled over, Whoom! a great wave crashed into stone, the curl smashing down to the decks as Arin shifted toward the larboard rail. She lost her footing in the thundering wash and hurtled hard into the coaming. Floundering a moment, at last she reached up to grip the larboard side rail, and groggily she struggled to her feet. Shaking her head to clear it, she leaned out and peered to the fore, as spume and spray and roaring water crashed down on the Brise.