Cal smiled, grateful to know that Yasen would be along with him on this journey to the furthest reaches of Aiénor. “Agreed.”
“Well come on then, let’s go seek this light of yours, huh?” Yasen clasped Cal’s shoulder. “I need you to see that the horses are settled down in the holds of both the ships. The last thing we need is for one of those beasts to let loose in a panic and throw herself or one of my men overboard,” Yasen instructed him.
“Very well,” Cal answered. “Should I plan to bunk with the horses for the length of the voyage? Do you think that would help?”
“No lad, that won’t really make much difference, as we will have to divide the herd between both the ships,” Yasen told him. “Just see to it that they have hay-grass enough, and are securely hitched to their posts; I will have you join me on the grey ship for the whole of the voyage.”
Cal agreed and then turned to make his way down the docks towards the anchored ships. The long, stone docks were wide enough to fit two timber carts side by side, and on this momentous day, they were filled to bursting with a steady stream of busy traffic. Cal weaved his way in and out of the paths of mule-drawn cargo carts and columns of men carrying sacks of grain and casks of ale and fresh water. At the end of the port, seated at a heavy, red-stone desk, were the port master and the colony’s newly commissioned governor.
The guardsmen, once they had reported their belongings and their mounts in the ship’s manifest, began the arduous task of leading the leery horses up the gangway and onto the deck of whichever ship they were assigned to. One particularly cruel knight could not seem to make his dapple-grey courser traverse the narrow gangplank, so he had resorted to whipping and yelling foul obscenities at the frightened and unwilling horse.
“I’ll turn that grey coat of yours into a vibrant crimson if you do not move that stubborn ass of yours on to this ship!” the angry knight yelled as he whipped at the horse’s hindquarters.
The courser reared up, eyes wild and legs pumping, causing a great commotion near the port master’s position. The knight continued to scream as he yanked violently on the horse’s lead, doing his worst to force the steed into submission. Lines of red began to appear on the grey’s flank, and a heavy sweat fell from the brow of the exasperated and embarrassed knight.
“Pyrrhus!” Seig shouted to the knight who could not gain control of his horse. “Quiet that damned horse or I will send you both to the North to dig up the stumps of the dead forest!”
“I am trying my best, Governor!” Pyrrhus growled in red-faced humiliation as the courser bucked and snorted in protest, pulling his lead free from the knight.
A few of the guardsmen had been carrying barrels of fresh water near the unfolding drama, when suddenly the maddened horse kicked two of the men, sending them sprawling into a dozen or so others. Four of them fell from the high, stone docks into the cold, black waters of the Dark Sea, and most of the barrels that they had been carrying cracked upon impact, spilling out their contents upon the stone.
Pyrrhus had endured long enough and did not intend to depart on such a holy quest under a banner of a shame like this. He threw the whip violently to the ground and reached for the blade that hung by his side. The angry knight was bound and determined to feed this bastard of a horse to the crabs below.
Cal saw what was about to happen and screamed out in protest. “No! Wait! Stop him!” The young groomsman ran as fast as his legs could carry him, leaping over spilled debris and bruised men in an effort to save this magnificent horse from the rage of a small-minded man. Cal drew the sword Gwarwyn and raised it just in time to catch the bright steel of Pyrrhus’ angry blade before it could sink into the flesh of the panicked animal.
“Out of my way, boy!” Pyrrhus growled angrily. “This horse is a disgrace and is not even fit to be served on the table for the company of this first colony!”
“It is not this horse that is the unfit one,” Cal retorted with an indignant calm, his rusted sword in hand and a fierce and deadly stare on his face. “You cannot force a panicked horse to do anything, any more than you can expect an impotent, sword-wielding knight to think of anything other than his wounded pride.”
“You bite your tongue, groomsman, before I cut it free from that foolish head of yours,” Pyrrhus shot back. The two men stared in defiance of each other, both with blades drawn, determined not to surrender their positions or their pride. Then, unlooked for, a third voice was heard shouting at them from nearby.
“That’s enough!” Seig commanded. “We have plenty of unknown enemies out there in the wild spaces beyond the safety of the great tree’s light. Do you really think that we need to start this voyage by making new enemies from within our own ranks?” the governor scolded them both. “Pyrrhus, put your sword away! Go see to the men that are nearly drowning now because of your foolishness, before I send you off the docks to join them,” Seig ordered the knight. “And you, groomsman! You put down whatever rusted relic that is that you are trying to pass off as a blade. And if you don’t want that horse to become tomorrow’s supper, you better see to it that it makes it onto the Resolve without any more incidents.”
The crowd of onlookers had stopped their work to gawk briefly at the scolded men, but hurriedly went back about the business of loading the ships before they too became victims of the governor’s fury. Pyrrhus stomped away, mumbling loud enough for Cal to hear. “Let’s just see you come at me with that ruined steel again, and I’ll show you what real swordsmanship looks like.”
When Pyrrhus left and the crowd busied themselves again with loading the cargo aboard the two ships, Cal turned the whole of his attention towards the frightened and wounded dapple-grey courser. “It’s alright boy, easy now … easy there.” Cal spoke in a soothing tone of voice as he reached for the horse’s lead. “I have neither a whip nor rocks for brains, and I promise that I won’t hurt you.”
The horse shook his head in protest, but Cal was able to gently and calmly take hold of the lead with his left hand. The horse’s eyes were wide with anxiety, but his breathing seemed to be less angry than it was just moments before. Cal raised his right hand towards the grey’s muzzle, letting him catch his scent. When he was confident that the horse had quieted enough, Cal reached up and began to gently and tenderly stroke his neck.
Within mere moments, the wildness faded from the horse’s eyes as his panic and fear calmed to saddened confusion. “That’s a good boy there, you’re alright now … you’re alright.” The horse lowered his large, grey head and rested it upon Cal’s shoulder. It was then the groomsman knew that he could help this horse; he also knew in this intimate moment that he deeply missed Moa.
Cal placed his hand just above the horse’s shoulder, on the largest part of his neck, closing his eyes as he felt his own heart beating in his chest. Underneath his hand he could feel the pulsing veins of the large courser. The two of them stood there, man and beast, both pulsing at two different rhythms. After what must have been just a moment of listening and breathing, the two rhythms synced together and began to beat in union. Cal did not utter a word with his lips, though he did speak to a deeper place within the horse. When just a few moments had passed between them, and Cal could sense that the horse’s trust had been won, he removed his hand from the grey’s neck and began to smooth out the rough parts of his coat where the whip had caught him.
“I think I shall call you Farran, for you are as strong and as stubborn as iron,” Cal spoke aloud to the horse. “Would that suit you? Farran?” Cal asked him.
The horse snorted in agreement as Cal led him down the stone dock and onto the gangway that provided passage onto the great, fiery ship, Resolve.
Yasen had watched the whole drama unfold right before his very eyes. He had been helping his men make their marks upon the ship’s manifest when the whole commotion began. Standing here now, next to the port-master and Governor Seig, Yasen beamed with pride as he watched his friend charm the violent and wild courser. He was all the more proud
knowing that Seig had witnessed it alongside him.
“That groomsman there never ceases to amaze me, Governor,” Yasen said to him. “Sure, I have seen men calm down rouge horses before, and I have even known men to train their horses to come at a single spoken word, but this? I have never witnessed such a bewitching before.”
“I guess we should count ourselves favored indeed that we chose to bring with us the groomsman that we did,” Seig admitted. “We will need men of his …” Seig searched for the right word, “gifting, I suppose, if we are to thrive in the dark wilderness. For I fear there are nastier things than Pyrrhus there on the shores of the Western Wreath that will spook even the bravest of steeds.”
“I doubt it, Governor … Pyrrhus is rather offensive,” Yasen laughed.
Seig looked up from his ledgers and scanned the docks of the harbor as if he had not heard a word of what Yasen had just said.
“Yasen, it is time. See to it that your men are safely aboard the ships, and that their axes are stowed below. I will send out a patrol to make sure that the last of the supplies and the last of my men are in the holds and on the decks.” Seig rose from the red-stone port master’s desk, fixed his sigils, and straightened his tunic. “I will inform his Brightness the Priest King of our departure, and we will set sail westward.”
“Aye, Governor,” Yasen agreed.
Seig walked back up the stone dock and through the entrance to the port where the Priest King and his small council had positioned themselves as an audience to watch the ships set sail.
“Oskar! Goran!” Yasen yelled out towards his men. “Round up your brothers and get them aboard the ships. For we have thirsty axes with a taste for fresh timber, and we will not be denying them their drink any longer!”
The men cheered and pounded each other on the shoulders as Oskar and Goran goaded them onto the two vessels. “Come on lads, don’t be shy! A little water never hurt anybody!” Oskar shouted at them.
“Who is talking about being shy, huh?” Goran chided him. “By the looks of it, you seem to be the last one of us still on dry land!”
“Oh, shut it! When my ship lands, and you drag that green-cheeked, bald head of yours off the deck of that grey ship, we will just see who the shy one is then, huh?” Oskar shot back.
“Ah! I will have cut down fifty pines before those knobby legs of yours even remember how to walk on dry land again!” Goran challenged.
“Let’s just make sure we all get there in one piece first, huh?” Cal playfully scolded the both of them as he made his way onto the Determination.
“Oh it would seem that master Cal here has indeed chosen the right ship, my large-bellied friend!” Goran shouted out over to Oskar again.
The banter between the two woodcutters went on and on for a good while, and though it was all in jest, it brought an air of competition and welcome distraction for the men of the first colony. The ribbing helped to alleviate the anxious feelings that most of the men felt at the proposition of sailing off into the unpredictable climates and the shadowy dangers of the Dark Sea.
The air exploded with the bright notes of the guardsmen’s trumpets as they sounded out three long blasts from the shores near the harbor town. Within moments of their sounding, Captain Tahd and Governor Seig boarded the Determination along with Yasen and the other officers of the first colony.
“Men of the first colony!” Seig called to the crew. “We sail westward towards our destiny and to our glory! We shall seek a new light, and by the will of the THREE who is SEVEN, we will bring it back to Haven!”
The governor nodded his permission to Means, the ship’s captain, whose white-bearded, leathery face betrayed a youthful eagerness to the old mariner. “All hands on deck, and make ready the sails!” shouted the captain. “Raise the anchors, lads! Adventure and glory await us, indeed!”
Seig eyed the captain, not sure what to make of the man. An air of mistrust blew through his mind as he considered the fact that although the salty old sailor may have some seafaring skill in the fishing waters near the harbor, he certainly had no experience with the unpredictability of the black waters beyond the light of the tree.
Captain Means merely offered him a hasty salute before shouting his final order. “Cast off!”
Cheers went up from both ships as the three amber sails of the Resolve and the seven silver sails of the Determination unfurled on command and caught the strength of the east wind, setting both vessels in motion. The bright notes of the trumpets rang out again over the water from the shores of the harbor town as the hope of all of Haven was proclaimed in joyful song. They sounded in unison as an expectant salute to the brave men of the first colony.
Though many marveled at the grand displays of Carina’s craftsmanship, there in the forms of the Resolve and the Determination sailing upon the cold waters of the Dark Sea, none noticed the snowy white Owele perched high atop the main mast of the lead ship. Cal leaned against the branch-like railing on the aft deck of the Determination and said a prayer for the friends that he was leaving behind. He asked the THREE who is SEVEN, the great Father of the Sprites, to give audience to what Michael and Engelmann had to proclaim. He prayed that men would hope again, not in strength or light or perishable, fleeting things like timber or sharpened steel, but rather in the promises of He who is imperishable. Even here, he could see the two branches of the great tree burning their amber light with as much strength as they had left from high atop Mount Aureole.
“Do you think you will see it again, Cal?” a small voice spoke from within Cal’s cloak.
“I do not well enough know, Deryn,” Cal admitted.
“Well, if my Queen is right, Gwarwyn might have something to say about it,” Deryn reasoned.
Cal reached for the ancient blade of the dragon-slayer. He raised its tarnished and blackened steel towards the fading city of his birth. “I am not so sure that this old relic will have much to say about anything, my Sprite friend.”
“But you forget so quickly, Cal,” Deryn shot back, “this is not any blade made by the hands of men, for those blades cannot withstand time and rust. No, this is a blade with deeper magic running though tang and fuller. It could be that its discoloration and distortions are but a guise to shield our doubtful eyes from the glory we are not yet ready to behold,” Deryn told him.
“Perhaps you are right,” Cal said, running his finger along the ancient, leaf-shaped steel. “Wait … wait a moment!” Cal exclaimed.
“What is it?” Deryn asked curiously.
“Come on! Come see for yourself!” Cal beckoned the Sprite.
Deryn flew cautiously out from his hiding place, there in the Poet cloak that Cal wore, until he rested upon the tarnished blade of the fabled sword.
“Do you see it?” Cal asked excitedly.
“Do I see what?” Deryn said, obviously not determining what had caused Cal such excitement.
“The hilt! The branches on the hilt!” Cal pointed. “They’re … blooming! Look right here, do you see that?”
There upon the bronzed wood of the sword’s hilt, a single silver leaf and a single violet leaf had appeared upon the naked, curved branches.
“What does it mean?” Cal wondered. “This was not there just hours ago when I brandished it to stay the idiocy of Pyrrhus!”
“Perhaps … perhaps Gwarwyn is not quite the dead relic that you feared it was,” said Deryn with a satisfied smile.
Deryn flew back inside of Cal’s cloak in a blaze of blue, while Cal turned the tarnished yet blooming blade over and over in the amber light of the distant tree, relishing the mystery held there in his hand.
“Farewell, Haven, city of my home,” Cal said while holding high his heavy sword. “I do not doubt a new light will indeed come for you, and a beautiful dawn will break over you,” Cal said, pausing to steal a glance at the impending shadows of the west. “And yet, in the very same breath, I do fear that you will not wholly survive the coming darkness.”
The east wind blew strong and
sure, and the two ships cut through the cold, dark waters like a warm knife through softened butter. Seig stood high atop the bridge deck; a proud and eager smile was set there in his dark, closely trimmed beard as he watched over the helmsman’s steering and his new ship’s captain. His black cloak whipped and danced in the current of breezes that swirled in jubilant excitement around him.
“Captain Means,” Seig called out to the steward of this magnificent vessel. “I intend for us to sail hard and fast. For the beauty of Carina’s handiwork, as magnificent as it is, does nothing but whet my appetite for heartier meats, and I cannot possibly be satisfied by the journey alone.” He turned to face the older man. “No, Captain, the destination will be my only satisfaction,” Seig reasoned.
“Aye, Governor,” the white-bearded man replied, spitting the brown colored remainder of the shade-leaf to the ship’s deck. “We will see just what kind of fire these boats are made of,” he said with a wink and an oddly maniacal burst of laughter.
“What would you have me order the men to do?” Tahd asked, stepping forward to garner attention from the governor, for it seemed that Means did not have the intention or desire to offer Seig his due deference.
“Sail swiftly,” Seig explained. “We sail relentlessly, and no sickness or shadow, sea monster or storm will sway us from our destiny. Even if the east wind fails us, we will row with our very hands if we must, if it gets us to the shores of the Western Wreath faster. Make sure that there is nothing that stands in the way of our arrival.” He pointedly eyed the smooth-faced helmsman at the ship’s wheel.
“Do you hear that, Captain?” Tahd shouted. “Our governor is unwavering in his pursuit of victory over the darkness. Mind that you learn to share his same tenacity.” The commander of the guard spoke under the guise of banter, though his words dripped with the awkward tension of a threat.
The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) Page 37
