by J P Nelson
Clarise’s crew were ready by conditioning for the near hurricane force wind and ultra-violent crash of the wave, as those forces hit the stern of the schooner. Still yet, Caroll was knocked over the poop-deck, but not before he wrapped his hand around a rope. As he went over, he braced his muscles and bounced off the transom just below the stern-castle.
Through the wall of water he could just make out a shape plummeting past his body and he reached to grab, barley seizing the garment of a crewman. He could not make out the man’s features, but no matter. The man’s hands found their way to Caroll’s forearm, and the two interlocked grips, as the native from Lh’Gohria closed his eyes and focused his strength to purpose … to hold without err.
Helmsman Ahtty, his mate, Tamn, Marine Sergeant Dessi and Telroy together, fought the wheel to hold the rudder true. The timbers of the Clarise groaned and men were hurled directly into the sails. Rufus yelled his orders to correct the trims as twice it seemed the ship would be engulfed by the sea, entombed at the bottom, wherever that may be, of this salty, icy cave.
S’Getti and Ervis had the bows of their vessels pointed away from where Jha’Ley had entered in an effort to keep watch for whoever, if any, should come upon their position with ill intent. Well, it was, for as the watch saw the intensely rolling waters preceding the great wave, they immediately set in motion to sail ……
…… As the chonatt floored me with his strike, once more sapping me of strength and intensity, this time I was prepared. More than once I had done combat against manifestors. By what manner of Eldohrich Discipline my six-fingered foe was ascribed to, I didn’t know, but he wasn’t in tune to So’Yahr or So’Yeth, or I would have felt it from the onset of his delivery.
Hitting the ground hard I could hear the crowd now chanting my name, after all, I was the underdog, “Go-Jai … Go-Jai … Go-Jai!” Well, my fighting name, anyway. Forcing my muddled mind to think, and my unnaturally exhausted body to roll, not once, not twice, but several times to avoid those wiggling fingers, I kept reaching for the energy of So’Yeth, trying to heal myself. Damn, but it wasn’t working. What to do?
He came after me again, slowly, almost lumbering. He wasn’t quick, flexible, but not quick. I rolled under his reach, past and behind him, onto my feet, then turned to face him. Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I stumbled away from him as I saw his eyes squint in aggravation. I was figuring it out and he knew it.
*Healing!* I was trying to heal, but there was nothing to heal. What I needed to do was *Reverse* the effects he was inflicting upon me. This was new. Could I figure how to do it before he did me in?
I looked to the near moon just coming into view, called Jehna by our ancestors, the ones on my momma’s side. There was a form of energy which could be drawn from Jehna, a variation of So’Yeth, but reflecting from the moon and taking on lunar qualities. Momma told me those properties could reverse morphing effects and such. Would this be some kind of morph? I had not tried doing anything with it before. Well, I was trying now.
The chonatt was almost on me again, then he lunged and I delivered a right jab into his nose, followed by another with a strong left cross. Contact with him didn’t drain me, but I wasn’t taking any chances. It was like hitting an oak door, though, mind you.
He reeled, and I tried bouncing on my toes to get the blood working while moving away from him. Inhaling, I tried focusing on my new girlfriend, Jehna, and bathing myself in her glow. A tingling, surreal sensation coursed through my body and made my brain feel as if it were abuzz.
The chonatt turned toward me and I could see I had flattened his nose, flatter than it was, anyway. Darting and weaving from side-to-side, I let him close in, then lashed another fast right jab at his nose. This fellow was not a properly trained fighter. He had been relying on his magics to become a primus star in these northeastern matches.
I had learned from my cellmate, Doc Lamindo, that usage of magic in a fight could get you taken out back and shot full of arrows. It was why weapons were forbidden in pugilistic gladiatorial combat, and had been for over one hundred years. Use of weapons was a specialty match, and had all but been phased out. But Mister Fingers had gotten away with it somehow, and I was taking my chances.
His hands were down, stupid, but I wasn’t going to coach him. I was feeling giddy; did it have something to do with So’Luahr? I jabbed him again, then twice more in rapid succession followed by a hard left. Almost of their own accord, my feet began to dance in a shuffling rhythm as the crowd was going nuts, a technical term for getting really excited.
‘Stay away from those hands, Wolf,’ I told myself, ‘no means NO!’ and I jabbed him again. Why wasn’t he falling down? I slammed another left to his head, and he just turned and looked at me with his busted face. I couldn’t tell if he was dazed, or if that dumb and stupid look was normal.
Okay then … I turned it on as I brushed his arm aside and whaled him hard to the body. I was rewarded with a gush of air and an emphatic, “Um-m-mph!” So I gave him another, then a right to the body followed by a left hook into the biscuits, I mean into what a lot of folk call the bread basket, or belly.
Still wary of those hands, the opportunity came and I went up in the air, and walloped him with a drop-kick which would make any mule proud. Mister Fingers went backward with both feet in the air, landing hard on his back.
Almost everyone I have seen do a dropkick, and they are few and far between, kick with one foot, or jump up and kick straight out with their back parallel to the ground. Not me. When I go up, I twist around just a might, so when I lash out my body is sideways to the ground. When I come down I am still in a spin, which brings me down on hands and feet. That way I can spring up and do it again if I want.
This time I didn’t want.
Still breathing in the essence of Jehna and doing my shuffle dance, I positioned myself around and waited for him to get up. By Zaeghun’s Lair, he was slow. Just in case he could heal himself, I didn’t want to give him the chance, so I grabbed him by the hair to bring him to his feet, and shale’s if he didn’t try to swipe me on the leg. The son-of-a-sorrim was laying wait for me.
Son-of-a-sorrim, well, I’ve never heard that word before. I just made it up on the spot. The worst excuse of a back-stabbing, lying, cowardly, piece of human garbage, or any other species I had ever known before or since, was named Sormiske. It just came to me the worst thing I could call someone would be that, a son-of-a-sorrim, after Sormiske. It was far worse in my mind than a son-of-a-bitch.
At times I have also coined the phrase, damned miske, coming from the same source with the same meaning and used interchangeably. That way I have more words to choose from when I really want to swear.
Anyhow, this damned miske … see, it works … lay wait to swipe me with those hands of his, but I was faster and responded well. Jumping back, I then snapped my right foot crossways to the side of his head. As he spun around I placed my foot down in front of me, then spinning left-wise, I planted my left foot full into his ribs.
Apparently I broke something, since he grabbed his side and bent in agony. Again grabbing his hair, I employed *Stone Bones* and with a roar of rage rammed my right-hand knuckles into his forehead. Again, I rammed my knuckles home as I opened a horrible wound. A third blow leveled the chonatt to the ground.
The crowd’s yells were at full bloom as I grabbed him up again, this time to lift my knee into his head. Once more he fell back so hard his feet left the ground. Picking him up one last time, I spun him so his back was to my front, scooped my head under his left arm, then lifting him up so that he was almost vertical to the ground, I sat down hard to my right side with a back-suplex, bashing his right shoulder to the ground and breaking his neck.
He was still squirming when I stood up and faced the crowd. In only a few moments my hand was raised up as the victor ……
…… As the brutal water from within the cave hit the Ubank and Qua’Korr, they were already under way. The two vessels kept within sight of e
ach other, but it was many miles and a full night before they rejoined direct company. Captain S’Getti took the lead as they sailed with great care to seek out Commodore Jha’Ley and the Clarise.
It was in the morning twilight when they came upon the schooner, sails down and in a state of rest. Finding all to be safe, yet many battered and worse for wear, both S’Getti and Ervis expressed their amazement at their good fortune.
As vessel commanders, first officers, sailing masters, bosuns, Fhascully and Kravieu converged to take a meal with Jha’Ley, S’Getti commented, “I have heard speak of your exploits and courage of steel, my grand commodore, but I shall this day forward declare oath to those who should hear of this for truth.” Leaning forward upon the table, he asked, “Come, sir, please disclose upon us, does your soul ever entertain aspiration of fear?”
Fhascully made no comment, but his eyes quietly rolled upward.
Jha’Ley answered with a shrug of his shoulders and twist of his mouth, “All of the time, Mister S’Getti.”
Kravieu lifted his wine glass and quoted, “Courage depicts not absence of fear, yea, courage discloses action in spite of it.”
Ervis turned the words into a toast, “Aye, to the courage of our commodore, Jann Raul Jha’Ley.”
All lifted their glasses with, “Here, here.”
Rosey, Ervis’s sailing master asked Dalton, “So, what did you think of your experience?”
Dalton sat there, clean and crisp with a long wound stitched upon his left cheek, sipping his wine as he contemplated an answer.
Kravieu smiled and with a wink toward Dalton answered for him, “If I may, our fine lieutenant doffed jacket and plowed into sweat of the oar beside his crew. He excelled exceedingly well.”
Rosey was not known for his pleasantry, and often sought means to berate those he felt did not deserve their position upon their ship. It was an ongoing subtle implication he felt Dalton inherited his rank, rather than earned it. He gazed at the lieutenant who passed him direct eye-to-eye contact. Rosey tongued the roof of his mouth, took another sip of his wine and contemplated the words. After a moment, with a stoic face he gave a nod to Dalton.
Lieutenant Mantel, S’Getti’s first officer, asked, “With respect, commodore, may I implore your decision to make such risk into the cave?”
With good humor, Jha’Ley grinned and remarked, “Well, Mister Mantel, it seemed a good idea at the time.” He observed the mixed reactions to his unexpected answer. Then passing a wink of his own to Kravieu he added, “Besides, we are here to explore, are we not? How can one learn an answer to a question, if such question is never put to the act?”
Pleasantly, he drained his glass, then addressed everyone at the table, “An open door is just that, gentlemen. One might obtain a cursory view of what is inside, pending direction which the door may swing. But to truly gather evidence of what resides in such room, one must navigate inward.” He poured himself another glass, and holding the canister upward, he asked, “More wine, anyone?”
___________________________
The squad sailed onward to Avalon. This time, Jha’Ley set course for the town of Heizle in the Gulf of Goldemarr. There he held meeting with all officers, “Mister Ervis, I wish you to sail at point and make trade. We are bound for Kohnarahs and would do well to make good presentation. The Clarise and Ubank are your support. Mister S’Getti, you have command.”
He showed them the Vedoan Sea Charts, “These are the most up to date maps on the ocean,” he grinned to all, “but we shall see to necessitate revision. I wish you to set course in starboard-wise circle to visit all ports. Do not forget the Isles of La’Fey across Morkhun Channel to the southwest.
Let us go heavy in the apple brandy of Avalon, there is none so fine and it keeps well. Should we become stranded amid the ice, we may require reliance on such victual to heat our cores.” This drew cheers and laughter from everyone.
“Return here to meet. This should give six weeks, perhaps a bit more, six weeks to lend the Severn Passage time to achieve its thaw. If my calculations are correct, we should enter said passage at a most probable point of time for navigation.
“I, gentlemen, am trekking yonder into those high mountains. Imperative information should be there, should the right person be found with grace to give it.”
Fhascully raised a finger and remarked, “Ah, commodore, may I have permission to speak?”
“Surely, Mister Fhascully. What did you have in mind?”
“When last we stopped here at Avalon, you made a departure of lone venture and did not find that which you sought. May I also suggest this is against regulation …”
Jha’Ley held up his hand, “You mean I am not allowed furlough?”
Fhascully opened his mouth to speak, but Jha’Ley closed his eyes and shook his head, “I am most aware the regulation of which you speak. Let me, therefore inform you, you are to join me on this trek ... uhm-m-m … as naturalist to record such, such unusual specimens of plants, beasts, bugs, or whatever natural things you may need or wish to make record of, to write down, to draw, whatever it is you do when you do what you do.
“What exactly is it you do, Mister Fhascully?”
There was much laughter as the naturalist began to bluster.
Smiling his smile, Jha’Ley added, “A jest, of course, Mister Fhascully. You are with no doubt a master of what you do and we are graced to afford your presence. However … you, Misters Seedle, Caroll and Sergeant Dessi, shall join me in an, uhm, party of exploration. All well founded and supported within regulations.
“You may wish to stack your duffle. We depart within the hour. Oh, you will also be our acting medic, so please supply accordingly.”
As Fhascully had pointed out, Jha’Ley had not found what, or rather who, he was looking for. He did, however, encounter an elder woman who he split a cord of wood for, as well as a couple other mundane chores. He briefed her of his quest, and after feeding him a hearty soup with apple bread and tea, she suggested a trail to follow. To begin the trail, she suggested, he may do well to begin from the other side of the island, from north of the town, Heizle, at the Gulf’s head. She gave him some old landmarks to seek as well.
She spoke in a deep accent, which reminded him of Old Uncle, although much thicker, which only made sense as he was born and raised there. But she made clear of no promises, as the place she described was ancient and once her people made trade there.
For several days the five men trekked into the mountains. The land was truly beautiful and often they gave pause to revere their surroundings, not the least being crystal clear air.
Fhascully was having the time of his life. Jha’Ley made a mirthful note in his log, “It was the longest period I have known for him to complain nonce, and to give all appearance of happiness.”
The further into their journey they travelled, the more concerned Jha’Ley became, but he discussed his thoughts with no one. He regularly pulled his watch out, opened it and stared from the watch into the distance and back again.
It was Caroll who asked, “Sir, if I may ask, is that in your hand a watch, or compass?”
With a pleased expression, Jha’Ley replied, “Both, actually.”
The answer raised the curiosity of everyone, even Fhascully who was absorbed in an insect he had never seen before. They all came around to give close eye as they listened to explanation.
From a closed position, the device appeared to be an immaculately made watch of dull gold casing. “When I open the face cover top and bottom … like this … we see at top a watch, a perfectly synchronized chronometer with the Kohra Clock in Merceil.” He held it so everyone could see.
“As we know, the Kohra Clock is recognized as the World Clock, the most accurate timepiece on Orucean. This time piece has been accurate to the second, every time I have checked it since arriving in Vedoa. Of course, as you can see … you are huffing my shoulder Mister Fhascully,” taken aback, Fhascully moved his chin and Jha’Ley continued, “thank you …
this is a compass rose.”
Fhascully had his glasses on, something he had just begun to use in the last year and was constantly taking them off and putting them on, and was peering intently. “Commodore, what is the design in the center of the rose needles?”
Dessi answered, “Sir, if I may?” With a glance of approval, he responded, at first, to Fhascully, then included his gaze to everyone, “This is an ancient symbol used by the elves at Ch’Hahnju Citadel, perhaps even before then. It appears to be a type of rune, but is not. It is not even a character in their written language. The two symbols together represent the extremes of balance, ratios and proportion, not to be confused with good and evil.
“To put a droplet of pure water into a barrel of shite does not balance putting a droplet of shite into a barrel of pure water. By same measure, good and evil do not balance evenly.
“The symbol to the left is a tribal diagram of the number nine, the one on the right represents lotus, which to them represents truth, or a law in their philosophy. It means Nine Lotus, or The Nine Truths by which they lived.
“What is more, they used these diagrams for mathematics.”
They were all staring at him.
Fhascully asked, “Really?!”
“Yes, really.” Knowing his inquisitor, Dessi calmly waited for a challenge. Pleased to receive none, he added, “These little lines going around in a circle are not decoration, they are called tri-grams and represent the nine animals they held sacred.”
Seedle remarked, “But there are only eight sets of little lines …”
“Groups, not sets, but the ninth one is in the middle, behind the dual symbols.”
Jha’Ley asked, “So, Sergeant Dessi, how is it you know this?”
He grinned, “My grandfather grew up and spent most of his life in the Gohbashai Mountains. He had a good friend and hunting partner whose grandmother was half-elf. He learned all kinds of things from him. Hey, you know the best way to kill an elf?”
