Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Jha’Ley shifted on his feet, as if preparing to begin a sprint race, “I do not know, Mister S’Getti, what would you think?”

  S’Getti shifted his own feet in similar manner, hesitated, glanced to the commodore, and with serious expression asked, “Is the word given, sir …”

  Jha’Ley laughed heartily and slapped the captain on the arm and replied, “Raise flags, please, and pass word to Misters Dalton and Ervis to stand fast.” He glanced about B’Frios and said, “We shant enter more than one hundred rods, but I would make measure of her breadth, perhaps an estimation of depth, as well.”

  And so it was, for the next three days they remained in the vicinity and made some exploration.

  Jha’Ley determined the highest point visible of B’Frios to be sixty-two hundred feet, rather than six thousand. From sea level to the highest point of the cave’s rocky lip, he determined to be twenty-seven hundred feet. The ice was gone all along the mouth, so sailing from one side, where rock meets water, to the other side where rock meets water, the distance was calculated to be seven miles and one furlong.

  The ridgeline of B’Frios curved southward, rather than follow a direct line straight across. Jha’Ley determined if one sailed directly under the curve, it would add another five furlongs to the sailing distance. Using sextant and chronometer readings from many positions, many times, Jha’Ley determined the most narrow point of B’Frios from north to south to be exactly four miles.

  From what the team could assess, the top interior of B’Frios was shaped like an oblong tunnel and consistent all the way through. The highest point of the ceiling, the center point, was determined to be twenty-six hundred feet from sea level, which was the same as the south side.

  The bottom, however, seemed to have the same consistent shape, but much more shallow. At the deepest, in the center, the tunnel measured sixty-eight fathoms. Only from one mile in from either side did the depth begin to change, gently curving upward to an even forty fathoms at wall’s edge on both sides.

  S’Getti was beside Jha’Ley, together alone at the bow, as the final depth call was made, “What think you?”

  Jha’Ley was standing with one leg propped upon gunwale rail, arms folded and one hand rubbing his chin in thought. With a puzzled shake of head, he replied, “I do not know, Villiam. This …” he removed his hand from chin to wave at the wall, only rods away, “… this is not natural. It is too precise.”

  S’Getti nodded in agreement, then suggested, “Perhaps carved by the gods for obscure purpose to our divination?”

  Jha’Ley glanced to his friend to see if he was serious, but honestly could not tell. His hand back to chin, he used a forefinger to point to the waterline. “See how no wave breaks directly upon the edge?”

  S’Getti made direct study and responded, “Damn me, but you are correct. My thoughts have been directed to the polish and perfect curvature of the stone. The sea splashes, but not as fiercely as if truly contained by wall.”

  “I think the bottom curves far beyond that which we see.”

  “Caverns, perhaps?”

  Jha’Ley was lost in contemplation, then asked as if in afterthought, “How cold would you think the water is, right here, I mean?”

  “How co---, the water, you mean?” S’Getti was confused.

  “Yes, the water. The current we have determined coming from underneath, is much warmer than the frigid sea beyond the mouth. And we have had many men spend hours watching small pieces of ice melt, even if ever-so-slowly …”

  S’Getti squinted one eye, then emphatically tilted his head while rolling his focus to the man beside him. “My friend, I have heard tales to suggest most remarkable skill at swimming, on your part. But, save you stand oblivious to temperatures of frigid nature, sound thought lends toward staying from unnecessary risk.”

  He made sure Jha’Ley was looking at him, “Jann Raul, more relevant tasks lie before you.”

  Reluctantly, Jha’Ley nodded, “Duly noted, Villiam, duly noted.” Stepping down, he said, “Then …” with a sigh he continued, “… let us be on our way.”

  Chapter 19

  LIFE AT SEA is not easy. Fingers and toes may be lost in an instant, arms and legs are next in line, and then there is your life; that’s just in terms of safety. The work is tough, the rest is never enough, and depending on the vessel, you may share your hammock with someone else. By that, I don’t mean you’ll sleep together, but when you get out someone else may get in … nuh-uh … did it, not doing it again.

  You work in shifts, called watches, of four hours at a time. Uhm … well … if the crew is big enough, that is. If there is enough to rotate around, you may work four hours, take off four, work four, and so on. If you are lucky, and the captain or owner can afford to run a good crew, you might get to work four, take off four, work four, take off eight or even twelve, or something like that.

  Food, on the other hand, food often sucks pond water. In other words, it can be downright nasty if you are out to sea for longer than a few days at a time. Bread gets stale, water goes bad, worms and other exciting surprises get into your food, I could go on. A lot of folks, humans in particular, have no idea how to be healthy. I don’t understand that, because my momma always told me in the beginning, humans lived around elves and knew this stuff, so why did they forget?

  Okay, to be fair, modern elves have forgotten, too. But only when they left the natural way to live around human civilizations, such as it can be called, who left the natural way first, because they got tired of living around elves, who lived the natural way. Did you get that?

  Back to what I was saying …

  Food … on ships out to sea for lengths of time can be disgusting.

  So, why do so many humans seek opportunities to go out to sea? For one, the association of having been out to sea lends a certain romantic, or adventuresome, the quality of the individual in question. For another, the average human never leaves a twenty mile radius of their birth site. Going out to sea allows a person to travel, depending on the vessel, around the known world. For some, it is a way to escape certain death by the law. A select few can leave the mainland as poor folk, then return rich beyond their dreams.

  These last folk are few and far between, but it happens.

  Some, of course, just want to see if they can cut it out on the water. I won’t even go into those families who are convinced the sea is in their blood. To me, that is a bunch of bunk, but there are many who believe it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Well, my pappy’s, pappy’s, pappy grew up on the ocean, so it’s in me to follow my ancestor’s footsteps …” To me, that’s as dumb as anything I’ve ever heard. It’s like saying, “Well, my people have been digging ditches for generations, so I guess that’s what I’ll do too.

  That’s a human for you.

  A few get caught up with a career of oceaneering. They will tell you there is a certain allurement in the roll of the waves, sounds of the birds, and clean smell of the salt. Now, there’s something in all that which I can relate to. The wind, itself, seems to be alive. And the melody of the wind in harmony with the waves make for music you have to hear to appreciate.

  Some of these lifelong sailors will bind themselves to a certain ship, or a captain. When you talk to a sailor, their ship, or ships they have sailed upon, are like entities unto themselves. Some of these are legends upon the sea.

  The Faulta Whimn was already two hundred years old when Jha’Ley’s expedition cast off from Vedoa. The Tab’Oleen was two hundred and forty years old when she finally heaved to. The Hu’Toi was three hundred years old when she was sunk by Captain Roveir. Each had been at varying times used for war, merchant trade, exploration and piracy.

  A ship is more than just a big boat floating on the water. A ship is a vehicle to travel, adventure, various lifestyles, and it can be a home.

  By-the-way, do you know the difference between a ship and a boat? I didn’t, not until I began sailing. If you can’t tell by now, I’ve always
been big on details.

  My momma said, “To tell a story well and record it as to preserve the truth, a Tell Singer must not only hear, they must absorb every fact and relish even the most minute detail. A story is like unto a house; if built with a minimum of elements, it will hardly become a home, only a stopping place with bare shelter from the winds, ultimately to be forgotten. The more care tendered into constructing one’s dwelling, the longer the place will survive and indeed become a home. Therefore, lay well a foundation, hew the walls and shape the wood or stone, and make mortar to seal from the wind. Then bind the home’s soul with furnishings to make for a dwelling to be remembered.

  “Such is the same for composition of song and tale.”

  My momma was a genius.

  The first time I was on a ship, I was chained to the deck of the Gracious Lady, being transported as a slave. A fellow I had gotten to know, named Parnell, brought me some food and I commented, “I didn’t think boats got this big …”

  One of the crew was working nearby and my words must have offended him, or else he just wanted to talk rough with the lowly slave. Anyway, he said, “Ya think you be on a boat do ya? A boat be a small craft, ta be rowed, poled, sculled … an’ if’n ya got a han’chercif an’ stick, ya might can tease one along by tha wind.”

  Parnell and me just listened.

  The crewman gave me an irritated glance, as if I were slow to think, or something and kept on, “When boats get this big…” he stopped and stared at me, “… ya think we feed ‘em, stoke ‘e with boat food and the like, and then they grow? Boats be tools, ta do grovelin’ chores.” He sneered at me, and slowly spreading his hands out wide in front of me said, “When they get big enough ta carry another boat, they ain’t boats no more, they become ships.”

  The crewman pointed to the stern, “We got a dingy off the back, an’ another pullin’ boat on either side.” He kicked what I had thought to be, well, I didn’t know what it was, but it turned out to be a narrow poling craft stored upside down. Then he barked at me, “What you think this is in front of you? A workbench?”

  Honestly, I was kind’a thinking along those lines, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “It be called a punt, a polin’ boat for the shallows.”

  He went back to work while grumbling in our direction, “I didn’t think boats got this big … damned land-lubberin’ slink. Boats be lucky to tend a ship, that’s why they be called tenders …”

  That crewman gave me dirty looks the whole way to Malone.

  My point in recalling all of that is, most sailors of the known world feel pretty much the same way. A boat is a water craft not big enough to carry another boat. A water craft big enough to carry a boat is generally called a ship. By such simple things can some major differences be determined.

  When sailors seek out careers at sea, naturally they will want the best conditions to work in as is possible. I say food aboard ships often sucks pond water, but there are those who provide the very best to their crew. The Vedoan Navy is one such benefactor.

  People can, and will, say what they want about politics in the country of Vedoa, but nobody can touch the way they run their navy. Their ships are the best maintained anywhere, the quality of food and berth is bypassed by none, and their leadership in all manner of technology is unparalleled.

  When the Clarise, Ubank, and Qua’Korr were being prepared for their frigid journey, every attempt was made to afford ship and soul with ample resources of the highest class possible. This included food, clothing, tools, weapons, and boats … tender boats, to be specific.

  Some of these tender boats hung from the side on special wenches called davits. There was no hap-hazard scheme behind choosing these secondary craft. As important as the ship would be, the boats could make or break a mission; especially true of the Meinkutt Expedition.

  Manually cutting through the ice was to be expected, so each ship was afforded something called a barge. Don’t confuse this with a square, flat-bottom raft-like river craft used to transport livestock, folk and merchandise from one side to another, although there are similarities.

  Imagine a flat-bottom rectangle, nine feet wide by twenty-eight feet long. The sides flare out just a little as they rise up. There is no front or back, and ends curve upward from the bottom. You can row these barges, pole them, or scull. Sculling is putting an oar off the end and moving back and forth, kind’a like a fish tail, to move the craft slowly forward. You could put a sail on these, but they aren’t designed for such.

  These barges were designed for use in ice, marshes, and swamps. In the icy water, the crew can stand in the boat while trying to break through ice, and if such ice suddenly breaks, the crew won’t fall into the water. For those who don’t know, falling into arctic waters is not a recommended activity … life expectancy in such water is short.

  Sometimes crew can tie ropes to a barge and drag supplies across to wherever they need. In flat water, I mean water that isn’t kicking up a ruckus of waves and anger, a barge is great for hauling supplies and passengers. The barges afforded to the Clarise and Qua’Korr also featured a special keel, called a drop-keel, which could be lowered into the water for enhanced stability in the waves. There are lots of uses for a barge. Smaller versions of less than twenty feet long are sometimes called jonboats or punts.

  For this voyage, Jha’Ley used a custom-made jonboat for his dingy, the boat hanging off the stern by davits. Sailors be sailors and tend to name everything. The commodore named his jonboat the Waddles. When submitting the name for painting, Redding had asked with an amused expression, “Why, Jann Raul, the Waddles?”

  With equal humor, he replied, “Because, my friend, when I was very small I lived for a time with a tyrant named Marm Ramy; a woman with regard only for herself, who used children as slaves under the guise of a child-house and screamed at us constantly. I had a stuffed toy duck I called Waddles. It was old, ragged, and the stuffing was coming out in places, but it was mine.

  “One day I found it in the refuse where she had thrown it away. She said it was useless and did not want such a thing in her presence. I told her Waddles was just sick and I would care for her. Ramy told me if she saw it again, she would burn it in my presence.”

  Redding was quiet, then asked, “What did you do? Knowing you, you did something.”

  “I rescued my little Waddles and cared for her in a safe place. When the time came for me to escape Ramy’s child-home, I took Waddles with me.”

  Jha’Ley was solemn in his memory as he added, “Yes, my Waddles was old and falling apart, but she was special to me. Even at my young age, I knew she could not last, however. When I saw the coast of the Alburin, I knew this would be the place to put her to rest. So I buried her where she could always have a view of the sea.”

  “I always thought Albri and J’Hene were your natural parents. Were you …?”

  “Yes, my friend, I was adopted. But better parents a child could never have. It is my wish to make them proud.”

  Redding passed an evaluating gaze upon his friend. With a grip upon his arm, he asked, “Do you not think they to be proud?”

  Jha’Ley seemed to ignore the question, then he answered in a different direction of thought, “There has been a quest begun by my family, many years ago. I believe my greatest homage to the House of Albri, to J’Hene and their lineage, is to fulfill this quest.”

  “Quest, what quest?”

  “To find Dorian’s Purse.”

  “Dorian’s Purse? I have heard of it. Jann Raul, is it not a children’s tale of grandeur? An ancient tale to which involves elves, dark magic, life everlasting … should I say it… the Dorhune are even tied to this thing. The way I heard it, whoever holds the purse could ascend to godhood,” Redding looked to the heavens, “The holder must present it up as a gift to the gods at time of alignment.” He looked back to the man with perplexity, “Do you wish to attain godhood?”

  Jha’Ley laughed and flashed his smile, “No, Stanlius, no.�
� He himself looked to the stars, “But there are questions to which I would know the answers. I believe it is for this task I was born, and why I grew to manhood in my father’s house.”

  “There are those who would call you insane.”

  “Do you think me insane?”

  Redding paused, then replied with an impish grin, “I … I think you are crazy.”

  ___________________________

  From the mouth of B’Frios the expedition sailed, into Severn’s Passage and ice filled waters, keeping the Val’Nahahl coast in their port-side horizon as per the records. The sailing was not quick and the floating ice soon made a barricade for transit.

  The Ubank took the lead with her steel nose, breaking way for the others to follow. The time came when the ice was too resilient. The Ubank and Clarise carried two barges each, the Qua’Korr carried one; the Clarise’s crew naming theirs the Clyde and Kimble.

  All barges were set forth to give the men purchase to work with tools, and every man took his turn with the pick. Jha’Ley would have no part of just standing by to give orders, and his officers refused to disgrace themselves in his eyes.

  Only the cooks took respite from wielding the cutting tools. But they worked equally as hard, keeping a steady stream of hot drink, soup and other such victuals at the ready. Sing-song work cadences were the norm as the men clearly earned their rations and pay.

  More than once, the ice was cut sufficiently for the ships to press on, but the wind did not play her part. The crew tethered lines to the Ubank and took stand upon the unbroken portions of ice and towed her forward, splaying the broken pieces to make a path for the Clarise and Qua’Korr to follow. The monomoy boats, twenty-six-foot-long craft which resemble a big, wide canoe, long used as lifeboats and occasionally as whale-hunting craft, were then tied to bow as the crew rowed to pull the ships along the way.