by J P Nelson
The first time I saw Moss I was in a funk, strolling around among the dwarf trees on G-deck. I saw this big moss-like growth on a bulkhead and was going to get rid of it. I grabbed it and it started to move, then I realized it was a living, thinking creature. Its intelligence was not unlike the apes I had known, so I used *S’Fahn Muir* to communicate with it. It had no language, but it had been with Jha’Ley when he showed up with the Abigail. Most of the crew didn’t even know of her. Her chosen place was to eat mold and that sort of thing on the Lohri’s insides. Through mental imaging I learned Moss could alter her shape and swim quickly like a ray.
Garth and Kumar were half-orgs who were going to be hung for breaking up a tavern, incidentally killing three men, and for being of org blood. When they saw me they both paused. Garth wrinkled up his nose. Great, it looked like I was going to have a racial issue.
Six-fingered Hodges, a chonatt, was the main cook. He said little, moved slow as molasses on a winter’s day in the mountains, but he served up some really good chow.
Bannock was the fellow who seemed to be everywhere, but nowhere in particular. He worked the sails, scrubbed deck, rolled ropes, just whatever needed doing. When I went out at night to play my flute to the sound of the ocean, he would often be there leaning against a mast or rail and listen. Sometimes we would have entire conversations not saying a word. Of them all I felt like I could relate most with Bannock. How, I didn’t know, yet … but I felt it.
In a lot of ways, I was again the odd man about, and as usual I was feeling alone. Some of the crew were friendly, some weren’t. I felt possibilities of friendship with G’Tabb, Bannock and Caroll, and I was already as close to be being chums with Wesney as you can get, without actually being chums.
Wesney and I got along real well, but I didn’t feel the same connection I had with Jared, Ander or Izner. And then there were all these weird vibes I kept getting just walking along the ship. I felt I was being watched, or that someone was around when nobody was there … at least I didn’t see anybody.
Then one night when I went out to play my flute on the fore-deck, I thought I heard a voice, one I knew very well. In beautiful Elvish she said, “Son, are you well?”
I ran around the ballista, to the rail and looked down. I saw a couple of crewmen performing some chore. A trickle of cold sweat ran down my back … and it was a warm night.
Around the crew I was never rude, always courteous, but never familiar. When the fellows laughed and told jokes I was not in on it. After a while the crew just quit trying to add me in, leaving me to my own world, I guess. I noticed Jha’Ley sometimes was watching me, I figured trying to decide if I fit in or not.
Most everyone had their own personal style, how they dressed, mannerisms and all. But they all looked like they fit on a ship, even Wesney. In fact, he looked born to it. Not me, I stuck out like a two foot tall red top-hat.
I’m ten inches past five feet in my bare feet, which is a couple inches or so taller than most humans, and I weigh a solid one-hundred and seventy pounds, give or take a biscuit, a lot of which is in my shoulders, chest and arms.
Elves don’t tend to carry a lot of chest muscle, although they are far from weak, but I’m not an elf. Well, not all elf, anyway. I’m what some folks politely call a half-elf, which I don’t mind, but some call a half-breed, which I do mind, and there are those who would call me a slink, which I pretty much don’t like, at all.
My build or breeding doesn’t necessarily make me stand out, not much anyway, because unless you look really close you can’t really tell the difference between me and my shipmates, which are almost all human. Even my ears, which are only modestly pointed, are covered by my headband which is common among our sailors.
My skin is fair, sure enough, but so are a lot of folks from the northlands, although at present my body was burned a leather-brown from my few years at sea. And there are several at sea who wear their hair longer than mine, which is just past shoulder length. I don’t tie mine, which is a bleached reddish-blonde from exposure to the sun, I prefer to let it hang wild. It’s a little different, I suppose, from those who like a pony-tail or a long braid, but that still isn’t enough to set me apart.
No, what would distinguish me from most is that I insist on wearing my buckskin pants which have a six-inch fringe on the sides, that and my ever present moccasins which I wear over the pants and come up just short of the knee. They too are treated with fringes, six inches to be sure, which hang from the tops where they fold over.
I heard all kinds of guff about me wearing them, as most sailors of our time went barefoot unless in colder climes. Mostly I just grinned and passed a nod or two, but for me the truths were simple.
First off, those moccasins of mine go back a lot of years, back when I was student to the man I would ever think of as Hoscoe. He was my friend, mentor, and in so many ways a father to me. Those boots were all the memorabilia I had from that time. Those boots and a magical fire box I kept in a pocket inside of those boots.
Second off, those boots had some small amount of magical properties which helped protect my feet and kept the boot soles from wearing out. I had them on my feet during the Keoghnariu War, over ten years as a pit fighter, four years traipsing through the Kohntia Mountains and my first years aboard a ship.
Thirdly, it’s those same magical properties which made me decide to wear them on ship in the first place. They simply helped me to keep a’hold of whatever I was standing on, kind of like a spider, like. Not quite, but kind of. And since I’m not a born natural seaman, like most of the Lohra Lai’s crewmen were, I fully intended they should stay on my feet where they belonged.
Another thing different was that, even at deep sea, I wore a fighting dagger tucked in a sheath on the outside of my right calf but inside the moccasin top. That dagger and me had a close relationship and it pretty much went wherever I went. I called her Thelma~Lou for no particular reason, except I liked the name. Her handle was made of bone with a slight curve and fit my hand perfectly, whether I used it regular or reverse-grip.
I wasn’t exactly sure, but I believed the metal was Nehkros Mythril, but this much was for sure; the blade was seven inches long of the sharpest stuff I had ever seen. It appeared to be a double-edge blade with the bottom side sharp all the way to one half inch from the double brass guard, a blood groove played down the middle, but only the front four inches of the top side was sharp.
Thelma~Lou was lighter than steel, didn’t rust, and I never needed to sharpen her. That blade’s edge could lop a human’s finger off or carve slivers from iron bars, and I don’t just say that for talking, I’ve done it.
All in all, she was a wicked weapon for rapping someone on the head, slashing, hacking, thrusting, parrying, any kind of close up fighting I could imagine. She was perfectly balanced for throwing, but I had other knives for that. Thelma~Lou’s place was in my hand where I could use her, quickly and quietly if need be.
There were a couple other things that made Thelma~Lou special, as well. She could absorb fire, and then hold it as long as I needed it and let it out against whatever I needed.
Inside my belt on the left side I kept a fighting hatchet, sometimes called a tom-a-hawk by some of the mountain folk. The cutting edge was inside a special sheath I made as the handle hung down from the belt. From top to bottom it was twelve inches long and on the back side of the blade was a flat head I used as a hammer.
My shirt, on the other hand, was a common, cloth weave of the unbleached variety, worn loose at the neck and elbow length at the sleeve, the tail of which I tucked into my pants.
Yeah, I stood out. I didn’t feel like I really belonged, but at least I got along with most everyone. Most everyone … that is …
Chapter 76
SERGEANT ANDEZA, FORMERLY of the Vedoan Marines, had left the service with an honorable discharge because he wasn’t getting enough action. He joined up with a group of adventuresome individuals and ended up in jail for being where he wasn’t sup
posed to be. Jha’Ley saw him, offered a chance to do something better, and upon agreement sprang for Andeza’s release.
Andeza was to put a marine team together for the Lohri, and in turn knew this guy who supposedly knew hand-to-hand combat. This guy’s name was Darlee R’Wick. R’Wick stood five feet and three inches, had zero muscle tone, and was introduced as a grandmaster of hand-to-hand combat.
When Jha’Ley mentioned maybe I could teach his marines a thing or two, I thought he was kidding. My background was ground based army; a blend of Nahjiuese Mountain Man tactics, Dahruban Infantry and Cavalry, and one-on-one pit-fighting skills.
Once we were underway from Foljur, Jha’Ley asked, “Do me a favor … just watch, train with them a time or two, then we will talk.”
I was rather nonchalant, “Okay … I’ll give it a go.”
The prospective marines hadn’t moved into their future area, yet, but were spending time training in there. So I went to watch. R’Wick had the current forty or so men sitting in a big circle. He was telling them all about acu-points, a pressure-point grappling art called Chin’Na, and how this was the way to subdue an opponent, then roll with them and make them tap-out.
I thought, ‘Tap-out? In a combat engagement?’
He demonstrated some moves on a couple of the men, flapping his arms around and rolling like a monkey. Actually, he looked to have talent, but he spoke like someone who had some little bit of good knowledge without experience to back it up. Then he got one of the men to stand still and started showing everyone where the main acu-points were. That part he got right. Next he told the man to relax, then R’Wick hit him and knocked him flat. R’Wick proceeded to tell the men how, “If you do this right, it will knock the man out every time.”
After spending more time instructing these men, who obviously knew no better and had been told this guy was a grandmaster, he put two fellows together in the middle of the circle, gave them some rules for grappling, and told them to go at it on the ground.
There were no weapons, simulated or otherwise, and they were not allowed to kick when they were down, use fists in this way or that … a lot of what is technically known in field combat as bullshit. Oh, yes, my favorite part; the men in the circle weren’t allowed to step in and help their comrades. My thinking was, ‘What kind of military training is this? This is pure sport! Great for one-on-one, but …’
Andeza suddenly noticed me leaning against the doorway. He huffed and puffed his way over in an obnoxious manner, “You, Wolf, if you want to work with us … you keep that shiking door closed. This is private training.”
“Private?”
“Damned on, private! We do not let civilians in on our combat secrets. And when you TALK to me, you say SERgeant SIR!”
I could have gotten real mad, a few years ago I would have, but I looked him level in the eye and said, “Mister … I was a major in the Keoghnariu Army … and I’m not one of your recruits. If I call you sir, it will be only after you earn it.”
Now, that took some quick wind out of his sails, but only for an instant. I didn’t know what he had been told about me, but it must not have been much. The officer part caught him off guard, and I wasn’t going to linger long enough for him to recover. I immediately started walking to the circle without him.
As I got close, R’Wick gave me a mean stare, looked to the two men, actually they all looked to be late teens, scuffling to secure an arm or a leg, then back to me. I swear I think he expected me to be impressed. I wasn’t. Not only did they not know what they were doing, but they didn’t know what they were doing or why.
He said with a hint of a sneer and a thick mountains accent, “So, you’re the army guy?”
R’Wick looked like he was forty-five or fifty, but his file reported him to be thirty-three. I was physician’s mate, remember, I had access to all files … and had to. Wesney had done real good on making files on each man. It’s one of many things Jha’Ley liked about him. The scrubby whiskers on R’Wick’s face and close-set eyes made me think of a weasel.
I said, “Too much moonshine liquor will make you age fast.”
Oh-h-h … oh-h-h … his face got real ugly with that.
Sounding all ignorant-like I asked, “That’s some interesting stuff you’re teaching these boys. Can I ask a question?”
He puffed his chest up and crossed his arms like someone really important, looked at me with those narrowed beady eyes and replied, “What is it?”
Andeza was there beside us wanting to say something, but was letting R’Wick have control. I looked to the floor, scuffed the toe of my moccasin around and asked, “How long have you been fighting?”
He didn’t like that question; not one bit. The air got cold within the ship’s walls and the two men, boys, men, kept going at it.
R’Wick said flatly, “Since I was nineteen.”
I nodded as if that was a satisfying answer. Then as if I just had a thought I asked, “And you’re sure this,” I nodded at the boys who were still tussling around, “is how military combat goes on?”
Suddenly one of the boys began yelling in pain and slapping the floor frantically.
A tall sinewy guy with a hard look on his face had heard our brief conversation. He jumped up into an attention stance and said, “Sir, sergeant, sir … permission to speak sir?!”
“Speak corporal.”
“Sir, if Master R’Wick will let me, sir, I will teach the new man a lesson he won’t never forget, sir.”
Andeza and R’Wick were both grinning as they looked at me. I nodded and scratched my nose, then stepped between two boys in the circle and into the center.
R’Wick just looked at his man and passed him a wink I guess he didn’t think I saw.
Tall boy stepped up and held his clenched fists wide apart and said, “Hit me, army … I dare you.”
I kicked him hard between the legs and watched him go up, then come down. He crumpled to his knees without a sound, both hands cupping his groin, his face one huge caricature of pain.
Watching him writhe for a moment, I stepped out of the circle and looked at the vile-faced sergeant and his instructor and said, “I guess the fight is over,” and walked out the room. Oh, yes, I closed the door. I wouldn’t want anyone to see that stuff either.
I discussed a couple of ideas with Jha’Ley and he let me have free reign. On missile-deck there was an area in the smack middle that I could use. We rigged ropes around supporting timbers to form a sixteen by twenty-four feet area on the inside, making it three ropes high with the top four and a half feet from the floor. Next we folded some canvas to make a cushioned base to throw on, but not too soft.
Two striking bags six feet long, one four feet long, and another two feet long were hung at various points. Then I found some metal balls of different size and weight to use for strength training. Hey, I needed to get back into form, anyway, I figured some of the regular crew would like to train with me. Sure enough, a bunch of them took to watching me do my regimen and wanted to work out. I didn’t try to get students, I just did my thing and explained what I was doing.
The marine boys were stretching their hammocks on berth-deck with everyone else. Sometimes they would watch me and us. A few of them looked interested, but most just echoed what they were being taught without asking any questions.
That blind-following idea has gotten a lot of people killed. I find that a teacher who doesn’t like being asked questions has very little to teach. When a person demands, “Do what I tell you, don’t ask, just do …” it’s a sure sign they don’t have any answers their own self.
More than once I heard muttered whispers of, “… army shite …” and, “… doggie, doggie chew my bone …” and, “… damned dog-faced flat-foot …” and then, “… his time is coming.”
I was pressing a hundred pound sack for repetitions when R’Wick happened by and made an off-hand comment, “All that’s a waste of time. Pushups are enough if you know what you’re doing.”
He w
as walking on by when I asked, “Have you ever been in a real fight?”
R’Wick didn’t like that. In fact, he never seemed to like anything I had to say or ask. He gave a half-chuckle and retorted, “Be careful you don’t get taught a lesson.”
“I’m ready now …” I tossed the sack down, stepped up and wiped my face with a towel, “… right here on missile-deck where everyone can see.”
He passed that weasel-like smirk, turned and walked away.
I wasn’t trying to be one of the fellows, but I did get several to grapple about, spar, and train with me. In order to do me any good, I had to teach them what to do. Tiny, in particular, asked if he could be one of my partners. I said, sure. It turned out that big lug had a natural talent. We actually became rather friendly.
Jha’Ley watched several times and liked what he saw. Then he introduced me to something … flow-sparring.
Flow-sparring is a lot harder and more aerobic than it appears. The participants look like they are moving in slow motion, but Jha’Ley explained it was about flowing from one technique to the next. There can be no ego in flow-sparring. It is all about training for counters, cross-counters, and counter-cross-counters. One time is all it took for me, and I was hooked. It gave Jha’Ley someone to practice with as well. It got to where when the two of us did the flow we would have a regular audience.
Once we made Yhonder, we escorted the girls off ship to an inn where Jha’Ley paid their lodging for a week. He commissioned a fellow he knew to represent their best interests, and that was that, his duty was satisfied.
Within two days, Resa had arranged for herself an apprenticeship at a bakery. Dorna saw me at a café and tried to single me outside to talk, but as I went out to hear what she had to say, Bannock was there as I stepped through the door onto the boardwalk. I noticed she was looking really pretty.
Before I could ask what she wanted, Bannock said, “Heyo, Wolf, the doc needs you right away in the infirmary.”
