by R. J. Grieve
For the rest of that day the sky remained blue. The breeze freshened a little but not enough to be alarming. Yet still the long, rolling swell continued. The little vessel ploughed steadily southwards, keeping well out from the treacherous coast. The sails filled taut with the steady breeze and the Captain piled on as much canvas as he thought she could bear, clearly keen to increase their speed. The ship heeled over, its keel swiftly cutting the deep water, until the deck was canted at an exhilarating angle. Elorin appeared to be in her element, her face shining with enjoyment, the wind whipping little tendrils of hair free from restraint. Celedorn, true to his word, kept out of sight, informing the Captain that he had no intention of interfering in another man’s ship.
Towards evening, the colour of the sea changed from blue to a deep, translucent turquoise- green. The swell had now deepened to the point where the boat climbed the sides of each glassy wave as a man might climb a steep hill. In the depths of the green, Elorin could see dark ribbons of kelp torn loose from their anchorage on the seabed. The sky burned an evil bronze as the sun departed, casting lurid gleams into the depths of the waves. A narrow bank of dark cloud slipped above the horizon, into which the sun plunged, its light snuffed out like a candle. The Captain gave orders for the sail to be shortened and the speed came off the vessel just as Elorin descended the ladder to retire for the night.
She found Celedorn stretched fully dressed on the bunk, his arm cast across his eyes. She knew he was not asleep, but clearly he didn’t want to talk, so she lay down on the other bunk and was soon asleep.
She awoke some time later, aware of a sense of alarm. Her eyes opened in the darkness. She could see nothing, but felt instinctively that something was wrong. Suddenly, the vessel gave a lurch that was so violent that it hurled her out of her bunk. She crashed against Celedorn and he caught her in an iron grip.
“Are you hurt?” He asked. She shook her head and he released her. “The Captain’s fears have been realised,” he confirmed grimly. “The storm has arrived.”
“I’ll go on deck.”
“You’d only be in the way. I’ve already been up to offer my help, but they have taken in all the canvas except a storm-sail and there is only room for two men at the tiller, so there is nothing else to be done.”
“Still, I’d rather be on deck than thrown around in the darkness down here,” she shouted over a peal of thunder.
Something fell off a shelf and struck Celedorn on the shoulder. “You may have a point,” he conceded.
When they forced open the hatch above the ladder, the full ferocity of the storm became evident. The wind howled through the rigging, rain lashed the deck, and broken, foaming waves periodically swept the entire length of the ship. Lightning crackled, briefly illuminating the scene from a nightmare. Monstrous waves rose up like jostling mountains on every side. The regular rhythm of the swell had gone, and now the jagged waves collided in pandemonium all around them, their crests curling over and breaking with a roar on their own flanks. Waves coming at each other from insane angles, crashed together like cymbals, sending thunderous shock waves rebounding in all directions. The little vessel, looking terrifyingly fragile, was tossed like a stick on the heaving chaos, her tiny scrap of canvas the only thing keeping her before the wind and away from the jagged coast.
“Close the hatch,” yelled one of the fishermen over the shriek of the wind, “and hold tight to the lifelines.” He struggled towards them, clinging with all his might to the ropes, as a deluge of cold, green sea thundered aft, smothering him in foam up to his chest.
“Here,” he shouted, indicating a small area behind the hatch. “Stay here, it is the safest place. Stay with her,” he ordered Celedorn. “There is nothing you can do to help except keep her from being swept overboard.”
In the few seconds they had been on deck, both Celedorn and Elorin were drenched to the skin. Rain hammered down on the deck in the short intervals between the cruel waves. Elorin clung to Celedorn with both arms around his waist, convinced that the lifelines offered no real protection against the power of the waves that surged along the deck. He wedged himself in a corner by the hatch, twisting a securely-anchored piece of rope around his wrist and shielding her as best he could from the debris that each thundering cataract swept along with it. Several times they found themselves enveloped in a heavy, trailing mass of kelp and struggled to free themselves of its entanglement. The two men at the tiller fought the waves with the determination of men who know their lives depend on it. The flashes of lightning revealed their white, strained faces.
Elorin, watching their efforts, yelled to Celedorn: “If the tiller breaks under the strain we are lost.”
If he heard her, he gave no sign of it, for a massive foaming wave hurled itself across the deck and for a second both their heads went under the water. They surfaced, gasping for breath, astonished to find they were still aboard the vessel and not adrift in the sea. The gallant ship shouldered the burden of water and slowly arose, shaking off its weight.
Celedorn yelled something in her ear which she couldn’t make out but she nodded to show she was all right and tightened her grip on him.
By morning the thunder and lightning had become distant, growling like a sullen threat on the gloomy horizon. Dawn revealed a wasteland of heaving grey sea and low menacing clouds that fled before the fiercely aggressive wind. Unabated, the storm still blew in all its fury, howling across the waves, forcing them into fearsome crests still strong enough to inundate the little ship. For two days of fear and misery the elements continued their reign of terror and the vessel fled before the wind far out to sea, away from the coast, away from the safety of Serendar. The Captain could only guess at their position and judged that they must be somewhere in the region of the Isles of Kelendore. A sharp lookout was kept for the islands but all that could be seen was endless angry grey sea. All the crew, including Celedorn and Elorin, had remained constantly on deck. The cabin was uninhabitable, quickly reduced to a disordered mess in which about a foot of water sloshed around. Celedorn salvaged from the mess what food he could find, but no one felt like eating much and certainly very little sleep was had. Several times he lent his considerable strength to controlling the tiller, no longer hiding his lack of seamanship but content to act under the Captain’s directions.
By dawn of the third day, lack of food and sleep and constant cold and fear had reduced everyone to shivering wrecks. When the first glimmer of light appeared, Celedorn, who had for the last four hours been wrestling single-handed with the tiller, nudged the Captain with his foot. The older man had been dozing and opened his eyes with a startled jerk.
“What is it?” he demanded anxiously, his voice hoarse from days of shouting over the tumult.
“I think the storm is subsiding at last. Look to the south, the clouds are lifting.”
The Captain dragged himself wearily to his feet, instinctively bending his knees with the roll. As he looked southwards, a long beam of light slid from beneath the trailing clouds and touched the tip of each tumbled wave with a gleam of silver. The waves now only occasionally broke over the fishing boat. Packets of spray still slapped the faces of the weary crew but they were so exhausted that such treatment had no power to keep them awake.
“I believe you are right,” the Captain croaked. He looked about his little vessel. The trim fishing boat had gone and in its place a sorry sight limped across the sea. Ropes and damaged spars trailed in the water. The mainmast was spilt so badly that is could bear very little sail, despite being tightly frapped. The rowing boat, nets and oars which had all been lashed to the deck, were gone and long strands of kelp clung forlornly to what was left of the rigging.
“Where are we?” Celedorn asked.
The Captain shook his head. “I don’t know. For three days now we have been driven to the north-west. The only land in that direction is the Isles of Kelendore but I’m pretty sure we have missed them and are now further north than I have ever been before. The Forsaken La
nds lie somewhere to the east of us but how far, I have no way of knowing. The only spot of civilisation on that coast is the Island of Sirkris, but it’s so small it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If I could get a sight of land, I would have something to go on but until then, all we can do is set up a jury mast and try to veer in a more easterly direction. If the wind continues to drop we might risk a bit of sail this afternoon.”
He looked at his crew sprawled asleep at all angles on the wet deck. Elorin was curled up in a corner with a rope around her waist securely tied to a ringbolt. Her dark hair was plastered over her face concealing it from view.
“It looks like only you and I will be fit to carry out repairs,” he observed, “and yet you have been fighting with that tiller more than anyone. I don’t think we could have managed without you.” He grinned tiredly and added. “Even if you don’t know anything about the sea.”
“I’m learning fast,” replied Celedorn, unperturbed.
“I knew from the moment I saw you that you were no merchant - and no seaman either. If I’m not mistaken, you live by that,” he said, pointing to Celedorn’s sword.
Celedorn met the faded blue eyes frankly. “Your guess is correct. I live by my sword. Not a very honourable profession.”
“You’ll get no condemnation from me,” his companion informed him firmly. “I take a man as I find him.” His gaze fell on Elorin. “She’s not your sister, is she?”
Celedorn shook his head.
“Well, just you make sure you take care of her. She’s a nice lass.”
Celedorn snorted derisively. “She’s a hot-headed, disobedient load of trouble.”
The Captain laughed. “All the best ones are.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Island of Sirkris
The respite was short-lived. When the seas moderated from mountainous to merely rough, the crew used the opportunity to make what repairs they could. The cabin was bailed out but the bedding could not be dried, as the deck was still washed with spray and deluges of rain which plummeted down from time to time. The Captain, still unsure of their position, set out containers to catch the fresh water to be stored against an emergency. Most of the supplies of food had been ruined when sea-water had got into the cabin. Elorin managed to find some flour that had remained intact in a sealed jar and once the galley stove had been relit, baked some bread for the hungry crew. The men were glad of the sustenance for they had a difficult task ahead of them, trying to repair the rigging and clear away the debris in the heaving sea. By dusk, the little ship was looking less of a wreck and more of a viable proposition. The Captain had managed to raise a small sail and she was soon scudding across the iron-grey waves, still driven to the north-west by the pugnacious wind. However, just before night descended, the wind dropped off a little before backing round to the south-west. The sailors, instead of looking pleased, looked even more grave.
“What’s the matter?” Celedorn asked, perplexed by their attitude. “Surely this will bring us back to the shore?”
“Aye, it will. A lee shore, with a blow like this behind us, is not a pretty proposition. It looks like we’ve missed the Isles of Kelendore. I would guess that we’ve come too far northwards. We’re probably north of Sirkris as well, and that means that we face an unknown part of the coast of the Forsaken Lands. Not a place where one would wish to be shipwrecked.”
“Will it come to that?”
“Not if this wind dies down by morning. Trouble is, I don’t know how far out from land we are. With the mast split like this, I cannot manoeuvre, but must run before the wind, and if it keeps on as it is, it will drive us onto the rocks of the Forsaken Lands for sure. Our only hope is Sirkris, but it lies so close to the coast of the Forsaken Lands that it is dangerous to approach when a south-westerly is blowing. It’s rare for the winds to back to that quarter.” He looked anxiously up at the scurrying clouds. “The Destroyer is in the sky these days.”
Celedorn said nothing of this conversation to Elorin, but he didn’t need to, because she was well aware of their peril. She sat shivering on deck, her dark hair pasted to her face by the rain, her eyes staring over the bow for hour after hour, searching for the tell-tale sign of white surf, until darkness fell, blotting out the desolate scene. Still her eyes searched the darkness, until fear and cold could keep them open no longer.
In the dark hours just before dawn, she awoke from an uneasy doze. Nothing appeared to have changed. The blackness was complete. The wind still howled in the rigging and the ship pitched and rolled in the turbulent waves. Celedorn, who had spent most of the night wrestling with the recalcitrant tiller, was sitting beside her, his head hanging forward with fatigue. She shivered again, chilled to the bone by being constantly in wet clothes, but she was nevertheless alert, convinced that something unusual had awoken her. Then she heard it again. Over the howl of the wind and roar of the waves, she heard a booming noise. She listened intently. It came again: louder this time. With a stab of fear, she recognised what it was. She leapt to her feet and scrambling along the deck, reached the Captain at the tiller.
“Surf!” she shrieked over the storm. “I hear surf breaking on rocks up ahead!”
The Captain kicked his companions awake. “Rocks are near!” he thundered. “Quick! Can you see anything?”
They needed no urging but scattered around the ship, tiredness forgotten. One ascended several feet up the injured mast. Celedorn hung dangerously over the side. All frantically scanning the darkness in every direction. The booming noise could now clearly be heard over the gale, coming from somewhere up ahead. The sailor up the mast caught the white gleam of tumbled surf in the darkness and let out a terrified yell of alarm.
“Hard to port!” he bawled.
The Captain heaved the tiller over with all his might but it was too late. With a mighty jolt that threw them all to the deck, the little vessel struck the rocks. The waves thundering in behind her, lifted her and heaved her higher onto the wicked black teeth, to the accompaniment of a horrible rending sound which was the death cry of the ship.
“She’s done for!” someone screamed.
Celedorn caught the Captain’s arm in a fierce grip. “Is this the coast or just an isolated rock?”
“I don’t know....” before he could finish, a mighty wave curled over the stern of the little ship and broke on her deck, nearly sweeping them both away. When the Captain fought his head clear of the water, he shouted: “It’s too dark to tell where we are. There’s no hope of getting her off. She’s going to break to pieces with the pounding she’s getting.”
Celedorn scanned the seething deck and all at once a cold stab of fear shot through him.
“Where’s Elorin?”
“I last saw her in the bow!”
One glance assured Celedorn that she was not there now. He darted into the cabin but it too was empty. The dreadful truth dawned on him. In his mind’s eye he saw her leaning out over the bows, scanning the sea. When the ship struck the rocks with such terrible force, she must have been flung into the sea.
Pandemonium reigned on deck with everyone running in different directions and he knew he could expect no help. Coming swiftly to a decision, he lifted an empty wooden cask from the deck and tied a rope tightly around it, then getting a powerful grip on the rope, he lifted the cask in his arms and deliberately leaped into the sea.
Down the thundering waves dragged him, suffocating him in their pristine white embrace. He could hear only the roar of his own ears. His eyes were blinded with foam and the power that grasped him held him down for so long he was sure he was going to drown. But he held grimly to the cask and finally surfaced, gasping for breath. A huge wave picked him up with the ease of a piece of driftwood and hurled him forward on its crest at truly terrifying speed. It hunched its powerful shoulders, streaming spume in the wind and drove for a gap in the jagged teeth of stone. Celedorn clung desperately to the cask, aware that if he got caught in the rebound from the rocks, he would be
dashed to pieces. But the monster wave overrode its smaller cousins and hurled him through the gap before disintegrating in a cataract of white foam.
When Celedorn surfaced, he found himself in the slightly calmer waters protected by the black reef. The first threads of a grey and cheerless dawn revealed a wave-lashed coast ahead of him and he kicked vigorously for shore. As soon as his feet touched the bottom, he dragged himself onto the stony beach and fell like one dead, just out of reach of the waves. He retched with the seawater he had swallowed and tried to calm the shuddering gasps for air that still wracked him. When his breathing calmed, he struggled to his feet, his fear, which his fight for survival had momentarily suppressed, reawakening.
Of the ship there was no sign. He could now, in the grey morning light, clearly see the waves crashing on the jagged reef, but there was no evidence of human presence at all: not a plank, not a rope. There were several gaps in the reef where the waves surged through unbroken, like great sea-serpents, their backs sleek, their manes dazzling white. The reef stretched across the bay from headland to headland, encompassing the dismal beach where he stood and a stretch of choppy grey water.
His keen eyes probed the bay, searching for sign of survivors - yet desperate to see only one.
Suddenly he saw something - a small black shape wallowing between the choppy waves. Swiftly he shed his boots and scabbard and waded into the sea. Several long, powerful strokes brought him beside the floating body. He had known even before he entered the water who it was, and hope collided against fear as violently as the waves against the reef, as he turned the unconscious form over. Elorin gave no sign of life. Her eyes were closed, her face was white. He hooked his hand under her chin and began the laborious struggle to get back to shore. With the last of his strength, he dragged her up onto the beach beyond the waves and bent anxiously over her.
