Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “We must do something about this,” said Finch to Arlo and Rolly and Carly, the carpenter and sailmaker and tinsmith and cooper concerned over Jinnarin’s despondent state. “Our Pysk is disheartened and needs cheering up, she does.”

  “How about music?” asked Rolly. “I could play me pipe.”

  “Sea stories,” suggested Arlo, “we have some tales that’d set your hair on fire, we do. Mayhap that’ll take her mind off her bother, wotever it might be.”

  “How about a spree of sorts, wot d’y’ say?” chimed in Carly. “We c’d get Trench ’r’ Hogar t’ make a cake, wot?”

  “Celebrating wot?” asked Rolly. “I mean, sprees is for something or other—a victory, a remembrance, an anniversary, wotever.”

  “How ’bout twelve years since I come aboard?” asked Lobbie, the sailor lying on his bunk and listening to the four.

  Rolly and Finch and Arlo and Carly looked at one another then shrugged. “Seeing as there is no objections,” declared Finch.…

  And so it was that a celebration was engendered—Lobbie’s Dozen, it was called.

  And two days later as evening drew down upon the Eroean, lanterns were lit and all hands gathered on deck and a shipboard spree was held. Songs were sung and tales were told and arm-in-arm jigs were danced.

  Some of Bokar’s warband demonstrated their skills with axes, whirling the double-bitted blades about, casting them spinning into the air, catching them by their oaken helves, clanging steel on steel with one another while stepping through an intricate drill, all cheered on by their fellow crew mates.

  Alamar the Mage juggled balls of light and pulled vanishing doves and disappearing fish from the hair and beards of various members of the crew, to the Oooos and Ahhhs of the others. Why, he even pulled a huge red jewel right out from Bokar’s left ear, he did, the giant ruby to turn into sparkles and twinkle away even as the armsmaster reached for it, the onlookers howling in glee.

  And then, while Lobbie played the squeeze box and Rolly his pipe and Burdun banged on his drum and all the Men and the Dwarves stomped in time and clapped their hands, Captain Aravan and Lady Aylis danced a wild, wild fling, stepping and prancing and whirling about and laughing into each other’s eyes. And when they were done a mighty shout rang up into the sky, and the Captain picked up the Lady by her waist and spun her around and planted a kiss on her lips, and wild pandemonium reigned, sailors and warriors alike cheering in reckless abandon.

  When this madness died down, Trench and Hogar, with Tink and Tivir helping, brought out the cakes and a vat of green brew, this latter made from limes. And upon one cake were written the words, Lobbies Duzzen, and this one they set before Lobbie for him to cut and serve.

  And as the Men and Dwarves and Mages and Elf partook of the cake and sipped on their cups of green squall—for so the lime drink was named—a Pysk and her fox took center deck, Jinnarin mounted upon Rux.

  Jinnarin whispered something to her fox and commenced a measured clapping of her hands.

  Slowly, slowly, did Rux begin, following Jinnarin’s stately beat, the fox pacing an arcane pattern.

  Step, step, turn and pause. Step, step, and turn.

  The crew looked on, their eyes following Pysk and fox, wonder in their gaze.

  Step, step, turn and pause. Step, step, and turn.

  Gradually, gradually, the beat increased, Rux keeping pace.

  Step, step, turn and pause. Step, step, and turn.

  And all the onlookers stood entranced, cake and brew forgotten.

  Step, step, turn and pause. Step, step, turn.

  Faster came the beat, faster paced the fox. And a member of the crew took up the rhythm, clapping in time with Jinnarin.

  Step, step, turn and pause. Step, step, turn.

  More joined in, and more. And still the pace increased, Rux no longer stepping stately but now prancing through the gait.

  Step, step, turn and pause, step, step, turn.

  Pysk on fox, Jinnarin’s hands free and clapping, still the beat increased.

  Step step turn and break, step step turn.

  Now someone began to stomp in time, others joining in.

  Step touch turn break step touch turn.

  “Hai, hai, hai, hai…!” called out Jinnarin, clapping even faster, her voice sharp and piercing, Rux’s feet now but a blur, the clapping hands and stomping feet of the crew climbing in deafening crescendo, Men and Dwarves crying out a raw wordless shout.

  Touch touch turn hitch touch touch turn, Rux whirling and gyring yet keeping pace with the frenetic beat and dancing a tattoo.

  And of a sudden—“Ya hoi!”—cried Jinnarin, Rux leaping high, landing, spinning, leaping high again, Jinnarin dismounting even as they were in the air and coming down beside the fox to alight simultaneously with him.

  And as the crew went mad, Jinnarin and Rux both bowed ‘round to all, and Jatu, roaring in delight, swooped out and scooped Jinnarin up and set her on his shoulder and with Rux following marched among the howling crew, shouting, “The Lady Jinnarin and Rux! The Lady Jinnarin and Rux!” all joining in, Jinnarin smiling and bowing her head to each and every one.

  And among the clamor, four sailors—Finch and Arlo and Rolly and Carly—looked at one another and grinned great grins even though tears brimmed their eyes. For with her dolor broken, they deemed the party they had given to cheer up a single soul to be an unqualified smashing success.

  Their Pysk was well again.

  CHAPTER 12

  Shadows

  Autumn, 1E9574

  [The Present]

  Through the prevailing westerlies fared the Eroean, running long reaches across the wind, tacking only as necessary, trimming now and again as the air shifted. North and west she sailed aiming for the western continent, where only uncivilized forest folk were said to dwell.

  Jinnarin’s sprightly mood had generally returned, though still there were days when she seemed glum. At these times any number of persons would try to cheer her—Jatu, Aravan, Bokar, Tink, Tivir, and others of the ship’s crew, as well as Aylis. On occasion even crotchety Alamar tried, though he typically broke her doleful moods by getting into arguments with her, inadvertently most of the time.

  But time and again it was to Jatu that Jinnarin turned for comfort, the big black Man listening with a sympathetic ear, offering little by way of advice, now and then restoring her spirits by telling her tales of his childhood in his Tchangan village as well as stories of the sea. Too, Rux found Jatu to his liking—and to Jinnarin’s way of thinking anyone who gained Rux’s trust would gain hers as well. And so it was that a giant of a Man became the confidant of a tiny Pysk.

  Three nights after the spree, Jatu stood at the wheel of the Eroean, guiding on the fixed northern star, steering the Elvenship across the wind in the crystal night. From the corner of his eye, Jatu saw movement, and he watched in amazement as a scanty cluster of shadow glided silently up the steps and across the poop deck.

  “Hullo, Jatu,” said the shadow, speaking in a tiny clear voice.

  “Lady Jinnarin? Is that you?” Jatu rubbed his eyes.

  A sigh was his only answer.

  “My, my, in a dark mood, are we?” Then Jatu barked a sharp laugh.

  “What’s so funny, Jatu?”

  “I made a jest without knowing,” he answered.

  “Jest?”

  “Aye. There you stand wrapped all in shadow, and I ask if you are in a dark mood.”

  “Wrapped in—? Oh.” Suddenly the shadow dispersed, revealing the Pysk.

  “Ah, much better, Lady Jinnarin. I like to see you when we talk.” Jatu made a small correction of the wheel. “Besides, I did not know that you had such a power.”

  Jinnarin sat glumly on the deck, cross-legged, her elbows on her splayed knees, her chin on her fists. “I don’t think of it as a power.”

  “Oh my, but it is, Jinnarin. Shadows have great power.”

  “They do?”

  Jatu nodded. “Why, some say that the shado
w is the very soul of a person, and that if you cut it away with an enchanted silver knife at high noon on Year’s Long Day, it will be lost forever—just as you yourself will be lost, too, a priceless essence gone away from you.”

  “Surely, Jatu, you don’t believe that.”

  “Mayhap I do, mayhap not. But if I ever see a Man or aught else without a shadow, I will know him to be without a soul.”

  “Would you run?”

  “It depends, tiny one. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not there was a need to flee.”

  “Oh.”

  Jatu made another small correction of the wheel, trimming against the westerly. After a moment he said, “Still, that is but one tale of shadows and their powers. There are other tales as well.”

  Jinnarin peered up at the Tchangan. “Other tales?”

  “Aye. Would you like to hear one?”

  “All right.”

  Jatu stood silent for a moment, then began:

  “Long past and far to the north of Tchanga, where the jungle gives way to grasses and they in turn give way to a vast desert lying beyond the mountains where the great eagles fly, in the heart of the burning wasteland there dwelled a demon beside a crystal pool in a heavy-laden grove of pomegranate trees. Now you must realize that this was a marvelous place, being in the core of sandy furnace as it was, for water is priceless in such a fiery realm, and to have the precious gift of pomegranates as well…ai, it was as if a part of paradise itself had fallen unto the earth.

  “Now it so happens that one day while the demon was in the golden city on the other side of the world tending to several of his many affairs, a young Man whose caravan had been attacked by robbers and he himself left for dead, a young Man who came stumbling and reeling over the burning dunes and falling and crawling and lurching to his feet only to stumble and reel and fall and crawl again, a young Man who was delirious and within a hairsbreadth of death, that young Man came slithering on his belly down a last long dune and into the oasis of the demon.

  “And the young Man plunged his face into the crystal pool and drank deeply.

  “And at that very moment across the world in the golden city the demon screamed, ‘Someone is stealing my water!’ And in fury he flew up into the sky and raced across the world.

  “But ere the demon could get to the oasis, the young Man plucked a pomegranate from one of the trees and bit into the flesh, red juices staining his lips and running down to drip from his chin.

  “And the demon, who by this time was halfway there, shrieked, ‘Someone is stealing my pomegranates!’

  “Onward flew the demon, maddened with rage, and when he came to his oasis he found the exhausted young Man asleep, his thirst quenched, his hunger sated.

  “Reaching out with his long claws, the wrathful demon was on the verge of rending the youth asunder. But of a sudden the demon bethought to himself, ‘Ai, I could tear him to shreds with my mighty talons, but would he truly suffer as he should? Nay! He would be dead ere he even awakened. And I would not have him get off so easily; instead I want to make him agonize for the remainder of his life for his heinous crimes against me.’

  “And so the demon drew back his swordlike talons and did not rend the young Man to ribbons. Instead he went to his nearby forge, and—bellows whooshing, fire roaring, hammer clanging—he began crafting a magic nail, muttering all the while.

  “Now the clamor and clash of this noise served to awaken the young Man, and he crept near to discover the source of the thunderous din. And when he saw the demon at work he was sore afraid, yet he crouched down behind a rock and watched and listened.

  “And in between mighty hammer strokes he heard the demon cursing: ‘Steal my water, would he?’—clang!—‘And eat my pomegranates, too?’—clang!—‘This will fix him forever’—clang!—‘A punishment to fit the crime’—clang!

  “The young Man immediately knew that the demon was crafting some magical item to punish him for nothing more than saving his own life. Oh, how he did fret, wondering what to do. He knew that appealing to the demon for mercy was futile, for demons have no mercy. He knew, too, that he could not flee, for the demon would find him no matter where he ran. He could not fight the demon, for demons have enormous strength and terrible claws and tusks and fangs. The young Man was in despair, for how could he, an ordinary mortal, hope to escape the hideous fate of the demon, whatever that might be?

  “At that very moment the demon cried, ‘Ha! It is done!’ and he turned away from the anvil and began rummaging about in a great tool chest.

  “In stillness the young Man crept forward and saw what appeared to be an ordinary nail lying on the anvil. Quickly, he substituted a nail from a nearby barrel of nails for the demon-forged one, slipping the demon-forged nail into his waistband. And, although he did not know what the nail was for, he took up a nearby hammer and slipped that into his waistband as well. And then swiftly and silently he ran back to the poolside and lay down and feigned deep sleep.

  “Shortly came the demon who shook the young Man by the shoulder and roared, ‘Wake up, robber, miscreant, thief! Accept your just punishment!’

  “The young Man sat up and rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘Punishment? How so? What for?’

  “‘For drinking my water!’ roared the demon, and with a wave of his hand the pool disappeared. ‘And now it lies where you’ll never reach it, ninety-nine leagues to the east!’

  “‘You punish me for drinking water!’ cried the young Man. ‘Oh how terribly unjust and cruel.’

  “‘And for eating my pomegranates!’ roared the demon, and with a wave of his hand the grove disappeared. ‘And now they lie where you’ll never reach them, ninety-nine leagues to the west!’

  “‘You punish me for eating fruit?’ cried the young Man as the hot Sun shone down from above, now that the shade was gone. ‘Oh how unjust and cruel.’

  “‘Unjust and cruel? You know not the half of it!’ roared the demon, and he waved his hand again and now the sand underfoot became a vast adamant rock. ‘I’ll show you how unjust and cruel I can be.’

  “The demon knelt down and with a hammer he nailed the young Man’s shadow to the rock. And at the youth’s puzzled look, the demon laughed a wicked laugh and said, ‘Now you are trapped here forever, and any magic you might have had is gone. You may travel only as far as your shadow permits, nailed as it is to this forever rock by my unremovable spike. You may run anywhere you wish, as long as your shadow falls across the nail. Now what do you think of that?’

  “The young Man knelt at the demon’s feet and said, ‘Oh, demon, it is a cruel, cruel punishment, a punishment fit only for one who is just as cruel.’ And with that he hammered the true magic nail into the demon’s own shadow.

  “The demon roared in pain and made a grab at the Man, but the youth was too agile and swift and leapt away, beyond the reach of the demon. And the demon waved his hands in arcane patterns, but all of his magic was gone. And he bent down and tugged at the unremovable nail, but it did not budge from the forever rock. And weeping and gnashing his teeth, the demon cursed the young Man, dreadful words rolling off the demon’s forked tongue, calling for crows to pluck out the youth’s eyes, for foul disease to rot his bowels, for virulent sand wyrms to poison him—all to no avail for the demon’s power had vanished.

  “The young Man struck out across the desert and nearly died ere he was rescued by a passing caravan.

  “The demon, though, was trapped by the nail hammered through his shadow. In the dark of the night, when there was no Moon, he could travel wherever he wished, for in the blackness his shadow was everywhere, and so he was free to roam. But at sunrise every day he was compelled to be east in order for his shadow to fall across the nail—oh, he could be leagues and leagues to the east, just as long as his shadow was pinned. But as the day grew toward noon and his shadow shortened, he had to move westerly, and as the Sun came to the zenith, he had to stand on the nail, for the Sun was directly
overhead and his shadow directly underfoot. And as the Sun sank in the west, to the west the demon could fare, his shadow cast easterly behind him and lying over the nail.

  “But the greatest irony of all was that at ninety-nine leagues to the east and west the pool of crystal water and the grove of pomegranate trees were just barely beyond the demon’s reach, where he could see them but never sip the refreshing water nor taste of the sweet fruit, the tantalizing prizes right where he had placed them to torment an innocent young Man.

  “The demon roared in rage and wept in frustration and slaughtered any wayfarer unfortunate enough to come within his reach, and soon the region became a place to shun for there a demon dwelled. They say that even unto this day the desert in that compass is unsafe at night, for the demon yet roams the waste, and he is terribly angry and terribly strong.

  “They also say that at high noon you can see the demon, standing still in the sunlight like a great tall rock, faintly stained red as if from pomegranates eaten long past.

  “They also say that other demons heard of this one’s plight and they came to see for themselves, and they shuddered in terror at his dire fate, and although they tried to free him they did not succeed, for the spells he had cast were entirely too strong for any of them to break.

  “And they say that the demons took an enchanted silver knife and tried to cut away the trapped one’s shadow at high noon on Year’s Long Day, but the magic in the charmed nail was beyond the power of the silver blade and so they abandoned that plan.

  “And lastly they say that the terrified demons cut away their own shadows that day, so that they themselves could never suffer such a dread fate…

  “…And now, Lady Jinnarin, you know the whole of the tale and why demons are without souls, all but one that is, and that demon’s soul is nailed firmly to a rock, surrounded by hot, burning sands.”