“No, California is up there,” Ian snapped. “That’s where I came from. Scotland would be down there.”
“Indeed,” Nestor said, “but the world has turned since you’ve been here. California is now down there, and Scotland above. Likewise, your friends are not back there, but ahead.”
Ian looked around and tried to make some sense of what was happening. He couldn’t tell one way from another. “Well, we can’t just sit here.”
“We’re not sitting, we’re swimming.”
The softer, female sounding voice startled him. Ian looked beside Nestor in the water to see an identical creature, only smaller in size.
“May I introduce you to my cousin? You may know her as Nessie. Your kind has dubbed her that.”
“Nessie? As in, the Loch Ness Monster?”
“I am not a monster! Why is it that anything that is different from a human is dubbed a monster?”
“Ummm. I dunno.”
“Well, I do not like that name. Nessie is okay, but not the monster-thing. Deal?”
“Um, sure. Deal.” Ian sat down. “How do you get down here? I mean up there? Where are you guys from, anyway?”
“We go where we are needed,” Nestor said. “Mostly we reside down here, but travel above when it is necessary.”
“Why Scotland? Why not anywhere else?”
“What you call Scotland has the easiest passage to the world above. It has quick access to the oceans for worldwide travel.”
“Oh.” Ian smiled. “Kinda like a freeway.”
Nessie laughed. “Kind of.”
“Do you even know what a freeway is?”
Both creatures remained silent, although Ian swore he saw them smile at each other. “So what are you two anyway? What is your species called?”
“We have been named the Plesiosaur.”
“Are you dinosaurs?”
“If you please. We have been around since the dawn of mankind.”
“So you were part of the Big Bang then?”
“Excuse me,” Nessie snapped, “but I have never squirmed around in a mud puddle. I have been beautifully and wonderfully made by the Maker. Just look at my wings.”
“Um, those are fins.”
“Call them what you will. With them, I can soar.”
She spun around, dancing in the water like the dolphins at the water park near Ian’s home. Fins stretched outward and long neck skyward, she twirled in the water like a ballerina. Nestor followed suit, spinning Ian around.
He grabbed on to Nestor’s back for the ride. “Okay, okay. Sorry. That’s what we learned in school.”
“Yes, well. They used to teach that evil spirits could be sucked out of you by leeches, too.”
“They can’t?”
“Very funny,” Nestor said.
Ian climbed up Nestor’s neck so he could see where they were. “Which way are we going?” he asked.
“The right way.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“You would prefer the wrong way?”
“I just want to get to my friends.”
“I understand,” Nestor said, “but you must know that the road will be long and fraught with danger.”
“Yeah, the green gremlin said that, too.”
“Ahhh, so you’ve met Alistair then. Good.”
“Yeah, we met him. He gave me this.” Ian pulled the small flask of clear liquid from his pocket. “Never told me what I need to do with it though.”
“Save it,” Nessie said. “You will need it later,”
“What is it? Is it magic?”
“No. There is no magic here. Only Him.”
“Who?”
“Him, the Maker.” She slowed her speed so she could see Ian. “That is a gift.”
“What is it?” He shook the flask. Nothing happened.
“Careful,” she cautioned. “It’s water.”
“Water? Since when do I have to be careful with water? Maybe I’ll just drink it and be done with it.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why,” Ian asked. “Will I die? Is it poison? What will happen if I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You two aren’t making any sense. I have to be careful with it, but I can’t drink it; it’s not poison; and nothing will happen if I open it; but it’s mine it and I have to take care of it. Is there anything else?”
Nestor stopped swimming and curled his head back around onto his back again. “It’s special water. Not magic as you said, but touched.”
“Touched? By who?”
“By the Maker. When used the right way, it can wash away all that holds us back in life.”
“There’s nothing holding me down.”
“Not down, Ian. Back. Before. Things like fear, hurt, rejection, —“
“I don’t have any of those,” he cut in.
“—anger.”
“Who you calling angry?” he barked.
“No one,” Nestor smiled. “It was just an example.”
“So how does this stuff work anyway?” He shook the bottle again. He peered at it with a skeptical eye.
“First of all, you must believe.”
“Ok. What else?”
“When the time is right, you will know. Magic comes from within and will always fail you. Miracles come from above, and will never let you down. Always thank the One who gave it to you. He alone is in control.”
“Hmmm.” Ian nodded. He thought about Alistair. Ian had no idea how he would be able to thank the little green thing for it, so far away. He didn’t even know where he was.
“Tuck the flask away someplace very safe,” Nestor instructed, “and lay low. We must be very quiet. We are heading into some very dangerous waters.”
The smell of seaweed was pungent. The rope Ian had braided to secure the flask around his neck was strong. The strands were still moist against his hot skin. He lay flat on his stomach, on Nestor’s barely protruding back. Both Nessie and Nestor were low in the water, only their nostrils and the tops of their heads floated above the waterline. The three slinked along the water’s surface for some time.
Ian loved adventure. He loved the sea as well; the sand, the salt, the smell. He thrived in this environment. Well, usually he did. Right now he was bored to tears. There was no adventure. There was no action, and there certainly didn’t seem to be any danger. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any reason for the stealthy incognito approach at all. Yet every time he made a sound or tried to sit up, Nestor had snapped him back down, quieting him. That giant green lug was really beginning to get on Ian’s last nerve.
At least they appeared to be getting closer to land. They had passed several rocks protruding up from the water. These were real rocks, too, not Plesiosaurs disguised as rocks. He had reached out his hand and touched them on their way past to make sure. Actually, ‘mountain’ would be a better term for them. These rocks were bigger than Ian’s house, and wider than a bus. Ian thought it odd that they were sticking so close to the rocks, though. Why not just swim back out in the open sea like they had done before? But each time he tried to ask, he’d been shushed quiet. Well, he’d had about enough of this game. Ian had decided that as soon as he could spot land, he would jump on to the next rock, then swim to shore once his pals had disappeared. He could find his friends and rescue Mr. Welch without any help. Ian felt fairly sure that if he was on dry land that Nestor’s tail couldn’t get to him, although he wouldn’t bet his freedom on it. Not yet, anyway. For now, he just laid low and watched for the perfect opportunity.
The group floated up against a particularly large rock, and settled into its shadow. The two serpents stretched their long necks out and peered around the corner in front of them. Drawing their necks back, they looked first at each other, then back to Ian. “Shhh,” Nestor whispered.
“Why?”
“Shhh,” Nessie urged. “Danger is near.”
Ian tried to crane his neck to see what was on the other side of the rock. He could
not get it out far enough to see what was there, but he did catch sight of some land. Perfect. Now my plan will work. “What are we waiting for?” Ian whispered back.
“Darkness,” Nestor whispered, keeping both his voice and his head low.
“I want to see.” Ian inched forward, holding Nestor’s neck and slipping into the water by his head. Nestor’s tail swung around at the ready, by Ian’s side. “I just want to see. What is it?” He could hear chains rattling, and water slapping up against something hollow. There were many footsteps, raucous laughter, and scraping sounds that reminded Ian of when his mother would move furniture around the house. He inched forward a bit more, but was snatched back by Nestor’s tail.
“That’s far enough,” Nestor cautioned. “It’s not safe.”
“But what is it?”
Nessie gasped, and began swimming backwards. Nestor followed suit, inching his way back around the rock to the other side. The noises they heard were getting louder. Ian kept trying to inch forward while the serpents paddled back. Frustrated, bored, and ready to strike out on his own, Ian put action to his plan and leapt from Nestor’s back and up onto the giant rock. Trying to scurry up the wet surface, Ian lost his footing and slid down the opposite side, splashing down into a small bay.
“Man overboard!” someone screamed.
“Man overboard! Drop the anchor. Lower the sails. Set the buoys and bring the matey aboard!”
Chapter 16: Red
red[red]: any of various colors resembling the color of blood; Informal. to become very angry; become enraged:
Ian looked up at the hull of a wooden sailing vessel.
Waving in the breeze, a black and white flag. The emblem unfurling on the flag both frightened and excited him at the same time. It was an arm from elbow to fingertips showing the back of a hand, and a sword crossed in an X pattern from corner to corner. On the back of the hand was branded the letter “P” — the mark of a pirate.
Ian’s heart pounded.
“Man overboard!” he heard someone yell again. A rope was thrown over the ship to him. For an instant, he thought about trying to escape, but the thrill and adventure of being on a real pirate ship took over. Eagerly, he swam to the rope dangling over the ship’s rail and grabbed hold.
The first hoist jerked him from the water. Ian’s heart jumped with each hoist. Halfway up the hull, the rope began to spin with his unbalanced weight. Circling around and around, he closed his eyes against the dizziness that was seeping into his consciousness. When the hoisting stopped, and the spinning slowed, Ian cracked open one eye to gauge his surroundings. Arms from several owners grabbed at him, his own arms jerked up over his head. Ian felt hands grabbing at his belt, and sliding his body over the side rail. He was thrown face-down onto the splintering deck of the vessel.
Ian tried to push himself up onto all fours, but felt a large boot in the middle of his back slamming him back down. Anger surged inside him as he tried to push back up again, only to be shoved back down again and again. Raucous laughter exploded around him as he fought against the boot holding him down. Ian flailed his arms and legs at the many other pairs of boots in his line of sight, but to no avail. They kicked back at him, or shook with laughter at his futile attempts to get free. Seething inside at his failure to stand, Ian gave up and laid flat on the deck, grinding his teeth.
I’m gonna hurt someone when I get up from here! You better watch out — all of you.
“Look!” Ian heard. “He’s hair like a flame.” He felt hands tugging and pulling on the strands at the back of his head.
“Haven’t you ever seen red hair before?” Ian tried to raise his head to the side, but the boot stayed firm in the middle of his back.
“What manner of pantaloons be they?” Again he felt hands tugging and pressing against the blue denim jeans he wore. “They be stiff.” The voice sounded confounded. “How de ye git ye inside?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Are you really that stupid? Before Ian had a chance to say anything, he was flipped over onto his back, and the boot again lodged into his stomach.
“Ahhh!” one pirate screamed. “He be the devil ‘imself.” Several pirates backed up. Fingers pointing, fear causing their entire bodies to tremble. Braver pirates moved in for a closer look.
“Nay,” one toothless man said. “It be a paintin’.”
“Why would ye wear a paintin’?” The raucous laughter started again, and fingers once again jabbed at his midsection. “Paintin’,” he heard over and over again. “Jus’ a paintin’.”
Ian looked down at his soggy t-shirt, now smeared with dirt from the filthy deck. Under the smears and smudges was the once colorful picture of his favorite rock band. He thought about trying to explain it, but gave up. There was no point.
“Who sent ye?” When the voice bellowed, the deck fell silent. “Be this some manner of witchery?” The pirates surrounding Ian parted like the Red Sea. Off in the distance he could see a figure moving toward him, his face blocked by the glow of the sun behind him. The footsteps sounded odd, more like one step and one thump.
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.
Silence permeated his senses as the figure came into focus. He was a giant of a man, standing with one wooden peg for a leg.
“Who sent ye to spy on us?” he growled.
“No one. I’m not a spy.”
“Them be peculiar words ye use, lad. Where de ye hail from?”
Ian pointed toward the sky.
“He be a liar, Cap’n. That be an ol’ sailor’s tale. Folk don’t jus’ fall from the heav’ns.”
“I did,” he tried to protest.
“Shut yer mouth.” The boot pushed farther into his midsection. “Ye speak only when the Cap’n says ye can. Got it, lad?”
Ian nodded, wind pushed out of his lungs. At this point he was struggling just to breathe.
“So, ye be either a spy or a liar.” His jet black hair and long beard whipped around in the breeze. Ian thought he looked like a crazy man. The captain leaned down close to Ian’s face. “Which is it? We hang spies on this here ship.”
“What do you do to liars?”
“Feeds ‘em to the sharks.”
“Look,” Ian tried to reason with them. “I’m not a spy. Nobody sent me. I just - - -“
“Ahhh!” The captain waved his hands in frustration. He spun on his peg leg and thumped away. “Lock ‘im up.”
Again, the hands grabbed him and jerked him up straight to the grizzled and weathered face of a sailor.
“Where d’ye want ‘im Cap’n?” the deck mate holding him asked.
“To the brig, after ye search ‘im.”
“No, wait!” Ian’s protests weren’t even heard over the jostling and snickering of the men. Jerked up, spun around, his face slammed down onto the side rail, his hands wrenched behind his back, Ian’s heart sank deeper and deeper into despair.
The last thing he saw from the bow of the ship was Nessie and Nestor submerging far out to sea.
Then, once again, there was darkness.
The stench hung in the air so thick Ian couldn’t breathe. He tried covering his nose with his shirtsleeve and his hand, but to no avail. The dense odor of rotting fish, sea slime, and wet decaying wood was almost more than he could stomach.
He felt around the darkness, afraid of what his hands might touch. So far, he could determine that he was in a small room under the main deck. There was no porthole to the outside. Inside the room with him were a couple of wooden crates, both empty, and some oak barrels filled with something so heavy he could not move them. They also had a strong odor about them, but he could not distinguish it. Ian felt his way all around the room, past the closed door, and around all four walls. Nothing. Other than the barrels and empty crates, there was nothing else around. Nothing. Ian felt his way back across the rough-hewn walls to the door. He tried the handle. Locked. Angry and afraid, he balled his fist, slamming it on the door, shaking it on i
ts hinges. Outside he could hear laughter from his pirate guards.
“Let me out!” he screamed.
“Oh, lets me out!” they mocked back. “I wanna go home to me mummy.”
Ian screamed and slammed the door again. This time it opened. In the doorway were two toothless, filthy, smiling pirates illuminated by the candle glow in the lantern behind them.
“Cap’n request’n yer presence,” one said.
“Yeah, request’n yer presence,” the other echoed.
“What for?” Ian asked.
“He desires a word.”
“Yeah, a word.”
Ian looked back and forth between the two. When he didn’t move, the closest one pulled a dagger and smiled. “Or, ye could die right here.”
Ian stepped out of the tiny room and into danger.
Chapter 17: Swabby
Swabby: (swab·bie.; swab + -y2): A fool or simpleton; ninny
“Stop pushing me!” Ian planted his feet and pushed back, only to be shoved to the ground. His pirate guards laughed as they kicked him. Dragging him to his feet, they slid him once again across the deck toward the Captain’s quarters. Reaching the closed door, the guards knocked and entered without waiting for a command.
“We brung ye the prisoner like’n ye aksed, Cap’n.”
“Thank ye, mates. Man yer stations now. Leave the lad wit’ me.” The two nodded and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Ian stared across the small room. It didn’t look anything like what he’d thought the Captain’s quarters should look like. It was just a small room. No riches or gold spilling out of treasure chests. No skeletons of defeated foes hanging from the rafters; just a small room, about the size of his bedroom back home. Ian eyed his adversary just a few feet away. Up close he didn’t look nearly as frightening. Of course, the last time he’d seen him, Ian was flat on the ground looking up.
He stood slightly taller than Ian did. Legs, or leg rather, was very short, with the rest of his body making up the remainder of his height. Wild, uncombed black hair hung past his shoulders and shot outward from his head in every direction. Rich blue eyes, wide and deep-set watched him from the very small desk on one side of the room. The peg he was perched on was carved from a solid piece of wood, rounded at the top to hold his leg severed at the knee. It tapered down to a simple peg at the ground. Ian could see the fine lines of the wood grain running the length of the wooden limb from knee to ground. The grain lines of the wood wound around in almost a circle at the top end, tapering off to a point at the bottom. It was a snake-like pattern naturally embedded in the wood grain. Mesmerizing.
The PriZin of Zin Page 9
