A hand touched reassuringly against his forehead, but Tyler was too weak to react. The stranger leant over him now, and the light lanced across his face. For a moment Tyler thought it was Hargill, but his leap of excitement was soon replaced with disappointment.
And yet this stranger possessed Hargill’s powerful air, that same effortless command. The skin around his eyes was hardened with so many sun-scorched wrinkles that the casual onlooker would think he bore a permanent squint. His hair and short beard were a sandy beach-blond, with tell-tale signs of age occasionally weaving through in streaks of white. Woolly clothes and a large cape hung from his giant form, which he bore with apparent ease. “You’re a determined one,” he said with his thick words. “It is no wonder the ghatu speaks so highly of you!”
“Varkon! Is Varkon here? Is he safe?” Tyler said excitedly.
“Yes, your friend is in good hands. It’s an odd companionship that you have. Never did I know that that ghatu had such … honour.”
“And Haranio?” continued Tyler.
“Yes, lad! But for him, your ghatu friend would be dead with the fishes. It was Haranio who told us your remarkable tale.” Tyler noticed the stranger’s eyes flick down to his spider tattoo.
So both his friends were alive. This piece of information seemed to release some tightly wound spring inside of him, and all the muscles in his body loosened with relief.
The stranger’s face momentarily darkened as a thought came across it. “I apologise for Orio and his treatment of you the other day. Such conduct’s not to be tolerated on any of my vessels. Rest assured that he has been disciplined.”
“I bear no grudge,” Tyler whispered, realising that Orio must have been the man who had given him the beating of his life. “I brought the Dhimori to your village.”
“Maybe so, but we both know your story is a little more complicated than that,” said the stranger, brushing the issue to the side with his fingers. “You meant no harm. I’ve already spoken to Haranio about it at length. Now, I want you to get some more sleep. You’ve been unconscious for five days and must take it easy for a while.”
“I did not expect to wake at all, to be honest,” said Tyler quietly. “I met the Dhimori in my dreams, and I surrendered to him.”
“It is no miracle that you’re alive, Tyler,” the stranger smiled. “Sleep, lad. We will talk tonight, but over dinner. Haranio will join us, as well as some of the crew. My name is Thorfinn, by the way, and I am captain of this ship, The Eye of the World. I’m commander of the rest of my fleet, – or at least the other two vessels that survived the ghatuan attack.”
“I don’t know how I can every repay your kindness.”
“It was my pleasure, Tyler.” However, Thorfinn’s eyes drifted back to Tyler’s arm, where his tattoo was showing. Only by some great and conscious effort was Tyler able to resist shoving it self-consciously beneath the sheets. How much did Thorfinn know? What had Haranio and Varkon told him?
“When will I see Varkon again?” Tyler asked.
“Varkon …” repeated Thorfinn. “Well, Tyler, that’s a tough question indeed. Although I believe that he’s no threat, as I’ve spoken with him myself and believe your tale, my men think differently on this. Most wouldn’t trust a ghatu to be walking about freely on deck. Indeed, most would prefer it if he wasn’t walking about at all.’ He made a cutting gesture against his throat. “To be blunt, your friend’s in great danger. His kind’s done much wrong to my people. I’ve locked him away below decks, more to keep my men away from him than the other way around.”
“I understand. But may I still see him in prison?”
“Not for a while. The only ship with a big enough cell to fit him was on The Albatross’s Wing, and we won’t be meeting up with her for a few days yet.” Thorfinn smiled and patted Tyler’s hand. “But take comfort, and you’ll see him sooner than you’d expect. Now, according to Varkon, you’ve had that bandage over your arm for some weeks, ever since you were attacked – apparently by a wolf?” Tyler nodded. Thorfinn raised an interested eyebrow on confirmation of this information. “The cut was not properly washed or cleaned. Infection has been festering in the wound for some time. Left for any longer, the rot would certainly have killed you.”
Tyler reached up a hand to touch his shoulder. A clean bandage had been wrapped around it at just the right pressure so that it was comfortable yet firm. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Thorfinn smiled kindly before hoisting himself onto his feet with a spring to Tyler’s bed. “Sleep well, young Tyler, and I’ll wake you soon for dinner.” He paused at the door. “And the honour was mine, lad.”
Then he was gone. Tyler lay a while in thought, tracing an unsteady finger around the outline of his spider tattoo until the soft mattress cajoled him back to his dreams.
He was woken much later that night. As he changed into the furred garments that had been set out of him, he peered through the open slit by his bed at the moon, whose centre had been gouged out so all that remained was a lonely sickle of light. Thorfinn had then hurried him down a flight of steps and two long corridors that bustled with strange people and cold looks.
Thorfinn turned suddenly and flung open one of several stout doors that lined the corridor. A breeze of warm air sucked passed him, and the captain strode forward, laughing and greeting the assembled company within. Tyler followed a little more timidly. It was a spacious room for the most part, defined by an enormous table of solid proportions and several weighty paintings of ships at war.
Tyler was introduced around the table by a charming Thorfinn in much the same manner Tyler would have imagined Hargill doing. Not everyone shared the captain’s enthusiasm for their new guest.
“This is Kol Grimblade, first master of this mighty vessel!” boomed Thorfinn.
The man that Thorfinn gestured to did not smile. His head was shaved bald, and the room’s flickering candles reflected across his shiny scalp. Four ragged scars sliced across the front of his face, the longest snaking across his bald head and twisting around his ear. His cold eyes fixed on Tyler, who had a feeling this was a man who would kill without as much as a sleepless night to follow.
“Greetings, Kol,” Tyler mumbled, and then he swallowed nervously when no reply was given. Thorfinn had already moved on.
“Here we have Odinn Ironhammer. Hard to miss, as you can see!” Thorfinn pounded Odinn so heavily on the back that he could just as easily have been shaping a piece of iron. Odinn was the largest man that Tyler had ever seen, dwarfing even Thorfinn in size. The warrior’s face was as blunt as his round, cauliflower ears. His hair was plaited back meticulously and was such a thin blond that it was almost transparent. His eyes, like Kol’s, were unreceptive.
“Who’s next? Ah, this one bears no introduction,” said Thorfinn as he gestured to Haranio, who had been clothed in garments similar to Tyler.
“Tyler, my lad!” gushed the old man, who had already risen from his chair in greeting. He offered Tyler a weak smile so that his lips barely creased into his cheeks. He seemed pale and exhausted.
“Haranio!” greeted Tyler with equal force, and he gave the old shamif a hearty hug. At least one person was glad to see him. “Is everything all right?” he added with concern. “You don’t look well.”
Haranio seemed surprised by the question. “Yes, m’boy,” he said quickly, self-consciously injecting more energy into his tone. “But we’ll talk later. Best finish being introduced.”
Haranio was behaving peculiarly. But Thorfinn had already strode on, and he now burst out a laugh. “Tyler, I believe you’ll recognise this one, too – though you might not want to hug! Orio Wormsight, Tyler. I think you two have already met.”
Orio was hunched into one corner of his seat. That horrid eye stared upwards, and the little one twitched by its side like a nervous child.
“I am sorry. I bear no grudge at all,” said Tyl
er, and he held out his hand, offering his forgiveness. Orio regarded it with indifference.
“Orio, shake the boy’s hand,” growled Thorfinn, “or I’ll be forced to give you another lesson.”
Orio snarled and grudgingly took Tyler’s hand in his own fishy grip, before dropping it immediately with distaste. Thorfinn grunted dangerously but let the rudeness slide. He forced a smile and continued with his introductions.
“And this is Drott Steelbringer, our navigator. This here’s Runolf Silverhands, and Auruth Warcrow…”
Tyler gave each person a polite nod, but precious few acknowledged his greeting in return, and so Thorfinn’s introductions became a parade of shame as Tyler stalked around the table, cheeks flush with embarrassment. Could Thorfinn not see? Why didn’t he stop this disgraceful procession?
“And finally,” continued Thorfinn, “though he may be last, he is the foremost in my heart. Irrian Ravenfeeder, my son.”
Tyler looked upward with surprise as Irrian rose from his chair in welcome, the first person besides Haranio to do so. “It is my honour, to meet you, Tyler,” he articulated easily, his cool green eyes twinkling as he stooped low to bow his head. Irrian was not many years older than Tyler himself, but this son of Thorfinn’s was certainly of a much thicker build. A mass of blond hair swept back over his shoulders to contrast the deep bronze of his skin.
Tyler bowed in return. “It is good to meet you, Irrian Ravenfeeder.”
Irrian smiled and turned back to his seat, and his father’s face fired with pride. “Well, Tyler, you’ve now met the entire present company. They’re good men, even if some have to work at it more than others! Please be seated among us, and eat and drink!” Then Thorfinn tipped up his chin and raised his already loud voice unnecessarily to address the room. “Listen here! As you know, this boy carries Avalon’s heart. In him we will find the peace for which we’ve been searching. I bid you all” – here Thorfinn’s voice stretched to emphasise the word – “to honour and respect him. Let that be the end of the matter.”
“And yet how can we?” said a rough voice. “How should I go about honouring the one responsible for the deaths our loved ones? Our friends, our family.”
Tyler sat down as quickly as he could into his chair, almost collapsing as his legs bent weakly beneath him. It was Kol Grimblade who had spoken. The man’s voice glowed with an anger barely disguised by his shallow civility.
Thorfinn’s complexion darkened at the challenge. “You can’t blame Tyler for the tragedy we suffered, Kol. It was the Dhimori who was responsible for that unforgivable deed.”
Kol’s eyes shifted in their sockets to fix Tyler with an accusing gaze. “Nonsense. The boy might as well have come to my home and stabbed both my wife and little girl through the heart. Without him, His army would never have come. We would have been at peace.”
“Peace?” Thorfinn virtually spat the word. “Since when have we been at peace? And when did these words suddenly become so precious to you, Kol Grimblade?”
“I am supposed to dine with the very people who killed my family?” asked Kol.
“No,” Thorfinn said softly. “You may leave.” Thorfinn pointed a finger straight at Tyler as he continued. “But this boy is our only hope to beat back the enemy after all these years. You have all seen his tattoos and have heard his story from Haranio.” Thorfinn nodded over to where the old shamif peaceably sat. “We knew there would be deaths before the end, that there must be war before there is peace. This was never going to be an easy struggle, and indeed it is all too probable that it will not be a successful one, but this boy is our hope. He was blessed.”
“Spare us, Thorfinn!” roared Odinn unexpectedly, grinding his chair back and heaving up his overshadowing form so that all the candles fluttered from the speed of his movement. “That is a legend, a story to take its place beside the myths and dreams of children. It is not real. The real battle will be decided by how many men we have against the enemy, and how well they are trained. Neither this boy nor the old man are worth a single one of the lives they ended back at Windbreak Village.”
Tyler fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt under the table. If Odinn decided to suddenly attack him, which seemed like an imminent possibility, he doubted anyone could hold the goliath back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Irrian’s hand ease to his sword, but Thorfinn hadn’t flinched and remained crouched over, fists against the table.
“Sit, Odinn,” Thorfinn whispered dangerously. “And calm down.”
But obviously Odinn’s size didn’t match his intelligence, and he overlooked the hint. “You’re chasing a myth, Thorfinn, a dream without substance. Due to our hurried escape our food supplies are barely existent. How are we supposed to survive now, without fresh water? Do you expect us to drink from the sea?”
Thorfinn smashed down his great, ringed cup with such a crack that the entire table buckled under the blow. Wine spilt from goblets, and plates clattered in their places. Orio let slip an audible gasp. “Enough of this!” Thorfinn sliced his hand angrily through the air and glared at each person in the room one after the other. Most looked away – even Odinn. Only Kol didn’t flinch. Thorfinn gestured towards Tyler and Haranio. “These people are guests at our table, yet you insult them as though they were not standing right there before you. I will not allow it.” Thorfinn pounded the table to emphasise his point, and he let the silence hold. “If any dares utter another word tonight in disrespect to my guests, I will personally see to it that they spend the night locked below. Or have you forgotten who I am? If I tell you sail east or into storm, you obey. Well? Trust my judgment now.” Thorfinn softened his tone to implore to those around him. “I believe in Avalon’s Blessing, and this boy carries it. One look at the markings of the spider, the stone that never grows cold, or the strange company he travels with should tell us that this is no ordinary child. What’s the point of killing him if there’s even the slightest chance he may be the one of whom the legends speak? And I can tell you now that no harm shall come to him, so long as breath passes between my lips and blood through my heart. We will sail to Ithrim, because that is where the boy tells me he must go, and we will do so with due haste and with no discussion or complaint.”
There was a general, uncomfortable shuffling in the room at this information, and Thorfinn continued. “If we ration wisely, we will have enough food, and God willing it will rain enough for water. I cannot believe you all! This boy could save us. Don’t you want relief from our years of misfortune? Windbreak is not the only village He has now plundered, and those were not the only ships whose ashes now warm the coral bed.”
Tyler’s heart pounded with adrenaline. Except for a few strange dreams, he was no different from the person he was before the blessing, which he felt was very ordinary indeed. However, giving voice to these doubts would hardly help Thorfinn now. The oiled wicks below lighted Thorfinn’s face fearsomely. He was daring someone to speak out of turn against him. The silence was his authority, and it was as brittle as glass.
A chair slowly scraped backwards. The sound of it filled the entire room, the entire world. The brittle glass shattered. The sound was a snub to Thorfinn’s authority, the voice of contempt that was buried secretly in everyone’s hearts. Kol stood up. “If you would excuse me, Thorfinn,” he said, before giving a slight nod to those present and striding out of the room.
Odinn coughed lightly before rising. “Your pardon, Thorfinn,” he said as followed Kol out of the door.
There was a slight pause, and suddenly Orio stood abruptly. He licked his long tongue nervously around his lips before scurrying after the other two.
Tyler looked to Thorfinn. His face was red, and his knuckles drew white against the table. The company present still had not touched their food or drink, instead preferring to bow their heads to their chests and avoid eye contact with each other.
“Father, allow me to tell a tale. Perha
ps it will lift the mood.”
Thorfinn’s tensed expression did not ease, but he grunted in consent and forced a smile. “Yes, m’boy. A grand idea.”
Irrian nodded, rose, and gave a respectful bow to the seated company before fetching an odd-looking stringed instrument from its hanging on the wall. With a slight twist he turned and ran his fingers across the strings. It was a strange sound, yet the air was filled warmly by it. Then Irrian began his song after yet another slight bow, this time to Tyler. Sometimes he would sing, sometimes he would talk, and all the while he paced, playing his wonderful instrument to his silvered words.
Of legends
There are many tales:
Of bravery and strife,
Of heroes, gods, and tyrants,
Of demons
Breathed to life.
But there is one
That stands alone,
Legend above all,
The greatest tale ever told:
Of Tryton and Laor.
Back before time had meaning,
When the world was new;
When the stars shined so brightly,
When the grass so greenly grew;
The hills, uncut by unkind wind,
Still smooth and wide and bold;
The sea the colour of the sky,
The sand the sea of gold.
And there upon the young raw earth,
A legend proudly strode.
Came Tryton of the mighty Gods,
Greatest of the old,
Clad in armour and tall helm,
With shield of fame well told,
The wind blew wildly through his hair,
Long locks of shining gold.
He stopped upon a yellow field
And shouted to the sky,
Tyler's Dream Page 13
