“Laor, I am ready.
It is time to die!”
For Laor, god of thunder,
Had stolen Tryton’s bride,
The fair and lovely Ilda,
His love and all his pride.
Then Laor laughed
A thundering boom
And crashed down from a cloud.
He rode a bolt of lightning,
Which smashed into the ground.
“Tryton!” called the traitor Laor,
“’twas a mistake in coming.
Before his night is done, I swear,
Your body will be broken.”
The whole world quaked
As they clashed their swords.
Mountains simply crumbled;
Hot sparks lit the grass and trees;
The sounds of battle rumbled.
That night passed,
And then the next;
Again, and yet another.
They fought so hard
And for so long,
Their blades stung white with smelter.
Then Tryton cried a mighty yell
And hurled his sword away.
It slashed into the ocean,
Which boiled for half a day,
Laor laughed and lunged his sword
So lightning edged its blade,
But Tryton simply stepped aside
And threw his fist with rage.
As Laor lay there dying
In the crater from the blow,
He smiled a set of broken teeth
And looked up from down low.
“I go now to meet the dead,
But I shall see you there.
My blade was run with poison;
Your death draws quickly near!”
Then Tryton with a snarling roar
Cut off Laor’s head.
Already he could feel the toxin;
All too soon he would be spent.
Quickly he travelled
On thundering foot.
He cratered plains with holes;
He carved out ridges and steep hills;
He flattened trees and knolls.
Ilda he found in a castle,
Held by four high walls.
He smashed them down to get to her,
To take her in his hold.
But his blood was thick with sickness,
His brow was lined with sweat.
He whispered softy words of love
And murmured gently with regret.
And Ilda cried her precious tears,
As helpless as a child,
For Tryton died within her arms,
First hero of the world.
And there it ends.
The tale is told
Of Tryton,
Legend of the old.
Irrian led his clever fingers over the strings one last time. Then Thorfinn rose with a laugh and patted his son on the back, obviously well cured of his previous concern. The whole company erupted into applause, and the ill words of before were forgotten. The rest of that hot night was filled with song and tales of great deeds.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
STORM
For the first few weeks, Tyler had been free to do as he pleased. With this great liberty he took to sitting at the ship’s bow, his legs dangling absently over the edge of the boat, his forehead against the deck rail, chin in his hands and doubtful brown eyes staring ahead to the vast blue of sea and sky. What bothered him the most was the question of his identity. His personality had undoubtedly been formed under the twisted narrative of Hargill’s lies. That bull-headed, thoughtful lad had been an illusion along with everything else. Now, defined by Avalon’s blessing and his quest, the innocent lad he remembered was gone, and in his place another person had begun to emerge – one more serious and constantly weighed with responsibility. It was not the Tyler Finch he remembered.
Two ships sailed along with them, The Albatross’s Wing and The Seal. Tyler took great pleasure in watching the large ships spray through the waves, their proud sails bursting with captured wind. Occasionally he caught sight of whales snorting in the distance or dolphins skipping ahead of the ships’ crashing bows. At times he would forget the disapproving glares of the sailors and shout with excitement if one of the dolphins cartwheeled from the sea.
Everything changed the day he volunteered to help the crew. Tyler’s brief period of bliss ended, and pain, misery, and torture took their lonely posts. Kol was first master, which meant he was in charge of delegating duties on the ship. The man didn’t try to hide the fact that he bore a grudge against Tyler – indeed, he wore his hate openly, forcing Tyler to do the nastiest jobs available, whether it was cleaning vomit from the toilets, scrubbing urchins off the deck, polishing rust from the rails and cannons, or untangling the heavy rigging ropes. Tyler would go to sleep at night covered with cuts, blisters, and burns.
Tyler never spoke a word of this mistreatment to Thorfinn. Not only would he have risked being labelled a snitch, but Thorfinn would most likely have been enraged into some drastic action, which would only have made matters worse. As it was, there was an unpleasant air aboard, a clammy, uncomfortable feeling that seemed to cling about the ship closer than the wheeling seagulls that had followed them since Windbreak. There were suspicious silences when Tyler entered rooms unannounced, as well as sudden dispersals of conspiring groups. A feeling of mutiny was in the air, and Thorfinn’s authority was constantly eroded with snide remarks. Tyler discovered that not many believed in Avalon’s Blessing and thought it madness to be risking their lives on the journey to Ithrim.
Tyler never met with Varkon, as Thorfinn had promised. The ghatu was on The Albatross’s Wing, and Thorfinn told him it would take too long for the boats to come close enough for an exchange. Food and water were scarce, so time was of the essence. It rained only once during the long weeks, and so each drop was savoured. Each scrap of food, no matter how mouldy, was eaten with ravenous appetite. Any rats that were found in the grain bins were held in high regard; they were cooked on top deck in the evenings with the women and children, who were allowed onto the deck at the end of each day to stretch their legs and breathe in some fresh air. If Tyler showed his face at these gatherings, he was quietly ignored and would soon find himself staring at a row of turned backs and cold shoulders.
Haranio proved a bad substitute for company. The old shamif spent the majority of his time locked in his cabin alone. What he was doing there, Tyler could only guess. He had a suspicion that Haranio was not taking well to the sea, perhaps because the old man had more cat in him than he cared to realise. Not that it really mattered. Even if Haranio had made the effort to come on deck more often, Tyler’s laborious schedule at all times of the night and day would have prevented them from spending too much time together.
Kol had insisted it would be impossible for Tyler to work on the ship and keep separate apartments from the rest of the crew. Tyler consented to his request. Thus the bullying never stopped. Tyler’s cabin mates tortured him nightly, drenching his mattress with water, smearing his pillow with rat’s droppings, and stealing his shoes so he would be forced to work barefoot all day on the splintered deck.
To escape, Tyler would sneak up to top deck and hide away in a nook between the stacked lifeboats. From this position he could listen to the wind luffing at the edges of the sails and stare past the straight-backed masts and snaking halyards to the distant stars beyond.
The storm changed everything.
“Wake up, rat! How could you possibly still be sleeping?”
It was Ottar, the person in his cabin whom Tyler disliked the most. The man’s face was shaped like an orange segment, starting out wide at the back of his head before squeezing in to his short nose and swollen lips.
Tyler
groaned and heaved himself off his bunk. Immediately he was slammed into the opposite wall. The rush of the storm came to him then, as well as the beat of the waves and the tear of the wind. Tyler could hear the rain against the deck and the groan of wood straining against their gunnels.
“How could you not wake up? It’s the end of the world!” Ottar had an excruciatingly annoying habit of ending every sentence in a rising pitch. It was hard to listen to what he was saying with the knowledge that the dreaded exclamation was sure to come.
The cabin door exploded outwards to expose Furufis, another of Tyler’s beloved roommates, dripping from head to toe and breathless. “You lazy mentals, get your bums on deck and help! We’re not on a blimin’ holiday.”
“Some of us are,” said Ottar, eyeing Tyler sourly. “The boy almost slept through this whole business!”
“Come on, pretties, let’s get a move on. This boat’s just as good for floating as it is for filling up. The other lads are just putting away the sails.”
As soon as they had climbed the ladder from the cabins, Furufis and Ottar launched across the deck like a pair of scampering lizards and disappeared among the shadows under the sails. Tyler was not nearly as steady on his feet. He swayed violently before grabbing hold of a jutting rail.
The sound of the rain was deafening. It was only just possible to hear the cries of the sailors as they clambered like spiders across the climbing ropes, trying their very best to pack in the sails.
“What are you waiting for, laddie?” A strong hand grabbed Tyler suddenly from behind. “Get up there and help!” It was Kol, scars and all. He looked even more menacing through the rip of the rain.
“But I can’t! I mean to say, I don’t know how—”
Kol snarled and lowered his face closer to Tyler’s so that the boy received a shower of spit along with the rain. “If you don’t move right now, I’ll toss you overboard!”
“But I’ve never even been up on the climbing mast before!” said Tyler with unashamed terror.
Kol, apparently losing his patience, grabbed Tyler by the collar and threw him onto the deck. “Coward!”
The ship yanked to starboard. Tyler skid across the slippery deck. Another unexpected turn put him off balance just as he thought he was about to recover. He caught a glimpse of Kol smiling cruelly in the smashing rain.
Finally he made it to the mast and hugged it as tightly as he could for a while. After a while his breath came back, and he began to climb. Eight yards of ladder saw him to the base of the climbing ropes, which looked like a giant web that extended to the crow’s nest at the top of the ship. Men dangled off it perilously, limbs flailing like leaves.
Beyond the tilting ship, the grey waves gathered. They lumbered their swollen selves to the side of the ship before ploughing deliberately into the ship’s hull or occasionally washing over the deck.
He did not want to drown. There was something unacceptably disturbing about the thought to Tyler, perhaps exacerbated by his recent near-death encounters in the river. Unfortunately the air tonight had mixed with the ocean so that it felt like a liquid soup about him, and he gasped it in fearfully as though at any second, the humidity could fill his small lungs entirely and end him. What was the purpose of his predicament? Thus far his tasks aboard the ship had been limited to scrubbing, polishing, and knotting. Now seemed like less than an ideal time to teach a new trade. It was clear that Kol was tempting death by sending him up here. Tyler’s death would mean that Thorfinn would abandon his quest.
Ottar had somehow managed to already reach the crow’s nest. Tyler could make out his wedged head like a tiny half-moon against the clouds. He realised that the fact he could make out such a detail probably meant he was a great deal higher than he had originally thought, and a glance to the deck confirmed this. Far below, two men mounted the mast ladder, as he had done earlier. He watched them ascending the mast. Looking down at the deck was better than gazing anywhere else anyway because it was easier to see through the rain that lashed brutally from the sky. Eventually the two men drew close to him, but Tyler could not make out their faces, covered as they were by sealskin hoods.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He cocked his head in expectation of a reply.
“Quickly – get him!” One of the men growled, and then he lunged, catching hold of Tyler’s foot. Tyler’s right hand slipped from the ropes, so he was now only barely holding on with his left. The man tugged down as hard as he could.
They are trying to murder me! Tyler kicked out his free leg, and he felt his book connect squarely with the man’s face. There was sharp crack and snap of nose cartilage, but the man didn’t let go; if anything, his grip tightened. By now the second man had scaled high enough to also take a hold of Tyler’s left foot. They both pulled down together. The rope sliced into his hand. Tyler realised he was going to fall. Quickly he threaded his free foot into one of the climbing squares, just as his fingertips unhooked from the rope. The two men loosened their grips as they felt their victim fall.
The whole world tipped sideways, passing Tyler in a blur of rain and wind. He flipped over by his right foot, which held firm. He was now upside down, wet hair hanging vertically off his scalp. One of this would-be killers was alongside him, and Tyler felt the man start pulling at his right leg, trying to loosen it from the square of climbing rope in which it was tangled.
Tyler grabbed the man’s ankle and bit into it sharply. The man yelled with agony and wrenched his leg from Tyler’s teeth, but as he did this the ship dropped into the dip of a cresting wave, buckled roughly, and snapped the surprised man from the ropes, hurling him off the rigging and towards the boiling sea.
A boot kicked Tyler in the face. The other man had already scuttled sideways to replace his unfortunate companion. Tyler’s head recoiled from the blow, but he managed to hang on. His eyes felt like they were crossed, and combined with the pitching of the ship, everything was moving far too much for him to think. He craned his head up into his chest to prepare for the next strike, and he flailed his arms weakly ahead of him in an attempt to ward off the blow he was sure would soon follow.
Thousands of drops of rain exploded violently against the man’s sealskin hood, and through his grogginess Tyler could have sworn he saw the man’s eyes: they were wild with violence and glinting with impending victory. There was a loud thud. The man’s arms went immediately limp at his sides, and for a second he hung in disbelief before giving way to gravity and toppling over silently towards the furious waves.
Ottar was beside him on the ropes. The ugly man wrapped a muscled arm about Tyler. “I’ve got you, lad. It’s all right.”
Tyler smiled with relief, and as Ottar untangled his foot and swung him upright, he caught sight of Kol disappearing down the stairwell below deck. That monster must have been the architect of his planned demise. Tyler clenched the climbing ropes as though they were Kol’s neck. With Ottar beside him, he began his slow descent.
“Why did you help me, Ottar?” Tyler asked when they were back in their cabin. Tyler was standing but held on tightly to the door frame to support himself against the rocking ship. He regarded the drenched figure of Ottar, who was sitting on Tyler’s bed, oblivious to the fact that he was soaking it wet.
An oil lantern squeaked with rust as it swung from the ceiling. Ottar scratched at one of his desperate cultures of stubble on his chin. “Why did I help you?” he repeated, obviously shocked. “Well, I suppose you thought I’d just go let those men kill you?”
“But you’ve always been so unkind—”
“I’m treating you no worse than when I was first recruited onto this barmy bit of wood. I know the others hate you for bringing the Dhimori, and for this rotten journey we’re on.” He spat on the ground. “I’m a little bitter about that, mind. But I’m not about to let you die in front of me!”
“You were treated as badly when
you first came aboard a ship?”
“Of course. A little hazing is good for ya! We break you down so we can build you up. We just haven’t got to the building part with you yet. It’ll come, although maybe a bit later than most given how much bitterness has to be taken out on you first for our current predicament!” Ottar jumped to his feet and supported himself against the bedpost. “Now, did you see who those two men were tonight?” Tyler shook his head. “Well you’ve no shortage of people that dislike you, lad. I’m sure we’ll be finding out who they were come the morrow. Don’t bother coming back to the deck tonight. Keep your head down here and rest. Speaking of which …” He looked a little sheepish now. “I’d appreciate it if we kept this incident between ourselves. If the men found out that I had killed …”
Tyler nodded. “I promise.”
“Good. Now stay here and mind that pretty eye of yours!” Ottar laughed. “The ladies are going to swoon the moment they catch sight of that purple, bloated face of yours tomorrow. Get some beauty sleep to repair what you can!”
The ship buckled abruptly, flinging both Tyler and Ottar to the other side of the room. Ottar jumped with astonishing speed back to his feet, and with a sharp wink he ran out the door.
Tyler rose far more slowly and crawled onto his wet bed. His left hand had a nasty cut down the middle, and his eye was so badly swollen that it was difficult to see. I’m heading in the right direction to looking like Orio, he thought. A violent turn to the cabin ended this light-hearted musing, and he instead concentrated on holding on for dear life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HERE DREAMS MAY LIE
When Tyler woke, it was with a sneeze. He snorted with surprise and looked around to discover he was lying on the floor. The storm must have tossed him out of his bed during the night, but it appeared his body was hardly going let a four-foot fall disturb his slumber. In his bones he knew that it was much later than he was usually accustomed to arising. His cabin mates must have stayed on duty all night, and thanks to them, The Eye of the World was still afloat. Groaning, he hoisted himself upright and straightened his back so suddenly that it cracked in twenty places.
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