Darkin: A Journey East

by Joseph A. Turkot

  Before long they were filled with porridge, fruit, and bread, and wide awake from strong tea. Adacon felt replenished from the sleep he had finally regained; he wondered whether Slowin had ever gone to sleep, but decided he probably didn’t require sleep as much as the others, being a silver golem. Flaer and Slowin worked together in steering the ship; soon the schooner turned hard and land sprouted from the sea.

  “Thank Flaer for his nautical skill; without him I’m afraid I wouldn’t have known how to navigate, and led us perhaps to be swallowed by the great Kalm,” Slowin declared. Flaer humbly smiled and hung his head, then squinted into the distance; he smacked the rail of the ship to draw their attention to the Point. In the distance a strip of grassland jutted out from the coast, a natural jetty; near to the very end of the low-lying strip sat a gnome by a fire.

  The ground where Remtall had made camp was barely solid, just firm enough that he could keep his weight there. The rest of the strip stretching inland was mud and rock that dissolved rapidly, descending deeply on either side into the depths. In the cramped space at the end of the jetty Remtall had built a small fire, and even managed to build a thatched shelter of vines and shoots; it looked like a dirty organic mat he had used to sleep under. Soon the Blockade Runner treaded the shallower water surrounding the jetty, and in the calm surf Slowin threw down the anchor. Remtall stood nearly seven yards from the schooner, separated by ocean, but the ship could come no closer.

  “Good morning friend,” Slowin called.

  “The morn is good and sweet, fair golem of the Red Wood,” Remtall replied lazily, extinguishing his fire. “Shame you all can’t come in and stay awhile.” They laughed as Remtall broke down his camp, heaving his shelter of roots into the ocean. “Think she’ll take me across?”

  “You’re joking right?” Erguile said.

  “You think that gnomes can’t swim, do you?” Remtall responded. The midmorning sun coursed down upon them, and suddenly the day had turned dreadfully hot.

  “Where’s Yarnhoot?” Slowin asked.

  “An important errand, he’ll be needed for awhile yet in Rislind,” Remtall replied, and turned to scoop up his few possessions. In his belt there was a dagger sheathed, and on his side he fastened his pack; next to it he hung his flask. “Alright then, I’m coming along now—and well done, she’s got the right colors for our task I’ll admit.” Remtall said in appreciation of the stolen ship. He staggered toward the end of firm grass, leaving the solid earth behind. Each step encroached farther upon the loose rocks and mud that merged into sea.

  “Careful,” Adacon called, watching Remtall wobble on the loose ground.

  “Never mind a gnome’s footfalls—nor his burst in water,” Remtall replied. He stood still, slowly sinking into muck, only so he could release his flask. Remtall squinted at the sun as beads of sweat rolled down his face; he looked up at the sky and drank heartily from his silver flask. Still wobbling, he took off his green cap and used it to mop his brow, then returned it to his greying mess of brown hair. “Alright then.”

  “Careful now,” Slowin cautioned the gnome again. This time Remtall ignored the remark and instead plopped sideways into the water. He began throbbing about helplessly. After a few suspenseful moments, Remtall seemed to straighten himself out and propel his small frame forward in odd looking bursts, kicking his legs high and splashing in all directions.

  “Little farther,” Adacon cheered as Remtall lunged toward the rail of the schooner where Flaer was dangling a rope.

  “Got it!” Remtall coughed, spitting saltwater as he gripped the end of the rope with both hands. “And hoist mate!” Flaer tugged Remtall aboard. The gnome sat soaking wet, coughing up the last of the sea he had swallowed.

  “Clearing that awful taste ought to help, eh?” Remtall spat, and he drank his liquor.

  “Easy, Remtall; there is much ocean to cross, and no other man do we have to cross it for us,” Slowin advised.

  “No man fit for the task? How about a woman fit for my ravaging? Besides, spirits haven’t the effect on gnomes they have on men,” Remtall burped. “Or golems—be you a golem at all, you silver heap!”

  “Alright then, enough,” Slowin replied. “Good to have you back Remtall, either way.”

  “Captain Remtall,” Erguile added.

  “Captain Remtall Olter'Fane—now there is a missed title. I’ve not been captain in a great many years.”

  “But isn’t it true you were once among the greatest seamen in Darkin?” Adacon queried.

  “Sea-gnomes, good sir—but yes, I won’t deny. I was once in command of many ships, a battalion of the north country Hemlin-Auk, a gnomen Fleet in service to Grelion.”

  “You served under Grelion?” Erguile recoiled.

  “Indeed. I daresay I was one of his most trusted captains. This was a time when he was not yet corrupted, you see. Grelion possessed many great qualities in his unspoiled youth, before passing to greed and obsession. Alas, it has been a long age since he withered to madness.”

  “I can hardly believe it—Krem told me that since I have been alive Grelion has ever been the great oppressor,” cried Adacon.

  “And right your friend was, young boy. But remember that I have lived more than five lives against your one, and I can recall the shadow that befell his soul, the great loss that took Darkin’s chance of lasting peace after the war,” Remtall replied.

  “When your son—” Adacon began but was cut off:

  “Speak not of my son!” spat the gnome, and he drank anew. “Our quest is now apart from the fate of my son save a lingering hope for blood-filled revenge. It was long after my exile that Grelion’s law ran afoul and turned to such evil measures as calling the aid of Zesm the Rancor, sickest plague of Arkenshyr—all for greed of gold,” Remtall seethed. He spit into the wind and cursed loudly.

  “Our purpose now is to cross the Kalm Ocean safely and reach Erol Drunne. Let us keep our minds on this task alone, before anger stays our good judgment,” Slowin advised.

  “I’m sorry, Remtall,” Adacon whimpered.

  “We’ll leave it be. But each of you know this. . .” Remtall said coldly, and he glared at each of his crew, “I journey again upon open water in pursuit of a single end, one purpose at mind; I go now from Rislind for revenge, and throw my life to the whims of Gaigas. It will be my life or Zesm’s in the end—there can be but two ways this crusade closes.” A silence came over the party, and Slowin waited for the tension to rest so that he could set his captain upon his proper business. Soon Remtall seemed to calm. He took the helm of the Blockade Runner, guiding her sharply around the jetty and toward the eastern horizon.

  Slowin pored over sea charts that Remtall had brought in his pack, while Flaer sat idly by the aft mast, gazing westward. Erguile and Adacon sat alone, musing together over their new weapons and armor. They talked about Grelion more, and of the elusive Zesm.

  “This Zesm—Remtall really hates him,” Erguile said.

  “Yea” Adacon replied.

  “You saw him that night . . . you said he was glowing at first?”

  “He was like an aura, red and yellow swirling light, and then his voice changed. He looked like a man, but all hunched. He was covered in grey rags, and he had a bloody sword.”

  “Must have been my sword, but why would he steal it while we slept and not kill us?”

  “Who knows? Following orders from Grelion perhaps,” Adacon sighed. “I hope we see Krem soon.”

  “Perhaps he’ll be in Erol Drunne.”

  “Maybe. Slowin won’t tell me anything about Krem’s errand. I’m still unsure of our real purpose in Erol Drunne.”

  “I believe we’re to find counsel for a course to war, against whomever our greatest enemy is,” said Erguile.

  “It’s unclear now whom that is; I left the farm with no intention but to break away from the horrible existence there so that I could kill the lords, but once Krem told me of Grelion, and that Grelion was the only one, I think I focused all my hatr
ed upon him alone. Now with Zesm and Vesleathren, I’m not sure who we should wish to kill more.”

  “I fear none of them,” Erguile exclaimed, clasping his long sword. “Perhaps it’s a question of which of those three we should kill first.”

  “And the Feral Brood—with his dark magic Vesleathren is turning creatures into those foul beasts. We both witnessed it; Bulkog didn’t look like what I could call a troll.”

  “Yea, and what a waste that fool was. I’d like to have another go at him,” Erguile said, rubbing at the newly formed scar on his neck where Bulkog had struck. Just then Remtall approached, staggering slightly, edging his way along the rail of the ship toward them.

  “Talk of women, eh?” Remtall chuckled as the slaves put their arms aside and stood to properly greet him.

  “Captain,” they both chimed, nodding down to Remtall.

  “What have you got in the way of women on the slave farms, boys?” Remtall asked, turning his gaze out to sea toward a patch of dark clouds hanging in the southeastern horizon. The sun was beginning to descend slowly in the West, and the clear blue sky of morning had turned into a veil-knitting of streaked clouds.

  “Women, er—you know we haven’t truly ever met a wom—” Adacon spoke, but was cut off by Erguile:

  “Speaks for himself! I had ways to find women, experienced in their trade I might add,” Erguile said, winking at Remtall who turned back to them from the sky.

  “Never had a woman?” Remtall gasped, staring at Adacon.

  “I haven’t,” Adacon said sadly after a long pause, “and how could you have?” Adacon glared at Erguile. “I don’t remember even so much as a whisper about women coming past the farm.”

  “There were times, boy, trust me. And I had an eye for it; knew when they were in the wagons, and how they were disguised,” Erguile explained. Adacon doubted the validity of the boast.

  “So then, Adacon boy, you’ve at least seen a woman?” Remtall continued.

  “Sure, I’ve seen plenty of drawings, quite a lot actually,” Adacon replied.

  “Only ever seen them clothed then,” Remtall surmised.

  “Well, of course—” Adacon answered shyly.

  “Poor boy,” Erguile sympathized, patting Adacon on his back.

  “No worries son. Surely you’ll meet one soon, now that you’re free and roaming east, keeping company with Captain Olter'Fane and his crew,” Remtall cheered. Adacon smiled, not realizing he was blushing.

  “You think I could meet a woman in Erol Drunne?” Adacon asked.

  “Perhaps, son, perhaps,” Remtall said between gulps from his flask.

  “And what should I do next, after I’ve met her? I don’t know what they’re like, or what they like—what are they like Captain?” asked Adacon.

  “Easy son—a woman is like the nurturing part of your soul you’ve missed to notice, a part that cares for you, attends to all bits of clockwork, cherishes your mold,” Remtall explained. Erguile stood quietly listening, nodding as if he already knew what Remtall was talking about. “Course they can slaughter you too. But you’ll be fine, young and stout as you are.”

  “What would I do when I,” Adacon began, but stopped midsentence as he watched Remtall look wildly about, then to the eastern sky. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s the pirate store? There’s a fine squall coming in,” Remtall spoke loudly.

  “Pirate store?” The slaves asked in unison.

  “This is a pirate ship you stole, or do my eyes deceive me? The pirate store—the rum!” Remtall exclaimed.

  “Oh, there were some casks under the deck, look there,” Erguile said. He pointed at the wooden planks that protruded near the rail. Remtall hurried off to look for the hidden treasure he sought.

  * * *

  The Blockade Runner sailed forth amidst increasing swells, and soon the sky turned deep grey all around her. The winds grew strong, as Remtall had forecasted, and soon a clap of thunder sounded just as the schooner gathered real speed.

  “Captain, the waves are getting bigger. Is there anything to worry about?” Adacon asked nervously, creeping up behind Remtall at the helm. The gnome calmly steered the wheel, showing all signs of one supremely at ease.

  “Surely not boy. I haven’t been on the Kalm in some time, but I can say she offers much worse than this,” Remtall reassured. Just then Slowin came suddenly to them from the other side of the deck, his footsteps causing the deck to creak. The thunder had picked up considerably, and a light rain began to patter his shoulders as he spoke to them:

  “Erguile has fallen sick.”

  “Sick? He was just fine a moment ago,” Adacon replied.

  “His lunch has gone over the rail,” Slowin replied.

  “He’ll be fine; sea sickness is all. The bigger swells will do that to those with fair stomachs,” Remtall replied. Adacon realized the rising and falling of the ship had increased violently over the last few minutes.

  “Are you sure? I am not the most knowledgeable in matters of human sickness,” Slowin asked.

  “Of course I’m sure, silver fool of a giant; count your blessings again, for I am Olter'Fane of the Auk, Captain of the gnomen Fleet—and in Gaigas’s bosom was I made seaworthy!” Remtall roared into the wind against a flash of lightning. He took a drop of his flask and turned to see Erguile running toward them from the bow.

  “Are you alright?” Adacon asked as Erguile came within earshot. Erguile held his stomach with one hand, a sour look on his face, gasping for breath. He pointed to the bow where Flaer stood.

  “I’m fine—but there’s a ship,” Erguile moaned before diving for the rail of the ship, throwing up again.

  “What?” Adacon replied. Slowin left immediately for the bow. Remtall stayed put and in the light rain he withdrew his pipe from his pocket; he began to stuff it with tobacco. Adacon looked toward the commotion at the bow, searching for a sign of the ship. The grey distance offered no shapes.

  “Captain?” Adacon said.

  “Go have a look—bring me the verdict,” Remtall said calmly. Adacon ran from the helm toward the bow. Slowin and Flaer scoured the eastern horizon for a silhouette while the captain watched from afar, puffing on his pipe, trying to cover it from the increasing rain with his tunic.

  “What is it?” Adacon asked as he reached them. Flaer seemed to be searching deeply in the grey, and Slowin too appeared in great concentration.

  “Looked like a ship—it disappeared behind the fog,” Slowin said.

  “You both saw it then? Definitely a ship?”

  “Looked like it,” Slowin replied, and Flaer nodded yes.

  “Tell Remtall; we’ll stay and watch,” Slowin said. Adacon acknowledged and returned swiftly to the helm with the news.

  “It was a ship. They all saw it. It’s disappeared in the fog,” Adacon reported.

  “It’s no ship,” Remtall uttered between puffs from his pipe.

  “What do you mean?” Adacon asked, stricken with surprise. At that moment Erguile composed himself and trudged over to join them.

  “I’ve known this presence before. Though it looks like a ship, rest assured she isn’t,” Remtall answered. Adacon shuddered.

  “What’s going on, did anyone see it?” Erguile asked.

  “Slowin and Flaer did, but it’s gone now. They’re keeping an eye out for it,” Adacon answered. “What is it Remtall?”

  “It’s a phantom—a vision of a ship that sank more than three hundred years ago,” Remtall said.

  “What?” Erguile recoiled.

  “Don’t fret; she’ll be of no harm to us. There’s the Fang Shoals for fretting.”

  “A phantom ship,” Adacon’s eyes widened as the wind picked up, rocking the ship violently. Remtall grabbed the rail while Adacon grabbed the side of a mast, but Erguile went tumbling onto the deck. Thunder came at its loudest, and a great whine reverberated from near the cabin.

  “Weakhoof!” Erguile cried, rushing to his feet. In his sickness Erguile had forgotten a
bout his horse. Weakhoof had braved enough of the storm quietly, but as it worsened the steed could remain fearless no more. An eruption of neighing sounded from the cabin, and as Erguile came to Weakhoof’s side he saw that the horse had nearly loosed its rein.

  “Easy girl,” Erguile comforted. “We’ll be through this soon.” Adacon and Remtall watched Erguile quiet the horse; he seemed even through his fit to be courageous.

  “How can you be sure we’re in no danger of attack?” Adacon asked Remtall as he steadied the wheel.

  “Fool…Complex answers I do not give for simple questions. Have a draught,” Remtall responded. He offered Adacon his flask. Adacon took a sip and coughed, handing it back to Remtall.

  “Much harsher than Krem’s wine,” Adacon complained.

  “We will have much time to discuss phantoms and shoals when the Kalm has regained its namesake; until then, fetch yourself to help your friend. Weakhoof looks distressed,” Remtall commanded. Adacon nodded, leaving the captain alone at the wheel with his smoldering pipe.

  The Blockade Runner jogged eastward into the storm, and the weather worsened. Adacon tended Weakhoof with Erguile, and Flaer remained on the bow searching the fog-ridden sea. Slowin had retreated to the stern, standing next to Remtall, discussing something. The swells increased and Erguile fell sick again. Several hours seemed to pass, and finally the rain slowed. The sky cleared, revealing an early cluster of moons. Tired from the storm, the crew retired after a quick dinner without conversation. Adacon had been eager to learn more of the phantom ship from Remtall, and he wanted to ask Slowin if he knew where Krem might be, but fatigue won out. Soon they were all asleep, even Slowin, save for Remtall who somehow kept awake and guided the ship onward under the still night sky.

  Time passed quickly for the crew on their second day at sea. Both slaves apprenticed under Remtall, learning what they could about the rigging of the schooner. The weather remained fair throughout the day, and Weakhoof seemed to be especially enjoying the lack of waves. He stood shaded underneath a tarp Erguile had raised for him. The sun waned and nightfall crept upon them once more, and near the cabin Flaer made a dinner of food from the pirate store: biscuits, gravy, jerky, tea, and sweet rainbow-colored fruits served for dessert. The cool night air wrapped around them as they sat eating; the stars shone bright, piquing Adacon’s imagination.