by Warren Fahy
“Aloft with the others, Jummy commenced telling the men a tale about immortal Wondry birds that never land and spend their life in the sky, buildin’ their nests in the clouds. He said they looked like common kites, but their color changed to match the sky so most men couldn’t hardly see ’em even when lookin’ right at ’em. ‘Hey!’ he suddenly yelled. ‘One just landed on the end of the yard, boys!’ Well, Jummy didn’t expect it, but a kite landed on the end of the yard just as he was saying it. And the men were so addled and amazed they lunged at it as if to catch a bit of the magic Jummy had spun with his wonderful words.” Lince cleared his throat. “A hard wind came ripping right at that same moment. I ordered the mainsail clewed, but Jummy and the others didn’t clew the sail on the port side, so bedazzled were they by the bird that had landed there. The mainyard started to swing as the men held on. But when those on the starboard yard tried to let out the sail to even the beam, the yard knocked back and forth…” Lince squinted into the fire as the words caught in his throat. He lowered his head, and the baleful blue eye on his scalp glared at the men as they could all easily imagine the results. “In five beats, all eight of them fell. They landed on the deck around me. Five died, not fast. Two—well, they wished to the Gairanor they died that day. One lost his arms, and the other his jaw. Jummy landed in the sea. He wasn’t injured. But he hanged himself the next morning, from the mainmast of the Coral Bay.”
The men bowed their heads, averting their eyes from Lince’s grim third eye.
“When we got to port, with only me knowing exactly what had happened and how I had turned a blind eye for that one second, I shaved my head and had Nencaria the tattoo mistress at Loggers Port ink this eyeball on my head so that even when I look away the men aloft won’t ever let down their guard. And don’t for a minute think this eye can’t see. For Nencaria endowed it with seeing powers with her witchy ways.” Lince glared at them with all three eyes and pointed at the carpenter. “I don’t approve of mischief aboard ship, Rawley. No, sir! Humor, all right, and I’ll contribute. But mischief, nay, and nay again, not when danger is at hand. It backfires! And when it does, there’s no excuse and no forgiving it, either. Take it from me. It’s the most pitiful thing a man can live with.”
“Yes, Mister Mate. I’ve heard you now, sir. And I do appreciate your point of view,” said Rawley.
It seemed he was content to leave it at that as he fixed on relighting his pipe.
Lanning saw the carpenter’s strange thumb and the scar around the first joint illuminated by Rawley’s punk. Emboldened by Lince’s candor, Lanning broached his own question. “Hey, what happened to your thumb, Rawley?”
“Yeah!” Bultin said.
“I’ve never been more curious about anything in my entire life,” Overly said.
“I’m a bit curious, myself,” Sowernut said.
“Well,” Lince said. “We’ll probably never get off this island, anyway, so you might as well tell us.”
“You don’t have to,” Nil said.
Rawley raised his right hand with its thick, scarred thumb and closed his fist over the fire. A devilish light glinted in his green eyes. “Hmm,” he mused. “I guess I’ll tell it, though I never did, before.” Rawley pursed his lips as he looked into the fire. “Why not?”
Everyone pricked up their ears then.
“I was 20 years old… and fresh from the hills of Gilbobble.” Rawley smiled with a wry shake of his head. “That’s when I ventured to Gwylor with a dream of running my own fishing business, and conquering the world, of course.” As he looked into the fire he smiled. “I was too proud to take a lowly post as a common sailor aboard an established vessel, you see, so I held out and aired out my father’s purse along the embarcadero, hoping for a miracle. And one day when I wandered to the west waterfront, on the corner of a dark street, a tall, portly man in a shabby tweed topcoat and a stovepipe hat swung his shiny black cane as he barked a fancy pitch at passersby. ‘Be your own man!’ he sang with mighty lungs and a jovial voice. ‘You be the Captain! Fully-fitted one-man fishing vessels for unbelievably low cost!’ he crowed. ‘You be the Captain!’
“Well, since I was 20 years old and therefore looking for a way to kill myself, I walked straight up to him, grinning from ear to ear, and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well, well,’ he said, his face lighting up as his voice became a secret whisper: ‘The smartest man on this street, I see!’ He introduced himself as Commodore Boyle, though everyone called him the Commodore, and he put his arm around me like the wing of a rickety raven. Sucking me through a narrow alley to a squalid little shipyard where a number of broken boats lay about among piles of scrap he introduced me to a few workers who were mending the hulls of some boats set on shores. There was also a launch of sorts and a crooked little pier at the end of which two boats were tied no bigger than 25 feet from stem to stern. Their hulls were painted black, and their masts were painted white, and I thought I’d never seen finer vessels, both as neat as a pin.”
The others winced for they knew never to trust a boat with painted spars.
“Aye,” Rawley chuckled. “So the Commodore took me for a stroll to the end of the pier, where he showed me the biggest of the two vessels. The Sea Rose, the hag was called. And she filled my head with dreams as soon as I saw her. She’d be the flagship of my fishing fleet and I would haul the sea’s treasure in like no one before me and pile mountains of gold to build my folks a castle to live in, and I would become the Mayor of my hometown in my old age with my wife and redheaded children. All my dreams seemed to live inside the bucket clunking against that crooked dock.
“The Commodore smiled at me and he said, ‘How much of your father’s money do you have left, young squire?’ I was amazed at his insight, but still shrewd enough to answer, ‘How much are you asking?’ He sized me up. ‘One hundred gierons,’ he said.
“I was shocked, for I only had 67 gierons left. Too proud, I said I would like to inspect the boat first. I was trained as a carpenter by my father and had sailed on Lake Placiri throughout my youth. I thought I knew what to look for, and I noticed a patch on the bowsprit under the black paint and pointed it out. ‘Norlanian teak—nothing stronger or better-suited to the sea!’ he answered, readily. ‘Naturally, you don’t see much of it so far inland,’ he added. I noticed another patch on the mainmast, and he said the same thing, rolling back on his heels and smiling, mighty proud of his answers as though they made the boat an even better prize than it already was.
“That’s when I saw my chance. I said, ‘Well, strong or no, patches take down the value.’ ‘Down? Why, the price is rock bottom, already,’ he said, deeply hurt that I would insult him so. ‘How do I know how strong Norlanian teak is?’ I insisted. ‘That takes the value down!’ I insisted, certain that I had a point, though I felt ashamed to hurt the Commodore’s dignity. ‘Well, maybe you’d be interested in this other vessel here, a bit smaller, yes, but—’ he started to say. Well, I wouldn’t have it. ‘It’s the bigger one or none at all!’ I said. What other vessel was there to build my empire upon? ‘Ah, you’d make your father proud!’ the Commodore said, cocking a shaggy brow over his sallow eye and winking. ‘This one’s ready to sail, you’re certainly right about that, and no fooling you. With nets and gaffs and all the fisherman’s wares already stowed aboard… Why one man could run it as it is. I’d have to talk it over with my partners. Why don’t we go into the boathouse for a bit and have a chat?’
“The Commodore took me back to the yard and in the shanty they called the boathouse I sat at a table where they had some contracts and a quill. I waited a while as I saw him seeming to argue fiercely on my behalf with the others in the yard, which I thought was strange since they were just painters and such, as far as I could see. But I was gratified to see him coming to my defense so enthusiastically. Then he came back and entered the shack with his arms wide and a sunny smile. He sat in the chair across the table from me and said, ‘I’m prepared to sell her to ya for 70 gierons! A prince’s
deal!’ I blushed and blurted out ‘Sixty-seven!’ leaving exactly none to spare for anything. ‘Done! Sign here!’
“So, in a daze of pride at my own bargaining skills, I walked all the way back to the boarding house where I was staying and took my box of tools and chattel, slipping out without paying my bill. I knew I could pay it later, you see, with interest.” Rawley smiled sardonically at himself. “I made it back to the shipyard, but no one was there. My boat was there, though, and I had the deed in my hand, so I climbed aboard, knowing she was where my next meal would have to come from now.
“I busied about the boat, figuring her out as I strategized my future. Pretty soon, I couldn’t resist taking her out, at least to moor her offshore so I could fish for my dinner and think things over. Once I got her out and made her fast to a float, I pulled in a red sheepshead and cooked the best dinner of my life.
“I was palpitating with happiness, except that I kept discovering little things. The Sea Rose’s gaff’s handle was broken and bound up with flimsy canvas painted black. The sail was old and stitched from patches that tore easily. The lines were notched and streaked with tar as though cast off from other ships.
“I still counted myself lucky for being a carpenter because I could fix all the weak spots. So I slept with my head full of nervous hopes and happy plans that night. And by dawn, I knew my life as a fishing magnate had begun. I took the Sea Rose out and even dropped a coin I found on the boat into the sea for good luck. I set her sail under the blue sky as dark clouds rolled down the highlands into the bay behind me, kicking up a cold wind. She started making noises, but I told myself they were normal and for some reason I simply couldn’t turn back. The squall came faster over Gwylor behind me, and other sailors shouted at me as they tacked back toward shore, but I was fearless. I clewed her sail and guided her rudder, looking for fish that the others were too afraid to take before the storm.
“The ocean was a strong and strange beast to me. I felt like I had climbed on top of a wild bull after sailing the lakes of Gilbobble netting blue shrimp. I rode the sea stubbornly, not knowing how to let it lead, and when I spotted a shoal of minnows like slivers of red silver I rigged up the net to the boom to lower the trawl. The vision of those fish was like a vindication.
“The sky turned black and rain slicked the deck as the mast creaked. I leaned under the boom to haul the clews and turn her about, and that’s when I heard the crashing thunder as the top half of the mast broke.” Rawley breathed in sharply, peering into the fire with slitted eyes. “It wasn’t the mast so much as the boom that crushed my leg. The mast struck the gunwale and smashed my right thumb right off into the sea.” He closed his eyes and smiled, opening them peacefully at the others. “Dead and cursing the Commodore from my grave for a long time, maybe a day after that squall had come and gone, I just stared at the sky in my darling Sea Rose. The more the pain burned into me, and the more I saw the Commodore’s face, truly it was hate that made me finally move. I blinded my brain to the pain, pulled myself out from under the spar, tied a line around my thigh and dragged my tool chest out of the cabin. I was a carpenter, after all.
“After finding a half-full jug of whiskey one of the workers had left inside the cabin I gulped it and drenched my leg. Then I went to work with my left hand under the light of my single lantern. I sawed my leg off and sewed it up.” He pulled a drag on his pipe and blew some smoke rings. “Then, since I was sittin’ there lookin’ at my old leg… I thought I’d fix my thumb.”
“No,” Lanning said, wide-eyed.
Rawley winked. “I sawed my big toe off my right foot. Then I threw the leg overboard for the sharks. I dovetailed the bone to fit my toe and then stitched the veins and muscles together, dousing it all with whiskey and sewing it up so that I could pull out the thread later.”
The others were dumbstruck.
“I lived, somehow, for three more days, eating the rest of my fish and splashing my hand and leg with seawater. I mostly slept. Then a fine ship, the Trade Wind, sent a boat to pick me up before I ran into the eastern cliffs. The Sea Rose didn’t sink, I’ll give that old hag that much credit. A month later, I took off the splint and pulled out the string.” Rawley winked and flexed his thumb. “Best work I’ve ever done!”
The others looked at him with open mouths.
“What good’s a carpenter without a thumb?” His singed red eyebrows arched devilishly. “So that’s why, Mister Neery-Atten, I play a trick or two on naive youngsters and gullible sailors, if you really want to know my reasons. To teach them to trust the world before their own eyes more than the pretty words of men, no matter how sweet they sound, so that they don’t learn it the hard way, like me.” Rawley held the first mate’s eyes.
Lince nodded. “My pappy said it’s a thin pancake that doesn’t have two sides. I see your angle, sir. You’re made of strong stuff, and nothing foolish about you. So one last word I’ll offer: good intentions can backfire. Playing it straight teaches a lesson, too, that might be rarer. And at sea, it’s always safer.”
“Aye, Mister Mate.” Rawley nodded. “You’ve made your point. I’ll bear it in mind.”
The two shook hands over the fire, a sight the others never thought they’d see.
Then they slept under the stars.
During the second watch, Nil stared at the tortured slopes flowing down to a narrow bay below in the gold moonlight. To the left the bay was walled by a ridge. On the right steep slopes reached up to the highest peak on the island, scorched and rimmed by snow. They had seen this towering mountain even from the Sea Mare. Spouts of silvery steam curled from its vast slopes.
As he surveyed the stretch of land between them and the bay, his thoughts returned to Lelinair. She has forsaken you, a devilish voice said inside him. You’ll die a fool. He had repeated this litany to himself over the years automatically, each time he faced another impossible mountain to climb between himself and her. Somehow it had made it easier. He wondered why, now, as he invoked it again.
She had not seen him off. She knew he might never return. She had forsaken him. He would die a fool.
Lince rallied them. The rising sun spilled a swirling alloy of metallic hues over the liquid slopes below. The Dimrok dominated the western horizon, her southern shore shorn off and the Lightstone Tower conspicuously missing from its profile.
The men bid farewell to their brief haven, guiding the boat down the spiraling tunnel until they reached the level of the bridge they had crossed. They went lower, finally coming to an arch that opened at the base of the natural tower facing the western shore.
They started down that hard slope, the men under the boat feeling more at ease after the rejuvenating waters and sleep. Rawley was now secured by a line around his chest to Nil fifteen yards behind him, who in turn was secured to the boat by another line fifteen yards long.
After a quarter mile, they traded out two men from under the boat, Bultin and Lanning, who went behind and hooked onto the line as Lince and Wicket took their place under the boat. The going was fast and easy as they scrambled down a hard surface.
As the sun took a stronger purchase above and the day became hot, however, the ground began to tremble again. They found themselves on striped slopes of mesmerizing yellow, black, and red patterns. Rawley teetered over the brink of a crevasse hidden by the stripes as Nil saved him with a tug on the line more than once.
It took them the better part of an hour to cross only a few hundred feet over this new maze. Nevertheless, Rawley managed to negotiate a solid path amidst it.
They finally entered the canyon leading down to the sea. To their right rose a steep wall to the top of the enormous mountain whose flat peak jetted plumes of sunlit steam into the blue sky.
A smooth pavement of frozen rock flowed down the winding ravine before them, which they were able to trot over at a good pace. They could see this path must lead to the canyon that lead to the bay they saw from the slopes above.
As they charged downhill a sound again
st which all sounds could barely be measured split the sky in two.
A flash blinded them for a few seconds as a ball of fire exploded from the peak to their right and fire streaked down its side.
They all charged forward over the quaking ground, holding each other up under the boat even as some stumbled and hung on, even as red coals spilled over the cliff.
Buckling down, they charged forward on the rocking ground as a mighty thunderhead of ash and fire rose into the sky and chilled the canyon.
They ran forward as smoking rocks hailed down, bouncing into the crevasse but somehow missing them as they raced ahead of the lava now pouring behind them.
Switching two men from under the boat, they saw the molten river appear, flowing around a curve a hundred yards behind them as Nil and Rawley led the final charge.
The canyon turned sharply right and then left, and behind them the red river splashed closer around each bend.
They stopped again to trade out two men from under the boat as Overly and Sowernut hooked onto the line behind them.
“How long is this canyon?” said Sowernut.
“Let’s go!” Nil said.
Fireballs ricocheted into the gorge as the men stumbled near exhaustion. Only gravity helped them now as they ran downhill, the red flood gathered at their backs. They could feel its heat as they turned down the last jog of the canyon and finally saw the bay before them.
Rawley and Nil urged them on as the volcano’s blood filled the channel behind them. They saw a ramp of rock that rose from the canyon along its left wall. Rawley eagerly pogoed onto it, leading the others behind him, who carried the boat up the ramp out of the ravine.
