by Peter David
That was when the water began to churn beneath me.
I sheathed my sword, secured my staff, and held on as the waves surged. I imagined it to be some sort of current that would, in short order, pass. I could not have been more wrong. Instead it grew in intensity and force, and the ocean began to buck fiercely as if it was trying to expel me from it. The waves became so choppy that they literally flipped me into the air. I landed hard, the water “splatting” beneath me. My clothes immediately became soaked through, my eyes stinging from the salt.
I squeezed them tightly shut, opened them, and gasped.
In the distance, but coming toward me quickly, was a series of gigantic waves. And silhouetted in the waves were gargantuan beings who bore a resemblance to the one I’d just killed, but much, much larger. Twenty, maybe thirty times bigger. The dead creature had obviously summoned them with his series of whistles, which had carried considerably well through the air, and I had a sneaking suspicion he had not painted a favorable picture of me.
They were barreling straight toward me. Because of their vast size, they were churning up waves that were bigger than some castles I’d stayed in. They were huge, capable of swamping me in a heartbeat if they caught up with me.
Cupping my hands to either side of my mouth, I bellowed, “He should have done more to announce himself before drawing within range of my blade!” They seemed unimpressed by my explanation as they continued to bear down on me.
I threw myself flat on the board, facing away from them, and started paddling madly with my arms toward the distant shoreline.
My progress remained depressingly slow, and then suddenly I realized I was starting to speed up. The water was surging, carrying me faster, higher. The water threw the board to one side and the other, and I realized that by remaining flat, I wasn’t going to be able to control it. I got to my knees, remained that way, my arms paddling even faster. My speed increased, no thanks to me and every thanks to my briny pursuers, who were descending upon me.
I did the only thing I could. I clambered to my feet, even though my right leg was lame. But at least I was able to use my left to manipulate the board, steady it, prevent it from flipping over. The waves blasted toward me and I continued to ride on the crest, being carried at higher and higher speed toward the land. The water was a deafening roar around me, which would have been more severe if my ears still hadn’t been ringing from that desperation scream the dying creature had emitted earlier.
And then the waves caught up with me. I kept the toes of my lame right leg resting gently, using it for steering and guidance, counting upon the strength of my other leg to provide the sheer muscle of balance. The waves tried to push me sideways, to drive me away from the land. But I saw a cresting wave that was going where I wanted, shifted my body weight, and sent the board skipping through a virtual tunnel formed by the water. I was down and through, and I tilted yet again, driving myself hard toward the land. I heard the outraged shrieks of whatever those creatures were hidden within the depths of the wave. They were howling for vengeance, for my blood. My blood. They hadn’t even met me and they wanted to kill me. Usually people had to get to know me a little before they wanted to kill me.
For half a second I found my mind drifting, wondering if my mother—were she still alive—would have joined the ranks of those eager for my demise. I liked to think not. But I was probably kidding myself.
Then the creatures shrieked in chorus, and again my ears rang, and suddenly I was turned completely upside down. I couldn’t keep my feet on the board, couldn’t control it at all, and then the wood—my only salvation—skidded away from me. I flipped twice in midair, miraculously managed to keep a grip on my staff, and then crashed into the water.
Swimming was, to put it delicately, not my strength. So I was reasonably sure that this was it. I was going to die. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive splashing around in the ocean. Even left to my own devices, I wouldn’t stay afloat for very long at all. And those creatures, whoever and whatever they were, weren’t going to give me the luxury of time.
I sank and my feet hit bottom.
However, when they did, my head was still above water, as was everything above my waist.
I staggered forward, splashing, coughing. I tried to lean on my walking staff, but it sank into the sand and it was all I could do to pull it out. I looked around in bewilderment to discover that I was not more than eight feet from land. The combination of the pure power of the waves and my adeptness at using the board to navigate them had resulted in me winding up exactly where I’d wanted to: namely, anyplace except where I’d been.
Then I heard another earsplitting screech, and I realized the creatures were almost upon me. They had not remotely given up. I splashed desperately toward the shore, and then another wave of aquatic force hammered me, sending me tumbling. I went under, reminded myself that I was in relatively shallow water, hauled my head up, and pushed myself forward, slowed by exhaustion, spurred on my desperation. Exhaustion and desperation warred with each other for a moment and then, as it so often did with me, desperation won out.
I threw myself onto the shore, falling and rolling from the water as fast as I could. It surged onto the sand as I rolled frantically away. I crab-walked backward up the shore, watching the way I’d come, looking for some sign of the waterlogged monsters that had driven me hither.
Nothing. Whoever, whatever they were, they seemed to want to have no truck with the surface world. I couldn’t entirely blame them. Many was the day when I likewise wanted to have no truck with the surface world. As much as they might have allowed their silhouettes to be seen in the huge waves, when it came down to it they preferred to remain hidden.
I gulped in air greedily. I still needed something to eat and, even more, something to drink. At that moment, though, all I really wanted to do was rest.
Which is what I did. Once I pulled myself securely out of range of the tides, I flopped onto my back and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 4
Leading with the Chin
The roaring of the ocean was far more muted by the time I awoke again. I was astounded to see that night had passed into morning. Apparently I had been just that tired and filled with relief upon making landfall. Miraculously, no one had disturbed me in my slumber. Then again, I’d been lying flat on my back, so no one could have reached my sword. And I didn’t see why anyone would want my staff, particularly if they weren’t aware of the special weaponry built in. Other than that and the clothes on my back, and an empty water skin, I had nothing.
Now that I’d landed, the first thing on my agenda was water. I hauled myself to my feet, all my joints registering an aching protest. My clothes were still a bit damp, but the temperature in this place—wherever that might be—was quite warm. So my vestments would likely be dried off in very short order.
I looked around, trying to assess just where the hell I was.
It was not some small, puny island, that was for sure. It stretched as far as I could see. Not only that, but even from a distance, I could see that there were signs of civilization. Small wafts of smoke drifted in the breeze from what I was reasonably sure were homefires. I took some measure of comfort that there were fires burning and I didn’t have to worry whether I was responsible for setting them. There was a grove of trees obscuring my view, however, so I couldn’t see what type of villages or residences lay in the distance, or even how near they were.
Then I stopped and stared at the trees in wonderment. They were unlike any I’d ever seen. I drew closer to make certain that I was viewing them properly. It was as if a grove of walking staffs had sprung up. Tall and supple they were, more than a hundred feet high by my guess, with great green sprouts coming out the top. The trunks were jointed every foot or two along their length. I wasn’t even sure if “trunks” was the right word for them. “Shafts” would have been more accurate. I could wrap my entire hand around even the largest of them. They were swaying
gently in the breeze, rustling softly, and if I had not been sure before that I was in some strange, alien land, this was more than enough to convince me.
I pulled on one of the trunks experimentally. It moved with my tug, swung right and left, but did not break. I pulled again, harder this time, and was deeply impressed with the strength and resilience of the wood, if wood it was. As slender as it appeared, I could see that it was remarkably durable and did not break easily. I pulled it toward me with as much strength as I could and all it did was bend. Finally I released it. It snapped in the opposite direction, swung back with remarkable force, and smacked me in the face. I stumbled back, almost fell, but caught myself at the last second. Then I rubbed my nose and, despite the fact that I was bone-weary, still smiled at the mental picture of how ludicrous I must have looked at that moment.
Then I heard something. My hearing remained sharp as always, and I was reasonably certain I detected the faint trickle of water. My mouth was too dry to salivate, and I was so excited by the prospect of quenching my thirst that I nearly passed out from excitement.
I made my way briskly in the direction that my ears told me water lay. Every so often I would glance up once more, marveling at the walking-staff forest surrounding me. The trees were not particularly close together, so maneuvering was a fairly easy chore, even for me.
Eventually, just over a rise, I heard water rushing, even stronger than before. I clambered over it and, sure enough, there it was: a narrow river, the most glorious thing I’d ever seen. The water looked crystal clear and pure, and I almost broke my good leg in scrambling down to it, finally falling flat on my stomach and shoving my whole head into it. I made the mistake of laughing underwater and got a noseful of water for my troubles, but I didn’t care. The river was quite shallow by the shore, and I rolled myself into it so that I was facing in the direction from which the river was flowing. Keeping my head elevated, I simply allowed the water to cascade into my mouth, and I swallowed it in great, eager gulps. I coughed some up at one point, then brought my head back down and drank some more.
I had been so parched that I wouldn’t have thought it possible I could ever drink my fill. But finally I was indeed sated. Just to play it safe, I took my water skin and held it underneath until it was filled as well.
And then I noticed something drifting toward me from upstream. It was a little ways out in the water. I waded out a few steps and then used my staff to snag it and bring it in close for me to pick up and study.
It was a boat. A small wooden boat, as a child would have made. Nothing fancy. It looked like a miniature canoe. I looked in the direction from whence it had come. I wasn’t sure whether to go toward the origin point of the toy, or away. I finally decided that a meeting with the locals couldn’t be forestalled forever. Sooner or later, I was going to have to deal with whoever it was that was residing hereabouts.
A pocket lined the inner folds of my cloak, so I tucked the boat in there and started following the shoreline.
The day continued to be warm, and I was actually beginning to feel relatively good about myself. Such a frame of mind was always dangerous for me, for it was usually when I was in good spirits that huge storms of shite would rain down upon me courtesy of the gods on high. It was easier and safer for me to remain a pessimist. Nevertheless, there was a spring in my limping step that wasn’t usually there.
My thoughts were continuing in the direction they’d been heading earlier. Here I was, still alive. The number of incidents threatening my life that I’d survived was starting to border on the epic. It was almost enough to make me wonder if I really was intended for something great. Then again, for me, just surviving from one day to the next was something of an accomplishment.
Although the sky was clear, a thin mist of rain began to fall. I pulled my hood up to keep myself dry… a ridiculous goal, I admit, considering I’d spent practically the last week being soaked. Before too long, however, the rain was letting up.
The walking-staff trees started to thin out and I soon found myself on the edge of some sort of field, a stiff but gentle breeze to my back, helping to dry me off. The field was filled with stalks of something that came to just over my head, thickening at the top. They were thin and white, and waving, and sure smelled sweet when the wind came right behind the rain, but I had no clue what they might be. I continued on my path, and soon I was starting to detect sounds of humanity. Mostly female. That sounded promising.
The river rounded a bend, and I came around it and saw an assortment of women, all young from the look and sound of them, standing knee deep or near the shore. They appeared to be washing clothes. The outfits they themselves wore were almost entirely white. White, wide-sleeved robes, it seemed, with the bottoms hiked up and tucked into wide sashes or belts wrapped around their waists. Beneath those they sported loose white leggings that came down to the knees. Furthermore, on their heads they wore extremely curious, wide-brimmed hats that were so flat they looked like large plates that came to a point. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the hats were constructed from that same material that the staff trees were made of.
There were a few children there as well, dressed in simple one-piece knee-length white tunics, splashing about or playing quietly as their elders tended to their wash and chatted amongst themselves in a language I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It was rapid-fire and extremely guttural. I had no idea what to make of it, but knew that if that was all they spoke around here, I was going to have some problems. I was able to pick up languages fairly quickly, but I was a stranger in a strange land, and it would have been nice to be able to communicate with someone. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t necessarily a disaster, even as I noted that their skin color was slightly different from mine. More of an odd tint. Slightly yellow, it seemed. I reasoned that perhaps they had some sort of vitamin deficiency that caused their skin to retain such a curious hue.
Then one of the women happened to glance in my direction, and she gasped, as did I. The poor creature was deformed. Something was disastrously wrong with her eyes, or perhaps her eyelids. They looked almost slitted, although they opened wide enough upon spotting me. Certainly, I reasoned, it was some strange and unfortunate birth defect that had caused this to come to pass. My heart immediately went out to her in a way that only someone who was born deformed could possibly feel.
She cried out something in her native tongue, and the others turned and looked at me as well.
They all looked like her. So did the children.
I stepped back, gasping, horrified. It was far worse than I had thought. I had wandered into something akin to a leper colony. Some place where people who had been born with this disfiguring condition had been sequestered so others wouldn’t have to look upon them and be as thoroughly disconcerted as I.
They were all shouting by that point. They looked no less stunned to see me than I was to see them. The children were calling to their mothers and pointing to me and to their own eyes in obvious bewilderment. The women were shaking their heads, gesturing helplessly, having no answer to give their inquisitive youngsters.
That’s when it finally dawned upon me. I wasn’t in some area where deformed people had been cast out from a more round-eyed society. Everyone in this land looked that way. As far as they were concerned, I was the freak. They were probably more right than I was. After all, I had never seen anyone who looked the way they did, but they had apparently never seen anyone like me, and there were a lot more of them than there were of me.
Then I heard more voices, deeper, rougher, male. They were coming from the field all around me, and I felt the situation was deteriorating rapidly. I started to turn with the intent of heading back down the river, and suddenly my retreat was cut off, because the males of whatever-they-were had emerged with stunning silence from the fields behind me. There were five of them, of varying ages, and they seemed no happier to see me than I was to see them.
They were obviously warriors, holding some sort of w
eapons that were totally alien to me. They were gleaming steel, held by handles not unlike daggers. They were longer than daggers, though, but shorter than short swords. They looked somewhat like miniature tridents, but the prongs weren’t of equal length. A spike protruded from the middle, and the guard consisted of two smaller, upturned twists of metal, one on either side.
Everyone was talking at once, and naturally I didn’t understand a damned word any of them was saying. On the other hand, I knew an attack when I saw one. They were advancing slowly, babbling to each other, moving in a tight formation. I didn’t like the odds I was facing. Generally any odds greater than one against one, with my opponent having his back to me and being oblivious of my presence, was more than I liked to handle. In this instance, although I was at a distinct numerical disadvantage, they were all smaller than I was. But I wasn’t ruling out the possibility—with their uncannily different faces—that they might actually be magic-based creatures, capable of doing who-knew-what to me.
I reached around to my back and yanked free my sword. They jumped back, startled, as the blade whipped around, and I held it in a guard position. “Just keep your distance!” I shouted, shoving my cloak over one shoulder to clear my sword arm.
As I did that, the little boat I’d picked up downstream fell out of the inner lining of my cloak. It clattered to the shore and lay there.
I heard an exclamation of joy and turned just in time to see a small girl dash toward me, oblivious to any chance of danger that might be presenting itself. Obviously it was her boat. Her mother cried out to her, grabbing for her, but she easily eluded her grasp and darted over toward me. Everyone was shouting, and I kept hearing “Jun!,” which was either her name or “Get the hell away from the man with the huge sword!” in their tongue. Whichever it was, she blissfully ignored it, indicating that either she was an independent thinker or else stone deaf.
