"Don't look green enough t'me t'be so sickly," said one to the other.
"Nar. But them southerly folk got different ways 'bout 'em, don't ye know."
"Aye. An purty useless, too, I reckon. Aye, sonny! Don't lean over too far, sonny. Ye don't want ol' Slimeback to take a snap at ye!"
He giggled and elbowed his boatmate.
Falgo fell back into the boat and looked at the two men who suddenly became very grim-faced.
"Slimeback?"
"Shor, ol' Slimeback's been takin' folk down under for as long as thar's been water in this here lake," said one.
"Ain't ye never heard of him?" asked the other. "Why I thought for certain he was known far an' wide."
"No-o," answered the boy. "I never did."
"Well, just take a care, then. Keep ye hands an' face up out of the water."
"Ye'll be fine, I reckon," continued the other fisherman. "Even if he's partial to foreigners."
"Who, er, what is Slimeback?" asked the boy, putting his hand over his mouth as he stifled a belch.
"Why a lake serpent, as long as all three of these here boats."
"Near as thick as a wagon wheel. With leathery skin, not like a fish at all."
"Teeth like a 'possum, too, but of a size to match his long snout."
Robigor eyed the two suspiciously, and he caught a wink that one of the fishermen threw his way.
"I'm so sick," said the boy, "I don't care if I do get eaten."
Then he lunged over the side, his feet dangling as he retched.
"A wonder they gots the gall t'be invadin', what with such weak bellies."
"A wonder, indeed."
"Not like them Barley folk, neither."
"A right quick learner, that one. For a lubber."
"Aye, Mr. Ribbon! D'ye care to take a spell at the tiller?"
Robigor cleated off the jibsheet, and looked aft.
"Why, I reckon that'd be a nice thing to try out," he said. "If ye don't mind me runnin' us all over the lake, I mean."
"Aw, we'll keep an eye on ye. I'll bet ye'll get the hang of it right soon enough. Let Pearly take yer place up thar, an' come on back aft."
Robigor was soon guiding the boat skillfully enough for a novice, under the careful instruction of the older fisherman. He was a quick study, and by the end of the next day he was left to guide the boat for long spells while the two fishermen imbibed from a cask, sang bawdy songs, and at last, near sunset, fell asleep on the coils of rope and canvas at the bow. One of the other boats headed up and luffed so as to drop back alongside.
"Hey thar!" called the man at its tiller.
"Howdy!" answered Robigor.
"I take it me cousins have finally given in to drink, judgin' by the snorin' I hear."
"That's right."
"Well, do ye care to have one of us aboard to lend a hand?" the helmsman called. Another fellow on the boat, one of the two men who first came across Robigor and Falgo on the path to Northwick, stood and called out, "I'd be glad to come over!"
"Well, thanks, but I don't reckon it's needed. The breeze is light an' easy."
"Alright then. Just toss a bucket of lakewater on 'em if ye need 'em."
"I'll do that!"
"An' go ahead an' get ye boy to hang out ye lantern."
"Right!"
After another hour, Robigor's boat was lagging behind again, due in part to his lack of skill and in part to the good handling of the other two boats. As long as he could see the lamps hanging from the end of their booms, he was not too discouraged. Night descended slowly over the lake, and the two drunk fishermen snored all the louder, and Falgo's retching also continued from somewhere near the mast where he still hung over the side. But Robigor, admiring how peaceful and easy things seemed, and how gracefully the boat responded to his touch at the tiller and his trimming of the sheets, thought that he might have made a decent sailor had his life taken a very different turn.
Then came the storm.
It started with a stiff breeze that sent a thrill through Robigor as the boat heeled and shot forward, the wake gurgling loudly behind where he sat. He continued to smile until, suddenly, the stars were blotted out and the breeze abruptly transformed into a violent squall with cold hard rain. Robigor yelled for the boy to rouse the fishermen, himself too busy pulling the mainsheet and letting it back out, swinging the tiller wildly to compensate for the hard, erratic gusts. At one point, the boat heeled so far over that the boom dragged in the water, extinguishing the lamp before Robigor pushed the tiller alee, swinging the bow into the eye of the wind.
"Wake 'em up!" he cried, unable to see farther than the mast. Gripped with the kind of fear that only the uncaring power of nature can arouse, Robigor fought the boat, trying to keep the wind out of the sail. Several times he released the tiller, jumping toward the mast, feeling his way in the dark to fumble with the halyard, but each time the mainsail caught air and swung the boat over. He continued to yell for the boy, for anyone, dashing back to the tiller to try to head the boat back into the wind. The stays whistled and moaned like shrill ghosts, and the hull thumped up and down so hard on the waves that Robigor feared the vessel would shatter. On his third attempt, he got the halyard loose, but it only let free the foresail that then whipped and snapped before it filled with air and spun the boat around. Diving back to the tiller, he once again straightened the boat. Taking out his dagger, he cut away the jibsheets from their nearby cleats. The boy suddenly appeared, crawling along the sole to him.
"I can't wake 'em up!" he cried over the gale. "They won't wake up!"
"Then get the sail down!"
"How?"
"Go an' loosen the line cleated thar on the mast."
Lightning cracked overhead, and Robigor briefly saw the boy standing against the mast, fumbling with the halyard.
"I can't get it loose!"
"Then come take the tiller!"
"What?"
"Take the tiller! Come on, boy!"
Falgo crawled back astern, and Robigor took his hand and put it on the tiller.
"Just keep us pointed right at the wind," he ordered.
"Aye. I mean, I'll try!"
Once again, Robigor made his way on his knees, splashing through several inches of water along the starboard side, clinging to the siderail as he went. The boat lurched over and he ducked the boom as it swung at him.
"Other way!" he screamed astern. "Put it the other way!"
The boy responded, and the boom swung back. Standing up, Robigor tried to get at the mast but another lurch of the boat threw him off balance. Trying to find something in the dark to grip, he twisted around just as another bolt split the sky. In that daylike instant, he saw oddly pinkish-red water swirling up around his ankles. Thunder cracked as another bolt shot across the lake, and this time he saw the two fishermen tumbling limply against each other at the bow, both their eyes open and lifeless. Reaching for his dagger, Robigor turned around to go back to the stern just in time for the boom to hit him across the chest, flipping him over the side and into the water.
Falgo adroitly adjusted the mainsheet and put the tiller over, heeling the boat to gain speed. Then, as if its business was done, the storm moved on to other parts of the lake, the wind calmed, and the sail went limp. The boy nervously looked around for the lights of the other boats, but they were nowhere to be seen. Once or twice, he thought he heard a yell off in the distance, and some splashing. He remained quiet, listening. After a few minutes more, the yelling stopped, and so did the rain, and he heard only the gentle creak of the boat. One or two stars peeked through the black sky, shortly joined by many others. Judging his direction by them, the boy made ready to make sail southward and back to his comrades as soon as any air stirred. Vidican would be grateful to hear that Glareth had not been warned.
A nearby splash broke his thoughts. Jerking his head in the direction of the sound, he listened all the more attentively. He heard it again, closer, and, dismayed, he picked up a boathook and stood,
ready to finish off the Barleyman.
"Here!" Falgo called. "I am here! Swim this way!"
Then he saw him, some distance off the port side, moving quickly through the star-glistened waves toward the boat. He was amused at how fast and smoothly Robigor swam, with hardly a splash. The swimmer neared, and Falgo raised the boathook high to strike. The watery form approached rapidly, and Falgo saw it rise waist high out of the water, rushing straight at the boat. It was not a man. Chills shot up Falgo's spine just before dagger-toothed jaws clamped around his torso and took him right across the starboard rail before the boy could even scream, and it plunged back into the deep. The creature's long and heavy body nearly capsized the water-filled boat as it slithered across it. As its tail came over, it cracked like a whip, flinging the boom and sail against the mast with such force that both were demolished. The stays snapped, and all of the rigging—boom, mast, sail, and all—crashed over the side. The boat listed heavily, filling with water and sinking as the two dead fishermen floated out and drifted away.
• • •
Three days later, by which time they should have all been safely to Formouth with their important news, the two other boats gave up their search. After a heated discussion, with much yelling and name-calling from boat to boat and aboard each, they made their heading southwestward toward home. The two men who had come upon Robigor and Falgo, and had brought them to Northwick, each crewed on a separate boat. And each of them would grumble and curse and mutter all the way home, throwing sharp insults at their cowardly boatmates for turning back.
Chapter 24
The Request
In fact, Robby could not sleep any more that night. The experience of the witch was agitating enough, and he was surprised that the others could sleep and that he himself had actually dozed off after such an experience. Robby suspected Ashlord of some hocus-pocus to give them the little rest they found, but he did not question him about it. Though he took his place beside Sheila on the floor, he sat with his legs stretched out and his back against the wall to abide with Ashlord until morning. While the mystic sat in the chair without moving, staring into the dying embers, Robby pondered all the questions he wished he had asked Ashlord. Now it was too late to make a start. Perhaps, in a few days, if they reached Tulith Morgair, a few answers could be had. At least he would know whether or not Micerea was real or just some strange dream-creature of his imagination. He drifted from thought to thought and found himself longing for home. He thought of all the things he missed, his parents, the long walks along the hills behind Passdale, even the store. Then he realized and remembered that he had no home, that it was taken by the Redvests, and that his father was trying to get to Glareth while his mother struggled to lead the people of Passdale and Barley. As he thought through these things, he became more anxious and worried, and thinking about his parents only made him more so. He was momentarily overwhelmed by a terrible dread, the feeling that things had gone awfully wrong. The thought of his father, going alone all the way to Glareth for help, only served to increase Robby's worries. For a moment, he was certain that something dreadful had happened back east, and he could not get the image of his father's smiling face, that night at the festival, out of his mind.
Getting up, he went over and sat crosslegged close beside Ashlord's chair, and, after a moment of hesitation, he reached out to touch him on the knee. Ashlord stirred from far away thoughts and looked down at Robby.
"Oh, Robby," he smiled.
"Ashlord, I have a huge favor to ask."
"Oh? What might I do for you?"
"I know this may not be easy. And I will understand if you refuse."
"What is it, dear boy?"
"Might you send Certina to look for my dad? And, if she finds him, then to come find me and tell me of his fate? Whether he be dead, or captured, or in Glareth?"
"Oh." Ashlord turned and looked at Certina on the mantel. She had her head tucked underneath a wing, preening. "Oh," he repeated. "Hmm. I will need her help tomorrow, and perhaps longer. I know you long to have some rest from your worries about your father. But would it be a comfort to you to have her bring back bad news? Or, if he has made it to Glareth, or is still on his way, he may yet face many perils."
"I know. I'm sorry. It is a selfish thing that I ask. I know it is not easy for you two to be separated."
Ashlord looked at Robby sympathetically and shook his head, "No less nor more for you to be separated from those you care about. I will put it to her. She will pout and may even refuse; she does not always do as I ask. But I will put it to her."
"Thank you."
"You are welcome, Robby."
By now, the night was receding before a foggy dawn, and since the fire was nothing but warm ashes, the cottage was cool. Uncharacteristically, it was Billy who first stirred. He sat up and stretched, emitting a prodigious number of yawns. He slipped into his boots, pulled up his suspenders, and tiptoed past Ibin and Sheila.
"Mornin'," he said to Robby and Ashlord. He yawned again. "O-o-o! I think I need to throw some well-water in me face!"
Grinning, Billy opened the door to go out. His smile evaporated as he stood straight and rigid, blinking. He slowly closed the door. With his hand still on the latch, and still facing the door, he said, in a normal tone of voice, "It's a bar. It's a mighty big bar, too. Right outside."
He turned to Robby and Ashlord, his hand still frozen onto the door latch, and said, nodding, "A bar. As big as they come."
"Ah. That would be my guide," Ashlord said, rising. "Here to show me the way to the witch's lair."
"Oh," Billy nodded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He slowly backed away from the door and awkwardly came up against the table.
"Yer guide. I see. O' course. An' why not?"
End of Volume 2
144 Days Remaining
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Nature of a Curse! I hope you are enjoying this tale. And I cordially invite you to share your thoughts, questions, and comments at www.TheYearOfTheRedDoor.com.
There is much more to come! Volume 3, A Distant Light, continues the adventure as Robby and his friends journey westward. They must contend with growing friction between members of their company. These are exacerbated as Robby learns how to manage his peculiar and growing powers, and how to assert his will. New threats and new allies await. Killer bees the size of a fist, a monster made of vines with a penchant for human flesh, a large-scale battle, a forlorn and enchanted forest, strange and vicious beasts that inhabit the dreamworld, and a fanatical supporter of the Unknown King who is determined to stop their quest at all costs—all these and more await Robby and his friends. All the while, it seems that the purpose of their quest, to make Robby into the New King, is but a dim hope, but one that shines nonetheless, like A Distant Light.
Thanks again!
William Timothy Murray
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The Door is Open!
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Maps, Stories, Chronologies,
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The Year of the Red Door
Volume 1
The Bellringer
Volume 2
The Nature of a Curse
Volume 3
A Distant Light
Volume 4
The Dreamwalker
Volume 5
To Touch a Dream
www.TheYearOfTheRedDoor.com
Glossary
This glossary is an abridged version intended as a convenient reference. An asterisk at the end of a definition indicates that a fuller definition is contained within The Reader's Companion to the Year of the Red Door.
* * *
Jump to the Main Glossary
* * *
The Main Characters:
Robby Ribb
on -- Store clerk in his father's general store. Son of Robigor and Mirabella Ribbon. Among other gifts, he has the uncanny ability to untie knots, and unfasten locks, and to open things that are barred, sealed, or shut.
Sheila Pradkin -- Girl of County Barley, ward of Steggan Pradkin. Sheila is Robby's friend and lover. She hardly remembers her parents and does not know who they are. She was given over to Steggan Pradkin under mysterious circumstances, likely having to do with the dangers of the Redvests who had taken over her homeland.
Ashlord/Collandoth -- A Melnari, called Ashlord by Men, Collandoth by Elifaen. Sometimes referred to as Collandoth the Wanderer, and sometimes known as Collandoth the Watcher. He is very old, though he does not appear very old, with long black hair and beard, barely touched by gray. He has had a varied and complicated career. He has been at various times a mystic, warrior, witch-hunter, teacher, academic, diplomat, and counselor to Queen Serith Ellyn and many other high lords and ladies. Some regard Collandoth as a holy man. He has a Familiar in the form of a small owl, called Certina.
Billy Bosk -- Son of Garend and Frizella Bosk, brother of Raenelle. Good friend of Ibin Brinnin, Robby Ribbon, and Sheila Pradkin. Billy was named after his ancestor, Bilaylin Bosk, who was known as Bilaylin the Hammer.
Ibin Brinnin -- Young man of County Barley, close friend of Billy Bosk. It is thought that a sickness while a young child scarred his mind so that even as an adulthood he seemed childlike and slow-witted. He has a speech disorder so that he tends to stammer and run his words together. He was orphaned when his parents died. He was taken in by the Bosk family.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 64
