by B T Litell
“Cap’n, a storm’s a-brewin’ to the west. A big one, too,” a man called from the top of the mast. “Appears to be moving around twenty knots, still quite a few leagues off.”
“Bosun, set a course for due south,” Randall called, still leaning in his doorway.
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Sir, we’ll be heading into the wind,” the bosun questioned, shouting above the wind that had picked up from nowhere. The gusts filled the sails and the ship lurched through the water, which grew choppy as the storm approached.
“Set your course for due south. No further questions, bosun,” Randall said.
“Aye, Cap’n,” bosun replied.
“Michael, Joshua, come into my cabin,” Randall requested of his quests as he stepped into his cabin and closed the doors behind his passengers. “The wind blew in our favor until this morning. We’ll be as close as I want to get to Drendil tomorrow evening. Unfortunately, for you to carry out your mission, I have to get much closer than that.”
“How is that even possible! You said it would be a two-week voyage,” Joshua said.
“I know that I had said that. But as I said, the wind blew in our favor. Maybe not in your favor, but I want to spend as little time near Drendil as possible. The land is mad,” Randall replied.
“You’ve already told us that,” Joshua reminded as he leaned against the table and looked at the map of Drendil’s coast.
“I only mention it again because I really wouldn’t have come out here if it wasn’t my brother that gave me the order,” Randall said. “The morning after we arrive, you can take a boat to the shore, but I’m turning Queller around the second I lose sight of you.”
“You’re giving us no support of any kind?” Michael asked. Suddenly he felt as if a stone had formed in his stomach and weighed him down. “What happens if we run into trouble?”
“My only concern is that you get on that damned continent. From that point I no longer have to worry about either of you,” Randall replied.
He slid his chair out from under the table and sat heavily on the worn black leather cushion. After he sat down, he propped his feet on the table; the heel of his bare foot crumpled the edge of a few maps. He picked his pipe up from his desk and packed quite a lot of tobacco into his pipe, lit the leaves, and blew out the harsh smelling smoke. The acrid smell of the smoke told Michael that the tobacco leaves had long since gone stale. Michael and Joshua stood in the cabin watching Randall, hoping he would say something else to make up for his complete apathy toward their situation. Without acknowledging their presence in his cabin, he continued smoking his pipe, staring at the bare rafters, blowing the thin clouds of light grey smoke toward the ceiling, watching it dissipate before it even reached the wood beams overhead. For a few minutes, he sat without puffing at his pipe, the stem resting just far enough from his lips that they never met.
Without warning, he shot to his feet, pushed his passengers to the side, and burst through his cabin doors. Standing in the doorway, his arms thrust straight to each side to hold his doors open, Michael peered around his frame and saw a large wall of water approaching the left side of the ship. It was moving fast too, and Queller began listing to the right as water disappeared from under her to join the massive wave.
“Rogue wave! Bosun, steer the ship into the wave! All hands brace for impact,” Randall shouted as loudly as he could. Sailors outside scrambled to the rails and lines, as they grabbed on to anything they could that would stay on the ship.
“Captain it’s too late for that,” bosun called back.
“How the hell did a rogue wave sneak up on you, bosun?” Randall shouted back.
Before the bosun could answer, the wave crashed over Queller. Water rushed across the deck, throwing anything not tied or nailed down off the ship, which included the coiled-up mooring lines that had remained beside the bulwarks since the voyage started. Randall continued bracing himself in his doorway, but Michael and Joshua flew against the bulkhead. Joshua crashed into a mirror, Michael into a sturdy nightstand. Lying on the deck, Michael saw his vision closing in, and the room started to spin around him; his breath came in shallow, pained gasps, and his back felt warm and wet. The darkness grew closer, and he found himself giving in to the irresistible call of the encroaching darkness…
***
Joshua sat against the wall where he had been thrown. He tried to realize what had happened, and how he had ended up on the floor. Randall had left the doorway shortly after the two of them hit the wall. The room spun and he tried to stand but wavered too much before he fell back to the floor again. Searing pain shot through Joshua’s head and shoulder, and his vision blurred with every blink. He leaned forward to stand up and his stomach lurched as it forced its contents to splash onto the floor, the splat sound barely masked by the ringing in his ears. Queller rocked back and forth as she, Randall had referred to the ship was a woman repeatedly, recovered from the wave crashing over her.
When the ringing in his ears and blurry vision finally went away, Joshua slowly got to his feet and looked around. Michael, he saw, laid on the floor, the nightstand holding him on his side. The back of his shirt was torn slightly and showed a growing spot of deep red where blood already started to soak through the thin fabric. He appeared to be alive but unconscious. His landing must have been significantly harder than Joshua’s. At least, the priest thought to himself, he hit the furniture and not that window behind the table.
While Joshua knelt down and inspected Michael to verify he didn’t have any more wounds, Queller rocked again, and Joshua lost his balance, falling against the table. Thankfully, he caught himself on the edge, but knocked paperweights across the table. As he stood again, Randall rushed in, drenched in seawater. He had the appearance of a rat that had just come out of a river and the room smelled heavily of salt as soon as he walked in.
“What happened?” Randall asked, tossing his unlit pipe on the table and pulling off his shirt while he rushed to Michael’s side.
“We got thrown around in here like a girl’s dolls,” Joshua answered.
“I’m only making this voyage because of you. Neither of you is dying until I get you to Drendil. After that, you can do all the dying you want,” Randall said, putting his shirt on Michael’s wound. He had not thought of the salt in the seawater and Michael flinched though he hadn’t regained consciousness.
“You made it seem like you don’t care about us. Why help him in that case?” Joshua asked, standing again.
“I don’t care if you finish whatever foolish quest they have you doing. Take this as nothing more than that,” Randall replied.
“How long will it take for him to recover?” Joshua asked.
“He should be fine in a couple days. The wounds don’t look deep, and the saltwater should help clean the wounds. He’ll be in pain, though,” Randall replied. “Can you finish cleaning him up? I need to check with the bosun and see what the damages are.”
Joshua knelt at Michael’s side and applied pressure on the wound with the shirt as he waited for Randall to leave the cabin. Once he heard the faint whisper of the doors closing behind the brash captain, Joshua started chanting a spell quietly. His hands faintly glowed white, and Joshua felt a chill run through his hands as he started the process of healing the wound. Michael’s eyes opened wide as the spell started to work, and Joshua stopped the spell instantly. Now was not the time or place to explain the reality of the priesthood to Michael. This wasn’t the first spell he had cast since he met the carpenter’s apprentice, but it would have been the hardest to explain. Starting fires was easy enough to do without raising questions. Healing wounds would be quite difficult. And there was no telling how Randall would react, though Joshua knew it would be adverse. The wound hadn’t fully healed yet, but at least he wouldn’t lose any more blood this way. Michael coughed harshly and tried to sit up on his own, though Joshua held him against the floor until he finished coughing, then helped him to slowly sit up. Once Michael was seat
ed, Joshua leaned him against the table he had been thrown against,
The door to the cabin opened and Randall walked back in, slamming his fists on the table, and cleared the maps that remained off the table. The papers scattered across the room, gently floating to the floor. His knuckles glowed white as he leaned against the table, breathing heavily through his clenched teeth.
“The main topsail yard and the foresail yards broke when the wave hit us. We have half the sails we had this morning. We must either sit here until we can make what repairs we can, or we sail on much slower than we have been,” Randall said, slamming his fist on the table again.
“Which of those choices is easier?” Joshua asked, his eyes staying on Michael, eyeing his mostly healed wound carefully.
“Neither of these choices is easy,” Randall answered, speaking through clenched teeth.
“A choice must be made, Captain! That is your lot in this.”
A few moments of silence followed as Randall stared ta where the maps previously sat before he had tossed them aside in anger. He leaned against the table and breathed heavily, his face still red; a couple veins showing in his forehead and neck. Finally, he slowly stood up straight and looked at Joshua.
“I will take him below to his hammock. Feel free to walk around the ship as you wish,” he said, walking over to Michael and kneeling beside him.
“You’ve made a choice about the repairs?” Joshua asked; he was curious but wanted not to upset the man. Blood lightly stained his knuckles from when he punched the heavy table. No doubt existed that Randall fought that table more than once. Still, some day he may win.
“We will drop anchor here and see what repairs we can manage without being able to get any supplies. We may be able to set sail again in a few days.”
Joshua continued to kneel beside Michael as Randall knelt down. Surprisingly, he showed great care and concern toward Michael, carrying him as a small child who had fallen asleep somewhere besides their bed. Joshua stood and moved toward the cabin door. Before he got to the ornately carved doors, Randall had a door opened and had begun to walk outside. Joshua stayed in the cabin a few minutes after Randall left and picked up the maps from the floor. Once he put the maps and their paperweights back on the table, he made his way to the ladder going down to the crew’s hold. He wanted to stay close to Michael during the remainder of his recovery…
Chapter Five
Fat raindrops crashed into the broad oak leaves overhead and slowly trickled down to the damp, grimy forest floor. Sprouting trees, still green and without any signs of wood starting to form, stretched from the dirt. Their leaves stretched toward the sky, reaching a few feet from the ground, longing for the sunshine that was so scarce even for any of the trees but the oldest and tallest of behemoths that made up the thick forest. Ferns and other shrubs littered the forest floor between the trees. Shelf mushrooms could be seen on many of the larger trees, their slimy-looking surfaces reflecting what little light there was in the forest. Rain that made its way that far through the canopy, far above, pooled on top of the shelf mushrooms that clung to the trees. This added to the slick, slimy appearance they had.
The jungle was alive with a cacophony of animal chatter, the splashing of raindrops, the rustling of the broad leaves of the trees in the warm, humid jungle wind. Nearly every inch of the forest bustled with life. Ants crawled on tree limbs, across leaves, up and down tree trunks. Monkeys chattered high in the branches. Birds flew overhead, flapping their wings violently as they landed on branches far in the forest canopy. Crawling through the dirt and leaves that decayed on the forest floor were insects and worms, their bodies wriggling through the loose surface as they hunted for anything that could be eaten. Spiders formed ornate webs that spanned the gaps between trees. The webs had to be placed strategically to capture any flying insects, or small birds, that were foolish enough to fly into the webs. One such web housed a rather large, yellow-striped spider, about the size of a man’s hand, which was currently working its way down the web it had built to a butterfly that had fluttered into the web and was not struggling to free itself from the horrid trap it had found. The spider wasted no time biting the black and blue butterfly then converting it into a cocoon of web which engulfed the body and wings of the poor insect. With its food collected, the spider retreated to the top of its web where it sat and waited for the butterfly to fall victim to the poison that had been injected. The process would take a couple hours, and the spider was patient.
The violent roar of a monstrous beast elsewhere in the forest broke the sounds of the forest as it echoed through the trees and silenced many of the creatures within earshot. Birds took to flight, climbing for the open sky over the tops of the trees. The sound came from neither a man nor anything natural to the forest. This monster was something wholly unnatural, something that did not belong in this world. A beast created from Magic. Spawned with evil in its heart and malice flowing in its very veins. The monster, and a man in a dark robe stood in a small clearing where a boulder had protruded from the ground and prevented any trees from growing in the soil it occupied. The dark man, his robes still as a windless night, stood before the beast with a large axe in his hands. He held the haft with the head of the axe resting against the ground, almost leaning against the weapon for support.
The beast was tall, over two meters at the shoulders. Thick, matted fur covered most of its body, only its chest and stomach being devoid of any of the fur. The creature stood on its hind legs, powerful hooves supporting it, rather than feet. A thick ridge of fur covered the creatures back, and the thick hairs that made up its fur stood straight out, like a stray dog that raised its hackles to show it felt threatened. And to the man, that’s all this beast was. A cur he had found that would serve him. A beast of burden. But the monster knew none of that. Not yet anyway. From the beast’s head sprouted two horns; they jutted out then forward like a bull. The resemblance to a bull went so far as a ring piercing the septum of the creature’s nose. The face of the monster was still too human, and human teeth showed under the bullish snout that jutted out.
“I name you Audro, King of the Forest. You shall serve me as my guardian of the trees. Let none come through unless they also serve me,” a deep, resonating voice called out.
Audro grunted his acknowledgement, bending from the waist as his shoulders, neck and back were too stiff to bow only his head. The dark man, once the minotaur rose from his bow, handed over the behemoth of an axe that he held. On each side of the axe was a face, trapped in the steel, and each face showed great anguish. The faces on the axe seemed to be alive, trapped in time within the head of the axe.
Audro’s axe was built almost like a bardiche, though the head of the axe was too large for the weapon to be used like a polearm. The axe’s sole bit jutted out with a flared heel and toe. The heel nearly touched the belly of the handle, something else that kept this weapon from being a polearm, ending in a sharp point. The toe also curved, though not as aggressively, the point was also not as sharp. The space between the beard and haft was large enough for Audro’s mammoth hand. To provide balance for the axe, the butt contained a large, square piece of metal with rounded points which covered the flat surface. It resembled the hammer a butcher might use on a tough cut of meat, though with a more wicked intention.
“Use this axe to bring despair to anyone who crosses your path in these woods. All who see you shall tremble,” the shadowy man said. Even his hands were cloaked in darkness.
“Yes, master,” Audro grunted.
The shadowy man opened a doorway in the air and a man fell out, landing roughly on the ground, air gasping from his lungs as he landed. Seeing Audro, axe in hand, the man shrieked and started crawling away as best he could. Bindings on his wrists and ankles made it difficult for the man to crawl, and the dampness of the soil gave no assistance to the man. Audro snorted, his hackles standing.
“This is your first test. This man has displeased me greatly, a grave mistake that I cannot allow hi
m to make again. He is to suffer greatly for this choice he has made. You may be as painful as you deem sufficient while dolling out this punishment. Once you have finished this task, and have brought me his head, the forest shall be yours,” the shadowy man ordered as he opened another doorway in the air and left the woods behind him.
Audro lumbered toward the man on the ground, who was slowly crawling away. The minotaur’s hoofs compacted the dirt beneath them with each step. His left hand tightened around the haft of his axe and his knuckles crackled as they flexed. As he approached the man, Audro turned the axe around, putting the spiked butt between himself and the man he would be…disciplining. He approached the man slowly which increased the tension he could sense in his captive. With only a few feet left, Audro smelled the air and noticed a new, musty smell that didn’t belong in the forest. The ground was wetter here under his powerful hooves than it was a meter back. The axe lifted and the spiked end came down, crushing bones when it landed. The man shrieked in agony as the axe was lifted once more. Audro snorted and brought the axe down again on the captive’s other knee, bones once more crushing under the force and weight of the spikes.
“Please, you don’t have to do this!” the man squealed between bouts of anguished sobbing.
“You understand nothing, worm. You have displeased my master and as such your life is already over. Whether I kill you, or he does, you will die today. But I will not displease my master the way you have displeased him. And I will be less cruel to you than he will be,” Audro uttered, his guttural voice booming in the forest.
The man spat at Audro, missing the large beast completely. Audro looked at where the glob of saliva landed on the ground, the bubbles floating in a puddle of rainwater. The minotaur fixed his gaze on the man once more and turned the axe in his hands. The man had chosen pain. The forest resonated with the man’s screams as Audro made him regret ever displeasing their shadowy master…
