by B A Simmons
“They are worse than the Quillian. We will never be able to take this island from them. The best we can do is hold this piece of ground and hope that they eventually tire of fighting us.”
Rob sipped some wine and found himself relaxing. Though he was technically a prisoner to his enemies, he found them more reliable than those he once considered his allies. Soon enough he’d be back on Isle de James where he could pass the leadership role onto someone more worthy than himself.
“Capitano, when do you leave for Isle de Joc?” Garibaldi asked Di Donato.
“The wounded should be aboard within the hour. My crew will refresh our water supply and we could be off before sunset.”
“That would be tragic. You must stay for dinner and leave in the morning; your men will appreciate a short reprieve. I’m sorry Rob, to keep from being asked too many questions, you’ll have to return to the ship this evening. You must appear to still be a prisoner of the empire. Perhaps when this is all done, provided we both survive the war, we can share a meal together.”
Rob nodded and whether because of the wine or because he truly felt hopeful for the first time in days, a smile flashed across his mouth. Di Donato called for his boatswain to escort Rob back to the cargo cog. Upon hearing this order, the boatswain questioned his captain. It seemed to Rob that he was not wanted back aboard. Only when Garibaldi confirmed the order did the boatswain salute and snap to carry out the order.
The boatswain led Rob back to the forward hold without speaking a word, though the grimace he bore expressed his thoughts and feelings. The pile of hammocks were gone. Rob realized they were being used by the wounded in the aft hold. Despite the fact that he’d done little that day, Rob found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He lay back against the hull and allowed sleep to come. His dreams brought him visions of an island. At first it seemed to be Engle Isle, however Alimia Castle stood atop the south pinnacle and the museum at Edinburgh on Aruth stood in the center of Harrisville. The Duarve House replaced the birthing cave and the quiet lagoon of Hellhound Isle, with its perfect white-sand beach took the place of Port John’s dock area. As confused as he was by the mixed images, Rob figured what the dream was. He dreamt of home.
He awoke to violent shaking. Strong hands held his and bound them with abrasive rope. They gagged his mouth, pushed him onto his feet and placed a moldy-smelling sack over his head. When Rob struggled against these hands, one of them socked him in the jaw.
“Be in silence; we kill you if no.”
It was the boatswain’s voice, though at least two other sets of hands half held and half dragged him to the ladder and forced him up to the main deck. Here a fourth person waited and pulled him up. Rob could see nothing, but the lack of warmth told him the sun had set. Di Donato would be dining with Garibaldi, meaning neither man could help Rob now. The gag was too tight for Rob to loosen without his hands, but if he could only see where he was, perhaps he could make a break for Garibaldi’s tent.
He felt them push and drag him up the dock and onto land. Rob focused on the directions their hands gave him as they prodded him along. It was difficult to tell, but when the smell of cooked rice and fish reached his nostrils, he knew he must be near the kitchen area he’d seen earlier.
More shoving moved him to his left. Indistinct chatter in Iyty came from all directions, then he felt them stop. Their grip on his arms tightened as they spoke. The boatswains voice was not quiet and when an unfamiliar voice answered, Rob realized he was speaking to one of the soldiers in the camp.
“Sua Signoria ha cambiato idea. Abbiamo bisogno che l’altro venga portato oggi,” The boatswain said.
Rob wasn’t certain, but something about changing his mind and needing something... or someone. It occurred to Rob they might be fetching Piers from the prison stockade. This idea was confirmed a few minutes later when Piers’s accented voice sounded in his ears.
“Cosa stai facendo?” he asked.
The boatswain ordered him to silence. “Silenzioso! O finirai come questo!”
Piers did not argue. They began to move again and within seconds Rob could hear the waves of the sea coming ashore, however this sound mixed with that of water running over rocks. He figured they had brought him to the estuary of the small river inside the camp. But why had they come here?
The ground dropped away and Rob was now knee deep in the river. The water felt cool against his legs, but he had no time to enjoy it. Pushed and dragged again, nearly stumbling headfirst into the river, Rob fell to his knees on the opposite side. A rough hand tore the sack from his head and Rob lifted his head.
The river gurgled behind him and a few torches and fires illuminated the camp on the other side. To his front stood the tall wooden poles of the stockade, braced every few feet with a diagonal strut. Not far to his left, a watch tower loomed over them, though if anyone manned it, they were invisible to his view. To his right the wooden wall continued several hundred feet before the next tower. Seven men stood around Rob, none of them carrying a lamp or torch, faces were obscured by hoods and dark paint, or perhaps charcoal from campfires.
Aside from Piers, whose face was not blackened, Rob recognized the boatswain and Di Donato’s first mate, Orellio. Two other crew members held Rob and Piers while the two senior crew members negotiated with two guards and another man wearing a Falcon sailor’s uniform. It was too dark for Rob to tell what rank was displayed on his insignia, but his posture suggested he was an officer.
Rob was again forced to his feet as this officer came forward to inspect him. He looked Rob over and then Piers. The inspection included checking their mouths, hair and private parts. Rob wanted to kick the man, but understood such action would come with severe retaliation. Even if he screamed out for help, he would likely have his throat slit and be left to bleed out into the river while the secret negotiations continued.
Satisfied with his inspection, the officer returned to Orellio and the boatswain. He pulled a cloth pouch from his tunic and began counting out gold coins. Rob figured it out before Piers said a word, nevertheless he let the spy speak, hoping the crewman holding him in place would at least smack him around some.
“Rob, don’t make a fuss. They’re selling us as slaves. That officer is likely from one of those warships out in the bay. Once we’re on board his ship, I’ll negotiate for us to be—”
Rob’s wish came true. Piers’s head jolted forward as he was hit with the knotted end of a rope.
There was trouble with the negotiations. It seemed Orellio expected more for his defiance of orders. The officer, however, was having none of it. Orellio pointed at the two guards standing by. Rob figured they were supposed to be in the tower, but Orellio had promised them a cut of the sale if they turned a blind eye to the negotiations. Along with the boatswain and the two crewmembers, he was splitting the reward for his betrayal too thin.
A sudden cry from the crewman holding Rob startled everyone. Rob turned to see the man with a hand at his neck. A small dart protruded from it and the man collapsed to the ground in a fit of convulsions before he had time to pull it out.
More darts flew into Orellio and one of the guards before the group scrambled for the protection of the river bank. The crewman holding Piers turned and began wading across the river to escape the attack, but two darts struck his back; he did not reach the far side. Rob remembred Garibaldi’s description of the Longbeard natives’ tactics and realized they must have noticed the lack of guards in the nearby tower.
Piers moved along the bank downstream, following the other men. Rob looked to his right and saw Falcon soldiers moving toward them. These soldiers shouted an alarm and crossbow bolts began whizzing past Rob. It was a moment before he realized they were mistaking him, in his near naked form, for the attacking Longbeard natives.
Rob was forced to follow Piers toward the ship’s launch awaiting the Falcon naval officer. The boatswain appeared, lying on his stomach atop the embankment, a few tufts of prickly grass as his only concealment. He u
rged Piers and Rob onward before running back toward Orellio’s body. Rob watched as he belly-crawled in search the pouch of coins. After locating it he brought himself into a crouching position and began sprinting back toward Rob. A dart found his buttocks and he fell past Rob and grabbed Piers in his desperation. As the convulsions began, his grip on Piers made the spy cry out in pain. Piers struggled against the boatswain until succeeding in prying the dying man’s fingers from his body. In the struggle, Piers forgot the other dangers around him. He stood and a dart struck his arm.
Dropping to the ground Piers looked at Rob. His expression was defiant and proud. For a final time, Piers stared into the eyes of his victim and showed no sorrow or regret. His face contorted as the poison took effect. Rob remained behind the embankment, the river swirling around his feet, watching the agony in Piers’s face until another set of arms pulled him away. The Falcon officer would not be deterred from the prize he sought. At least one of the prisoners would be his to sell. His hands still bound, his mouth still gagged, and his mind pondering the demise of his nemesis, Rob allowed himself to be thrown into the boat and rowed away from the chaos that engulfed the island called Longbeard.
The Ferlie
T he rustling leaves cast shadows that played on Tom’s eyelids. As he progressed toward consciousness, he became aware of the sunlight, the sound of the breeze in the trees and the smell of the air; salt from the sea mixed with herbs. The herbs became the stronger scent, filling Tom’s nostrils with their pungency.
He became aware of his limbs, especially the left arm which throbbed. He opened his eyes and tried to look, but his eyes didn’t focus for several minutes. He brought his right hand over to touch the arm, knowing full well he would cause himself pain. His fingers felt the cloth that bandaged him from the wrist to the neck.
He let his eyes wander and realized he was in the ka grove on Hellhound Isle. He sat up, his body felt weak and he almost passed out. Once his vision cleared again, he saw he was lying on a mattress of woven ka branches. Their beans already harvested, the leaves created a springy cushion the comfort of which surprised him. Also coming as a surprise was the basket of strawberries, ka beans and honey which sat on the ground near a glass bottle next to his ka-branch bed.
Tom cleared his throat. “Hello?” he croaked. He cleared it again. “Anyone there?”
Only the breeze answered. Tom ate a strawberry and was taken by a sudden desire to eat. He devoured the contents of the basket in less than a minute. The liquid in the bottle appeared to be water, however after guzzling half of it down, Tom discovered an acidic aftertaste. Something else had been added, though after waiting several minutes, he did not feel any ill effects and downed the rest.
The food and drink invigorated him and his left arm, though still tender, throbbed far less than it had when he first awoke. Tom attempted to stand. His legs seemed to take strength again and after landing back on the bed once, he managed to stay up on them. He reached up and took hold of a low branch to steady himself before walking. Again, he found his body able to function as he wanted it to, though not without difficulty.
From the grove he wobbled back to the site of the hut. Nothing remained but charcoal. However, without the hut to hide it, the door to the Duarve house was exposed to his view. It looked different in the sunlight, somehow less ominous than before. Tom found a new mound of earth next to Doctor Morris’s grave. A falchion’s blade, its tip buried at one end of the mound, served as headstone. The stream ran down the slope of the island as inexorable as ever. Despite the sorrowful reminders of the violence perpetrated by Piers, the clearing prompted a feeling of peace in Tom’s heart.
The peace would have remained there if his ears had not picked up the sound of the surf below. He raced down the trail with as much speed as his legs could handle. Reaching the beach he saw no remains of the octopus that had almost ended him. However, his eyes reached across the lagoon to the sight of the Entdecker, still stranded on the reef. He felt the urge to swim out to her, to give comfort to her or perhaps, even in her dismal state, she could reassure him.
A sudden rush of air brought Tom’s attention to the sky. Above him the winged beast appeared, descending fast. Tom ran for the trail and hid behind the nearest tree while the creature landed on the sand. It cawed and then lowered its neck to allow the rider off. The oddly-clad person stood no taller than Tom’s ten year old sister.
“It is safe, I promise!” she called out. For it was a female voice that addressed him. She removed the spectacles and cap, letting long blonde hair fall down her back. She pulled her hair back and tied it up revealing her pointed ears.
She approached Tom with a confidence that caused him to stumble back and fall.
“Are you well?” She said with concern as she crouched beside him. She took hold of his left hand with her own and lifted his arm with astonishing gentleness. “Your arm is not well. You need to care for it.”
“Who are you?” Tom asked.
“I am Aacarys, child of Aamienwe. Who are you?”
“Tom Engleman, um... child of Tim and Jane. You saved me, I think. Is that right?”
The Ferlie girl, for that is what Tom realized she was, said nothing but continued to examine his arm, touching it here and there. Only once, at the site of the burn wound on his shoulder, did Tom wince and grunt in pain.
“This is a most strange wound, Tom Ayngle-mun. How did you acquire it?”
“I can’t really explain it. An ancient Duarve weapon that shoots lightning was used on me.”
“Du-arve? Oh yes, the Klaani. Those who dwell in the earth. You received the wound from them,” Aacarys said.
“Well, no... it was a human, like me. He just had a Duarve weapon. Can you stop examining me now? Please?”
Aacarys drew back, puzzlement written in her expression. It occurred to Tom that Ferlie expressions were not so different from human expressions.
“Do you not wish for me to continue healing you?” she asked.
“No, I mean yes. I mean... I want you to help my arm heal, but for the moment, please stop.”
“I express my apologies, Tom Ayngle-mun, I meant no offense to you.”
Tom sighed. “You don’t have to apologize and please, just call me Tom.”
“Tom,” She repeated. “We should return to the trees above, where you can be in more comfort.”
“You’ll keep your beast from eating me, right?”
“My beast?” She followed Tom’s eyes to the creature waiting in obedience on the beach. “Oh, you are calling Colum my beast. I believe your word for its kind is ‘actel’. It will not bring you harm, I promise.”
She offered her hand, which Tom studied before accepting. Her strength surprised him as she pulled him to his feet. She then insisted he use her as a crutch to ensure he did not fall again while she led him out to Colum who sat on its hind legs like a patient and loyal hound.
“I confess I’ve never seen an actel before, but I know the legends. Aren’t they ferocious?” Tom said.
“What is the meaning of ‘ferocious’?”
Tom wished Rob was with him to explain the word. “Um... it means... um, it’s like... very hungry and... territorial. Do you know that word? It defends itself aggressively.”
“Oh, I believe I understand what you say. Yes, actels are ferocious.”
Tom stopped in his tracks. They were only a few feet from Colum, whose brown-red eye examined Tom as he approached.
Aacarys continued, “You do not need to worry, Tom. Colum is well trained. It will only harm those who threaten it, or those I command it to harm.”
She pushed him forward, smiling at his reluctance. She left Tom’s side to run her hand along the actel’s neck. To Tom’s surprise, the creature had no distinct smell, but its off-white leathery hide, glistened in the sunlight. It responded to her touch with a sigh of its own and lowered its long neck to allow her to climb onto its back to the saddle fastened there.
She climbed as naturally as T
om sailed. Tom noticed the opposable toes on her bare feet as she settled herself into the saddle. Her feet gripped two short horns which protruded from the bottom of the saddle while she continued to run a hand up and down the base of Colum’s neck.
“Come up,” She said. Then as an afterthought, she reached down to help him.
Tom winced as he stepped on Colum’s shoulder and mounted his back. He waited for Colum to caw out a complaint or shake its body to throw him off. Colum, however, just beat its wings and launched itself over the lagoon. They rounded the island, gaining elevation as they did. It was a perspective Tom had never imagined. The view of the green island set against the shimmering blue water was enough to distract his mind from the fear of falling.
Some one hundred feet above Hellhound Isle, Colum folded its wings in and descended to the the peak. Tom saw the large T-shaped mast he and the rest of the original Entdecker crew discovered during their first exploration. It was for this frame that Colum aimed, extending its wings out again to slow the descent and landing its clawed feet in one seamless, gentle motion.
The descent from the peak to the ka grove brought Tom to his physical limits. He fell onto the matress, again relishing its comfort. Aacarys disappeared for several minutes, returning with more strawberries along with the roots of some plant Tom did not recognize. She insisted he eat these while she unwrapped his arm. The thin white roots, which she had clearly rinsed in the stream, tasted tangy and sweet; much like the honey made by Hellhound Isle’s bees.
Aacarys replaced the woundwart paste in the deep lacerations around his elbow. The touch of her slender Ferlie fingers was soothing and Tom found himself feeling drowsy. Aacarys began to sing softly in the magical language of her people. Even as his eyes began to close, Tom could feel her working on his shoulder wound. The Duarve weapon had burned clean through his shoulder, requiring her to apply medicine to an entry and exit wound. Tom was asleep before she finished applying fresh bandages.
