by Rick Johnson
“Tē’d’Tē has already told me that she’s boarding the first ship bound for Walloper’s Hold out of Hadst,” Helga said. “She can’t wait to get back to teaching the young beasts. She sees so clearly that’s the key to create the new Hedgelands.”
They both kept silent for some minutes, staring at the river flowing by, which now sparkled under the rising moon. When Bem turned to look at Helga, she found the Wood Cow steadily gazing at her.
“Once you sail,” Helga said, “we may not see each other for a long time. I’ll miss you.”
“Trust me not to forget the way back here,” Bem replied. “And we have time yet. Tomorrow we’ll pass the Acute Angles, and then it’s two days to the Great Hot Lake. It’ll be so good to see Home again—it’s been too long. But, then, assuming I don’t just sit there soakin’ in the hot springs longer than I ought, it’ll be another couple of days to get all down to Hadst. After that, even with the best luck, it’ll take two months until I’m able to sail. So, let’s not get too deep into the Good-Byes yet.”
“I’m not thinking about Good-Byes,” Helga replied. “It’s just that friends make stories that fill us inside, and I’m not full yet. I need the stories you make.”
Epilogue
Eleven days after taking his leave from Bem, Helga, and the others, Boss arrived in Hadst to make advance preparations for the arrival of his Miner Bear crew. The work of enlarging the harbor to accommodate Battle Stallion cruisers was scheduled to begin as soon as Boss could complete some necessary arrangements.
Road-weary and dusty as he entered the town, he trudged down one of the nasty back-lanes looking for The Left-Sailed Schooner, an inn where he’d been directed. Seeing the signpost, he liked that it was painted to look lovely and inviting. But when he entered, the innkeeper, a crabbed Hog with a face more green than yellow, and covered with nail-like warts, suggested the limits of what paint could accomplish. In his red-flannel shirt, barber’s hair pants, high sea boots, and eye-patch, the proprietor was civil enough. The inn, however, proved to be one of those moldering, lizard-infested public houses that perhaps had once flourished, but now shambled along in obscure poverty.
Then there were the knots of young beasts, loitering about or playing at Whack’s Mark, throwing quits within an inch of each other’s ears. Squatting on every stool, sprawling across every table, and leaning against every door, crowds of beasts waited. The focus of the loitering crowd was an ancient, but extremely energetic Coyote. Half-hidden under a large, floppy hat—ringed all around with strings of shark teeth and shells—and a heavy blanket worn as a cloak, the Coyote jabbered loudly enough to be heard everywhere. Poking and waving with an old, well-used harpoon, its wooden handle carved all over with curious names, the elderly Coyote looked like many a seasoned sea-beast. Brown and ruddy, hair wizened and weathered from salt air and sun, the Coyote had obviously sailed on many a voyage.
Approaching the Coyote from behind, Boss gasped. A ghastly scar ran from ear to ear across the back of the Coyote’s head. Despite his hard life in the mines and the terrible accidents he had witnessed, he had never seen anything like the long wide purple streak that marked the course of the scar. Boss was struck speechless, but his gasp caught the Coyote’s attention.
Turning to face the Miner Bear, the Coyote smiled, and said, “Your eyes ought to be more use to you, than starin’ at me! Never seen a beast that’s nearly lost his head and survived, I’ll wager!”
“By the Ancients, beast! What monster got hold of you?” Boss stammered.
“Dragon tried to snip off m’ topper!” the Coyote chuckled. “I was a little quicker in those days! Now, he’d probably get m’ topper and my bottoms, as well!”
“No wonder at the scar then,” Boss replied. “But how does lightning strike and not kill a beast? Why, I’ve heard that beasts melt away in a few hours, just getting’ splattered with drool!”
“Takes more than a dragon bite to finish ’ol BorMane,” the Coyote laughed. “And the dragon was the least of our troubles that voyage. The Crust of Luck—that was our ship—was becalmed in Bitter’s Passage for nearly a month. Bitter’s Passage is like a desert in the sea—no fish, no birds. We was down to eatin’ tallow candles and boiled sail canvas. But I’ve always been a loud and boistery beast—that’s what my Mum called me. Takes more than death to dampen my spirits. My boistery-ness helped my mates bear the suffering. Seems that without that, we’d have lost most of the crew, and without them worryin’ over me when I got bit, I’d sure been a goner. By the by, the better you stand by your mates, keepin’ up their humor, the more likely any particular poison will have a harder time takin’ you down. Without that, you can call on all the spirits of heaven and hell to help you, and it won’t get you nothing.”
“BorMane!” Boss roared. “So this is the beast Bem told me to look up when I got to Hadst!”
“Why sure,” the Coyote laughed, “and you found me. We’re old shipmates. I’m a weathered old sail now—a bit tattered at the edges—but I can still pull wind with the best of ’em. I thought to retire a while back, but that didn’t last longer than a squall at sea. I’m not a beast as can sit and count the spots on cards or hoe the beans. I need to feel the deck heaving under my feet, hear the sails slapping like mad, and roar with the sea-beasts pulling on lines. So when Bem asked me to come to Hadst and work with her agent, Mr. Loog, in getting together some new crew for her, I was all in. Her flagship’s sittin’ out there in the bay, just waitin’ for her to return. Her orders are to raise up two more ships, fully fitted and crewed, for a voyage to rescue an old friend—Captain Red Whale Gumberpott—who’s been kidnapped.”
“Bem will be here in a few days!” Boss said. “I left her back up the river a piece. She’s on her way here now. How’s the luck recruiting sea-beasts?”
“Aye, luck’s good, and too good,” the Coyote chuckled. “There’s no shortage of beasts wantin’ to sail with Bem.” Pausing and looking toward the crowd of beasts loitering around him, he continued. “These beasts are all hungry to sail with Captain Madsoor. It’s weeks I’ve been doin’ this, and the crowd never gets smaller. Word’s got around that she’s bound to the Forgotten Realms—the lands beyond the Last Sea, where no sea-beast ’round here has ever gone, or so they say. That is, no sea-beast except for me.”
“You!” Boss exclaimed. “You’ve been into the Forgotten Realms?”
“As sure as I’ve sailed anywhere,” BorMane replied. “Now that particular voyage was no pleasure cruise, but the ship I was servin’ did go there. And I know how to do it again. Bem’s thinkin’, and she’s right, that she can catch the ship that’s got Captain Red Whale by sailin’ west, rather than east like they did.”
“I’m no sea-beast,” Boss replied, “but I hear beasts say that the Forgotten Realms are the stuff of myth and legend.”
“Aye, but the legend’s like strong drink,” BorMane said. “Take enough into you, and your wits turn to bilge-slop. That’s why so many beasts want to sail with Bem,” BorMane said. “All those stories about fabulous riches in the Forgotten Realms make beasts crazy. My biggest problem is sortin’ out the solid sea-beasts from the glory-seekers. Most are more crazed by outlandish stories, than able to sail a ship. Better to sail short-handed, than be anchored to trouble.”
“Bem’s recruiting is in good hands, I see,” Boss smiled. “Never met a boistery beast before, but I like you.”
“Just lookin’ at you, you're boistery yourself, I’ll wager,” BorMane chuckled. “And any friend of Bem’s is a friend of mine.” Pausing and looking toward the beasts waiting to speak with him, the Coyote said, “’Bout time to end recruitin’ for today. It’d be an honor to share a meal with you, mate.”
“With all my heart,” Boss said, “the honor’s mine. Not to mention that I really could use a good roast Leg of Malander, with a fine slice of Primed Butter Pie, and a flagon of—well, I’ll let you call that, my friend.”
“We won’t be findin’ those things here,”
BorMane laughed. “But I know a place that’ll wake up your appetite a little more than The Left-Sailed Schooner. I’ll finish up, and we’ll be off. I’ll show you a night on the town.”
“A night on the town in Hadst will be over early,” Boss smiled, “and thank you for that. I’m tired and there’s plenty of work to do tomorrow.”
BorMane dismissed the remaining applicants, saying that he would consider them in the morning and led Boss out into the street. Within a few minutes they were seated at a table in an eating-house known as The Blessings of Fork & Mug.
“Now here,” BorMane said, handing Boss the bill of fare, “they’ve got the best roast Malander I ever ate. Throw in some dumplings and gravy, with some home-hammered buns, and you’ll be just full enough to hold a piece of pie.” He winked at Boss, then said, “and there really is a blessing in the mug they offer, as well.”
When they had ordered their meal, Boss said, “And by for all that’s good and true, you swear you’ve been to the Forgotten Realms? You’re not leading Bem off on lark, I hope.”
“Look here, friend,” BorMane replied, “You’re Bem’s mate. I’ll draw you a map. I’ll prove to you, I know the way, and I’ll sketch it out right here, right now. Does that satisfy you?”
Borrowing a pen and piece of parchment from the innkeeper, the Coyote began to draw. Sketching with vigor and conviction, he described what he was drawing in a low, confident voice. A large continent, encircled with a sea, appeared on the page; as well as a smaller one, bounded all around by a belt of mountains rising out of the sea. Numerous islands also took shape.
“This is what I remember of my voyage to the Forgotten Realms,” he began. “It also includes all that I heard from a scholar—one Doctor Hurlthinks—that I met in one of the ports we visited in the Forgotten Realms. For, of course, those lands aren’t forgotten to the beasts as live there! They’re forgotten only to those who no longer remember the way to find them.”
“Forgotten about them?” Boss asked.
“Doctor Hurlthinks told me that there used to be mighty trade routes from the Forgotten Realms, to places all across the world.” Pointing to several roughly drawn islands, BorMane said, “These are lands that the good Doctor told me about, but which I’ve not seen with my own eyes. I add them to the map so that you can see how vast the Forgotten Realms really are.”
“What are the numbers you are writing on the map?” Boss asked.
“Distances,” BorMane replied. “Doctor Hurlthinks had calculated the distance between the places I’ve marked.”
“But if these are correct,” Boss exclaimed, “there are huge unknown lands right under our noses!”
“Not unknown,” BorMane chuckled. “Forgotten. There’s many a thing in this world that’s nearly closer to us than our own life-veins, and we’ve forgotten how to find them—or refused to look.”
“And you’re absolutely satisfied that this map is true?” Boss asked.
“Yes,” BorMane replied. “And once you’re convinced of that, the rest is simple. Dangerous—but there’s never been a voyage done without peril. Danger’s different from simple. The way is simple. Sail west, and you will, indeed, reach the Forgotten Realms, including that of Lord Farseeker—where Bem plans to go.”
“And there’s nothing that causes you to doubt?” Boss asked.
“Forty years I’ve followed the sea,” BorMane replied, “and in all that time, I’ve never met a fact that flies in the face of what I’ve just told you.”
“By the Ancients!” Boss breathed. “Bem’ll be so happy when she sees this!”
“It’s only a map,” the Coyote said. “And a map is only a story. The best maps are stories that tell us ways to be larger in our thoughts and dreams than we are now. I just want to be larger in my ideas than I am now. Other than that, Bem can do with the map as she wishes.”
End of Volume III
To Be Continued.
Thank you for reading! If you feel inclined to leave an honest review on Amazon, your comments are appreciated.
From The Author
As an author, I’m drawn to eccentric, unexpected characters: those who surprise because they hear a distant galaxy, see a different music, create their own fragrance rather than get hooked on a soundtrack; the child who has her own ideas about how the emperor is dressed; the lunatics and rebels who tell stories on the boundaries. I seek to write unusual stories that take readers to worlds they never imagined—a whole new ride.
One of the attractions of writing fantasy is that it forces us to experiment with “beyond the box” thinking. Imagination is often the only tool we have in breaking through the barriers or chains that limit our possibilities. Running on imagination, our minds and hearts are no longer bound by such “obvious” constraints as common sense, the speed of light, or prejudices of mind.
A natural relative of fantasy is the sense of humor, and need to play, that are part of human nature. Like fantasy, humor is a matter of skewing how we look, and re-look, at things we normally take for granted. In my writing, I use fantasy and humorous absurdity to poke holes in the expectations cultures create to keep things in their place.
Fantasy, including the idea that cows might think, talk, and are proper heroines—perhaps encourages us to wonder about other creatures, people, and dimensions of thought that “common sense” keeps us from hearing and seeing. Possibly, we may even discover that there are cows within ourselves waiting to speak and be heroic. Our capacity to hear things that are, in our “common sense” world, unheard and unheard of, is one of the degrees of freedom we can preserve for ourselves and offer to others. And, for children—kids of all ages—these degrees of freedom are precious and worth nurturing. That is why I write.
* * *
[1] Selling luxury goods to the wealthy.
[2] A dory is a flat-bottomed rowing boat, pointed at the bow and nearly pointed at the stern, used to run rapids when soundly built.
[3] Drop: An Aviafia squadron of about 25 fliers