“We need to signal the Voyagers.” Blodwyn stared out at the river. “Who knows how much time we have remaining? There could be another wave of Watch on the way. There’s no telling how many men the king dispatched. It won’t be long before word of this mess reaches him. He’s not going to be happy. And, unfortunately, this will not help our cause. He is going to be even less likely to believe anything we’ve told him. It’s a shame. It never should have come to this. His narrow-minded thinking will be the death of his people.”
Chapter 12
Aside from the injury to Coil’s leg, everyone else was fine. Quill and the three Archers were bloodied up from the fight, but otherwise, okay. The eight of them walked out onto the pier. Mykal felt only a little weak. He tried masking the loss of energy, keeping up with the others. His head felt light, and his knees wobbled some with each step he took. He knew Blodwyn wasn’t fooled, but appreciated him not saying a word.
“Tell us again, Wyn, why we’re going to put our trust in the pirates?” Eadric said.
“It’s a long story,” he said.
They huddled close together at the end of the pier. The air was cool, and their gathered body heat combated the dropping temperatures. The large vessel was just a black silhouette on the river. It was too far away to tell if it was moving. It could be coming toward them. They would know for sure soon enough.
“We’ve the time,” Eadric said.
“I know the person who runs their island. We go way back, you might say. The scarf was a gift given to me long ago.” Blodwyn spoke softly, as if just to himself.
“Did you know it would summons a ship?” Quill said.
“I hoped it would bring help.”
“Hoped, but didn’t know?” Eadric said.
Blodwyn shook his head. “I didn’t know, no. But I was confident the flying scarf would elicit some kind of response.”
Eadric sighed. He looked back over his shoulder. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing the semantics now. They’re here. I guess the only thing we need to hope is that they remember you, and are friendly toward us all. We need a way out of here. The locals are starting to stir. They’re coming out of their hovels. If they’ve any loyalty to their king, we could be looking at a lynching. The Voyagers are clearly our best option at this point. Just hope they get here before the nooses are knotted.”
Mykal saw the villagers behind them. They carried torches and milled about the docks inspecting the corpses strewn about. He had a sinking feeling about the situation. He didn’t want to make enemies with people in his kingdom. Quill spent his life hiding in the woods. He and the other Archers had made a home of the forest, but were still considered outcasts, rebels. The farm, the animals, and his grandfather were his home. It was where he belonged. He long ago stopped questioning why he was here. The reasons were obvious. Their sacrifice essential. It just didn’t make giving up his old life for this one any easier.
“They’re sending a dinghy,” one of the other Archers said, pointing. The small boat was barely visible. It didn’t look large enough for all of them to fit in.
“Water may be too shallow for them to come ashore,” Blodwyn said.
Mykal watched two men row the small boat closer to the pier. He could hear the oars splash into the river. He pictured the serpents working themselves into a frenzy below. He knew how big and powerful those beasts were. Crushing the wood and capsizing the dinghy would be easy for even just a single serpent. He would have felt so much better if the Voyagers attempted docking as opposed to sending over a dinghy.
The men threw a rope up, and Coil reached out and caught it. He secured the rope to a steel cleat.
Blodwyn stood by the edge of the pier.
“The governor sent us to pick you up. She didn’t mention anything about a mob of you. We may need a bigger boat,” the man on the dinghy said. He scowled, as if there was no point in hiding his feelings. “Why don’t you take down the red flag?”
“I’ll get it.” Mykal went to the pole, unfastened the rope, and lowered the scarf. He held it in his hands. It was made of a strong silk. It wasn’t what he’d expected. He folded the scarf and fit it into the front pocket on his pants. When he turned around, his breath caught in his lungs. The villagers had assembled. Huddled together, Mykal watched them point his way. He had no idea what they said, but could imagine the words whispered. It sent a troubling chill down his spine. It was as cold as if a skeleton’s finger had traced his backbone. He shivered.
“C’mon, Mykal! Get in the boat. Hurry!” Blodwyn waved him over.
He ran for the edge of the pier, and stopped. There wasn’t much room for him in the dinghy. He wasn’t going to wait on the docks alone for the next transport. He’d make himself fit. He climbed down the ladder and shouldered his way in. It was tight. If they didn’t sink from being weighted down, and as long as the serpents left them alone, they might be all right. The sea was calmer than it had been even half an hour ago.
Coil retrieved the rope from the cleat.
“Row. Row.” The Voyagers set the oars to work. At first it seemed as if the dinghy wouldn’t respond. They would need to go against the current somewhat to make it back to the waiting ship. Once the momentum was started, it appeared an easier task. The two men had sweaty brows. They gritted their teeth as they put their backs into the work.
Mykal and his friends remained silent.
On the pier the villagers watched them escape. Their torches were soon all that was visible.
The water lapped at the sides of the boat. The oars dipped into the water. There was a rhythm to the rowing, and with the way the boat slowly surged forward each time. Mykal had been worried they’d not get away in time. He had no issue with using his magic against enemies. The villagers were not evil. Had they attacked, it wouldn’t have been their fault. They would have been reacting based only on what they saw: a gang of rebels slaughtering the king’s Watch.
As they neared the larger vessel, Mykal’s mouth hung open. He had never been this close to a Voyager ship. It bobbed on the small swells. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared up at the masts. They seemed to go on forever into the sky.
He was thankful the voyage from the dock to the ship had been uneventful. The serpents might be around, but they had left them alone. It was nice when things worked out. Lately, it just wasn’t normally the case.
Chatter from the men on board was constant. Orders were given. The tars repeated them. Mykal could not see a single person.
The dinghy stopped beside the hull, alongside a rope ladder. The men rowing held the ladder and ordered everyone up. Climbing was not simple. The rope twisted and turned. Mykal held on tight and tried to secure his footing. He went slowly, hand over hand. The hull bowed outward. It made the climb that much more difficult.
Voyagers reached over the side of the ship. Their hands locked on the back of his britches. He was hoisted up and over the starboard side. They dropped him onto the deck. He grunted, letting out a startled oomph. The Voyagers laughed. Not finding anything funny, Mykal got to his feet, dusting himself off. His legs bent, and he leaned forward with his arms out, hands reaching for a hold. He wasn’t used to the swaying sensation. He brought one arm in and wrapped it across his belly. His stomach felt as if it was lurching up his throat.
“If you’re going to blow chunks, lean over the side. Otherwise you’ll be mopping the floors,” a man said.
More laughs erupted around him.
Someone took hold of his arm at the elbow.
“Are you all right, Mykal?” Blodwyn said.
“I will be. Just not used to this. It felt a little different on the row boat.”
“Once you get your sea legs, you won’t notice the difference. These men spend so much time on the water, that they have trouble with balance when they are on land,” he said. His smile was a mild way of letting him know that things would be okay. Mykal wasn’t sure he believed it, but it did help having his friends and family with him.
&
nbsp; When everyone was on the ship, a well-dressed man strutted past them. He wore a black blazer, with a black vest over a white shirt. His white pants possessed a single black stripe down the side. He had his hands clasped behind his back. Two other men, dressed nearly as well, followed closely on his heels.
“And who was the person who flew the red flag?” the first man said.
Blodwyn took a small step forward. “The flag was mine.”
The first man stopped walking. He stood in front of Blodwyn. He looked at Blodwyn’s feet and let his eyes travel up past his head to the top of his staff. “I am Captain Sebastian. This is the Derecho. She has been mine to command for nearly as long as she has been on the sea. Cearl is my lieutenant, my first officer.” Cearl wore white pants, and his white tunic was covered by a red vest under a dark blue blazer. Sebastian then said, waving a hand toward the man on his right, “And this is our quartermaster, Mr. Reed.”
Mr. Reed looked more like a boy, Mykal thought. Around his age, or possibly a year older. The quartermaster wore his dark hair shaved short around the sides and back of his head, leaving it longer on top, pulled back, and secured in back with a short ponytail. His face was clean shaven, or had never been shaved.
The Quartermaster saluted a hello to the group, and inadvertently knocked his elbow into the Captain’s forehead. “Sorry, Captain.”
No one returned the gesture. He was dressed in similar fashion as the lieutenant, except he wore gold cufflinks on the sleeves of his red blazer.
Sebastian arched an eyebrow; cast a sideways glance at the quartermaster, and then back and forth between Blodwyn to Mykal, before he pointed at Mykal. “This boy was dead. I saw it with my own eyes. That can’t be. How can this be?”
Mykal assumed this a rhetorical question. He stayed still—as still as his legs would allow—and maintained eye contact with the captain.
“You were there, too.” Sebastian pointed his finger in Blodwyn’s face. He found Quill, and moved his arm, aiming his finger at Mykal’s uncle. “And you!”
“You were with the Mountain King?” Blodwyn’s voice trembled.
Mykal realized the danger they were in. They’d surrendered themselves into the hands of their enemies without so much as even a punch thrown.
The seven people with him reached for weapons.
The Voyagers were fast. Axes were soundlessly raised. They held the weapon handles in both hands.
Captain Sebastian held up his hands. It worked at calming the crew. “We were not with the Mountain King, old man. He had a witch with him. She used her magic and put all of us under some kind of spell. We were forced to follow them, to fight for them. It was not by choice!”
“And you escaped?” Blodwyn said. “I don’t see how that’s possible!”
Again, Mykal and his friends tensed. They were prepared to battle. Lives would be lost. The combat was too close for there not to be severe casualties.
Sebastian said, “Stop!”
Somehow it worked a second time. The Voyagers relaxed. Axes and swords were lowered. “We did not escape. Once they had the items they wanted, and the woman, they had us escort them as far as the foothills of the Rames, and then freed us. I can recall the magic wearing off. It left most of us drained. I believe we slept for a few days. It is hard to remember exactly. But you, boy, you were dead.”
“I was,” Mykal said. “But now, I am not.”
“That answer makes no sense,” Sebastian said.
An awkward silence fell over everyone. The captain kept his eyes locked on Mykal. It was as if his brain tried desperately to understand the impossibility standing before him.
“Cearl,” Sebastian shouted, suddenly. His voice boomed like thunder, like a strong wind snapping the sails taut. “Raise the anchor.”
Cearl shouted, “Raise the anchor.” Other tars repeated the command. It was like an echo.
“Bring us around,” Sebastian said.
“Bring us around,” Cearl shouted, then the echo.
“Head back for the island,” the Captain said. His command was repeated by Cearl, and the others.
Men cranked a wheel. Wet, dripping chains rattled making their way up the outside of the hull and were wound about the wheelbase. The anchor came out of the water, and rose until it stopped by the bow. The Derecho surged forward, dipping down into the sea. Cearl was at the wheel, and spun it toward the port side.
Mr. Reed yelled for angling the sails twice. The first time his voice cracked, and he needed to clear his throat.
The wind caught in the giant white sails, and they puffed out full, harnessing the wind. The vessel was then free and made its way cutting through the small swells.
Mykal noticed that everyone seemed more relaxed, and that only he and his friends were now off balance. Quill stumbled backwards several steps. He held onto the side of the ship to keep from falling down.
The tars enjoyed the show, and were not shy about laughing at all of them.
“We will get some answers,” Captain Sebastian said. He stared directly at Mykal. He ground his teeth. “The governor will get to the bottom of this. Of all of this.”
Mykal said, “Are we free to move about?”
The Captain scowled. “Don’t get in anyone’s way. For all we know the old man was the only one we were to bring back to the islands. I’d have no problem tossing the lot of you overboard.”
Mykal watched the Captain walk away. He looked over at his father, who shook his head.
The Derecho moved smoothly across the water. It was a completely different experience than horseback riding. The fact that the wind still blew through Mykal’s hair was about the only similarity. Walking with extreme caution, his hands grasped for anything secured down. There wasn’t much. He made his way toward the bow, which dipped and rose with the swells. Sea spray doused him, soaking his clothing. The water was cold. He didn’t mind. There was a freedom associated with sailing that he never could have imagined before. He wondered if it was what a falcon felt like when flying.
At the bow he saw the Isthmian Islands ahead. There was one main island, and two smaller islands. Beyond he knew was the east bank, the Osiris Realm. He could not see that far in the dark, not even with the moon bright in the cloudless night sky.
He could not count the times he’d fished in the sea and stared across the water wondering about the islands. His imagination always ran wild. In his mind’s eye he saw dragon nests, with dragon eggs waiting to hatch. He pictured natives with harsh languages living in small huts amid the trees. He also imagined mines filled with rare and exotic gems waiting to for excavation. Playing on those fantasies, there were a few times when chores were completed early and he’d spend the day collecting small logs, and limbs and tying them together with string—not even rope, but string. The raft would never hold together in the sea, and he would never test her ability to float. He never dreamed he’d sail on a Voyager vessel, or head toward the mysterious islands. It would no longer be stories and legends after today.
Chapter 13
Ida stayed in the shadows and concentrated on her breathing. She kept her breaths short, and shallow. The hood of her cloak was draped over her head and covered her face. She was as hidden by the darkness, but standing in plain sight in the corner of the bed chamber.
With the curtains drawn tight, no sunlight entered the room. Queen Chorazin slept silently in the bed. Her snores were thick, and rumbled. It sounded like thunder erupting from her throat and nostrils. The queen drooled onto her satin-covered pillow.
Ida didn’t care one way or the other about the queen. What put her off was the king’s request. How could he even call himself a man? He shouldn’t be a position to rule his realm, much less become emperor over all of the kingdoms. The feeble man might have the ambition, and the dreams of success swimming around inside his head, but he possessed little else. He was an angry man, who felt life had slighted him. How did that make him worthy to rule? It didn’t.
She’d help him.
The queen stirred.
Ida stepped out of the shadows, and walked over to the side of the bed. Killing the woman would be easiest while she slept. There was less chance of causing a scene this way. Part of her wanted the queen to wake up. Chorazin deserved to see who was ending her life. The woman wasn’t bright enough to connect the dots. Not even when the two dots stood next to each other. If the queen opened her eyes, and even if she recognized Ida, she’d never realize the witch was only following the king’s orders. That was the pathetic truth in the matter, and was also why whether Chorazin was asleep or awake was beside the point.
Closing her eyes, Ida concentrated on the spell. The words flowed through her mind like music. Shades of gray waves washed over a spider’s web. Drops of gray water dripped from the sticky silk, and left the spider’s construction glistening in artificial light. When the next wave came it washed away the web, leaving no sign it had ever existed.
Ida opened her eyes. On the bed things moved beneath the linens. Reaching out her hand, Ida pulled away the top sheet. Hairy spiders with yellow and black bodies, and yellow and black striped legs crawled over the queen. By her feet, a spider with a grotesquely thick abdomen spun webs around crusty toes before it sank fangs into the queen’s corns.
Queen Chorazin’s eyes opened, and she screamed.
Ida moved fast. She covered the woman’s mouth.
Jerking her legs and screaming were the worst things the queen could have done. It agitated the spiders. The creatures panicked. When they became startled, they bit. Hundreds of the spiders buried fangs into her skin, and spilled poison from hollow teeth into her body.
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