Resurrection (Book 1: The Chronicles of Chaos)

by Graham Carmichael

  Chapter 8

  It was just after sunrise when the band of adventurers arrived at the ferry. The group looked very impressive, especially in their new garb. Anyone who saw them on their journey from the palace to here knew that they should not get in the way. If someone had had the impudence to try to halt or slow the progress of these adventurers, they would have been swatted aside like a fly. This, at least, was the impression they emitted.

  The ferry wasn’t very impressive. It was really just a large row boat that could hold up to twelve people. An old, scruffy looking man sat on a stool on the beach. He wore scruffy grey rags for trousers and was barefoot in the sand. The lower half of his legs was showing. They looked very thin but incredibly hairy. The hair was thick black and longer than some have on their heads.

  “You could make a toupee from hairs like that.” Conrad jested. “Sorry, make that two.”

  The men in the group chuckled. Anree however, did not.

  “You will find that everything has its place, Conrad.” She said coldly.

  “What do you mean by that?” He asked.

  “Each day, the ferryman has to get into that water and take people wherever they wish to go. His body will have reacted to the years of differing temperatures, ranging from below freezing to tropical seas, to create a defence. Those hairs will protect him.”

  Everyone considered what Anree had said. Some were nodding approval at the words she spoke, others, like Rhyll, had no time for such tripe. He rolled his eyes and ploughed forward.

  As they approached the ferryman they could see that he only had a string vest covering his torso; yellowed from years of sweat. Despite his years, his hair was not grey or white. It was dark brown (all except his foot hair) and quite well groomed for a man in his profession. He sported light stubble on his face. The ferryman had noticed the party approaching many minutes ago. He didn’t react at all until spoken to.

  “Good morning, sir.” John spoke in a pleasant manner.

  “I have seen better!” The ferryman stated being deliberately obnoxious.

  “I should imagine that you have seen worse, too.” John continued in his light hearted fashion.

  “I have seen many a good day and many a bad day. Also, I have seen many people come and go. They come to me to ferry them someplace, taking me away from my business, expecting me to be nice.”

  “And what business do you have that we shall be taking you away from, good sir.” The others in the party began to realise that John was playing mind games with the ferryman. They watched closely to see how this scene would play out.

  “My business is my own and none of your business. Now do you want to do business or just distract me from mine?”

  “But didn’t you just tell me that if I gave you business, it would be taking you away from your business? Oh, I don’t know, this business is confusing.” John was mocking. There was method behind the madness though. He knew full well that the ferryman would not take them to their destination. Not, that is, unless he wants to prove a point.

  “I know not what business you find confusing but mine is simple. I ferry people where they want to go and bring them back if they wish. Is that simple enough for you lad?” The ferryman was now angry. He had had enough of the horseplay.

  “That is very simple, sir. Now if you would be so kind, take us to Cursed Isle.”

  The colour drained from ferryman’s face. He looked ten years older quicker than the blink of an eye.

  “I will not.” He proclaimed. His tone had changed. The man before the party was no longer full of aggression and loathing. It was a far more primal instinct. It was fear.

  “Why not, sir?” John asked.

  The bravado returned.

  “For no good reason. I just don’t feel like conducting business today.” He stood up from his stool and started walking towards a small boathouse. John ran after him and stood in his way.

  “If you lack the courage to take us, you could at least make provision that we may take ourselves.” John said sternly. The look in the eyes of the old ferryman made John aware that he had touched a nerve. Before he could react, a fist struck John’s nose sending him crashing to the ground. The tears in his eyes blinded him and he could feel a hot liquid running out of his nostrils. John tried to scramble into a sitting position. With the back of his hand he wiped his nose. Crimson blood smeared across his skin, sticking the fine hairs together. He looked up and could just see a blurred silhouette blocking out the light above him.

  “No-one calls me a coward. No-one tells me I lack courage. I have more courage in my little finger than you have in your entire body.” The rant went on for quite some time. As John’s head began to clear he tried to stand up. The ferryman put a large hairy foot on his chest to keep him pinned to the floor; to make him listen to the rant. When, finally, the ferryman had finished, he vanished into the boathouse. There were a series of loud creaks and bangs. After a few minutes had passed a large sliding door in the side of the building opened. The ferryman emerged carrying a large row boat. The boat must have weighed nearly four times as much as the ferryman but he lifted it like it was a small pebble on the beach. He threw the boat into the water and turned back to John.

  “There,” He said sharply, “you can take this. Be warned though, your chances of getting back are slim. Ghostly ships patrol the shores of that island.”

  “Could you give us some advice on how to get on and off the island undetected?” John asked directly.

  “I should think your barbarian friend could answer that. His people have been doing it for years and a damn sight more effectively than I ever could.” With that, the ferryman went back to his boathouse and slammed the door shut.

  Cohen ran over to help John.

  “That was one almighty slug you received there. Are you alright?”

  “I’ll be fine” John said adjusting his nose back into position.

  All eyes turned to Rhyll.

  “Well?” Conrad asked, breaking the silence.

  “Well what?” Rhyll replied obtusely.

  “How do we get onto that island undetected?” Conrad shouted.

  “That is simple. We wait until there is a mist, which is almost every night over there, and then we sneak onto the western side of the island.”

  “Why the western side?” Anree asked.

  “I do not know.” Rhyll said bluntly. “My people have always infiltrated the island from there. I think it is because it is a disputed patch of land. Many different races fight for it so they do not look for threats from the sea.”

  “Well it sounds like the best plan we are going to get.” Conrad said.

  “Have you ever seen any of these ghost ships, Rhyll?” Cohen enquired.

  “I have not but many years ago, before I was of the age to join them, barbarian warriors from our tribe set sail for the island on a large vessel. It was a small galleon or maybe a sloop; I cannot remember. Anyway, the story has it that they were within sight of the island when a number of cannonballs smashed into the ship from behind. As the crew turned the ship to fire back, the captain noticed that a mist had formed all around but not where they were. Cannon fire reigned in from all sides. The sails were damaged, the hull was broken. Many abandoned ship. There were a couple of lifeboats. Only one set sail with just a handful of men aboard. They made it to the island and set up a watch on these invisible vessels. They studied them for as long as they could before they disappeared into the darkness or the mist became too thick, I cannot recall which. They decided to track one of the ships along the shore. It seemed to have a set patrol pattern. The barbarians managed to determine that pattern and then plot their escape accordingly. They had been very astute and the plan worked. They returned home safely to pass on the secret to getting onto Cursed Isle.”

  The party pondered in silence for a moment. Anree broke that silence.

  “I believe that we should go the way of the barbarians. We have to scout the island in any case so it make
s no difference if we start from the east or the west.”

  “Would you be able to detect them with your magic?” Cohen asked Anree.

  “I have some power, it is true, but my range is limited. I may be able to detect a vessel approaching shortly before it would be in visible range. I may only be of any great use in fog.”

  “That settles it then,” Conrad said, “we set sail now to arrive in the dark hours of the morning. If there is a mist, Anree will act as our personal protection. If there is no mist, we can all keep a lookout.”

  The others nodded in agreement and boarded the rowboat.

  “Just one last question, “Conrad said cheekily, “who is going to row?”

  All eyes turned to Rhyll.

  “That’s right, pick on the big man.” Rhyll said in feigned anger.

  They set off across the sea.

  The party of adventurers had sailed through many hours of the night. Anree’s worst fears had come true. She had only agreed that she could spot an enemy vessel to put everyone’s mind at ease. She thought that if they could relax whilst they had the chance, they would be fresh and focused when they arrived. Anree was not a telepath however. Nor was she able to cast any spells of destruction. All her powers enabled her to do is to heal and to create simple a simple barrier to defend against attack. The only thing that would get the group to the island safely was luck. Rhyll continued to row hard. He possessed true strength and stamina. The rest of the group were asleep. Occasionally, someone would have to kick Conrad. His snoring would give away their position to a ship a hundred miles away.

  “Not very quiet for a thief, is he? Anree mused.

  “A horde of my kinsmen charging into battle would make less noise than that.” Rhyll replied. “The inhabitants of Cursed Isle will think they have a new breed of monster on their hands.”

  The pair chuckled.

  A noise began to sound and grow. It was not noticed at first, Anree and Rhyll assuming it was just the wind. They continued their banter. The noise continued to grow; it was still fairly faint but definitely getting louder. With a sudden jerk, Conrad sat bolt upright.

  “Something is coming.” He proclaimed.

  “You were dreaming.” Rhyll stated dismissively.

  “I tell you, something approaches. It’s coming from the west. They all listened. Finally, Anree and Rhyll heard the noise clearly.

  “Wake the others.” Anree commanded. Conrad shook the others awake.

  “What’s the matter?” Cohen asked in a loud voice.

  “Shhh,” Conrad hissed, “there is something in the water.”

  The sound no longer seemed to be getting louder. It seemed like it had reached its crescendo. Suddenly, emerging from the mist, the battered remains of a large galleon came into view. It was right on top of them. Visibility was barely ten metres.

  “It’s going to hit.” Conrad screamed and he launched himself over the side of the boat into the ice cold sea.

  The ship crashed by the front of the boat. The waves it created pushed the boat away from its hull and prevented it from being dragged under. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the mist engulfed it.

  “That was a close one.” Rhyll said.

  “We were all here, Rhyll,” Cohen began, “you don’t need to state the bleeding obvious.”

  “One of us wasn’t here.” John said flatly. The group thought for a minute and then realised.

  “Conrad.” They all began shouting. The group continued to call his name time and time again. It seemed like an eternity before Conrad replied.

  “I’m....glub…here.” He said between swallowing mouthfuls of salt water. Rhyll steered the boat to collect him. John and Cohen pulled him in.

  “In the palace, the local merchants have brought some sorry looking fish to sell. You are by far the sorriest looking fish I ever saw.” Cohen said.

  The rest laughed. The only person who didn’t was Conrad. He was pale white, shivering and quickly becoming hypothermic. Anree moved to the rear of the boat to help him. She began by taking his clothes off. Conrad flinched as she began to remove his trousers.

  “I haven’t got any underwear on.” He proclaimed between chattering teeth.

  “I hope the fish didn’t feed on the tackle. It’s bad for their health.” Rhyll laughed.

  Anree laid a reassuring hand on Conrad’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, I am a professional.”

  Conrad relaxed and allowed Anree to remove his trousers. She piped up.

  “Blimey, I know the water is cold but that is ridiculous.”

  Everyone burst out laughing. Conrad snatched the blanket from by her side and covered himself up.

  “Conrad the Cowardly, I don’t think that is fitting.” Rhyll said. “How about, Conrad the Concertina?” Everyone erupted in fits of hysteria. Anree could not perform her healing spell for the split she had in her side. Amidst all the tension of the first leg of this adventure, they had all found something to warm their hearts; all except for Conrad that is.

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