by Jeff Wheeler
“Up the rigging this way, my lady,” Captain Pyne said. He let her go first and followed behind. She had climbed up the rigging more than once and loved the feeling of being up in the crow’s nest at the apex of the mast. Gripping the ropes one by one as she climbed, she felt exhilarated as the wind streamed through her hair. When she reached the top, the sailor in the nest gripped her wrist and helped her climb up.
“Over yonder, my lady,” the sailor said in a rough but respectful manner. “I don’t quite know what to make of it. I’ve seen naught like it in all my years at sea.”
Sinia waited for Captain Pyne and swept the hair from her face as she gazed at the horizon. The island was a verdant paradise, and she could hear the noise of birds even from the distance. To her amazement, though, much of the island was partially submerged. She could see the rocks and reefs below the clear blue water. There was a whitish outline in the water, marking the boundaries of the island.
That was when she saw it.
There was a deep gulf off the western sprit of land, and what appeared to be a massive underwater waterfall, as if the entire ocean were draining into that singular point. The waters in the chasm were an astounding shade of blue and green with white-capped foam. It was like staring off a cliff at a waterfall, except it was all beneath the surface of the sea. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have understood that such a thing was even possible.
“Do you see it, my lady? Do you see it?” the sailor said.
“It’s the entrance to the Deep Fathoms,” Sinia whispered, feeling her heart sear with the truth of the words. The underwater trench was wide enough to sink a ship much larger than theirs.
“What do we do, my lady?” Captain Pyne asked her. He wiped his mouth on his forearm, looking down at the scene they were drawing toward.
She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet deep inside her. The current was dragging the ship toward the gulf.
“That is our destination, Captain,” she said, opening her eyes and fixing him with her gaze. “We take the ship into it.”
“Going in is the easy part,” he said nervously. “But my lady—how . . . how do we get out? Isn’t the Deep Fathoms the land of the dead?”
She stared at the surging surf and the gaping breach. She felt drawn to it, pulled inexorably to the land of her prebirth.
“It is more than that, Captain,” she said softly, giving him a comforting touch on his arm. “It is much more than that. The Fountain is calling me home. I can hear its music. Will we not obey its summons?”
The captain swallowed. “Aye, my lady. If you say so.”
By the time they reached the bottom of the mast pole, the rest of the crew had caught sight of the otherworldly waterfall. A hush of reverence came over the crew as each man stood watching the spectacle. Sinia stood by the captain at the helm, staring at the waters, listening to the crash and noise of the surf. The ship was bobbing in the waves, rising and falling in yawning pitches. She felt her stomach thrill with anticipation.
“Steady, Captain,” she said as he heaved his muscles against the helm to steer them. She could hear the music growing louder. The crew was silent, some biting their fists to keep from crying out in fear. She saw the looks on their faces, saw the terror mingled with hope.
Sinia gripped one of the sturdy peg spokes of the helm, squeezing it as the ship lunged down and up. The roar of the gulf was deafening, but she still heard the music of the Deep Fathoms.
A small Sinia butterfly flew before her face, catching her gaze. She smiled at it, feeling serene.
The ship dipped into the yawning gulf of water and lurched into the chasm.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While doing research for the Kingfountain series, I came across several ideas that helped inspire the plot. First, there was a belief in the late fifteenth century of a mythical land of Nestorian Christians ruled by an ageless king named Prester John. There are many legends and books written about this person, which I studied, tales of rivers that could flow backward and mysterious items of magic. But it was reading some of the Arthurian legends within the Merlin Vulgate texts that I became acquainted with the details of the legend of Galehaut and how he invaded Arthur’s realm and sought to make himself king. Lancelot, in disguise, had helped Arthur prevent a crushing defeat. Galehaut was so impressed by Lancelot that he willingly gave up his conquest and submitted himself to the king.
I loved this story idea and retold the legend, shaping the character of Gahalatine off this “uncrowned king.” But I also came across a wonderful book by Gavin Menzies called 1423: The Year China Discovered America. It’s an amazing history of a period of discovery that I had never known about, and it inspired the treasure ships and the armada and the construction of the Forbidden Court. I based the East Kingdoms on the emperors of China during this period of our world’s history.
Our world has an interesting and rich history of female warriors who became legends. I’ve always been inspired by Joan of Arc, but have since discovered many other women warriors who were known to be the best fighters in their respective kingdoms. Women like Turandot, Khutulun, and Brynhildr. Their stories have been told over and over throughout history, much like Owen’s observation that history seems to keep repeating itself.
But there is another famous woman from the Arthurian legends, one who has a story that rivals and conflicts with Lancelot’s. Morgan le Fay is the one who helped destroy Arthur in the end. Interestingly, according to the legends, the wounded Arthur was carried away on a boat to the Isle of Avalon. Legend says he is still buried there. That spot today is known as the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. I learned this studying the lore of Glastonbury while writing The Wretched of Muirwood. Muirwood Abbey was based on that place.
Stay tuned for the adventure to continue and the secrets to be revealed at last in The Forsaken Throne.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people involved in the production of my books. I literally cannot do this without the help and support of my brilliant editorial team (Jason, Angela, Wanda), my early readers (Robin, Karen, Shannon, Emily, Sunil), and my friends and family who have supported me over many years and many books (way too many to list them all!). Thank you. But I feel especially blessed to have the career I always dreamed of. I’d like to thank the Lord for helping make this all happen in ways I could never have imagined. I too am a great believer that “as [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7). I hope you continue to enjoy what I think about!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Mica Sloan
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Jeff Wheeler took an early retirement from his career at Intel in 2014 to write full-time. He is, most importantly, a husband, a father, and a devout member of his church. He is often seen roaming hills with oak trees and granite boulders in California or in any number of the state’s majestic redwood groves. He is also the founder of Deep Magic: The E-zine of Clean Fantasy and Science Fiction. Find out more about Deep Magic online at www.deepmagic.co, and visit Jeff at www.jeff-wheeler.com.