by David Greer
Chapter 14
“A mountain? How does a mountain make a wave?” Grimey asked.
“By falling into the ocean.” Leo explained, his eyes wide with excitement.
“And how does a mountain fall down?” Grimey's brow furrowed and his mouth hung halfway open trying to grasp the concept.
The epiphany had Leo's blood rushing and his words moved just as fast. He explained how the rumble from weeks back must have shaken loose the mountainside. Leo recalled on his last voyage to Northern Isle one of the mountains along the northern Arlynd coast looked like it had been torn away. It must have fallen into the ocean and created a wave, just like the waves made by Grimey's splashing rock except the wave caused by a mountain would be much, much larger.
Grimey's mouth continued to hang halfway open. He understood how a falling mountain could create a wave but still struggled to understand how a rumble could cause a mountain to fall in the first place. Could some shaking really loosen up an entire mountain? If so, why did only one mountain fall and not all of them? How come Quarry mountain never collapsed in past rumbles? These questions coursed through the bearded hunter's mind and made his head sore. Perhaps it was better just to take Leo's word for it, Grimey figured.
“Sounds like a prophecy.” Kane chimed in flatly. There was a moment of silence, mostly due to the fact that Kane actually spoke on his own. Then Leo's eyes widened again. All the stories Leo grew up with about Orion, about legendary beasts, and his knowledge of celestial signs swirled in the islander's head. Recent events suddenly felt like they fit into a scripture he had once read but at the moment couldn't recall.
“Which prophecy, do you know?” Leo asked his cousin. Kane shrugged and shot Leo a look that said that's your specialty, not mine. Leo understood, he was after all the one who constantly buried himself in texts of history, myth, and legend while Kane occupied himself with other hobbies like maintaining his weapons and catching up on lost sleep. However, Leo was one of the few people, if not the only person, that believed what he read were prophecies and not simply stories meant to captivate young minds.
“An island destroyed by a wave. A mountain falling into water. And Orion has ignited.” Leo said more so to himself than to his companions. He folded his arms across his chest and brought one hand up to stroke his chin. It had to fit into something. Leo knew he had to consult his texts.
Grimey continued to stare at his companions with his mouth half open because he had no idea what they were talking about. Prophecy, falling mountains, and now something about Orion igniting. It was too much for the bearded hunter. “Okay, while you two figure this out I'm going to see what kind of ale this town has to offer.” He didn't think Leo even noticed him leaving.
The cobblestone roads that wound through Port were smooth and easy to follow. Horse-drawn carriages clattered by. Shops and houses made of stone, brick, and heavy wooden doors lined the streets. Small windows peered out of the houses and were difficult to see into while the shops presented large windows with displays of merchandise of all sorts. The streets bustled in the late afternoon.
Port town was too crowded for Grimey's liking. Traders rushed along hauling crates of goods. Vendors barked along the sides of the roads enticing passerby to stop and look at what they had to sell. One such vendor, a portly man wearing a stench of sour citrus, waved at Grimey offering a refreshing lime drink at a bargain price. Grimey had never seen a lime before. He thought it looked like a miniature lemon gone green. He also had no idea what the price of a lime was and put little stock into whatever bargain was being offered. He'd seen Smythe swindle unwitting traders at Quarry's market before and didn't want to fall victim to the same tricks. Besides, a lime drink wasn't what Grimey was after and if the portly vendor's odor reflected anything of the lime's flavor he didn't think he was missing out on much.
Grimey simply waved a dismissive hand at the portly man and carried on down the road. He heard the man bark at the next person to pass by. Grimey steadily made his way toward the center of town perplexed that he hadn't come across a tavern yet. But he noticed a distinct change in his surroundings. The sailors and merchants no longer carried crates and vendors along the roads became sparse. And there were more women dressed in scant, brightly colored outfits.
The road gave way to a wide open square. At its center was a small grassy park with several trees surrounding a central, ornate, three-tier stone fountain, which rose several meters out of a round basin. A continuous stream of water burst from the top of the fountain and trickled down its tiers back into the basin below.
The park was littered with couples lying together talking closely. Most were sailors and women in bright outfits.
“Welcome to the jardin d'amour,” one woman called out to Grimey. She wore bright pink shorts that clung to her hips and a loose white shirt that revealed her shoulders. “Do you need some company? Perhaps somebody to escort you around?” She made a gesture with her hand by rubbing her thumb along the side of her index finger, suggesting that an escort would cost the hunter. The woman was tall with long legs, long curly black hair, olive skin, and she was entirely too thin. What kind of escort would this malnourished woman make, Grimey wondered, and figured he'd be better off with just his axe.
“I'll find my own way.” Grimey replied. The woman pouted then rolled her eyes and turned away.
Shops lined the square, many of them displayed bright pink signs, some with pictures of hearts other with images of women. Crowds of men, mostly sailors, flowed steadily in and out. Business must have been good here but Grimey couldn't figure out what kind of shops they were. A bit downtrodden at his unfruitful search for a drink, he had nearly made his way around the square when finally he spotted a sign with the unmistakable picture of a frosty mug painted on it. Above the image the sign read Porters. At long last the hunter had found a tavern and charged through the doors.
Several long tables occupied the center of the floor while smaller round tables were arranged along the wall opposite the bar, which was tended by three men. A high ceiling gave the effect that the tavern was more spacious than it really was, even still, Grimey noted that Porters was at least twice the size of White Rock and filled with more than twice the people. The wooden floor creaked beneath the bearded hunter's feet as he made his way to an open stool at the bar. It wasn't difficult to negotiate through the crowd as people parted at the sight of the large burly figure with a scarred eye and an axe strapped to his back. They practically dove out of his way.
A thickset man with broad shoulders and a bushy black mustache eyed Grimey from the opposite side of the bar. He took stock of the axe and the hatchets strewn about his customer's belts and leaned forward.
“Don't get too many hunters here. What can I get you?”
“Some ale, lad.”
The bartender nodded and reached below the bar for a clean mug. He took a step to the side and opened a tap from one of the many casks of ale lined up below the bar. Ale flowed smoothly as it poured from the keg into the mug. The bartender set the mug, now filled with a dark amber liquid, onto the bar and slid it to Grimey's eager hand. The hunter examined the drink's color and the foamy head for just a moment and, with a smile, took a long draught. Grimey smacked his lips together in satisfaction and took another drink. Half the mug was drained.
While Grimey relished in his drink the bartender moved away to tend to other customers but he kept a watchful eye on the burly hunter. Of course Port had hunters like everywhere else but they, rarely, if ever, ventured into the town square. And this hunter was surely not from Port. It was even rarer for a traveling hunter to pass through Port's town square. Not to mention that Grimey was perhaps the most menacing looking hunter anybody in the tavern had ever seen. Many other drinkers took notice of the armed man gulping down his ale and whispered to each other with suspicious eyes. Grimey, however, noticed not a thing. He was blissfully enjoying his ale.
“You need a refill there?” The bartender had noticed Grimey's empty
mug. The hunter nodded with a grin and the bartender filled another mug. “So what brings you this way?”
“The ale. Haven't had a drink in a while.” Grimey said between gulps. “You know lad, there aren't too many taverns in this town. What's with that?”
“Most of the drinking is down on the docks. First time in Port?” The bartender asked.
“Aye.”
The bartender took a closer look at Grimey. The way he wrapped his large hand around the mug instead of grasping the handle and the way he hunched over the amber elixir. The bartender concluded that his customer was legitimately here for a drink and not for any other business that goes on at the town square. If it really was his first time in Port he may not know about the dock taverns, the bartender figured.
“So where are you from, my friend?”
“Quarry Town.”
“Ah I've heard of that place. In the Woodlawns, marked by a large white mountain they say.”
“Aye, the town is named after that mountain.”
“And I take it you're one of the hunters there?” Another customer approached the bar for a drink, “What can I get you sir?”
“Umm, know what? Nevermind, I'm okay.” The man said when he caught a glimpse of Grimey. He then slowly backed away from the large man with an axe. The bartender shrugged and turned his attention back to Grimey.
“You'd think the lad never saw a hunter before.” Grimey said.
“Yeah well, hunters can be easily mistaken for mercenaries. And we don't get too many hunters in this part of town.” The bartender said.
“Aye, but you knew me as a hunter.”
“Well of course. You don't ever call out a mercenary for what they really are.” The bartender said with a coy grin, “Besides, mercenaries don't usually chat at the bar.”
Grimey lifted his mug and took another gulp. “Ahh. Only two things I love more than good ale: Hunting and working in the rock.” The bartender gave a curious look. “When I'm not hunting I work in the white mountain cutting away rock for stone workers.”
The bartender noticed the hunter's calloused hands. This hunter was an honest one, he figured. “Well it's nice to have you here. The name's Borland. This my tavern. Holler if you need anything.” Borland gave a respectful nod and moved away to clean some dirty glasses.
Grimey sat alone with his thoughts and his ale. He had really done it and left home. It was almost unbelievable. Leaving Quarry for an extended period of time and traveling off. Sure he had camped in the Woodlands and visited Woodlawn Village for days at a time but he never went beyond those woods in ages. In fact, Grimey couldn't recall ever leaving Woodlawn since he first arrived there all those years ago. He was so young the beard was barely a shadow on his face.
Quarry town. Grimey missed his home and the white mountain. The weather had been clear lately, perfect for hacking rock to be taken to his workshop. There it would be chiseled and shaped, perhaps into a stone axe, a face, a tree, or a miniature of Quarry Mountain. The possibilities were endless. Work hard during the day and then relax with an ale at the White Rock Tavern, that's how Grimey liked it. He'd probably be there at that very moment, the hunter mused to himself as he took another swig from his mug. The ale at Port was good. Borland poured a good one.
At that moment Borland returned and slammed a tankard onto the bar, cutting off Grimey's train of though. The bartender then pulled out two small glasses.
“Try some of this, on the house.” Borland said. “It's my own special spirit. Make it myself.”
Grimey watched curiously as the bartender poured out a dark amber liquid which swirled into the glass. Borland filled both glasses halfway and handed Grimey one of them. The hunter took a sniff. It was a strong spirit with an earthy scent which slightly singed his nostrils. The two clanked their glasses together and emptied them in one gulp. It tasted of an earthy bitterness with notes of spices, perhaps cinnamon. The drink conjured a fire in the hunter's mouth which continued to ignite all the way down past his throat. Both men took in a sharp breath to let the air cool the flames.
“Good stuff. Strong.” Grimey said. He immediately felt the heat of the drink spread throughout his chest and limbs filling him with warmth. It was strangely comforting.
“So where you headed Quarry hunter?” Borland asked.
“The name's Grimey.”
“So where you headed Grimey?”
“Here.”
“And what business do you have in Port?” Borland asked with a confused look.
“None.”
Borland's face went from confusion to anguish. He opened his mouth to speak but words wouldn't come out.
“The lads I came with have business here.” Grimey explained. He went on and told Borland about Northern Isle, Leo and Kane, and how Leo's search for answers led them to Port.
“Sounds dreadful.” Borland said. “A whole island wiped out. Must have been a big splash to make that wave.”
“Leo thinks a mountain fell into the ocean. Can you believe that?”
“A mountain? Well that would do it. Be a helluva splash.” Borland said with a nod.
Grimey was baffled. Borland accepted the idea so casually. Then it struck Grimey that it would be the simplest explanation. A mountain would certainly make a big splash. The hunter grew more comfortable with the idea as Borland poured them another round from his tankard.
“A mountain.” Grimey said more to himself than to Borland, “I guess I can believe it.”
-** --*