Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the Hu Ba Hou - Part One: The Fabled Crest

by Gerrard Wllson

  Chapter Five - The Old Boat

  26th December.

  Next morning, the sun rose at the same time as the day before. It was another glorious day – every day was a good day in Summerland, or so they had thought.

  In bed, sitting up, looking out from the small, leaded window, at the perfect new morning, Wot could see how easily it must have been for Miafra, with his charms, promises and charisma, to fool the people of Onisha. After dressing himself, Wot strolled across the landing, to the room in which Nott had been sleeping. Just as he was about to rap on the door, to see if he was awake, the expression, do not judge a book by its cover, entered his mind. Feeling it might somehow be relevant, he took out his book and recorded the words dutifully within. Then knocking on the door, he said, “Nott, are you awake?”

  “I am now,” he tersely replied.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you; I will go back and leave you in peace.”

  “Come in, come in, it’s all right. I really was awake,” Nott told him impatiently.

  On opening the bedroom door Wot saw the strangest of spectacle. His friend was sitting cross-legged in front of the wall, staring at that wallpaper again.

  “Why is it,” Nott remarked, “I can’t keep my eyes off this hideous paper?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “I know it’s ghastly, but there is something about it that intrigues me, so. I mean, just look at it! The pattern does not even match up, in places. Look, at this blue swirl, it should finish here, but it does not – it simply continues. It’s the same over here with this green one, then here and again over here. I feel this means something…but I can’t put my finger on it - it’s driving me bananas, Wot!”

  Despite thinking his friend was acting quite strange – even for him, Wot smiled. Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you coming downstairs for breakfast?”

  “No, I think I will give it a miss, cereal that tastes of sawdust isn’t very appealing two days in a row.”

  “It’s not sawdust, I mean cereal. It’s a wonderful fry-up. I can smell it from here! There are sausages, fried-eggs, puddings, rashers and even mushrooms! If you’re not going to get some, I certainly am.” Then he set off for the stairs.

  Wot’s description of breakfast puzzled Nott no end, because on the previous morning all that he had been able to find was a lone box of cereal that was definitely beyond its sell by date. However, if it was true – the fry up, where had all the ingredients come from? At that point, the wonderful aroma of fried bread wafted past Nott’s nostrils. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stood up, settled his suit, straightened his tie and then opened the door, following the aroma. Descending the stairs, Nott found himself caught, captured by the food’s alluring spell.

  “There are white puddings and hash browns to boot!” he decreed, quickening his pace. “This is the breakfast I should have had yesterday,” he added, reaching ground level. Reaching the door of the kitchen, Nott cautiously turned the handle and then pushed it open. The spectacle that greeted him was a sight for sore eyes, for there was food everywhere! He felt like a child in a sweet factory. Hesitating, thinking it might all be a figment of his imagination, tentatively approaching the table, he touched one of the sausages. “It’s real!” he creed out. “It’s really real!”

  Grabbing hold of a plate, he wondered what he should choose first, for there were so many huge serving dishes, each one competing with its neighbour to present the best display. Umahia and Wot were so engrossed in their meals they hardly noticed him. Determined to get his share of the wonderful feast, Nott leaned across the table, trying to lift up a plate. It felt terribly heavy in his small hands. Noticing his friend and the predicament he was in, Wot helped him by placing it in a free position on the table.

  “Thanks old buddy,” said Nott as he began helping himself to the food. He took six sausages, seven rashers, three fried-eggs and an unknown quantity of hash browns. He piled the food high; like a small mountain, paying special attention to the wonderfully aromatic white puddings, which he piled into another, smaller mountain of their own. There was so much food piled high on is plate, it kept falling off, but he continued to pile more on regardless. When he thought no one was watching, he put a few extra hash browns in his suit pockets – for later. He was having the time of his life; he tried everything, including four full cups of tea and two of coffee. Eventually, when he could eat no more, Nott rested in his chair and let out a loud burp, “Whoops, sorry!” he said. “That was sure good! I really needed it! But where did it all come from?” he asked. “Yesterday there was nothing here in the kitchen – I am certain of it!”

  Umahia, as per usual, took his time to reply, but when he did, he said, “You are still thinking in the ways of Earth. This you must stop. While you are here, in Onisha, you must think differently. Remember, that which I have already told you – In Onisha the power of Rhyme is an equal to the power of substance. If you want breakfast, say the words that best describe your feelings towards this need, but say it as a Rhyme – and always remember these words, these Rhymes consist of so much more than simple poetry. For example, if you would like a glass of water to wash your breakfast down, say it, but as a Mystic Rhyme. It will be given you... go on, then, try it!”

  Nott felt incredibly awkward, like a child at school, when asked to recite the seven times table, without having learnt it, first. Trying to compose himself, he made a brave attempt, saying…

  “Water, water everywhere,

  But not a drop to drink.”

  A very small man, completely dressed in green, carrying a large watering can suddenly appeared, rushing into the kitchen via the back door. Running like the dickens, he climbed up the back of Nott’s chair, perched atop it and emptied the entire contents of the watering can over Nott’s head. Then, just as quickly, he made his way down to the floor, whizzed out the back door and was gone. Taken completely by surprise, Nott sat there, shocked, in sheer disbelief of what had just happened.

  In an effort to escape the deluge, Wot had jumped away from the table, but some of the watery onslaught had splashed onto him. Umahia, who had a good idea that something like this might happen, had retreated to a safe distance. As for Nott, well, he just sat there in shock, unable to come to terms with what the little man had just done to him.

  After some embarrassing and wet minutes, sitting in the chair, Nott finally stood up and he shouted, “Why did that happen?” Over dramatising the situation, as per usual, he added, “I could have been drowned, you know!” At this remark, Umahia and Wot burst out laughing. Nott, still dripping onto the kitchen floor, could not decide if he should laugh or cry. He did eventually see the funny side, and joined in the laughter, but he was still very wet!

  “Here, dry yourselves with these,” said Umahia, throwing the two friends a towel each.

  When they were both dry, Umahia said, “I hope you have learned a valuable lesson, Nott. That you can now understand – and fully appreciate how powerful Mystic Rhyme can be. This is the very same power that Miafra has taken from us, from the people, my people, when he changed their perceptions of reality. This is why I said use your powers and gifts wisely, lest you do yourselves more harm than good.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the message,” he replied. “Just tell me who that little man was? Because when I get my hands on him, I’ll–”

  “He is one of The Orlu,” said Umahia, cutting him off.

  “The who?”

  “The Orlu. They are a separate race here in Onisha. They provide us with sustenance and drink. Whenever you need food or drink, while here in Onisha, they will bring it to you, if you call them correctly that is.”

  “That’s very handy,” said Nott. “ I am sure they will also be of great use to us in our fight against Miaf–”

  Umahia, cut him off, said, “No! They cannot help with your fight! That is not their way! Seeing the Orlu as no threat, Miafra allows them to go about their usual business. However, if their role were ever to change, he
would kill them with no hesitation at all. Never ask for anything more than food and drink from The Orlu! And remember, use the words carefully.”

  “Perhaps, in a strange way, all that water was good for me,” said Nott, looking quite pleased with himself. Umahia and Wot listened curiously as he continued, “When I was sitting there, getting a soaking, it came to me.”

  “What came to you?” Wot asked.

  “Why, the meaning of the blue swirls on that awful wallpaper upstairs, of course.” Wot leaned forward, listening intently. “Those blue swirls represent the Blue River. It’s all so clear to me; I can’t understand why I didn’t see it before. Overlooking the position where the Blue River joins with the Green, is the Fabled Crest, on top of which is the Stone of Directions. That is the meaning of Green Valley of Cross River, which I mentioned earlier … The Blue River is our first destination - that is where we shall find the Amulet of Oxmosis… I can’t understand why I didn’t realise that before?”

  “You are just beginning to learn how to use your powers,” said Umahia reassuringly. “As time passes you will improve and see things ever more clearly,”

  “I think you are great figuring that out,” said Wot. “What use have I been? Little or none I might add, and may never be. All I have is my silly poetry.”

  “That poetry, and the way you use it, can, and perhaps will, mean this difference between defeating Miafra or not,” said Umahia, ominously. “Never underestimate this – your life may well depend on it, and sooner than you think. Now, as I said to you last night, you have much ahead of you, listen carefully…”

  Again, Umahia told them that once they have left the island, he would be of little or no help to them. They would for all intents and purposes be on their own, until they had found and secured into their safe possession the Amulet of Oxmosis.

  “I feel reassured,” said Umahia in a surprisingly upbeat tone, “now that you are already beginning to work things out for yourselves. Without my help, you have seen the way forward. I could have told you this, but did not have to – it is a good sign! Now heed me wisely as I explain the three-pronged counteroffensive that I envisaged while beneath the Tree of Knowledge.” The two friends edged closer. Umahia continued, he said, “After you have secured the amulet you will be ready for the first prong of our counter offensive – to restore time.”

  Interrupting hi, Wot said, “My gut feeling tells me that is a whole lot easier to say than it will be to do!”

  “Yes, that is true my friend,” answered Umahia. “But there are no other options – you must restore time.” With that, he walked away from them, saying, “You must be away, we cannot waste any more time or there will be no time left to waste.”

  “We must be away?” said Nott. “I’m still waiting to hear about the three-pronged counter attack! As far as my ears are concerned, you only told about one of the prongs!”

  “You know all you need to know,” Umahia answered. “I will speak to you again, on your journey. Now hurry, you must head for the coast and find a means of transportation across the Sea of Loneliness.”

  The two friends reluctantly bidding the old man goodbye, set off down the dusty track, with Wot wondering how far it was, with Nott knowing the answer but forgetting to tell him, and with both of them wondering if they would have to walk the entire length on foot.

  Apart from the garden around the old house, this was the first glimpse of the island Wot and Nott had actually seen. It was quite beautiful in a wild sort of way. As they walked along the track, they saw an abundance of flowering trees, shrubs, bushes, and all of them so exotic. There was hardly a vacant space of ground left that was not colonised by at least one of them. The trees, so different from those on Earth, were growing in weirdly odd ways. Some gloriously covered in orange leaves, as if it were autumn. Others, sporting luminous green trunks and branches, had no leaves at all. One variety growing in great abundance, that Nott particularly admired, resembled overgrown flowers rather than trees. They were so full of luxuriant, vibrant life the two friends were certain they could see the young saplings growing before their very eyes. They resembled tall, thin hands sticking out from the ground, upon which even longer, thinner fingers balanced. These fingers – branches – sported exquisite flowers with tremendously long red and yellow petals, waving softly in the gentle breeze.

  Much of this flora was growing amidst lush wildflower meadows similar to those of bygone days on Earth. Barely visible through this vibrant growth, stonewalls, old and half tumbled down, languished. There were also a few houses, here and there, but with no signs of life visible from any of them.

  Flying above their heads, in the clear blue sky, there were insects and birds of every description. There were luminescent dragonflies as big as eagles, hovering stationary, their enormous wings buzzed effortlessly. The lads marvelled at this spectacle, until one of these dragonflies headed directly towards them.

  “Duck!” shouted Nott, as the giant dragonfly zoomed towards them. Wot, however, was too slow to avoid the oncoming insect. It struck him squarely in the chest, throwing him unceremoniously to the ground. The giant insect, apparently unfazed by the crash, continued without a wing out of place. “Strange creatures,” he thought, feeling rather silly that an insect had toppled him.

  As well as the giant dragonflies, there were butterflies as large as dinner plates. They flew about unhurriedly, lazily, almost in slow motion. There were caterpillars with only two sets of legs, one at each end. Nott watched them, fascinated at how they propelled themselves, drawing both ends of their soft bodies together, like a spring, and then releasing the tension, catapulting themselves along. Scratching his head, he wondered how the insects could have any hope of knowing where they were heading, next. There were many other strange looking insects buzzing back and forth, far too many to mention here, and all of them so different from those upon Earth.

  Lastly, and perhaps the most surprising of all, were the birds. Some of the more common varieties on Earth were represented, such as sparrows (though they were green) and blackbirds (with two separate black and white varieties). There were also crows, sporting human-like features and characteristics, appearing more like little old men than birds. An abundance of exotic parrots was in evidence, and all competing for brilliance of colour. The oddest, the most peculiar and definitely the most outlandish of them all, were the other ‘birds’. Just the sight of them made the two friends rub their eyes, in sheer disbelief of what they were seeing. The reason for this was they were not really birds at all. They were actually fish, and flying ones at that! These birds – fish – were of the same golden colour as common goldfish on Earth. The resemblance to goldfish, however, finished with that, in every other way they were so very different. They were much larger than goldfish, anything from several inches up to a yard in length. Yes, they really were fish, albeit of a thin variety, flying through the air with great ease. To support their aerial endeavours each fish had a set of particularly large fins that they used in the same way as birds use their wings. Although these creatures rarely strayed too far from the areas of water upon which they depended to breath, they were nevertheless an amazing sight. For many minutes, the two friends watched in silent wonder. Suddenly, remembering the journey ahead, Wot said, “Come on old friend we still have a sea to cross.”

  As he began walking along the dusty track, Wot’s thoughts drifted to how lucky he has been to have such a good friend as Nott. Yes, he was cranky as times, and abrupt, but he was proud to call him his friend, a person whom he would trust with his life, and he was sure the feeling was mutual.

  As Nott walked along, the only thoughts he had were of the wonderful breakfast that morning, and would he be able to conjure up anything near as good for tomorrow’s, or indeed even for tea that evening, without getting another soaking in the process, that is.

  The sun was low in the sky when they reached the coast. In all that time, they had not seen another living person. Finding a comfort
able, mossy patch beneath a tree Wot sat down. “No plums on this one,” he remarked, realising how hungry he was.

  Taking this as his opportunity to see if he could conjure up a decent meal, Nott said, “Right, Wot, watch me and see how I get on this time, old buddy!”

  “Use the words carefully! I don’t want to be covered in another shower of water, food, or anything else for that matter,” said Wot.

  “I know, I know!” Nott hissed, “And for your information neither do I!”

  “Well, this is your opportunity, old friend,” said Wot, edging further under the tree. “Go for it, and the best of British luck.”

  More cautious than before, knowing the sort of repercussions that might occur if he got it wrong, Nott went over the words quietly to himself, before saying them aloud. Sitting upon the ground, he said…

  “A meal for two we need right now,

  A meal with bread and butter,

  A pot of tea with milk and sugar,

  Just that and no more bother.”

  Listening, the two friends heard the sound of feet; feet running at great speed somewhere in the distance. At first, the two Outlanders could not see anything, and they wondered where they were. Suddenly, several little people appeared, heading directly toward the two outlanders. Whizzing around them at a tremendously fast speed, they had cups and plates, bread and milk, in fact all the items requested by Nott who sat there quite gob-smacked. One of the little people laid a large, round cloth upon the ground; others placed all the items upon it. No sooner had they completed this task, they all whizzed away, gone.

  “Wow! Now that’s what I call service,” said Wot.

  Feeling quite chuffed, lifting the teapot, Nott asked, “Tea anyone?”

  When they had finished eating, Nott said, “That was the best tasting bread and tea that I have ever had!”

  “You’re welcome,” someone replied from within the shade of undergrowth. Then, as quick as before, the selfsame little people reappeared, clearing everything away before disappearing again.

  “I’m beginning to like it here,” said Nott, watching the last of the little people disappear behind a shrubby bush.

  “Don’t get too relaxed, Nott. Remember what we have come here to do,” Wot reminded him.

  “I know, I know,” Nott replied, annoyed that eat bread is so soon forgotten.

  Gazing up at the rapidly darkening sky, Wot said, “I think it might be safer if we make our way across the sea by night, under the cover of darkness. Come on, follow me, we need a boat.” Nott obediently followed.

  Wandering along the seafront, searching for anything they might use to cross the lonely sea, the two friends found nothing even faintly resembling a boat.

  Further down the coast, the ground rose into a small hillock, a tremendously overgrown hillock.

  “That looks interesting,” said Wot, pointing it out to his friend. A pair of yellow eyes, peeping from the undergrowth, hooted at them.

  “What was that?” Nott asked, frightened.

  “It’s only an owl,” Wot laughed.

  By the time Nott had wrenched his eyes away from the yellow ones, his friend was disappearing fast into the undergrowth. Shouting, calling him, he said, “Hey! Wait for me!”

  Meanwhile, in The Dome of the People Miafra paced the floors, frustrated. The transference of Umahia’s powers, to him, was proceeding slowly, far too slowly for his liking. Something was clearly wrong. Moreover, if something was indeed wrong, he had to find out what the problem was, and then fix it.

  Calling together his loyal circle of governors, Miafra informed them that all was not as it should be; that the progress of the third and final part of his plan was far too slow.

  “Something is working against my influence,” he said loud and slow, emphasising the point. Ordering his governors to return to their regions, Miafra instructed them to enlist the help of the people, the poor, wretched, unquestioning people in his quest to find out exactly what the problem was. The people were to be his pawns, his spies – expendable items – in his quest for total power, total control. If they saw anything unusual, anything at all that seemed out of place in the perfect world he had created, they were to inform his governors about it. Having dispatched his governors, Miafra again paced the corridors once again…

  The two stalwart comrades, forcing their way deeper into the thick, vegetation surrounding the hillock, made slow progress. Undeterred, Wot pioneered a path for his smaller friend. As they advanced deeper into the undergrowth, the small amount of light still left in the late evening sky disappeared behind them. Finally, in one huge effort, Wot broke through the undergrowth, into the hillock’s mysterious interior.

  Standing on the inside of the mysterious hillock, the two friends gazed in amazement. You see, the interior, circular in construction like the mound outside, consisted of one singular room, and what a strange room it was. It reminded Nott of the igloos the Eskimos construct from blocks of frozen snow, but in this instance, the blocks were hard, unyielding stone.

  As their eyes became accustomed to the darkened conditions, more details of the construction became apparent to them. “I think this is a boathouse, of sorts,” said Wot, walking a few step ahead of his friend.

  “It used to be a boathouse,” Nott said dryly.

  Wot inspected the room; the sturdy, rock structure was in good repair, despite its all too obvious age – and neglect. However, the fixtures and fitments were another matter altogether. They were falling to pieces. Many of them had collapsed completely, spewing their contents across the dusty damp floor. Amidst all this mess, in the very centre of the building, one single item caught their attention. It was a large object, covered by a thick dust-laden sheet.

  “That looks quite interesting,” said Wot. Approaching it, he pulled away the cover, setting free a thick layer of dust that soon filled the entire room. As the dust entered the Outlanders’ lungs, it caused them to cough and splutter uncontrollably. Retreating to the curved, outer wall, trying to avoid the irritating cloud, they waited for it to settle, and finally see the item that had been uncovered.

  “No one must have been in here for years!” said Nott, wiping the dust from his face with his hanky. “You know, you could have wiped the dust off that tarpaulin, first!”

  “Sorry.” Wot replied, knowing that he was right.

  As the fine particles began to settle and the air became more breathable, the two Outlanders realised just what had been uncovered – and they were speechless. Right there, in front of them, was their means of travel across the Sea of Loneliness – a boat, and what a grand boat it was! At least thirty feet in length, it had a cabin at its centre. Inside the cabin, there were three rows of ornately carved wooden seats, the last row being the most ornate. There was a small seat at the bow end of the vessel, and another at the stern. These were of plain construction. The same type of carvings as those on the seats inside the cabin, covered every square inch of the outside of the vessel, both cabin and hull, both adorned and embellished by thousands upon thousands of pieces of painted glass and mirrors. The passage of time had done little to diminish its sumptuous ambience. It was a work of fine art, and a wonder to behold. The two friends, walking slowly alongside the boat, inspected it in detail…

  “This is amazing,” said Wot, running his hand along the hull, marvelling at the artisanship, “All the work that went into this one craft – it must have cost a fortune!”

  “It’s a bit over the top, alright,” said Nott. “They mustn’t have had much to do, back then, when they could spend so much time making boats like this.” Pointing at its interior, to the very ornate rear seat to the rear of the cabin, Nott continued. “I would be embarrassed to travel in something like this.” It was only then did he notice a gleam in Wot’s eye, and realise that his friend had exactly that in mind.

  “Travel we must, my good friend,” said Wot. “And soon!”

  “Not on your Nelly!” Nott reiterated. “This
boat must be as old as Umahia himself, perhaps older! It will almost certainly sink the instant it touches the water. Look at this bit!” he said, pointing to a piece of decorative carving. “It’s falling away in my hand!” With a bit of gentle persuasion, he broke it off. Nott continued with his protestations, “Have you even considered all those pieces of painted glass and mirrors? We will be seen for miles, while out there in the sea!” Nott’s argument, however, fell on deaf ears; Wot had made up his mind.

  Picking up a dusty piece of cloth, Wot searched around until he had found a bucket and a length of rope. “Look below, down there,” he said, pointing in the front of the vessel, while handing them to Nott.

  Feeling very uncooperative, Nott asked, “See what?”

  “The ramp!” Wot replied. “There is water down there. Fill up the bucket, and then wipe down the boat. We need to remove all this dust, to see what shape she is in.”

  Although he accepted the bucket, Nott mumbled begrudgingly under his breath, “I doubt this old thing is capable of holding even one pint of water.” “The only thing this appears capable of holding is air!” His protests, however, once again fell on deaf ears. After tying the rope to the bucket, Nott leaned over the banister and lowered it into water.

  Pulling it up, inspecting the bucket for leaks, Nott was ecstatic to see water leaking out from it. He was about to complain, to say that it was of no use, then remembering how pigheaded his friend could be, if he felt so inclined, he decided to get on with the job as best he could. As he wiped away the years of dust, Nott calmed down somewhat and actually felt a tad embarrassed by his recent outburst, so by way of apologising, he said, “What exactly is this place, anyway? And why do you think this boat is so ornate?”

  Wot answered, but it Umahia’s voice that spoke, “This was the last Emperor’s boathouse,” the voice droned. “So engrossed was he in his own magnitude and importance, he had this facility constructed to reflect his glory – for his own perfect pleasure, to parade himself in front of his people. They made this vessel out of Yola tree wood. They are the ones you admired, Nott, on your walk along the track; the ones that resemble upturned hands. They grow faster than any other type of tree in Onisha. While they are young and growing fast, it is a soft wood, but as the tree matures, it turns into the hardest wood known to us. No one ever cuts cut down a healthy specimen. Only when a tree dies do we harvest its wood. Sadly, the last Emperor became so far removed from the ways of the land, the ways of the people, he ordered the trees used in the construction of this boat to be cut down, whether they were alive or not. It is a good omen,” said Umahia, “they will play a part in the downfall of the new Emperor. This boat will not let you down.”

  Confused by the voice of Umahia emerging from the lips of his friend, Nott tried as best he could to carry on with the conversation, “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked.

  This time is was Wot who replied, “Yes, you can go down the ramp and open the doors. Time is short, we must depart.”

  “Are you alright?” Nott asked, surprised that Umahia’s voice had ceased so abruptly.

  “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he replied, turning his attention to the long, dark ramp and rippling waters beneath its water-soaked doors.

  Despite treading ever so carefully on the steep ramp, Nott suddenly lost his footing. Landing heavily on his back, he slid, feet-first, towards the water-soaked doors. BANG! He struck them at full speed, smashing them apart, on his way out to the cold, cruel sea.

  “Why is it me who is always getting soaked?” he complained, treading water. “How come Wot never gets a ducking?” he asked, splashing the water despairingly.

  Wot heard nothing of this, above, inside the boathouse, busy readying the vessel for its first trip in five hundred years, he was in a world of his own.

  After Nott had made it back up the slippery ramp, water dripping from the brim of his hat and his clothes, he coughed trying to get Wot’s attention.

  Seeing him, he said, “What on earth happened to you?”

  “Didn’t you hear the bang?”

  “Bang? What bang?”

  “Why, the bang when I hit the... Oh never mind, is everything ready?”

  “Everything is ready and waiting,” Wot replied (again in the voice of Umahia).

  Opening his mouth, about to ask Umahia why the all the ‘comings and goings,’ Nott had no opportunity, for the voice continued, saying, “You are to proceed across the Sea of Loneliness. On your arrival in Onisha proper, you must remember to trust no one, for fear it is the eyes and ears of Miafra. Avoid the roads; travel cross-country wherever possible. Upon reaching the Fabled Crest seek the Stone of Directions.” Through the eyes of Wot, Umahia gazed down at the small figure of Nott before him, and said, “Don’t be afraid, Nott, I will be in touch again, later.” Wot continued speaking, but now in his normal voice – Umahia had gone. “Get in the boat, Nott, we must depart,” he said.

  The two Outlanders clambered into the old vessel. Nott sat on one of the ornate seats to the rear of the cabin. His friend stood at the stern.

  “Hold on tightly,” said Wot, “it might be a bit bumpy at first.” With that, he untied the two heavy ropes that were holding the old boat in position. Nothing happened; the boat moved not an inch down the ramp.

  Raising a hand, to offer a suggestion, Nott fell off his seat as the boat suddenly took off. WHOOSH, it sped down the ramp fast, faster, ever faster. Hurtling past the broken doors, it splashed heavily into the dark cold waters beyond, heading fast out to sea.

  The boat no sooner cleared the overgrown hillock than a thick fog descended, engulfing both vessel and its startled occupants. For several minutes, the only sound they heard was of rippling water under the floorboards, and even this became quieter and quieter as the boat began to lose speed.

  “Are we slowing down?” Nott asked in a whisper. Wot made no reply. “We are slowing down,” Nott cried out. The boat continued to slow for several more minutes until it finally came to a complete halt. The two friends, straining hard to see each other through the thick, pea soup fog, whispered in unison, “We have stopped?” They sat, afraid to speak, afraid to answer their very own question. Despite them saying nothing, it was true they had stopped. They were lost, adrift in the lonely sea.

  “We are doomed I tell you, doomed!” Nott bemoaned.

  Trying to put on a brave face, Wot held his calm, though secretly hoping a miracle might happen – and soon.

  Perhaps a miracle did happen; perhaps a miracle did find them. You see, they suddenly saw the old man, Umahia standing in the boat, between them. He said, “Remember, you have the power, you have your gifts – use them! The mist surrounding you is the Fog of Protection. It shields the island from the eyes of the world. It will also shield you; protect you from spying eyes on your journey.” On those words, the image of Umahia faded from sight.

  “Come back! Come back!” they cried out, but the old man was gone, vanished. The two friends sat there in silence, neither of them confident enough to heed Umahia’s words.

  “How could Umahia abandon us, so?” Nott asked, baring his fears, in angst.

  The fog grew even thicker; the only sound was of the lazy water lapping beneath the boat. It was so relaxing, intoxicating, mesmerising – the two Outlanders drifted, drifted off to peaceful sleep.

  Minutes later (or was it hours?) they awoke with a jump. It was still dark, the pea soup fog still surrounding them, but the sea had turned rough, with huge, tormented waves crashing down over them.

  “We can’t just sit here waiting to drown,” said Nott, panicking like mad. “We must do something.”

  “You’re right,” said Wot, shivering from head to toe. “I have written a poem. I am going to recite it.”

  “A poem? You have written a poem! Is that all you think of?” Nott cried out.

  “Yes,” Wot replied, quite matter-of-factly. “Remember Umahia’s words, what he
told us. He said we have power and gifts. He said there is power in rhyme, Mystical Rhyme that is. Now, shall I recite it or not?”

  “Yes, yes, go on, go on.”

  “Right then, here goes,” said Wot, standing unsteadily on the heaving deck, raising his book close to his eyes.

  “Mystic waters, mystic might,

  Help us in this our plight,

  Guide us on our journey long,

  Propel the boat so smart along,

  Safe and sure to solid ground,

  To start our task, in this we’re bound,

  Bring us right to the land we seek,

  Asking this two souls so meek.”

  At first, nothing seemed to happen, but slowly, very slowly the old craft began to inch forward. It continued to increase in speed; faster and faster, quicker and quicker the old vessel accelerated until it was ploughing through the cold, dark waters so fast the two friends became worried. Holding on ever more tightly to the rickety vessel, they wondered how fast it might go. The window frames rattled, the floorboards creaked, and the entire vessel shook violently as it sped through the raging waters. The two Outlanders wondered, they wondered how long it could take it and remain in one piece. The small decorative squares of multi-coloured glass and mirror, which had adorned it for so many centuries, fell away in profusion disappearing in a colourful, sparkling rain into the distance. Wot and Nott held on for dear life as the waves crashed repeatedly over the ancient boat. There was no hiding place from the sea’s terrible fury. The old craft seemed so incredibly small and fragile as it headed fast towards its final destination.

  All of a sudden, they struck something, something hard and solid, sending the two friends lurching forward as the boat came to an abrupt and complete stop. Had they arrived at Onisha, they wondered, or were they marooned on a rocky outcrop, never to be seen again? With such a thick fog surrounding them, it was impossible to know. Scrambling to their feet, Wot and Nott walked carefully along the creaking deck before tentatively stepping over the side onto a sandy beach. It was land! They were safe!

  “Where are we?” Wot asked, quietly, lightly.

  “On the fairground of Onisha, of course,” Nott decreed. (His gift had evidently kicked in again). Then he added, “But I haven’t got the foggiest notion in which part.”

  Gazing back at the old boat Wot could see the bad state of repair she was in, having suffered badly in the storm. “We can’t leave it, just floating there,” he said. “In the morning, if somebody spots it they will be onto us, and pronto. We had better do something.”

  “Hmm,” Nott replied. “You’re right, get back in, we will have to scuttle it. Before you jump in, help me to shove off. Hurry up, I can’t do it on my own!”

  Because the boat had struck the land with such force, Wot had some doubts that it was at all possible to push it back out to sea, though he did not air them. He simply put his back into the job-in-hand, pushing as if his life depended on it. After many backbreaking minutes, the old boat began to inch slowly away from the beach, and little by little, the waters once again supported it.

  “Get into the boat, Wot, and follow me down to the stern,” Nott ordered. “Break off a piece of the decorative panel, yes that bit there,” he said. “Now use is to prise up one of the floorboards. When you have done that, keep hitting the bottom of the boat until you have made a hole in it.” They both pounded and pounded, making holes, until water was flowing freely into the boat. When it had reached their ankles, they climbed over the side, pushing the boat seaward. Swimming to shore, they abandoned it to an uncertain future.

  As the vessel disappeared into the distance, Wot felt sad to see it finishing up, so; disappearing into the fog, bound for the depths. Interrupting his thought, calling him, Nott said, “Come on, let’s find a place to sleep, I’m whacked.” There was a full moon in the night sky, but due to the thick fog, they could not see it clearly, nevertheless, its diffused light helped them reconnoitre and assess the immediate area.

  “Look there!” said Wot, pointing to a small opening at the base of a cliff, half concealed by scrubby growth. On reaching it, crawling through the small entrance, they discovered that it led into a small, dry cave.

  “This is perfect,” exclaimed Nott, happy to be out of the elements. Looking outside, he said, “Look over there, Wot. Do you see that dead grass? His friend nodded. “Bring it in; we can use it for bedding.” Despite being so tired Wot did as instructed, he knew that that his friend meant no harm, ordering him, so. Procuring the grass, he laid out the beds.

  With beds thus made two weary bodies lay down and rested, far enough inside the cave to be warm and dry, but close enough to its entrance to spot any potential danger that might happen along. Soon they were both sound asleep.

  Suddenly, Wot found himself chained to a wall in a dark, damp room. The light was low. He had difficulty in seeing. He had no idea where he was, but he was sure there was danger there. He felt the presence of someone or something close by, that posed a great threat to him. He had to get away – but how? He was in chains! He could hear it coming closer, closer. He could hear its slow, laboured breathing getting nearer, nearer. Panic engulfed him and he screamed and screamed and screamed.