Vanx was sad, and felt as if losing Pyra and Kelse negated any victory they could claim. He would rather have the Paragon alive, if it meant the dragons would be alive, too. All Vanx wanted to do was get back to the deep, but even now he wasn’t sure if that was really home?
It didn’t matter; he was going there. Maybe he would see about the map in time, but right now they needed to find passage back to Flotsam, or Orendyn, which was proving impossible, due to the rumors of the Trigon’s invasion there.
Even though half of Port Harthgar was now literally covered in new growth, and all the dazers were starving mindlessly in the streets, the populace of Harthgar refused to believe the Trigon was finished. None of them believed that Parydon was free again either, but that was because of the two-month sail to get there and back. At Vanx’s best guess, in about three weeks, ships would be bringing fresh news of the Trigon’s defeat to Harthgar. Until then, no one wanted to sail a ship there, especially with the sea wizards all in an uproar over their teleportal spells being sketchy now.
Vanx didn’t want to wait, so he was eyeing the ships that were for sale, all swaying in a line, pondering the possibility of just buying one of them. The problem was, he only had two gold coins left in his boot.
Something the old wizard had said kept echoing in the back of his head. “I suggest you go to that port and seek your ship,” were his exact words.
“How can we get enough gold to buy a ship?” Vanx asked, as Poops started urging him to follow. “Not now, Poops,” Vanx dismissed the dog. “There is a patch of sand over there. Use that.”
“We could steal a ship,” Chelda grinned. “Like pirates.”
“Poops!” Vanx yelled in frustration, but Chelda started following the dog, and so did the others, leaving Vanx to catch up.
“I can play cards as well as any,” Zeezle said, as he walked beside Vanx. “If we have a stake, I can try to use it to win us more.”
It was a good idea, but if Zeezle lost, they’d have nothing left to barter with at all. “It’s worth considering,” Vanx replied absently. Poops’s curiosity was starting to pique his own.
A few minutes later, after weaving through the crowd and making their way down a row of ship-laden docks, the dog stopped in front of one, an ancient-looking, single-masted sloop.
“You have to be kidding,” Master Ruuk said to Zeezle, but Vanx was ignoring them.
He felt something here, and as he walked the twenty-eight paces from bow to transom and turned, he saw it. It wasn’t the name board of this ship, but a piece that had been used to patch the transom had once boasted a ship’s name. There, upside down and barely visible underneath the whitewash and tar, he saw the word Foamfollower, and his heart began to race.
He could feel the wood, the elm, and knew it was from his father’s ship. He also knew that this boat might look like junk, but it could move if they kept their stores to a minimum.
If they could find a way to buy it, there was no doubt it could take them home.
Again the idea that Saint Elm’s Deep wasn’t really home crossed his mind.
“I don’t like this idea at all,” Master Ruuk said.
“I haven’t told you what it is yet, sir.” Vanx smirked at his unease.
“I don’t like it much, either,” Chelda added. “You said a ship. This is more of a boat.”
“This is an adventure in the waiting, Chel,” Zeezle said as he hopped over the rail and started poking around the interior of the boat. “But this is no plush vessel, like the Seahawk.”
“They might pay us to get it out of the way,” Master Rukk said, his distaste showing plainly. “Is it even floating, or are the barnacles holding it up?”
“Ah, there he is,” a man called at them as he walked on one wooden leg down the dock toward them. The thumping of his capped stub grew louder as he came. “He said you’d be along soon. I thought he meant later in the day, not later in the week.”
The man grasped Vanx’s hand, while eyeing Chelda’s gargan-sized tits.
“He left a credit for you to stock her. My men have scraped the barnacles off the bottom, mopped the inner hull over with fresh tar, and refit her with all new rope, riggin’, and sail.”
“Did he leave enough credit for me to buy you and your men a feast at the local tavern, then?”
“Why, I think he did,” the peg-legged man grinned, showing wine-stained wooden teeth. “And I know just the place.”
“I’m all for a feast,” Chelda growled. “But I’m not sure I want to go anywhere on that tub.” She looked at the Zythian wizard. “You really can’t just take us back home with a snap?”
“I wish I could,” Master Ruuk sighed heavily.
Zeezle had put a plank across from the ship to the dock so that Poops could get on board. Vanx leapt over after the dog crossed, and felt the power of the Foamfollower start trickling into him.
“She is called the Adventurer,” the shipman told them. “Though no one knows exactly why.” He scratched his head. “One captain said she had a mind of her own, but she has a wardstone-lined transom, and can go at a steady pace without the wind. That shaggy man who bought her said she’d be perfect for you.”
“He was right,” Vanx said with the first grin he’d mustered since Pyra’s death. The Adventurer will take us exactly where we need to go. Now, let’s feast and figure what stores we’ll need. Maybe we can find a few seasoned sailors to help us crew her. And I’ll need charts and a set of navigational tools, a lodestone compass, an hourglass, a sextant.”
“Already on board. I stowed them in the captain’s cabin myself. And three full ranges of looking glass, as well,” the man said.
“I think the old man was right, Vanxy,” said Zeezle. “Can you feel it?”
Vanx hadn’t told his friend about the sign board that had been used to patch this vessel, but he did feel it, and he knew that what Zeezle was feeling was nothing in comparison.
Either way, in the moment, it was time to have a feast. Vanx only hoped there would be a xuitar about. In fact, he hoped there was enough credit left with the ship merchant to purchase one to take along on the voyage.
Vanx didn’t plan on staying here any longer than they had to. Just long enough to find a small crew and get underway.
Gallarael was on his mind, and he knew Chelda was missing Moonsy. Besides, if he was going to go on a quest for the prize on the old wizard’s map, he had to get home and get his things in order.
The long journey home was about to begin, but now it was time to drink and sing, for there was a xuitar available, and Vanx found that, though it was nowhere nearly as well made as his instrument, it played just fine. The lot of them tried to drink away the sorrow they all felt over losing all the dragons, fae, Zythians, and men.
By morning they’d found a two-man crew, and the morning next, a sea wizard to control the Wardstone transom.
After the ship was stocked, they set sail for Oryndyn, by way of Zyth, but the Adventurer did have a mind of its own, and no one was really sure where they were going first, save for Vanx.
The End
Look for:
The Legend of Vanx Malic, Book Eight: The Long Journey Home,
Summer 2016
Until then, here is a 3 chapter sneak preview
Chapter One
When the sky darkens,
and the wild winds start to blow,
you turn that ship right at the storm,
and hunker down below.
Vanx Malic, with his canine familiar, Sir Poopsalot, and his full-blooded Zythian friend, Zeezle Croyle, by his side, stood at the rail above the ugly, battered, bare-breasted woman who formed the Adventurer’s masthead. Her blocky arms were thrown back so that they ran along the water line, and her hair formed a red, rising sun over her head.
She reminded Vanx of the Mystica of legend: pale-fleshed women with blood-red hair, rare and feared, and the most powerful users of any sort of magic, for their will alone could create monstrosities.
They were sailing under sea mage Castavonti’s power. Or more correctly, Vanx thought, the power of the Wardstone the man commanded, for they were just now getting the sails unfurled, and testing the knots in the rigging and all the new fittings. But it wasn’t the wind and sails that had them moving. The sea mage and his ability to use the Wardstone to create thrust was what had them cutting a respectable wake out into the open sea.
Vanx was the captain, for it was his ship. He’d given Castavonti the wheel, though, and told him to figure out which deckhand would make the best second, for Vanx wasn’t planning on taking command unless there was a need for it.
The Adventurer was only sixty feet from bow to transom, but she was sturdy, and every fiber of her hull was filled with magic. The longer Vanx was onboard, the more attuned he became with the Adventurer. Its very beams had been infused with clean, tightly woven fortifications. The burned carvings in the wood spoke of strength and reliability, as well as the fearless need to find something new to explore.
Ronzon and Zirk, the two seamen they’d picked up, were both as competent as they’d boasted. Chelda and Master Ruuk had been sizing up the two, and the duties they’d have to do, sooner or later, when the others rested. Vanx had decided the newcomers would be loyal, as long as they were paid fairly and treated well. That sort of thing went far with these kind of men. It would take longer for them to learn to respect Chelda, and the older Zythian, than the other way around.
Vanx and Zeezle would work circles around them, with ease, and put them in their place that way, but Chelda was as clumsy as she was green, on deck. Master Ruuk just felt any form of labor was below his station, which, by Zythian cultural standards, it was. The true captain of this ship was only half-Zythian, though, so Ruuk wasn’t as happy as he wanted to be.
Chelda fought the seasickness and managed to keep her bile down. Zeezle was hoping one of the seamen would say something about her and get walloped, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. She was a foot or more taller and a full grain sack heavier than either of the skinny seamen, and the hammer hanging at her hip was still caked in dried blood and gore from their recent battle.
“I’m serious,” Vanx said sincerely to his childhood friend. “I bought a flinging rod, and a reeler.”
“Then toss it out and let’s see if anything is hungry.” Zeezle followed Poops, who followed Vanx to the opening, below the wheelhouse, that turned into a spiral stair as soon as one was inside it. Poops went down one cautious step at a time, which was just as well, for Vanx was handing the gear up to Zeezle to lay on the deck.
Vanx produced a wooden plug painted a garish purple, with a blue- and yellow-feathered tail, and a sharpened iron hook as thick as a nail strung through it. Poops had a hard time getting back up the narrow stair, so by the time he made it back on deck, Vanx and Zeezle were letting thin gut line out from the back of the ship. Vanx was speculating what they might catch using this method. They were moving pretty quickly. He also eyed one of the new guys—Zirk, he remembered, was the skinnier of the two—watching him rig his line.
Vanx waited for the man to give him some sort of advice, but none came. Before long, though, Zirk was up in the rigging, watching from above, as the plug danced along the surface of the bright blue, sun-drenched sea behind them.
To Vanx’s disappointment, after at least a full turn of the hourglass, there were no fish, not even a bite.
This time when Zirk climbed down, he fumbled through his belt pouch and produced a lure similar to Vanx’s, but this one had no fancy feather or paint. It was just a skinny, cylindrical piece of wood, with an iron head and a sharpened iron hook. Vanx would have disregarded the offer, did the lure not have several sets of bite marks dug into it.
Vanx eyed it until the man offered it again, then he reluctantly began turning the wooden crank that slowly retrieved his bait.
Chapter Two
If you stand atop an earthy hill,
and look into the breeze,
don’t stand too long, in that one place,
or you’ll root in like the trees.
“Fish on!” came the call from the rigging. “Fish on the line!”
Vanx was suddenly fumbling with the wooden crank handle of the reeler. The rod was bending so much it was almost doubled over. It was quite a battle, as the ship couldn’t just stop. Castavonti did slow the craft a little, and after several attempts with the gaf, Ronzon dropped down beside Zeezle and took the tool from the Zythian. Vanx pulled the long, silvery mackerel alongside the boat again, and this time, with one deft heave, up came the fish, the gaf’s hook stuck clean through the meat behind its head.
Ronzon dropped the flopping thing on the deck and Poops darted in to attack it.
“Well, there’s supper,” Zirk said with a jagged, gap-toothed grin. “That one always works.” He indicated the plain wooden lure Vanx was holding. “I’d give it to you, but it was my Pap’s. You can scrape all the color off of yours and I suspect it’ll do the same sort of thing.”
Vanx untied the lure and gave it back to Zirk.
Ronzon cleaned the fresh catch right there on the deck, letting Poops have the guts. Then he used a bucket with a rope, and hauled up water to rinse the remaining entrails, head, and skin over the side.
When he took the meat down into the small galley, no one stopped him, and soon the whole ship smelled savory. The smeared tangerine sunset was amazing to behold, and Vanx couldn’t remember a sea journey starting any better.
By this point the harbor was far behind them, and there was no land in sight, which meant there was nothing man-made to hinder the spectacle’s purity.
They ate the fried chunks of mackerel with their fingers from a bowl that was passed around, until it was empty. Then it was filled again, nearly emptied, and finally cleaned by Poops, who got the last few cooked bites as well as the grease from the tin dish.
The sun was setting, so lanterns were lit fore and aft, and all but the crew went below into one of three small cabins to rest. Soon, Vanx would relieve the sea mage. Chelda and Zirk would work the sails for Vanx while the others rested, but with no ill weather ahead, and no obstacles, it would be clear sailing.
While they waited their turn, Vanx looked over the maps and charts that the dockmaster had placed on board. He was searching for one that showed the island on the map the strange old wizard had given him before they left. Even though he couldn’t find one that showed the landmass, he found where it should have been, and drew it in himself, from memory, all the while feeling the ship easing them off their current course to Orendyn, toward the destination he was contemplating.
When Vanx finally took the ship’s wheel, he didn’t fight the vessel’s slight change of direction. The island on the wizard’s map wasn’t that far out of the way, a day or two at worst, and since the ship was leading them that way, Vanx decided he would explain it all in the morning.
There is no use fighting your destiny, he heard Foxwise Posey-Thorn’s voice say in the back of his head. He hadn’t known Thorn all that long, but the selfless elf had made such an impact on his life that he knew he would never forget his friend, or the way he dies for Moonsy. He wondered from where the resemblance between Foxwise and General Moonseed stemmed. A cousin? Thorn hadn’t had any daughters, had he? Vanx wasn’t sure about the relation, only that there was too much of a resemblance for them not be related one way or another.
Then his thoughts shifted to Gallarael, and he wondered if he really loved her, or if her supposed death had caused those feelings to grow out of proportion in his heart. Thinking she was dead, he’d loved her wholeheartedly. Now that he knew she was alive, the feeling was
still there, but it was not nearly as urgent, or strong.
“We’re heading to that place on the map, aren’t we?” Zeezle, who was supposed to be resting below, said, giving Vanx a start.
“How’d you know?” Vanx asked.
“I felt the course change, Vanxy,” Zeezle slapped him on the back as if the decision was just fine with him. “Now go down and clean that ripe pile of dog shit out of my cabin floor, my brother.”
“Bad?”
“I wouldn’t let him eat raw fish again.” Zeezle shook his head like he didn’t envy Vanx at all. “Not like he did last night.”
“S’posed to be good for his fur,” Vanx grumbled while he located a bucket and a scrub brush.
“It probably is, and out on the trail, we’d never notice,” Zeezle laughed. “But he has no place to go on a ship.”
By the time Vanx finished cleaning up Poops’s respectable-sized pile of shit, he had an idea which he hoped would ease any tension that erupted when he told the others, in the morning, that they were heading to an island on a map some crazy old wizard had given him, an island that wasn’t on any other chart or map on the whole ship.
The location was in Vanx’s head, though, exactly where it had been represented on the giant, glowing globe the old wizard had shown him back on Harthgar.
Chapter Three
We fishermen, we catch our prey,
and then our bounty cook.
But in the end, it’s we who are caught,
for fishing has us hooked.
“You mean we are going to this island to get some dirt and grass to fill the box you described us building, so the dog’ll have a place to squat?” sea mage Castavonti asked dubiously. It was morning and though there was no land in sight, the turquoise sky and the smooth sea were speckled with sea birds chasing schools of bait. “Or are we going so you can follow your treasure map?”
The Far Side of Creation (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 7) Page 12