by Nelson, J P
I was feeling really vulnerable and was fighting off the onset of panic when one came over and started swimming around me. I began to *S’Fahn Muir* with it and quickly thought, ‘How fascinating’ … these dolphins were smarter than a lot of humans I had known. They had a sophisticated language, culture patterns, and even dialects. I forgot about being in the water where giant people eating monsters lived and became enthralled. Once linking with their minds I had a great time, and they gave me breathing tips as well.
We began talking about the fish we on the boat were seeking, and I understood those fish had migrated with the new flow of warm water to an entirely new location. But, there was something else, a bigger and more tasty fish, if I were interested, that is. [Absolutely], I let them know. So with me hanging on tight to their fins, they took me below to show me the way.
Have you ever seen the ocean depths and the mountain ranges below? I was astounded. Anyway, I returned to Wilfred who was starting to get concerned, with a big smile on my face. He had hoped for one good catch … before it was done we had caught six big loads of what he called the Black-Wall Ocean Bass.
I stayed with Wilfred and his family and fished for three of those seasons. He brought prosperity to his family, paid all of his debts, and started a new fishing industry. But the damage was done, I had been touched by the sea. One evening after coming in from a great haul, I told him with resignation, “Wilfred … I gotta go.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Now don’t be apologizing, mate, I seen it in your eye for a long time. You’ve got the yearning in ya, and it won’t be satisfied ‘till you’ve gone. Remember, you’ve got a home here with us and you’re ne’er to be a stranger at our table.”
The family and I made our goodbyes, and with a letter of recommendation from Wilfred I hoisted my duffle and made my way east to Swatlo. We had made a bit of gift trading, and Haskle had gifted me with a hefty sack of jellybeans. To this day, jellybeans are my favorite treat.
Wilfred’s letter bore a good bit of weight, and it was only little more than a week that I found myself shipping out on the Faulta Whimn as an able-bodied seaman. The Whimn was a solid, three masted, one hundred and ten feet merchant ship which apparently had some notoriety. Captain Fieunas was a hardnosed man but a good sailor and fair with his crew. He had come up on this ship and knew her like the back of his hand. Now he owned the vessel and had established his own route.
Several times he had fended off pirates, and he had laid over in Swatlo to make repairs after a pirate’s attack. Alas, there was one less pirate captain out there now, and several of that black flag crew were now dangling the ropes at the edge of the bay. As the Whimn was being repaired, the crew compliment was also being refilled from losses in that same battle. It was by happen chance that I was in the Har Lip Tavern tasting rum, when a fight broke out all around me.
This salt-whipped, grizzled, white haired man was sitting next to me taking his own time with his drink when he turned to me and asked, “Ayr ya not a’gynta shak lous yourn fist?”
Someone landed face down against the bar between us, staggered back and looked to the old man, started to swing back a wide haymaker at the man and I just caught the arm. He looked to me in a drunken stupor and I calmly said, “If you don’t mind sir, the gentleman and I are making conversation.” So then he offs and tries to punch me with his other hand. You could see the poor lout’s hand coming a mile away, so I just ducked under, then reached up with my right hand and grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him back and away from us.
With my mug still in my left hand I looked to the old man and answered his question, “That’s not what I came here for, good sir.”
Someone literally went flying over his head against the wall behind the bar while the man was taking a sip, he looked at the fellow and said, “If ye’re bones be broken ye can-net sail, ye scodger.” Then back at me he asked, “Then wha’ be ye’re bus’ness then?”
A hand grabbed my left shoulder from behind and made as to spin me around, right into a fist I was sure. Focusing within, I found my *Stone Bones* effect, and as I was still holding my rum in the left, I spun around and caught the fellow’s right fist in my own right palm, held it until his force of momentum ceased, then yanked him forward to me. Catching him off balance I let go my right hand and placed it against his chest, stepped in deep with my left foot and shoved him way out into the floor.
Turning back to the old man I was in time to see a big fellow taking aim at my noggin with a ham of a fist, so I ducked, caught him in the crotch with a stiffened open hand, then squatting low to get his weight on me I stood up hard and threw him over the shoulder. All in all I never spilled a drop of my rum. I thought, ‘Hoscoe would be proud.’
Leaning back against the bar I said in a calm voice, “I’m looking for the chance to starve, get yelled at by a course tyrant, drink salt in my morning milk, and be forced to do more than my fair share of work … preferably on a vessel that leaks the whole journey.”
I downed the last of the mug, set it down and asked for another round, then offered to buy the old man a round as well. I felt something big coming my way and I looked to see my first sparring buddy throwing a chair at me. Ducking, I said, “That isn’t polite.” Frustrated he swung again so I let loose with three right jabs to the chin followed by a left cross that knocked him out. I was grabbed from behind so I reached my left down low and grabbed his groin and twisted my fist, consider the *Stone Bones* was still in effect as well.
The fellow behind me let go real quick and I elbowed him in the stomach, then reached up and grabbed some hair and flipped him with a hard yank. A stick came my way and I pulled my dagger into a parry with the same movement, followed by four quick slices. There was the sound of a bell inside the tavern and everyone stood back, several looking at me. I guess wood was acceptable, but not blades. No matter. The fellow I sliced was just checking himself in a panic, but all I had done was slit the straps on his pants and vest. Clearly, if I had wanted to hurt him I could have.
The old man asked if I had any papers as we all stood around. I showed him mine and his eyebrows went up as he said, “Cap’n Wi’fred … good lad.” He looked up and said, “Aw’rite you scodgers, if ye belong ta me, ye got till mornin’. So be off to the brothels with ye.”
To me he said, “Gain ye’re duffle ‘n follow me, I be Sailin’ Mas’r Crayge.” As I hoisted my rucksack, bow and quiver he looked out of the corner of his eye and said, “Ye won’t be takin’ meilk with ye’re salt, neither.”
___________________________
We set sail the day I turned fifty-six years old on a circuit voyage that included travel and trading all around the Gulf of Gahrbrondi, in and about the Kadmus Island Chain, around the continent of Lh’Gohria, up the eastern coast of Aeshea to Cape Jasmine and as far south as the Scaptul Islands.
I endured my first real storm at sea aboard the Whimn. The sky went dark, waves thrashed so far above I wondered if we were all dead, and more than once the ship was rolled onto her side. Captain Fieunas, Crayge, and Bosun Yazer kept the orders clear and loud, however, and everything was fine. Me, I learned to *Adhere to the Wood* of the vessel and keep my footing … even when I thought the bow was straight up in the air, then suddenly my stomach was left up there as we pitched down into what I thought was the heart of the ocean floor.
My feet held on as I *Adhered to the Wood* and I did my job, it’s amazing what you can do that you didn’t know you could do when properly motivated, but there were a few days I didn’t want anything to eat for fear I couldn’t keep it where it belonged.
There was no healing the sickness, but Crayge came up beside me and said, “Ye’re takin’ a spin around the green of ye’re gills. Here, take a chew off’en this.” He handed me something hard packed and rolled with a dried seaweed wrapper and then slapped me on the shoulder. A human that age who looks so worn out has no right being able to hit that hard, but that stuff he gave me worked.
Bei
ng the new man on the deck, nobody knew me or anything about me, so I had to endure substantial ribbing from several of the crew. That was hard for me, because for most of my life I had been ridiculed and made fun of in some way or another. I had to keep reminding myself that these guys lived a rough life and the ribbing was just one way to initiate me in, it was also one way for them to see how mentally tough I was. Rather than let my temper flare, I just kept to myself, did my job and let it ride.
There was nothing in my intention of making a name for myself on the sea, nor of seeking a career. All I wanted was to experience the ocean and see some of the world. Perhaps I could find some kind of peace within myself and some personal insight on my purpose in life. These sailors I was working beside were strong men, but their humor was course and while I saw them as acquaintances, they were not my chums and when the time came I would walk my way without looking back.
Deliberately, I chose to focus away from the ribbing of the sail folk and let it roll off of my shoulders. Crayge was pleased with my work, and so I was content. Every chance I got I looked to the far off horizons and wondered what may lie beyond. When the others were making talk with each other, I listened to the sounds of the waves. Would they talk with me as So’Yeth and So’Yahr did?
The first night that I pulled out my flute and stood on the bow, several of the duty crew walked about to hear me play. I tried to capture the sound of the wind as it danced across the surf … smooth, steady, wispy yet full of sleeping life and power. The men below could talk their crude jokes and swap tales of bawdy women … I had found my new friend with who I would commune.
The near moon was like unto the lady of the ocean, the white of the ocean froth was like the tossing of her hair. As far as I was concerned I was tasting serenity. More than once I saw the captain sanding offside listening and nodding his head.
One night below, the carpenter’s mate casually glanced to my sword and asked, “Are ye any good with that blade?”
Just as casually I responded, “I hold my own.”
The berth isn’t a large place, and sailors share the hammocks depending on shifts. Something was amiss, but I wasn’t sure what.
Another fellow was sitting sideways in his hammock and asked, “Does the name Courtney Zayne mean anythin’ to ye?”
I tried to keep it relaxed, but there was an undercurrent here I didn’t like, “I’ve heard the name.”
The fellow in the hammock got a deadpan look about his features, “Word is, a man named Wulf kilt him, kilt him in his sleep at his dwellin’ …” his voice became icy, “… he has friends, ya know?”
My voice stayed level and without emotion, “Any pig who would threaten to force the skirts of a twelve year old girl, deserves just what Zayne and his pappy got.” Muttering started within the birth and I added, “But,” the muttering stopped to hear my words, “I assure you Zayne was not asleep, nor the three men beside him, when he was cut down … they were all armed and had the same chance.”
“Now wait-to-hoy,” the mate asked, “I hadn’t heard that part before.” Then the berth became a source of arguments and talk. Bored, I picked my flute out of my rucksack and started to get up.
“Hey! Hey!” The mate raised his voice, “Quiet lads, I want to hear Wulf’s story.”
The room quieted down, because sailors like their stories, so I took the time and told this one. When I was finished, the fellow on the hammock said, “So ye’re saying ye took the four to once in the fight? I don’t believe you.”
Standing up, I walked past a small pail bolted to a bracing and pulled out a pair of throwing daggers. Everyone was quiet once more to see what I was about. Eying a throwing board at the end of the berth I snapped the first dagger at the cord which was holding it up and severed it. As it began to fall, I threw the second with enough force to run through the board and pin it to the wall only two inches from where it had been.
Nobody saw me draw the knife from my belt, but it was there in my hand as in a bored tone I told the fellow, “I really could care less what you believe.” With that I twirled the steel around my fingers, put it back into its sheath, and went above to play for the winds. As I walked out, I saw the fellow whose clothes I had cut at the Har Lip. His eyes did a lingering glance from that dagger in the board on the wall and back to me.
___________________________
My fellow crewmen started warming up to me a bit then, and the carpenter’s mate, whose name was Jude, happen by me and said, “Ye’re a’right, Wulf. Take no thot, Courtney Zayne used to be aboard the Whimn, but he was put off by the capt’n fer stealin’. Come along, ye do a good job. Ye’re jess the new man over the keel. Crikin’, they put an eel in my blankets of the once.”
I glanced at him, and you could tell he was reveling in the memory. I asked, “No fooling? An eel?”
“Aye,” he said, “When I found it, I was shocked.” Jude started laughing heartily and walked off to do a job. I stood there thinking about it a moment … and then I got it. I couldn’t help but grin, not so much at his joke, but at him. He wasn’t Izner with those hilarious strings of one-liners, but he was trying.
The rest of the crew, for the most part, lightened up on the ribbing to a degree. I should say they didn’t rib me any more than they did most of each other. Needing something to keep life and spirits up on the ocean, you had to watch yourself, because they would rib anyone about anything. But these fellows could get serious in a moment’s notice … like one morning just nigh to twilight off of the coast of the Yat’mir Islands.
Sound asleep in your hammock isn’t the best place to be when a loud pitched whistle and the sound of drums wakes you up to prepare for battle. We had taken a heavy load of spices and tea, for which the main island was famous, and put out the afternoon before. In addition we had bolts of silk cloth, tight packed bales of exotic cotton, some expensive animals for breeding, and more. Some of it was under oiled tarpaulin stacked center of the main deck.
There were several of these small islands, most of which were just rock, and they stretched out over several hundred shark infested miles, but we had no warning the legendary pirate, Commodore Hastings, was in the area. He came after us from two different sides of a large rock cluster with his schooners, the Gussi-Oht and the Gretchen; both vessels fast and sleek and armed with some of the most dangerous weapons on the sea.
At the time, most vessels had to rely on crossbows and an occasional small catapult or ballistae mounted on the bow or stern. The Gussi-Oht and Gretchen each were built with missile deck designs directly under the main deck. But what was even more unusual about these ships was the sail rigging. Almost all ships of the time used square sails. The Gussi-Oht and Gretchen were fitted with square main sails, but the front sails were triangular, considered an experimental idea and the subject of much argument. Hastings was a masterful sailor, however, and appeared to make good use of the rigging.
These ships were sisters, and at one time Hastings had been a Privateer for Queen Wydorra of the northern Island Kingdom of Siaco. He had been commissioned with three of these vessels, built with sole intent of Privateering against Vedoan merchant ships. One ship, the Esmeralda, had reportedly been sunk at high sea in a storm, but this was never substantiated.
Siaco was finally conquered by Vedoa, but Hastings escaped with the Gussi-Oht and Gretchen to raid all throughout the southern waters. These ships were considered among the most technologically advanced vessels built, and perhaps the fastest on the seas. There were a lot of people wanting to get their hands on either of these craft for study, but so far it hadn’t happened, and both the plans and ship designer were gone; the builders apparently slain in the final battles of Siaco’s conquest.
On each side of the missile deck were six specially designed ballistae, but instead of long arrow shafts, they fired a metal ball. This wasn’t rare on land, but only a few craft on the seas had such weapons. The big mystery, however, was at how fast these weapons were able to reload. The range was limited, bu
t if either of these vessels came within firing line of you, they could pretty much sink a craft and claim whatever they deemed a prize.
On the main deck, there were five ballistae per side, each of which could fire a twin-shaft projectile which would either slash sails or men on deck, depending on intent and angle of fire.
Our drums were beating to quarters as we made the deck as fast as possible and prepared for engagement. I was the only one with a curve-style bow, let alone a straight sword. A couple of crewmen glanced at the hatchet on my side, but no comment was made as I took my post on top of the tarpaulins where I could make use of my bow.
A positive in open sea battle, is you can see the enemy long before they get close to you and you actually have time to contemplate a course of action. We were sailing heavy and the Faulta Whimn, being a large caravel, wasn’t built for outright speed to begin with. With two ships on us, maneuvering from our position would be tenuous at best. On the larboard side, sailor-speak for the left side, was the rocky outcropping of the northeastern most tip of the islands. To our point one enemy vessel approached, and aft we were being pressed by the other.
Off to the starboard side, the right side, for you who don’t know, ran the Primrose Gauntlet, some of the most treacherous water you could find and which was a main reason these islands weren’t frequented by merchants in general. The water became very deep and it was almost impossible to know when you might run into the tops of a vast underwater mountain range. The isles were believed to be the highest points of this range and it was suspected there was an active volcano in that churning water.
Anyway, going into the Gauntlet wasn’t an option.