Landfall

by Victor Serrano

  “I’m not going to help any damn-”

  “Shut up, Kattaren! You can’t stop them and it gets them off the island. You don’t want them on the island, do you?”

  Kattaren spat a mix of blood and saliva on the sand. “No.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” she said, storming back into the willows, aware she was under the considering eyes of the foreign soldiers. The captain was barking orders to the rest of the arriving soldiers, perhaps forty in all, and pointing in her direction. In the distance, the rafts were returning to the ships, each crewed by only one or two oarsmen. Perhaps there really wouldn’t be a garrison at all. She walked through the willows until she reached a clearing in the middle of the island where a faint trail could be discerned heading down to the ferry dock on the eastern side of the island, only a short walk away.

  In the clearing Captain Powluk pushed his way to the front, followed by the translator.

  “I thought your husband was the headman. Now you say he was a ferryman?”

  “You can be half one thing and half another.”

  The translator nodded at this, smiling grimly. "Don't I know it." He seemed lost in thought as they walked along.

  Once they had reached the eastern side of the island the smoke rising above Tamani in the distance became clear to see. The ferrywoman gritted her teeth and pressed on while the captain began saying something in his barbarian tongue.

  “He wants to know how many ferries this island has,” the translator stated.

  “Just the one.”

  The translator furrowed his brow in evident disgust. “Ugh.”

  The officer’s reply was similar.

  “And fishing boats?”

  Why lie?

  “We do have fishing boats… but if the fishermen here had any sense, they would have all left by now. And anyway, most fishing boats are gone all day.”

  They really did not like this answer. The ferrywoman couldn’t really see why not. It’s a small island, we’re simple folk who don’t go about plotting amphibious landings. The nerve of these barbarians to even make a fuss about it!

  “We can carry twelve passengers on the ferry though,” she added, to soften the blow.

  The officer liked this even less, flying into a rant that lasted until they had just about reached the ferry. After a moment, the translator merely said, “the gist of it is that things are better in the Syriot Empire.”

  Well I didn’t invite you here. You’re more than welcome to piss off back to it. I’m being quite patient with you greedy barbarian bastards, you know.

  After another minute they reached the ferry, tied up and floating next to the jetty. The ferrywoman glanced longingly at her pot of fish and chilies, and glared at a dragonfly, swatting at it when it passed by.

  “There’s your ferry,” the ferrywoman announced. “Kattaren here will pull the oars, unless one of you wants to grab the other. It will probably take four trips. Give him back when you’re done.”

  Trang Kattaren glared as the Jade Sea Islander translated this piece of information to the officer who was looking increasingly irritated with the whole invasion. The ferrywoman picked up the first word he said. That means no, doesn’t it? She remembered learning a similar word from the Jutlanders, so many years ago. It was clear they weren’t the same, but perhaps they were neighbors. Like us and the Jade Sea Islanders.

  After waiting for the captain’s bellowing to fade the Jade Sea Islander made his reply.

  “The officer says that won’t work. He wants it done in two trips, and he wants you to pull the oars along with the men. I told him you were a ferryman’s wife, so clearly you know where you’re going. Also, he wants you along. You know. As a hostage. In case…” he mimed pushing.

  The ferrywoman stared, blank-faced. In all her years, she could not remember feeling so insulted. Insolent young foreigners, threatening an old woman! And two trips! There wasn’t enough room for twenty, twenty-two, people… she had only carried fourteen once, and that was counting her husband back when they were young and strong.

  The officer had already divided his men, pushing some on board, and speaking with another soldier with smaller bits of wheat-colored braid at his shoulders. The man asked something, then nodded and saluted. He gestured to half the contingent, and they sat down around the ferry, as the old woman had so often done, a few drinking from the bottles they carried at their hip. One even wandered by the old woman’s bowl of fish, giving it a curious look and a gentle nudge with his foot, as if it were a dead animal. The ferrywoman glared at him in impotent rage.

  “Grandmother, the oar please?” prompted the translator.

  Apparently both he and the officer were coming in the first boat. Trang Kattaren also seemed to be accepting his fate, grasping tightly to his own oar. Somehow the barbarians seemed determined to fit into the overloaded ferry. Well, if any of them fell, good riddance. The ferrywoman took her position, poling off from the platform with Trang Kattaren. They eased their way through the willows and curving banks, and then it was a straight shot to the Tamani docks. It was a journey the ferrywoman had made thousands of times before, but never quite like this.

  Fire had spread through Tamani, and it was evident that there had been a marked spread from even the last half hour. The cannons, which had remained silent for some time, now opened up once more. However, this cannonade now impacted on the white walls of Tamani Castle, which had so far been untouched. As far as the ferrywoman could tell, the initial volleys had been focused on the Tamani dock area, which was now unusually deserted. She recognized, even at a distance, the listing hulls of several trading vessels, now sinking and blocking parts of the harbor. She would have to avoid them on the way in. If the ferry bumped into one of those sinking wrecks, many of her passengers would fall off and the whole vessel could capsize… which was not an altogether terrible thought.

  Her eyes tried to find Kattaren’s, but he was solely focused on the rhythm of the oars. All this time she hadn’t considered what it was she was doing, but the evidence was now plain to see. She was bringing enemies into her homeland even if she was not really a part of the wider realm. Even if she didn’t really have a choice. But then, everyone has a choice… don’t they? She glanced over again, but Kattaren was still focused on his oar.

  As it was, they had a hard enough time making their way through the wrecks. She could still hear the cries of the injured, stuck in lower decks with shattered bodies, facing death through blood loss or drowning. If the bombardment had happened two hours ago, I would have been here, she thought, as they pulled closer to the jetty. I was transporting the Phu sisters and their ox to market. I wonder where they are now? She scanned the port-side market, but it was abandoned. Very unusual at this hour.

  The ferry jerked back from a sudden impact, throwing one soldier overboard under the ferry and leaving everyone rocking back and forth unsteadily. Instinctively correcting, Kattaren and the ferrywoman backed away from the unseen obstacle. She thought she could hear a faint pounding below her for a few seconds. None of the soldiers seemed inclined to look for the fallen man. One quickly knelt down and began splashing his musket like a paddle to push them faster away from the wreck. Captain Powluk yelled and moved through the crowd to pull the soldier up and slap him. Only the grasping arm of another man behind him kept the soldier from falling. Captain Powluk ignored him, disgusted.

  After several more minutes of navigating the treacherous water they reached the jetty, soldiers rocking with the impact but keeping their footing. In ordinary times someone on the other side would help tie down the ferry, but with the encouragement of the officer a few soldiers jumped the small gap to the other side. Ignoring the increasing rocking of the boat, the soldiers continued to spring to the jetty. Captain Powluk tapped a soldier near him and said a few words. The man saluted and moved back between the ferrywoman and Trang Kattaren. Evidently he was to be a guard for the ride back.

  “Best get to it,” called the translator, as he hop
ped on to the other side. “Captain Powluk detests sluggishness, particularly when it interferes with his career.”

  As the men formed on the jetty and pushed forward, the scattered sound of shots rang out. A soldier suddenly dropped, his startled expression gazing at the sky with a ragged hole through the forehead. The group of soldiers hesitated, bunching up in confusion until Captain Powluk bellowed at them, pointing at a cluster of crates up ahead. They stormed forward, assembling behind the crates, and taking their first direct shots against the enemy.

  The ferrywoman could now make out the black lacquered conical helmets of Hangyul guardsmen, as well as the bareheaded faces of the Tamani Town Watch. The ferrywoman recognized the captain of the watch positioned behind the shattered remnants of what used to be a sandal stall, calling out volleys of musket fire against the invaders. The ferrywoman felt an unexpected surge of patriotism, and sadness at the fact that she had delivered death to Tamani. A small impact rocked the boat, and a small pit appeared in the hull of the vessel where one had not been before. They’re shooting at me? Well, I suppose they have every right to.

  The barbarian next to them cursed, firing a poorly aimed shot towards the market. He turned to the ferrywoman and yelled something, pointing at the far shore. The ferrywoman nodded and pushed off from the jetty. Trang Kattaren remained still and silent. The soldier moved to the back of the boat and began the laborious process of loading his musket. The ferry was drifting back to the island, but Kattaren still had not begun rowing. The ferrywoman heard the oar being shipped and dragged up. She glanced over to see the long length of wood suddenly arcing down onto the soldier’s skull. The sudden impact rocked the boat back and forth. Kattaren dropped the oar and pounced on the soldier, but he was already dead.

  Kattaren stood there for a moment, then sat down, staring at the fallen barbarian. The ferrywoman stole a glance back. The foreign soldiers were a good distance away now and occupied with the defenders. She pulled hard three times, then quickly shipped her oar and knelt next to Kattaren.

  They looked at the corpse in companionable silence.

  “I couldn’t let them do that…” Kattaren began to explain.

  “I understand.”

  “In fact… I shouldn’t have rowed them over at all.”

  “I’m having trouble with that as well.”

  They stared at the corpse several moments longer. The ferrywoman wondered if she had ever spoken this much with Trang Kattaren before. They lived on opposite sides of the island, and it was not a particularly communal island.

  “Don’t worry about his soul, dear. There’s no crime during war. War is like a burning flame, and the gods will not bother you over one spark,” she said, remembering a Farensi phrase from her youth. Are these barbarians Farensi? They don’t act like it. But people who keep to the teachings of their faith are rare indeed.

  Kattaren was silent for a moment.

  “I don’t worry so much about my soul. But my family… I can’t go back like this. You are right, they will be safe once they move on to Tamani. But I’ve killed one of their own…” he thought a moment. “I only regret not trying to kill the others earlier.”

  The ferrywoman shrugged. As they floated by, a prow loomed across the northern bend of the island. A barbarian ship, with small enough displacement to navigate these waters, but still larger than most trading vessels in Tamani’s small harbor. The ferrywoman watched it in silence.

  “Here’s what we’ll do, young man.”

  Trang Kattari was in his mid-thirties at least, but still young to the ferrywoman.

  “I will row a-ways south, and you swim to the Keeper’s Cove. You know Keeper’s Cove?”

  Trang Kattaren stood up, impassive. “I know Keeper’s Cove.”

  “It’s a long ways away, but I figure you for a good swimmer, and this isn’t the time to hold back. You swim to Keeper’s Cove, and you go down the road and tell anyone you meet about this.”

  “I figure they’ll know.”

  “Nevertheless, go down that road and warn people. They have to know what you’ve seen.”

  Kattaren shrugged off his coarse woolen shirt, watching the barbarian sloop near the coast. Faces were peering out at them, and it was better if they never saw him.

  “My family, you will keep them safe?”

  “I will stake my life on it, what little an old woman’s life is worth.”

  “It’s worth enough, Grandmother. Tell my wife… tell her… I will be back. Alone or with an army.”

  She tried not to chuckle. Strong words, and a strong vow. But he was entitled to them.

  “I will. Now get swimming.”

  She poked him with an oar, and he dragged the soldier and his musket to sink into the water, then threw away his shirt and dove in, making for the distant Keeper’s Cove.

  He was smart, for an idiot.

  The ferrywoman began rowing for the island with both oars, passing near the barbarian sloop. The soldiers on the top deck merely watched her, before fixing their gaze at the ongoing battle in the market. From what she could tell, Captain Powluk’s men had been pinned down, but now the sloop began firing piercing volleys of small-caliber shot into the ruins of the market, and the firing from the defenders stopped completely.

  After a few minutes of hard rowing the ferrywoman paused to look back. The sloop was disgorging a few soldiers onto the jetty who ran up to Captain Powluk’s men under weak and scattered musket fire. And here she was, ferrying reinforcements for the barbarians. She looked for Kattaren but couldn’t make out anything. She sighed and turned back to rowing.

  Who was the greater fool?

  It was a puzzle she couldn’t solve for the rest of the journey.

  Chapter Eleven

  Assault on Tamani

  “Tell them to surrender, fool!” bellowed Captain Powluk, loud and angry as ever.

  “I have been, but they can’t hear it over their–” a burst of concentrated fire enveloped the position, the soldier to the translator’s left collapsing, coughing out blood and staring unbelievingly at the blood on his own hand. “–musketry,” Vermilies ended, watching the soldier with some concern. I hope that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me.

  “Then yell louder!” yelled the captain. Which was the caliber of advice I could expect from Captain Powluk. Yelling loudly seemed to be his defining quality.

  “Volley in three! Focus on that barricade!” The Captain pointed his scimitar at what had been a green melon cart several hours ago. “Fire!”

  A dozen shots rang out around the translator. In the sudden silence a few defenders rushed forward on the left, taking cover behind crates of fresh fish, one of them firing at the knot of Syriot soldiers just yards away and somehow missing.

  “In the name of the Syriot Empire, drop your weapons and surrender!” Vermilies yelled as loudly as he could in the native tongue, and soon received his answers.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Get stuffed!”

  “Fire a volley at the green one!”

  Oh, fuck! I’m the green one! Vermilies thought in outrage, looking at a new tear in his emerald green tunic. I’m not even supposed to be in combat, but that absolute idiot Powluk wanted to be the first in Tamani.

  Vermilies dropped undignified to the ground as the crate he had been sheltering behind splintered apart. A moment later, another soldier collapsed next to him, perforated with a half-dozen musket rounds.

  “Well! Are they receptive?” shouted Powluk at him.

  The translator just gaped. This was truly hell. The man was an absolute idiot, and he was going to get them all killed out of his stupid pride.

  Just then an explosion sounded behind them, and the market square erupted. The translator got back to his knees, watching transfixed. The melon cart was completely shattered, and fresh moans poured forth from the defenders. He looked behind him. Thank the Gods for the Imperial Navy!

  A sloop was moving towards the jetty through the wreckage of the harbor, firing
point-blank shots into the defenders of the market square. As he watched, an agile boy in a blue tunic leapt from the top of the sloop to the jetty carrying a rope, then began pulling with all his might, heedless to the carnage. Another boy jumped out, and soon the sloop was right alongside it.

  A ramp came down, and a disciplined charge of the sloop’s marines began pounding down the walkway towards them. Captain Powluk had also noticed, looking sour as ever. He turned back to the defenders, who had almost ceased firing altogether.

  “On my mark! Draw sabers!” the soldiers fumbled through their gear. “Charge!”

  The captain raised his scimitar and pushed forward at the head of his men. A shot rang out, and whether through accident or aim took the captain squarely through the head, stopping his charge dead. To their credit, the soldiers only paused for the space of one breath, and then resumed the assault. As he was not a soldier, Vermilies elected to stay behind cover, but he did not need to worry. The defenders were now in full flight, being cut down by the fastest soldiers. Vermilies looked to the new arrivals, who briskly stomped past, eager to join the pursuit.

  “You there!” called out an officer wearing an unseasonably heavy cloak and fur hat, who stopped by the translator. “You are a translator, I take it? Where is Captain Powluk?”

  “He was shot dead, sir. Moments ago.”

  “Hmm. What an ass. Should have waited.”

  Vermilies could only heartily agree.

  “Well, I suppose he got what he wanted. ‘First into Tamani.’ I won’t cheat him of it, idiot though he was. Come with me, translator, I will have need of you,” said the officer, breaking into a run to rejoin his men.

  “Yes sir,” Vermilies said and joined him at a run. He wasn’t really required to follow the orders of naval captains, but he was first and foremost a diplomat and wasn’t about to bring up protocol with the only officer in the city. That could come later.

  The line of soldiers and marines pursued the ragged defenders for several blocks before coming under musket fire from the city gate ahead. Although the port and market had been open, Tamani had a formidable castle ringed by stone walls, with several antiquated bronze cannons arranged in keeps along the outer wall, below sloping pagoda roofs that would provide some protection against musketry.