Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  ‘Rema, to the deck, quick man, for we need all the strength we can muster, we are in great peril.’ And he turned and was gone. Rema cast a final glance at Serenna who seemed peaceful enough before following the huge sailor up onto the wind and wave swept deck.

  His first impression was one of awe, for all around great waves chased the ship, breaking and foaming continuously whilst the wind shrieked through the rigging, much of which seemed torn and useless. Captain Tyne was on his rear deck, clearly weak and exhausted; great welts about his body marked where the ropes which had lashed him to the rear mast had cut into his salt soaked flesh. But despite his great ordeal, he was giving fierce commands to men all about him. Rema noticed that he pointed towards the bow, and so he too turned and looked about and was immediately stricken with an ice cold fear, for there before them, not two leagues off, was land, and a shore upon which the waves landed with such a monstrous noise that they could be heard above all else. Rema looked aloft and saw that they were still running before the storm under bare poles, for all the sails remained tightly furled, and indeed were missing altogether in places.

  ‘We will go ashore and be smashed to pieces within a span unless we can turn and hold her,’ Scion yelled in his ear. ‘Captain will drop both anchors and hope they hold. We need all hands to the capstan for’ard, to winch her up once they bite...if they bite, for if there is rock beneath us we are doomed.’ Rema understood immediately that this last effort to save the ship and all on board was a most desperate measure, for they were travelling fast and there was every chance the anchor ropes would not hold the vessel, or else she would broach and sink, or .... it did not bear thinking upon. He raced forward and joined the sorry band of sailors at the huge capstan winch. Clearly the men were worn out with standing against the storm, and several wore bandages and were bruised and injured. Scion took charge and they waited for the Captain to give the order.

  ‘Brace yourself men,’ Scion growled above the storm, ‘for we will swing about, and there will be water over the side. Hang on now for we have come this far, let us all finish this evil ordeal.’ So saying they all took the firmest grip they could and braced their feet against whatever they could.

  Captian Tyne waved an invisible order to the men who cut the anchor restraints, and both the huge iron anchors disappeared into the sea with hardly a noise. The ropes which held them raced out. Rema found himself counting, 1,2,3,4,....at 12 there was a huge jolt as the starboard anchor bit into the sea floor. The Scoria, suddenly checked in its mad flight, swung around beam onto the waves, and the sea knocked her flat. Water poured over the railings and in an instant the crew were under water. Rema felt the cold knock the air from his lungs, but he held on grimly and waited. After an age the water cleared and the ship slowly righted herself. It swung around to face the wind and the waves, for the one anchor held. Rema noticed that the man who had been holding the capstan just in front of him was no longer there. He had no time to wonder about the poor man’s fate for suddenly with a huge jolt the ship bucked against the waves and the anchor rope stretched so taught that it sang like a bowstring just released. With a sudden crack like a giant thunderclap, the anchor rope snapped and like a whip, scythed back across the deck. One of the desperate sailors who stood to windward of Rema was cut down and swept over the side in a sudden mist of red. Released from its tether, the Scoira began to drift inexorably once more towards the battered shore.

  ‘We will need to swim men,’ Scion shouted. We’ll ground her now; any moment, so brace for it! And then it will be each to their own wits. Good luck. Don’t fight the waves, let them take you ashore. Float as best you can, we are not far off now.’ His voice was full of emotion and it crossed Rema’s mind that he like many of the other sailors might not be able to swim. It was a common enough weakness in most seafarers. They spent all their lives on the waves, and yet never braved them to learn the simple skill of swimming. As he surveyed the faces all around him, he knew he was right. These men were facing certain death. It was then that he remembered Serenna, alone and helpless below deck, and he knew he must save her or die in the attempt. Just as he started aft, braced against the ship’s ugly motion, the second anchor rope suddenly went taught and with a lurch and jolt the ship stopped in her tracks. Everyone on deck froze in disbelief, and waited for that rope too, to part, for it was the final thread which held them from oblivion. But it held. The Scoira straightened and finally sat proudly with her bow parting the waves which raced passed her to the shore now not more than half a league distant. The pounding of the surf upon it was a constant reminder of their perilous position, but as the moments passed and the anchor dug deeper into the sand, they were held. Only just, but they were safe.

  ‘Quick now men to the capstan,’ Scion called loudly, and all who could, put their backs into it and winched the ship slowly back into deeper water, until with burning thighs and aching arms they collapsed onto the deck and dared believe that they would see another sunrise, which to their relief came about within a span, for their great fight with the sea had taken place in the early morning of the third day since the storm had taken hold of their vessel and blown them clean across the ocean to another land.

  ‘Welcome to the Faero Islands, Rema,’ said Scion who sat panting beside him. ‘We have travelled far. I did not think we would be in danger of coming aground once we passed the Needles, but this has been a monstrous storm the like of which I have never seen before.’

  ‘Nor would like to again, I wager,’ said Rema quietly in reply.

  ‘On that we agree, my friend. On that we agree.’

  It took the remainder of that day to secure the ship and commence the enormous task of repairing the great damage which the storm had done to her. Firstly the crew needed to rest and dry their soaked bedding and personal belongings, but not before Captain Tyne had pushed them to put out a smaller third anchor from their stores and so allow themselves a measure of security, for they were on a lee shore, with the wind and waves wanting to drive them to their destruction, and even with sails set they would not have been able to sail her off until the wind changed. The sea quietened steadily however, and before the noonday only huge swells remained, and they did not break until much closer into the shore.

  They could see people on the beach waving and indicating that they should seek shelter in the small harbour which was visible further along the coast to the east. Tyne however knew that he could not move until the elements conspired less against him, and so they waved back, but remained where they were.

  Serenna had been thrown from her bunk as the first anchor had swung the ship around, but the bloodied water had roused her enough to allow her to keep safe, but only just and Rema spent some time tending to her wound and assisting her to the deck for her first fresh air for several days. They sat in the warming afternoon sun and ate gratefully of whatever food the cook was able to provide, for the stove fires needed resetting and the fuel was damp and reluctant to catch alight. Finally as the evening approached, the wind swung around and Tyne gave the orders to set several sails which allowed the ship to pull slowly up upon the anchor ropes. These were winched quickly aboard, and the anchors retrieved. The Scoira then sailed slowly east, not two leagues off, and within a short time found shelter behind the harbour wall, where once more she rode at anchor, but now on a dead calm sea. A small boat arrived from shore and Tyne spoke animatedly to the harbour master who shook his hand profusely and welcomed them all to the safety of Reviktun the largest town on the main Island of the Faero Isles.

  They all slept that night, after a hot meal of broth and salted meat, in damp beds, but without the winds and waves to torment them further, all aboard lay exhausted without stirring until well after sunrise the next day.

  Rema took Serenna ashore before the noon and both felt glad to feel solid ground beneath their feet once more. Serenna’s head was improved although a deep cut behind her left ear throbbed painfully whenever she moved too quickly. The town of Reviktun was small, smal
ler even than Lavas, but the people were friendly and Rema immediately felt warmly welcomed. In fact he had a feeling that this place was strangely familiar, for the air was clear after the storm and the fresh smell of life from all around lifted his spirits enormously. High mountains, heavily forested rose quickly from not far inland, so that the land for crops was not plentiful, but being volcanic, was rich, and a famer informed them that he could get three crops a year if he worked hard. He also informed them that the magic of the Faero Isles was the warm south current which came from a faraway place where the sun heated the sea, and which by some quirk of nature delivered it right to the Islands, so that there was never snow, or ice, but it seemed like summer and spring most of the year.

  ‘Winter is so short that we are into summer before we’ve had time to get out the warmer clothes. It is a wonderful thing that current, to be sure,’ he concluded with a warm enthusiasm and a twinkle in his eye. He shook their hands and left them feeling as though they had been living there for years, and had just talked of the weather as one does to a neighbour. Suddenly as the friendly farmer was no more than a dozen paces on his way, he turned and asked a strange question.

  ‘Siraa I cannot say why but you seem familiar in a manner. Are you sure you have never visited this place before?’ He stood with a puzzled look upon his face?

  Rema shook his head. ‘I am sorry my friend, but it has been but the hand of fate which has delivered me to you here, but I am happy that it did for this is indeed a most wonderful place.’ The two looked at each other for a moment and then the farmer was on his way, but they heard him muttering, for he seemed surely quite agitated.

  ‘Serenna, I cannot tell you, but this place has a powerful affect on me.’ Rema spoke in a quiet whisper. But I do feel like I have been here before. The shape of those mountains, the smell, the friendliness of the people, it’s just as though....’ he struggled to find the words and so left them hanging in the air.’

  They walked all around the town exploring and as the sun fell quickly toward the western horizon once more, found themselves a little inland, and on a rough but well used track which ended running along the beach towards where the Scoria had almost foundered the day before. Suddenly Rema froze. Serenna was startled at his action.

  ‘Rema what is wrong, what has happened?’ She saw that he was struggling deeply with some emotion, and he kept glancing furtively all around. ‘Rema, what is wrong, what has upset you?’ He didn’t answer, but held up his hand as though demanding her silence. She fell quiet, but nonetheless worried at his sudden change. She waited.

  ‘This place.’ Rema spoke after a time, in a whisper, and pointed to the view along the beach. ‘Those old huts and ruins there in the trees. I feel something. It is impossible, but I feel something here that has to do with me. Serenna this is too much...’ his voice trailed off and she saw that he was crying, soundlessly, but the tears were streaming down his face.’

  ‘Rema, please tell me what is upsetting you. What do you feel?’

  But he had no time to reply, for at that moment a voice cried out from behind them. With a start they turned as one, and there walking quickly towards them was an old woman. She was calling out and crying at the same time so her words were indistinct. Not far behind was the farmer with whom they had shared a conversation earlier in the day.

  Rema’s eyes narrowed as he watched the woman approach, for her cries were suddenly unmistakable.

  ‘Remy, Remy you have returned! My dear boy, it is you! Remy you are returned!’

  Serenna was stunned. But not as much as Rema Bowman, for his life was changing abruptly once more.

  The old woman was almost breathless as she came up and stood before Rema. She held her arms out and placed them on his shoulders, for although old, she was tall and handsome in the manner of one who has accepted the passing of her life with a joy mixed with deep sorrow. The lines around her wrinkled face were those which spoke of great perseverance and also hope, and held a gentle smile despite her agitation.

  ‘Oh Remy, I knew that one day you would return. It‘s me, your kinkindma, Rosylyn. Do you not remember; for this was the very place I saw you last. It was here they took you; it was here that your kindma died trying to save you, and all about are the remains of that battle. Do you not remember Remy Cantira?’

  And surely Rema did, for he sunk to the ground and he saw it all again, the last and deeply buried memory of his long lost childhood.

  All around was fire and burning and people screaming and fleeing and dying. He was sitting in the dirt and screaming for his kindma, and as she came for him, calling his name over and over, ‘Remy! Remy!’ a vicious sword from nowhere cut her down and then a rough arm grabbed him and he saw little more except the angry face of a youth who tried to reach for him, but he tripped and fell headlong; and then nothing...

  Rema closed his eyes and sobbed, for he smelt the death and the burning and the then the sea and the ship on which he was borne off to another land, far away.

  ‘This is too much,’ he cried, but the lovely old woman held him close and calmed him as a kinkindma would do without thinking.

  ‘It is beyond our dreams she whispered to him, but dreams come true at times. You are home at last Remy. You are home.’ The two figures sat crumpled and entwined in the dust, as Serenna stood in silence and cried with an emotion which she did not understand, for it was neither joy nor sadness, but something between. The friendly farmer stood nearby and smiled, and whispered to himself.

  ‘I knew he was familiar, he seemed so at home here.’ He nodded in happiness, for it was good to have been the bearer of such good news, and he had grown old with the woman for he was her husband and Remy Cantira’s kinkindpa.

  They talked long into the night, for there was much to talk about. Serenna sent word to the ship that they would be staying ashore and whilst the small house which Rosylyn and Kyven Melkof insisted they share was cramped, it was at least dry and warm and, as Rema joked after their simple meal together...

  ‘It does not rock about near as much as what I have been accustomed to!’

  Rema listened with wonder as Rosylyn spoke of his early life as a very young child, as the second son of Kiefer and Kora Cantira who had both died that fateful day when the Norz came and raided their small village, and he was taken.

  ‘We all lost someone that day,’ she spoke with tears in her eyes, for the passing of time had not lessened the great grief which was visited upon them. My daughter Kora was a beautiful woman and the most loving Kindma to you and your brother. I miss her every day.’ Her husband Kyven sucked noisily on his pipe as though struggling with his own deep emotions and memories.

  ‘I saw the man take you. He was a huge brute, and in one motion he felled Kora with a sword like you might swat an insect, and then he lifted you from the dust where you screamed for her. She called your name until her life was gone. I remember it like yesterday. Remy, Remy... she called, her voice was so frantic, but there was no stopping those men. They came out of the early morning mist and we had no warning in those days. Today we are more organised, but they have returned three times since then, and each time we lose good people.’ A silence descended for a time before Rema asked one of a thousand burning questions.

  ‘You said I had a brother, what became of him?’

  ‘He was much older than you, ten summers at least, I think; my memory is not what it was. He loved you so much and was there trying to fight with the men. He was fearless and went to save you, but he failed. He fell and you were gone. The man who took you laughed at him, and only his youth saved him, for perhaps there was no honour in killing a boy.’ Rosylyn shook her head.

  ‘And what was his name, where is he now?’ Rema pressed on eagerly for he was consumed with the idea that he had a brother.

  ‘It is a sad story Rema.’ Kyven suddenly spoke and Rema looked at him in anticipation. ‘He took the death of his parents hard enough, but losing you broke his heart; at least in the beginning. We did our
best to provide a home for him, but he became more and more angry. He was always in trouble with the other boys. It was as though he wanted to fight, all the time. He swore one day he would find you. We hoped he would grow out of it, but he never did.’ Here the old farmer stared sadly into the roaring fire, and no one spoke for a time as he gathered his thoughts.

  ‘All who live on the Faero Isles know that children fetch a big price on the mainland. Those Norz invaders would often take babies, young boys mostly; for the childless couples will pay well for a healthy son.’ Suddenly Rema realised that his beloved parents, Riga and Sooth must have known that he was stolen, and that they must have travelled a great distance to the coast in search of a child, and he felt a deep pain in his heart for they had held the truth from him all his life.

  ‘I know what you are thinking Rema,’ Rosylyn broke in, for she had been watching his face as though trying to read his thoughts. ‘There are those who take the children and then sell them on as orphans, but in truth most are, by sickness or accident. Only a few are stolen like you were. Most probably those that took you home thought you were without a home or parents for some sad reason, and so could only benefit by their love and care. And if you are childless you will go to great lengths to set that to rights. Don’t be too hard on them for they did not know. They were surely not told the truth. No one ever is.’

  No one ever is, thought Rema angrily, but he took Rosylyn’s words to his heart and they soothed him.

  ‘What was his name?’ he spoke to break the silence from Kyven.

  The gentle old man looked at him and smiled. ‘Your kindma loved some of the old Ravelin names, although by fate they spawned the Norz who took you from her. She named your brother Refr which means fox, for indeed he was one to plan and had a score of cunning schemes to do things and go places. He was always hard to find when you wanted him... a fox he was. She named him Peter in the second name for that comes from an ancient calling, for we Faero Islanders have no relation to the Norz; we came long years ago from far south where the Kelts rule, across another cold ocean which has no warm current like we do in this place. He was a strong lad, and with a mind of his own, your brother, Refr Peter Cantira.’