by Diane Zahler
The night drew in, and we arranged ourselves as comfortably as we could around the fire. Luna and I had a whispered conference and decided that to keep me awake during the night, she would sleep a short while, until the devil’s shrub began to wear off. Then I would have more tea, and she would wake to help me stay up.
As the fire crackled, and Luna curled up on the rug beside me, Symon told a tale of the most renowned of the lutins, Leander. Long ago he had been a human prince, and an evil enchantress had hunted him, determined to destroy him.
“No one knew why the enchantress hated Leander so, but she was relentless. She followed him to the ends of the earth and trapped him in a deep cavern. For years he suffered there, waiting for the terrible end the enchantress had threatened him with. She came to him now and then, but she didn’t kill him, though in his loneliness and despair he longed for death.
“At last a beautiful fairy found Leander in his secret prison. She offered to change him into a lutin so he could escape. And Leander said yes.”
“So he was an imp, then?” I asked. “Aren’t they supposed to be little and funny-looking?”
“Lutins are a little different, I’ve heard. They look human because they once were human, but they’ve an imp’s powers.”
“Do you think Leander is the one who saved Aurora?” Luna asked sleepily.
“It could be,” Symon replied. “Leander is known for helping maidens in distress.”
I thought of the peculiar feeling of hanging in the air, with only invisible arms to support me. “I am very lucky, I suppose,” I said softly. But I did not feel lucky.
“We should sleep,” Symon said then, lying back and pulling his cloak over himself like a blanket. I covered Luna, already asleep, with her cloak.
The minutes passed with painful slowness as I tried to keep my eyes from closing. The waves broke against the shore in a muted, regular rhythm like the breath of the sea, and the fire’s warmth was like my mother’s arms, urging me to sleep. I dug my nails into my palms, got up, and danced around. I played a quiet game with myself, finding animal shapes on the cave wall made by the firelight’s flickering shadows. I held off making more tea as long as I dared, for the vial that held the devil’s shrub powder was very small, and I didn’t want to run out. Finally, though, I had to brew and drink a cupful. Then I shook Luna. She had always been a hard sleeper, and she muttered and protested and did not wake.
“What is it?” Symon whispered. “Can you not sleep?”
I looked at his kind face in the dancing firelight. “I dare not,” I said simply.
He didn’t ask more. “I will stay up with you,” he said, pushing aside his cloak.
“No, you needn’t,” I protested. He ignored me.
“We can tell stories,” he said. “There are many seafaring tales in the books I’ve read, if you care to hear them.”
“Oh, I would like that!” I exclaimed. So he told me the tale of a crazed sea captain who hunted a white whale that had bitten off his leg, until the whale took down his ship and him with it. Then he related the story of the ship’s crew that mutinied against a dreadful captain and were stranded on a strange island for years. And I told him the tale of the mariner Odysseus, who, on his way home from the Trojan War, had ten years of adventures before he could be reunited with his wife.
The glow of dawn appeared, turning the sand a pale peach color between the dark stones. Luna woke, cranky and hugely annoyed that we had spent the night in storytelling without her, but I hushed her complaints.
“You’re lucky you slept,” I told her. “You’ll be in charge of keeping us awake today.” She liked the responsibility of that and stopped grumbling.
We ate a quick meal of bread and cheese, and I had my tea, relieved to be alert again. Then we prepared Symon’s vessel for the journey.
It was a funny little boat, the batteau, flat-bottomed with a high prow. A weather-beaten script on the side read Cateline. “My mother’s name,” Symon said gruffly.
“It’s a very beautiful name,” I told him, and he smiled at me gratefully.
A short mast stuck up from the center of the boat like an afterthought, and from it Symon raised a small sail. Two benches were in front of the mast.
“Louis,” Symon said to Luna, but she didn’t respond. “Louis!” he repeated, and Luna remembered all at once that she was my brother now, not my sister.
“Yes?” she replied, pitching her voice lower than usual.
Symon exchanged a glance with me, smiling. “You take the front-most seat, in the bow. Aurora, you can sit on the second bench. From there you can tend the sail.”
Symon gave me some brief instruction on how to manage the ropes, warning that the boom—the heavy wooden piece at the bottom of the sail—would swing around when the boat turned. I would have to duck to avoid being hit on the head.
“Usually,” Symon said, “I can man the sail and the tiller both. But we’ll be going out farther than I’ve gone before, and we may be sailing for more than a day. I’ll need help.”
“I can tend the sail,” Luna said indignantly. “Why don’t I sit there instead of Aurora?”
I didn’t think she would have either the strength or the patience to work the sail, but I didn’t want to say so. “Your sight is so keen,” I pointed out. “If you’re in the front, you can be the lookout. I am sure you’d see land before either of us.”
Luna frowned, but she had to admit this was true. She had the eyes of a hawk. She once saw a whale far out at sea from our palace on the cliff, and she always noticed when a servant had left a spot undusted or pocketed a silver spoon. She took her place in the bow.
Symon took the small bench nearest the back—the stern—so he could steer the boat with the tiller. There were nets piled in the bottom; Symon shoved them beneath the benches as we pushed the boat into the waves and climbed in. Our shoes and legs were soaked.
“Oh, it stinks!” Luna cried. Though I hushed her, she was quite right. It was fishy in the extreme. The bottom was slippery with scales.
Luna found a fish eyeball among the scales and held it up. “The fish are watching us,” she said with glee. “Fish spies are everywhere!”
I knew she was joking, but the idea of spies gave me pause. I thought of the way I had felt in the forest, how I had kept looking around to see if anyone was watching us. To keep that uncomfortable thought away, I reached forward and batted the eyeball out of Luna’s hand. It flew through the air and landed on my skirt. Despite myself I shrieked and jumped up, rocking our little vessel wildly.
“Sit down!” Symon commanded in a stern voice, pointing to the wooden benches. “The first rule in the Cateline is this: Never stand up! It is a hardy boat, and a sturdy one, but if you rock it enough it will tip, and the water is chill even in summer.”
“I love a good swim,” Luna said offhandedly, and I frowned at her, for she could no more swim than fly through the air. But she added, “Yes sir, Captain!” We kept up calling Symon Captain, as he seemed to like it, and Luna quickly claimed the title of First Mate. The only position left for me was Deckhand. This pleased Luna enormously, as it sounded lowly and undignified, but I accepted the title with good grace, sure that I would never actually have to swab the decks on our short journey.
As we sailed, all we saw was water and more water, with an occasional glimpse of gull or tern or pelican bobbing on the waves. The wind was stiff, and we skimmed along with little effort. It was wonderfully pleasant: The sun was bright, the air cool, the spray from the water invigorating. Sleep seemed far away. Every once in a while Symon would call out, “Haul the sheets!” and I would pull on the ropes until the sail was taut in the wind.
I noticed, though, that with each slap of the waves against the sides of the boat, Luna grew paler. Before long she was a dreadful greenish hue, and Symon took note.
“Louis, are you seasick?” he asked. His tone was sympathetic, but Luna bristled.
“Of course I’m not!” she retorted. “I’m
a little tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep well. And there is the smell of fish—” She suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Downwind!” Symon commanded, pointing to the stern of the boat. Luna scrambled over the bench beside me, around the mast, and stopped at Symon’s bench, rocking the little craft. She deposited her breakfast into the sea. Then she collapsed on the bottom of the boat, groaning.
“Oh no!” I cried, reaching out for her. “What’s wrong? Should we go back and find a doctor?”
“Go back?” Symon scoffed. “For seasickness? He’ll get his sea legs before long. Besides, I thought your fairy relative was a healer of some sort. Isn’t that why you’re trying to find her? I’m sure if anything truly ails Louis, your relative will make it better.”
“I’m fine,” Luna said, getting up and crawling back to her place. Indeed, a little color had returned to her cheeks, so I held my tongue, and we went on.
We sailed until the sun was nearly straight overhead. Once, far off, I noticed something that looked like a little trail of smoke rising from the water. “A whale, spouting,” Symon said. “That’s how they breathe.”
And then, suddenly, I saw a massive, towering shape on the horizon. I was certain that a moment before there had been nothing there.
Luna saw it at the same moment. “Land ho! Is it an island?” she called out.
Symon peered into the distance, and then shook his head slowly. “I think not,” he replied in a worried tone. “I believe it’s a storm cloud—though I’ve never seen one like it.”
Storm clouds often shrouded our castle on the cliffs, but they didn’t look like this. The cloud seemed to mount to the very heavens, and lightning flashed deep within its purplish billows. It moved toward us with astonishing speed. A great howling wind came before it, catching Symon unprepared. It propelled us backward so quickly that we nearly overturned, the boat heeling until waves splashed over the side.
“Strike sail!” Symon cried. I had no idea what the command meant, though, and the wind was too strong for me to respond even if I had known. Ripping free of the mast, the sail flew off like a huge white kite. The boom swung around violently, just missing me as I ducked. Then we were at the wind’s mercy.
“Row!” shouted Symon, straining at the tiller. There were long wooden oars on each side of the boat. I grabbed for the starboard oar near me and tried to work it through the water, while Luna did the same on the other side. The oars were useless, though, against the power of that wind.
Thunder cracked, and lightning played in the dark cloud that now hung directly above us. Rain began to fall, pounding down so hard it actually hurt. We were soaked to the skin in an instant. The waves were enormous, whipped into a frenzy by the wind. The Cateline quickly began to fill with water from both above and below.
“Bail!” Symon yelled. I could barely hear him now over the howl of the gale. I dropped my useless oar and found a wooden bucket beneath the seat. Though I worked as fast as I could, I was nearly blinded by the raging storm. I couldn’t begin to keep up with the water that poured into the boat.
The batteau climbed each wave and then rushed into its trough, leaving our stomachs at the top as the next wave rose up behind us. Symon had managed to turn the boat around, so we were hurtling back toward land. We sped up and down the mountainous waves as if in a race for our very lives. The violent movement made me as seasick as Luna had been, but I was so frantic to bail that I would not give in to my queasiness.
By the time the shore came into view, the boat was filled with water and we were riding very low. My arms trembled with exhaustion, but I kept bailing and saw that Luna had found another bucket and was doing the same. It was clear that we were not approaching the strand where we had stayed the night; I could see the red-tiled roofs of many buildings as we swiftly drew closer. We were speeding straight into the harbor of Vittray, its waters dotted with anchored trading ships.
The ships’ crews stood on the decks and watched in astonishment as we whipped past them. Their open mouths and pointing hands were a blur to me. With the gale at our backs, we sped through the harbor as if hurled by an unseen hand. Symon struggled with the tiller, and somehow we avoided the vessels, big and small, rocking on their tethers.
On we raced, using the oars to try to keep us from colliding with one boat and then another. Then I saw the great pier of Vittray, which stuck out a hundred yards into the harbor. It seemed that we would surely hit it—we must hit it!—but I had forgotten how very small the batteau was, and how low it rode. Instead, as we whooshed under the pier, the mast struck it and broke off with a great crack. And with one last thrust, the wind heaved the Cateline onto the sandy beach beneath the pier. The sudden stop flung all three of us—Captain, First Mate, and Deckhand—out of the boat and into a sodden heap on the shore.
9
Of a Refuge and a Route
Landing on the hard sand knocked the air right out of me. There was a horrible moment when I couldn’t breathe and was sure I never would breathe again, and then a sudden, painful gasp as I inhaled. As soon as my lungs filled, I spat out a mouthful of sand.
I heard Luna bellow, “Get that elbow out of my ear!” Thank goodness she was all right. I was pretty certain it was my elbow she meant, but I could barely move. Finally I pushed at the bodies atop me and struggled out of the wet pile on hands and knees, stopping only when I saw a circle of feet at my eye level. We were surrounded.
I lifted my gaze past ankles, shins, and waists fat and skinny, to the startled faces of the people of Vittray. They gaped at us in amazement. I could see why—it must have looked like an invisible hand had pushed us beneath the pier in our little boat and tumbled us out onto the sand. What a tale for fishermen and boat builders to tell by their firesides! But the stares made me aware of what a mess I was, and I began to feel very awkward and uncomfortable.
We got stiffly to our feet, trying to brush the sand off our soaked clothes. “Well, what are you staring at?” Luna challenged the shocked faces around us. “Have you never seen shipwreck victims before?”
A woman with iron-gray hair and broad red cheeks stepped forward. “Child,” she exclaimed, “you were lucky you weren’t all killed!”
A rough-looking man beside her said, “’Twas no normal wind pushing at your vessel, but something altogether strange.”
I reached up to be sure that my kerchief still covered my hair. Luna’s cap and Symon’s had been snatched away by the storm.
“Symon!” came a voice from the crowd, and a middle-aged man with a tanned, weathered face and a gap between his front teeth stepped forward. “What on earth happened, lad?”
Symon shook his head, sending sand flying. “A freak wind, Albert,” he replied.
“It was no such thing!” Luna objected, but before she could continue, I grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. Confused, she looked at me, and I gave her the smallest shake of my head.
“We know it was no freak wind,” I murmured, low. “I’m sure as can be that it was some magic or enchantment. But we mustn’t draw more attention to ourselves.” Luna’s eyes lit with excitement, and she squeezed my hand back, signaling that she understood.
Albert whistled and walked around the Cateline, its bow half-buried in the sand. “I’ve never seen the like,” he said. “Your boat will need some work, that’s certain.”
“Aye, that it will,” Symon said ruefully, looking at the mastless, battered craft.
“That’s nothing you cannot fix,” said the red-cheeked woman. “You, Albert, take Jean and bring down the spruce trunk from our shed. It’s not finished, but Symon can use it for a mast until he can get his own.”
“But ’tis ours, Mathilde!” protested Albert.
“Nonsense, Husband,” the woman said sternly. “Do we need two masts? Have we two boats? I think not. Bring the tools as well. You, Symon, go home and get some dry clothes on, and I’ll take your guests—” And here she broke off, an inquisitive look on her face. I was ready to leap in
with a story, but Luna spoke first.
“We’re Symon’s cousins,” she said, lying with ease. “Distant cousins. We were passing through and stopped to visit. Symon was giving us a taste of the fisherman’s life.”
“Quite a taste!” Albert said. “I doubt you’ll want to feast again at that table!” The others hooted with laughter, and even we, soaked and bruised, had to smile. I could see that Symon was puzzled at Luna’s lie, but to my relief he went along with her story.
“Have you dry things at your cousin’s cottage?” Madame Mathilde asked us. We shook our heads, and I pointed to our sacks, flung out of the boat onto the sand.
“Those are our spare clothes,” I said. It was clear they were as wet as we were.
“Then you will have to borrow,” Madame Mathilde ordered. “I’ve clothes aplenty, for my nine children and five grandchildren come and go and always leave something behind. Follow me.”
Trailing like a brood of chicks behind their hen, we went with Madame Mathilde into Vittray. As we trudged up the cobblestoned street, dozens of people on foot walked by in either direction, giving us curious looks. Horse-drawn wagons piled high with goods passed us, carrying items of all sorts from the ships in the harbor to the rest of the kingdom. The noise and bustle were strange and bewildering to me, and I hugged my sodden cloak around me anxiously. Luna was enthralled by the town, though. Several times I had to drag her away from a shop window displaying bolts of cloth or candles of all sizes or breads round, long, and braided. Everything was new to her, after being so long sheltered from the world.
The storm was gone completely, and no breeze blew, yet suddenly I sensed an unnatural chill. A moment later the back of my neck tingled, as though someone were watching me. I looked around, but I saw nothing suspicious among the people we passed in the street. Uneasy, I moved close to Luna and whispered, “I believe that Manon is near.”
“Do you really think so?” Luna whispered back, her eyes wide.