The Andor: Book One of the Legends of Tirmar

by Mark Dame

  Kel met Flyn at the boat before dawn. Flyn had had trouble sleeping the night before and had arrived an hour earlier. His gear was already stored in the watertight lockbox and he had pulled the boat from its hiding place. While he waited, Flyn watched it float among the reeds of the small inlet that led to the open ocean, wondering if he would actually be able to destroy it when the time came.

  “Are you ready?” Flyn asked Kel when he arrived.

  “No, but I’m sure you’re not going to let that stop me.” Kel dropped his pack on the ground with a huff. His new hat sat cocked to one side on his head.

  “Cheer up, Kel. This time tomorrow, we’ll be leagues away from all our problems without a care in the world.”

  “We’ll be in the middle of our biggest problem.”

  “Then think about the spring festival and all the food, and drink, and girls in their spring dresses dancing in the streets looking for a stranger from the West to dance with.”

  “Not if they see me with you.” Kel finally smiled.

  “We’ll see about that, but if you don’t get your gear stowed, we’ll never know.”

  Kel threw his pack into the lockbox, which Flyn secured. Flyn’s heart raced as they climbed into the boat. He breathed in the salty tang of the ocean carried by a slight breeze. With it came the sound of early morning breakers hitting the beach to the south. To the east, a deep red glow over the island marked the coming of the new day.

  “Let’s go,” Flyn said, almost whispering in deference to the moment. He turned his back to the morning glow and faced the darkness to the west.

  The boat slid almost silently away from the shore and through the reeds, the only sound coming from their paddles dipping into the water. They didn’t speak, the path to the sea well ingrained in them both. In the front of the boat, Kel looked to shore every few seconds, but there was no one watching them. Just the empty grass field that sloped down to the water.

  After a few minutes, the break in the seawall that protected the small lagoon from the surf came into view. The sound of the waves was louder now, the whitecaps of the breakers seeming to glow in the early morning twilight. As they approached the break, Flyn could feel the water surging in and out with the surf. The hardest part about launching the boat was timing their exit through the seawall to avoid a wave crashing down on them and throwing the boat into the rocks.

  They maneuvered the boat to the side of the break where the current wasn’t as strong.

  “Hold it here,” Flyn said, trying to stay quiet and still be loud enough for Kel to hear him over the surf.

  He watched the water, looking for the natural lull between groups of waves. They used their paddles to keep the boat in place until the right moment.

  “Now!”

  A wave crashed down on the seawall, sending tons of water through the break. They paddled as hard as they could to the break and caught the outflow. The current spat the little boat through the narrow gap in the wall and into the open water. They kept paddling until they were beyond the surf zone and could rest.

  Flyn turned to look back. The horizon was getting brighter, the orange glow silhouetting the island. If not for the whitecaps from the breaking waves, he wouldn’t have been able to tell where the water stopped and the land began.

  “We need to go,” Kel said. “Somebody could be watching us and we would never see them.”

  “It’s too dark for anybody to see us on the water.” But he stuck his paddle in the water and helped Kel paddle the boat farther away from the shore.

  When the sun finally broke over the horizon, the boat was at least half a league from shore, far enough away to avoid anyone seeing them from land. At this distance, the twenty-foot boat would be little more than a speck on the water.

  “Told you we could do it,” Flyn said.

  “I’ll be happier when we’re farther north and we don’t have to be so far out.” Leave it to Kel to find the downside.

  “We should keep our distance today. Tomorrow will be safe enough to stay closer to shore.”

  Kel just grunted in response.

  They turned the boat north, setting an easy pace to avoid wearing themselves out. They didn’t talk much for the first hour or so. They had never been so far from shore and even Flyn was a little nervous. Knowing how to swim was one thing. Swimming for an hour back to shore was something else.

  And what about Kel? If the boat sank, how would he save Kel?

  Not that he was really concerned about the boat sinking. The seams were freshly tarred and the sea was calm. There was no point in worrying about things that weren’t going to happen. So Flyn forgot about sinking boats and settled in to enjoy the trip.

  Eventually, even Kel started to relax a little bit. They mostly talked about what Osthorp would be like. They had both been to a lot of places on the island, but neither one had ever been to Osthorp. They had heard the stories about the saloons that had music and dancing all day long and theaters where the performers were suspended from the ceiling with wires and flew around the stage. And apparently, Osthorp had festivals and parades to celebrate just about anything, though the spring festival was the most well-known.

  “I’ve heard their Matching Day lasts all week,” Flyn said. Matching Day was the traditional day that young men and women of Trygsted would meet and marry. The fall before their twentieth birthday, young men were expected to travel to another town for Matching Day to find a wife. It was usually an all-day party that ended with a dance. The young men and women would spend the day trying to find a spouse.

  At the end of the dance, all the young women would line up to be chosen. When chosen, the she could accept or reject her suitor. If she rejected him, he could try to choose another.

  At least that was the tradition. The whole thing was becoming more of a formality, with couples having met and chosen each other before Matching Day. There were still a few remote towns that held to the old ways, though those were growing rare.

  By law, a man could only marry before he turned twenty, so if none of the women would have him, he would spend the rest of his life without a wife. But even that tradition was under pressure as more women were being choosier about their husbands.

  Flyn and Kel had both dated girls as teenagers, but neither had yet found a wife. With their Matching Day only a few months away, the thought of going to Osthorp to celebrate for a week seemed like a good idea. Flyn pointed out that their excursion could be like a scouting trip so when they came back in the fall, they would already be familiar with the town.

  Their talk faded as the morning wore on, the heat from the sun in the cloudless sky sapping their energy. They paddled through the morning, taking breaks every hour or so. During their breaks, they splashed themselves with cool water from the sea and ate small snacks. Flyn even jumped into the water for a swim on occasion. Kel, of course, stayed in the boat.

  Around noon, they took a longer break for lunch, eating fruit and dried meat, and drinking berry wine from one of Flyn’s waterskins. After eating, Kel pulled his hat over his eyes and fell asleep. Flyn tried to do the same, but without a hat, the sun was too bright, so he tried fishing instead.

  The boat bobbed and bounced in the gentle swells, moving slowly north with the current. This far from shore, Flyn could no longer see the ocean floor, just deep-blue water. His fishing line disappeared into the depths, swallowed by a dark realm somewhere below the boat. He stared into the abyss with butterflies in his stomach, wondering what creatures may be lurking beyond his sight.

  He moved back from the side and pulled in his fishing line. Maybe he shouldn’t swim or fish anymore until he could see the bottom again. Just to be on the safe side.

  Flyn stretched, surveying the horizon. Big, puffy clouds were beginning to fill the sky, moving slowly south. A haze had settled in, causing the shoreline to the east to appear fuzzy. To the northeast, the haze seemed to make the sky and ocean appear darker.

  A cool breeze picked up, carrying the smell of the ocean
. And maybe something else—a sharp, almost tangy smell underneath. Or maybe he was just smelling the sweat from his sleeping friend.

  He yawned and stretched again. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. Maybe a small nap. He pulled off his tunic and lay back, using it to cover his face. The gentle rocking of the boat, water lightly splashing against its sides, the far-off call of seagulls: within minutes, Flyn was fast asleep.

  A loud crash jolted Flyn from his slumber.

  The sun and blue sky were gone, replaced by dark clouds. The gentle breeze had turned into a fierce wind that turned the once calm, blue sea into a dark, turbulent cauldron. Flyn sat up, the thunderclap still rumbling across the open water. In front of him, Kel gripped the sides of the boat so tight, the tendons stood out on his arms.

  “Flyn?” Kel didn’t try to turn around.

  The boat rocked and bounced in the rough water. The wind turned the tops of the waves into whitecaps, whipping across the peaks and sending salt spray through the air, pelting Flyn’s face and bare chest.

  “Quick, grab a paddle,” Flyn yelled over the mounting storm. “We have to get to shore!”

  Flyn found his tunic lying in the bottom of the boat, which was already starting to fill up with water. He pulled on the wet garment to protect himself from the stinging spray, then grabbed his paddle and started propelling the boat toward the distant shore. Kel didn’t move.

  “Kel! I can’t do it by myself.”

  Still Kel didn’t move. While Flyn could paddle the boat by himself under normal circumstances, loaded down with two people and all their gear, he would have a hard time in ideal conditions. There was no way he could get them out of the storm by himself.

  “Kel,” he tried again, “you have to help or we’ll never make it. It’s either paddle or swim.”

  Kel finally let go of one side and reached for his paddle, but a wave struck the front of the boat, pitching them up and down. Kel latched on to the side again.

  “Come on, Kel!”

  Again, Kel reached down and groped for his paddle. This time he was able to grab it.

  “Good, now paddle! As hard as you can!”

  Slowly, Kel started paddling, flinching and grabbing the side of the boat with each wave.

  “Keep paddling, don’t stop!”

  “That’s easy for you to say. I can’t swim!”

  Flyn turned the boat toward the shore, but that put them sideways to the waves coming from the north. Each one rolled the boat to the right, threatening to toss the hapless pair into the ocean. Every time the boat somehow managed to right itself.

  Still, they paddled on.

  Flyn had never been on the ocean during a storm before. The monstrous waves were larger than any breakers he had seen pounding the beach. When they were in the troughs, some of the waves towered twenty feet over their heads. They could only see the shore for the brief moments they were on top of a wave. Then he would clench his jaw as the boat ran down the back side of the wave, sometimes dipping under the water before riding up the face of the next wave.

  Whenever they reached the peak of a swell, the wind, whipping across the tops of the waves, would send more spray into their eyes. To their left, the sky grew even darker, punctuated by flashes of lighting. The low growl of thunder mixed with the high-pitched scream of the wind and the constant slap of water against the side of the boat.

  More and more water filled the boat, making it harder to paddle. Each wave threatened to topple the tiny craft. For the first time since he had built the boat, Flyn wished he was on land. If the people who had tried to reach Vahul had run into a storm like this one, he understood now why they were never heard from again.

  He wondered if anyone would ever hear from him again.

  “Faster, Kel!” Flyn dug the paddle into the water as hard as he could, struggling toward the shore that didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Kel, too, paddled harder. Their only hope was to reach land before the storm flipped the boat.

  Another bolt of lightning flashed over their heads, the crack of the thunder piercing Flyn’s ears almost immediately. Then the wind slowed to a slight breeze. Even the waves relaxed to a comparatively small five or six feet.

  “Is it over?” Kel asked, laying his paddle across his lap and looking around.

  “I don’t know,” Flyn replied, “but keep paddling. If it’s not over, I want to get out of it as quick as we can.”

  Kel resumed his paddling. Without the strong wind, the going was easier, but the boat was still half full of water, hampering their progress.

  Ahead of them, the sky grew fuzzy as the rain washed over the island and into the sea toward them.

  “We’re going to get wet,” Flyn said.

  “We’re already wet,” Kel replied.

  Flyn grinned. He could handle wet. Just so long as the storm didn’t pick up again.

  In less than a minute, the downpour was on them, instantly drenching any part of them that was still dry. The rain reduced their visibility to only a few yards, completely obscuring their view of the shore. Flyn tried to use the waves as a guide to keep the boat pointed in the right direction.

  Worse than the rain, the wind resumed its assault, and with it, the waves grew larger, each one seemingly bigger than the last. The boat managed to climb the first few, but soon the waves were too high. They found themselves stuck in a trough, green walls of water rising far above their heads.

  Then the wave broke.

  The white, foamy crest roared down from above, a great beast determined to destroy them in one massive strike.

  “Hang on!” Flyn dropped his paddle and grabbed the sides of the boat. Kel wasn’t so quick.

  There was nothing they could do. The wave washed over the boat, tipping it on its side. Flyn managed to hold on, but Kel was washed overboard and beneath the water.

  As the wave passed, the boat, now completely swamped, struggled to stay upright. Flyn wiped the water from his eyes and searched the surface for his friend.

  Kel’s pale face emerged from the water, his arms flailing over his head.

  “Flyn! Help!” Kel’s voice was small and faint against the roar of the wind and waves.

  “Hold on, Kel! I’m coming!” Flyn gritted his teeth and inched forward, trying to reach the rope that was tied off in the front of the boat. A gust of wind whipped his tunic up into his face and threw more salt spray into his eyes. Flyn forced his way forward, in spite of the burning in his eyes, and found the rope, more by feel than sight. The salt water had almost completely blinded him. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he used the other to wipe his eyes.

  Too late, he saw the next wave bearing down on him. It hit the small craft broadside, crashing over the top, rolling the boat over, and throwing Flyn into the sea.

  He managed to hold his breath before hitting the water, but the wave pushed him under. Rolling and twisting in the current, he lost track of which way was up. Light and dark green flashed before him, then the green was replaced by black.

  The boat tumbled in the wave, striking Flyn on the head. He saw a bright flash, then nothing.

  Flyn tried to open his eyes.

  Too bright.

  He squinted against the glare.

  Water. Sunlight.

  He was cold in spite of the hot sun beating down on him. His shoulders hurt. He couldn’t move.

  Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light.

  He was alive.

  He was lying on a floating log, blue sky above and blue water below.

  At the other end of the log was a body. It was Kel. He still had his stupid hat.

  “Kel,” Flyn tried to say. His throat was dry and all he could manage was a hoarse whisper. He tried to pull himself along the log and found he was stuck. More precisely, he was tied to the log with a rope running under his arms. Most of his body was in the water, though he couldn’t feel it.

  He pulled himself onto the log, which loosened the rope that had been holding him above the water. Sharp tin
gling filled his arms as the blood flow returned.

  He rested, that small effort exhausting him.

  How was he alive?

  At the other end of the log, Kel looked up.

  “Flyn?”

  Flyn nodded.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were dead or alive.”

  “What happened?” Flyn said, his voice still a whisper.

  “A wave hit the boat and flipped it over and you fell in. I thought you were gone. I was able to grab the rope and pull myself back to the boat and then you popped up next to me, so I grabbed you and tied the rope around you so you wouldn’t sink again.”

  Flyn looked closer at the log: it wasn’t a log—it was the bottom of his boat.

  “How long?”

  “A few hours, I guess. The sun’s going down, so it must be past dinnertime.”

  They were well off shore, but Flyn could see a small strip of land in the distance. He pointed. Kel turned to follow the gesture.

  “Guess we better start kicking if we want to get back to shore before dark,” Kel said.

  Flyn looked at the water lapping at the sides of the capsized boat. Feeling was just starting to return to his legs. Getting back in the water wasn’t high on his list of things he wanted to do, but spending the night on the water wasn’t either, so he held his breath and slid back into the icy sea.

  At the other end, Kel climbed into the water and they started kicking, using the remains of the boat to hold them up. The shore was a long way off.

  They kicked without talking for a long time, the only sound coming from the water sloshing around the overturned boat.

  “If the sun’s going down, why’s it in front of us?” Kel said after a while.

  Flyn stopped kicking and stared at the shore. Their village was on the west side of the island, which meant the sun should be behind them. It wasn’t. It was right in front of them.

  “Maybe you were wrong,” Flyn said. “Maybe we were out all night and it’s morning now instead of evening.”

  “No. I never slept. I tried, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find any more rope to tie myself off. I was afraid I would roll into the water if I fell asleep.”