SeaJourney (Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals Book 1)

by Alex Paul

  Talya was the girl with the freckles who had smiled at him earlier. She was lean, slightly taller than him, and had long blonde hair a little darker than his. She kept it pulled back and held by a gastag skin strip as he did. Wottle had long brown hair in a bun and was the same height as Talya, but a good deal heavier, to the point of being stocky. She did look very strong, Arken realized, maybe stronger than many of the boys. Lila was taller than all the boys except for Gart and Narval. She had delicate features and a beautiful round face. She had her long black hair gathered in a simple swoop on one side of her head. Yet it was Talya that he found his eyes coming back to.

  “We’re all curious who will win the Belzma award this year,” Lar continued. “We might have the future winner on board!” He referred to the most famous Queen’s Tracker of all, who had seen an invading army coming through a distant mountain pass and rode to warn the king, resulting in a huge victory long ago. The king gave the award each year to the Queen’s Tracker cadet judged to be the best lookout, either on land or at sea.

  They turned to their food after the introductions. Before Arken could think of something to say to Talya, she spoke to him.

  ‘“I’m going to win that Belzma award!” Talya sat directly across from Arken. “I have the best eyes. See, bright blue! My mother says that’s the best for seeing far away. More sensitive.” Her eyes seemed to pierce right through him. She asked, “What was your name again?”

  “Arken Freeth.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about you. I’m Narval’s cousin.”

  “Narval?” Arken couldn’t keep disappointment out of his voice.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t like him either.” She giggled.

  “You really don’t?”

  “I’m serious. He’s a bully, and I hate his best friend, Gart.” She leaned forward, and whispered, “Gart’s got bad breath, and he smells worse.”

  Arken leaned back with an amazed look on his face.

  “What?” she asked, her expression puzzled.

  “If I said that, he’d kill me!” Arken exclaimed.

  “Well, he already wants to do that.” Talya spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. Arken couldn’t believe how Talya didn’t seem scared of Gart at all. “I overheard them talking at home, when they didn’t know I was upstairs.”

  “They were really talking about killing me?” Arken sat back, his heart pounding. His dream, his grandfather, they were all correct! He wished he had a sword and shield; his little knife didn’t give him much hope now.

  “Don’t worry, they’re both big cowards. They’d never dare try anything,” Talya reassured him.

  “Of course he will. In fact, he’ll have a chance to kill Arken when they spar tomorrow,” observed Wottle between bites of meat.

  “Shush, Wottle, what do you know?” Talya said. “Arken already beat Gart once. Besides, he knows Arken’s father is a famous warrior. That’s why Gart’s afraid of him.”

  “I know when one person is stronger than another,” Wottle countered. She pushed hard on Talya’s shoulder, Wottle’s bicep flexing as she knocked Talya sideways. “See?”

  “Gart’s afraid of me?” Arken felt shocked.

  “Yes, you beat him once!” Talya’s voice rose to a higher pitch as she sat upright, and it reminded him of the sound of a happy bird calling in the morning. “Wottle, you might be stronger, but I’m a better runner.”

  “Humph,” Wottle muttered, her mouth full of roast ban.

  “I hope I can beat him again.” Arken tried to say, but he swallowed some cornbread as he spoke and coughed violently. Asher twisted around and pounded Arken on the back as Talya looked on in distress. Tears streamed down Arken’s face. Han handed him a mug of water as the coughing continued. Finally, he managed a large drink. However, when he went to speak again, his voice was a squeaky whisper.

  “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” he struggled to say.

  Talya giggled, and the two other girls started laughing.

  “Arken is trying to kill himself so Gart won’t have the chance,” Asher joked.

  “You’re funny.” Talya’s smile seemed to Arken to sparkle like water splashing in a fountain, and her bright blue eyes radiated energy.

  “Thank you.” Asher bowed.

  “I meant Arken is funny.” Talya smiled as her eyes met Arken’s. “You made a funny joke, too, though,” she assured Asher.

  “Arken is a funny boy,” a deep voice came from behind. Arken spun around. Sure enough, there was Narval with his wide shoulders and huge arms, looming behind him. Arken tried not to cringe and thus disappoint Talya, but it was difficult.

  “Arken even looks funny.” Narval glanced at Talya. “Hi cousin, I finished eating and thought I’d join you and your new friends.”

  He stepped around the end of the bench and took the empty spot on Talya’s right.

  “If you must.” Talya slid away from Narval toward Wottle, avoiding physical contact with her cousin as best she could. With Talya sitting beside Narval, Arken could see their resemblance: they had the same brownish-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin, though Talya had freckles while Narval did not.

  “You’re wrong, Narval,” Talya corrected him. “Arken doesn’t look funny. He looks dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Narval seemed surprised. “Hardly.”

  “He beat Gart sparring, didn’t he? Let’s see you do that!”

  “That was just luck,” Narval countered. “I could defeat Arken easily!”

  “Then let’s see you prove it and challenge Gart. If you beat him, then you deserve to fight Arken!” Talya turned to Han. “Those are the rules, aren’t they?”

  “Actually, you’re right,” Han said, straining to look left and see Narval’s reaction. “You know, speaking of the rules, I don’t see how Gart can fight you tomorrow; he’s not allowed to challenge you for a moonth, is he?”

  “You’re right!” Arken said, hope surging within him. “I’ll have to see Lar after dinner and find out if that’s a mistake.”

  “See, he is dangerous,” Talya said to Narval. “He’s smart, and he looks like a darwulf I saw once when we were training in the yellowgrass of the high plains. The darwulf had intense, gray eyes that glowed, just like his.” This was the first time a royal, much less a girl, had ever complimented Arken or defended him to another of their class. It made him feel incredibly happy. He couldn’t believe how nice she was being to him.

  “You’ve been up on the high plains?” Asher asked.

  “Uh huh, all three of us.” Talya pointed at her two friends.

  “We rode on a toth.” Lila spoke for the first time, and her enthusiasm made her blurt out so loudly she blushed.

  “You rode on a war toth? What was that like?” Asher’s question seemed to relieve Lila’s tension, and they were soon deeply engaged in a conversation about war toths and ignoring the others at the table.

  “You think he looks like a darwulf?” Narval snorted in contempt. “I think he looks more like a river leech that sucks people’s blood.”

  “Well, you’ll have to earn the right to spar with him, Mister I’m-so-dangerous.” Talya crossed her arms and glared at her cousin.

  “I will spar with him and beat him when I do.” Narval hit the table hard with his palms. The veins in his thick neck bulged as his face turned red.

  “Calm down, Narval, your head looks funny, like it’s going to explode,” Talya teased. The table erupted in laughter while Narval fumed, speechless.

  “If anyone’s head looks funny, it’s the new boy’s,” Narval finally said. “What’s your name, new boy?”

  “Asher d’Will,” Asher said, turning his attention from Lila to Narval and answering in a polite tone.

  “No, that’s not your name,” Narval corrected him. “Your name is Skullhead, because your skin is so tight on your head it looks like a skull.”

  “What?” Asher asked. “My name’s not skullhead.”

  “It is now,” Narval said. “You’re new, you’re a st
ranger, and you have to go through initiation, so Skullhead you remain, until Gart and I say so.”

  Narval rose from the table and walked off, laughing softly. He looked back once, gave Asher a thumbs up sign, and mouthed Skullhead.

  Talya waited until Narval was not looking, and then grabbed her knife and waved it at Narval’s back as she stuck her tongue out, making them all laugh. Narval heard and turned around, but she had already looked down and no longer held her knife, so he continued to walk away.

  “You’re so mean to him!” Arken was amazed at her courage. “How do you get away with it?”

  “He deserves it. He’s always been mean to me.” Talya made a face. Arken felt an odd sensation in his stomach again, and he wondered once more if bad food was causing his problem.

  Wottle tugged at her bun of brown hair as she asked a question, and Talya turned, placing her chin on an open palm and resting her elbow on the table as she gave her attention to her friends. Arken ate in silence, listening to Han tell Asher how to sword fight. Although he listened to Han, he found himself looking at Talya throughout the meal.

  It was difficult not to stare at her. She was lean, but not delicate, with the look of an anlop, which were light and powerful runners. He reasoned she must be fit and strong, since she had survived this long in the Queen’s Trackers—no easy feat, as they stressed the skill of long-distance running and horseback riding. A pattern soon developed: he would look at Talya, she would turn and smile at him, and then he would smile back before looking down at his food and taking another bite. It surprised him that he could find Talya’s looks so beautiful when she resembled Narval, who he felt was one of the ugliest boys in the school.

  The ocean swell built during nightmeal and made the ship roll more than it had earlier in the day. With each wave, the anchor chain tugged at the ship, making it twist with each rise to the top of the chain’s length. The lines and timbers of the ship creaked and groaned in protest. The class of cadets all began talking at once, comparing the motion to a ride on a slow-moving harse.

  As Arken finished his second helping of cornbread smothered in musc berry jelly, he noticed that Talya’s face had turned gray.

  “Do you feel all right?” he asked.

  “No, my stomach feels tight,” Talya complained.

  “It does? That’s not a good sign.”

  “Why?” She looked worried.

  “You might be seasick.” Arken tried to sound as if it wasn’t a huge concern.

  “Do you want some water?” Asher offered.

  “Or maybe juice would help,” Wottle suggested.

  “Do you get seasick?” Talya asked Arken.

  “Never. I’ve lived at sea for moonths,” he bragged.

  Suddenly, Talya stood up just as the ship rolled. In that split second, while suspended above Arken, she opened her mouth and threw up as violently as a human possibly could.

  Arken jumped up, but he wasn’t quick enough, and the mess was all over him. He hadn’t admitted it, but he had actually been seasick once when he was small, though never again; however, with the smell all over him, it was too much. He threw up with the return roll of the ship, splashing it all over Talya.

  “God’s above!” The captain yelled at the sailors who acted as waiters for the main table. “Get those orocks up on deck by the slops with a bucket of water!” The orock was a single-horned, woolly haired grazer, known for its horrible odor and bad vision. Explorers and hunters appreciated its bad odor, because orocks were extremely aggressive, and their bad smell gave humans a chance to slink away before an orock noticed they were close by. Arken had never seen one, but he knew being called an orock was not a compliment.

  Rough hands lifted Arken from the bench, propelling him from the room. He tripped as he threw up again, and the hands on his arms shifted to his armpits. He shot through the doorway as two sailors carried him at a dead run to get him out of the room. The stairway loomed ahead. It was wide enough for three people to walk abreast, and it did not slope as steeply as the ladders. The sailors sprinted up the stairs, making Arken feel like a flying orock.

  They dumped him face down on the deck by the railing so that he could throw up over the side if necessary. His stomach settled down as the evening breeze washed over him, easing his nausea, so he rolled to his right side and looked through the railing.

  The sun was setting on Arken’s first day aboard the Sea Nymph, a day he would never forget. He wiped his face clean with a cloth the sailors had thrown to him. The sound of more cadets throwing up in the galley followed him up the stairs, accompanied by the bellowing of the angry captain.

  “I hate you, Arken,” Talya said, as two sailors deposited her on the deck facing Arken. They threw a towel at her, and she cleaned her face, and then cleared some wisps of her hair away from her mouth. “You said you never get seasick. Yet you threw up all over me!”

  “You did it first!” Arken protested. “You made me ill. I never get seasick. I should hate you!”

  “I hate myself!” Talya grinned. “I’m not much of a sailor.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Arken raised his head up and leaned on his elbow. “You’re far too nice.”

  “Well, all the others hate both of us, so we should stick together!” Talya offered.

  “I’d like that,” Arken said. Talya smiled, and all thoughts of seasickness or worry about Gart dwindled in importance. Then his stomach turned on him, and Arken twisted around to stick his head through the railing before losing more of his wonderful nightmeal.

  “Look, it’s moonrise,” Talya said. “If you’re not too sick to enjoy it.”

  He turned his head to see a huge moon rising over the ocean to the east. “Look at the jungle ahead.” Arken pointed where the moonlight lit up the tall trees brightly enough to make out the green color of the leaves. “Isn’t it beautiful?” A slight, offshore breeze carried strange scents to Arken.

  “I’m glad we got sick.” Talya spoke in a soft voice. “We would have missed this moonrise otherwise.”

  He turned to see her beautiful face looking at him so honestly, and he felt that strange feeling in his stomach yet again.

  CHAPTER 13

  MUTINY!

  Lost! The captain promised we would reach landfall by today; yet there is no land in sight. No animals, no smell of land, no mountains. The crew grumbles but discipline holds. All eyes are on me. The crew asks, “Why does she not consult the necklace and find land?” I am glad I did not lie before. I tell them I cannot read the necklace yet, so I am as lost as everyone else on this ship, but I will keep trying. They curse my mother’s guards for allowing her capture.

  —Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria

  The disappearing sun turned the mist an orange-red. Yolanta turned back to the dinner party on his main deck. His fleet of eight ships was tied together in two rows. Docking pads buffered the ships against scraping one another when the gentle swell ran under them. His fleet was a tiny island of humanity in an empty sea that resembled olive oil, smooth and unruffled by wind.

  Weeks of nights tied together in this still, vast, lonely sea had caused a growing fear in his men. Brumbal had warned him that mutiny grew more possible the longer it took to reach land. Yolanta had decided to address his men’s concerns at an officer’s dinner. His thirty officers sat at a long table on the Reaper’s main deck. A spare sail formed a tent above their heads in case rinfall began before drinking ended. Lanterns flickered all around, their light gradually replacing the fading sun. It was time to speak, as darkness heightened his officer’s fear. He rose and raised a mug of mead in a toast.

  “To spoils and slaves.” Yolanta’s bare, right arm rippled with muscles as he lifted his heavy silver mug. His officers rose to roar their approval.

  “To Yolanta.” Brumbal turned to their leader and raised his mug, which looked small in his massive fist. Being the largest man in the fleet, when Brumbal proposed a toast to their leader, everyone joined in with enthusiasm.

&nb
sp; “Yolanta!”

  “To mead!” Yolanta responded. With this toast to their favorite drink, the men pulled their beards back and drank deep, emptying their cups to honor the sweet wine made from honey. “Sit, rest your weary bones turned sore from rowing.” His officers, who shared the load of rowing like Yolanta, flopped gratefully back in their chairs.

  “We are on a great adventure.” Yolanta watched lantern light play over the rugged, bearded faces of his men. “Our people have never navigated by compass. But thanks to King Zuul of the Amarrats, we now sail across the Circle Sea, out of sight of land, trusting a small piece of metal with our fate. I salute all of you for taking us this far. I estimate that seven more days will bring us to the coast north of Lanth.”

  “To land!” one of his captains cheered, and consumed another toast.

  “However, I hear the men have been grumbling, saying I am a fool and that we are going to die on this adventure.”

  His officers turned quiet; several looked away, for they knew they were guilty of ignoring the crew’s complaints. They also knew that by allowing those complaints to continue, they were contributing to a possible mutiny. Mutiny was punishable by hanging. Yolanta looked out at his officers and noticed some hands moving slowly toward sword handles. Yolanta knew these men feared he would next accuse them of treason and that their lives were in danger.

  “And I would grumble too!” Yolanta raised his mug. “I hate rowing in the heat of each day! I toast their complaints because I myself have wondered if I should trust this compass.” He held up his silver mug as he paused to look at his officers, to gauge their mood. “To be honest, I would have agreed and thought this captain Yolanta a fool for venturing out to the center of a windless sea!”

  Laughter rippled among his officers—laughter and a sense of relief that he wasn’t going to accuse them of mutiny. Hands eased away from sword handles.

  “But know this. I have not trusted my life to a faulty instrument. Tell your men I am not lost. Dead ahead lies the west, and we will make landfall soon.” He met their eyes while pausing for effect.