This will be my last report to you, Astinus. I told Ark that being a recorder was very exciting, but it was maybe a little too exciting, and I would rather be a cobbler for now and later an amanuensis, though to tell the truth I have given some thought to being a cave explorer or a sea pirate (I didn't tell him that part, though).
I also asked Ark if tomorrow he would show me where my mother is buried so I could say hi to her and maybe visit her once in a while. Ark said yes and also said he was sorry he had never told me about her before and said it had hurt him to even think about it. All he could remember about her was that she was pretty. I thought about it and finally figured that I could forgive him, because I don't know what I would have done had it been me finding a baby Ark, and it was all past anyway.
I have been thinking about the question I tried to answer for you and how much trouble that one question caused, and for a while I was feeling bad about myself for asking it, but now I don't so much. I feel sorry for Goodwife Filster, even if she is so crazy and angry that she lost control of herself, but there are a lot of people like her around who have bad attitudes and don't want to make life better for anyone else. If you are afraid that people haven't learned anything about working together as a lesson of the Cataclysm, then it seems to me you have a lot to worry about. But Ark and I (and maybe the widow, too, though I haven't asked) have it figured out most of the time, so there's still hope.
It was fun working for you, Astinus. Maybe I will get to see you again someday when I sail my own pirate ship. Be looking for me!
THE VOYAGE OF THE SUNCHASER
Paul B. Thompson,
Tonya R. Carter
A dense red haze surrounded the sun in a hot, silent sky. The sea was calm, though swirls and eddies showed on its surface. The violent upheavals in the air and water had lasted through the long night; now they were done. Across this desolate scene drifted the merchant ship SUNCHASER, listing hard to port, its tangled yards and spars trailing in the oily water.
The ship's master, Dunvane of Palanthas, slipped the loops of rope from around his wrists. In the worst part of the storm, he had lashed himself to the ship's wheel. His wrists were raw and bloody from the hemp's chafing. Dunvane took the wheel now and turned it left and right, but the steering ropes were slack and the ship did not respond.
He drew in a deep breath and coughed. Feathers of smoke clung to the Sunchaser; the shredded sails were still burning. Dunvane had never seen anything like the blazing hot tempest that had swept down upon them. The wind was like fire itself, and it consumed more than the ship's sails. Those sailors who'd had the ill fortune to be standing on the windward side of the ship had ignited like candles. Half of Dunvane's crew of fourteen died in that instant. He and the others who'd been on deck had burns on their faces and hands and arms.
Then came the waves. Breakers as high and solid as cliffs fell on them. Only Dunvane's seamanship had saved the Sunchaser, as he turned stern first to the crushing waves. The ship rode out the extraordinary storm, but with all the spinning and turning, the captain had no idea where they'd come to be.
What crewmen remained were scattered on deck, laid out by exhaustion. Dunvane staggered to the waist of the ship, shaking the sailors awake. Four men, he found, were beyond waking. Within a short time, the only three survivors of the Sunchaser's crew were on their feet.
"Set the lads to clearing away those fallen shrouds," Dunvane said.
First Mate Norry croaked the order, then asked his captain, "As we're short-handed, sir, will we be puttin' back for Palanthas?"
Dunvane squinted into the billowing clouds. "Nay. We've come more than halfway. It's better to make for Gardenath, on the Istar coast." He shook his head and tugged thoughtfully at his dark brown beard. "I haven't a clue where we are, Norry."
"Surely the Solamnic coast lies south," offered the mate, pointing over the starboard rail.
Dunvane was not sure of anything, and said so.
"Well," Norry said, "at least the cargo is safe."
Dunvane looked at the reason for their voyage. Lashed to the deck hard by the mainmast was an enormous bowl, carved out of serpentine stone by master artisans in Palanthas. Dunvane and his crew were being well paid to ferry this stone bowl from Palanthas to Istar. The sight eased Dunvane's fear.
"I'll speak with the Revered Son," the captain said. "He'll know what's going on. In the meantime, keep the men busy. Don't give 'em time to think too much."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Dunvane circled the serpentine bowl, watching the iridescent colors flare and die on its surface as he moved around it. Although made of stone, the bowl was remarkably light, in part because of the skillful fluting of the underside. It was seven feet in diameter and two feet deep in the center, yet four Palanthian stevedores had loaded it without strain. Once the captain was satisfied that its lashings were intact, he went aft to the sterncastle.
A gust of wind disturbed the eerie calm. Something borne on the wind pattered on the deck and stung his face. He stared at it — fine, black dirt. Here was a fresh wonder — a shower of dirt this far out at sea! The wind swirled and stole the dark dust from his sight.
Dunvane hurried aft and knocked loudly on the stern cabin door. "May I enter?" he called.
"Yes, come."
Dunvane pulled off his knitted wool cap and raised the latch. The cabin inside was hot and dark. The sole candle had gone out. Dunvane's eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he saw a pale face emerge from the shadows near the cabin berth.
"Are you well, Revered Son?"
"I am well, Captain." The passenger stood and stepped into the well of faint light from the open door. A tall, ascetic-looking man, not yet thirty years of age, his fair skin and blond-white hair shone in the gloom. Despite the violence of the night, he appeared remarkably composed. His white priestly robes were neatly draped around his narrow shoulders, and his hair was smoothed back from his forehead. Composure came easily to Revered Son Imkhian of Istar. He wore it as part of the costume of his office.
Seating himself at the table in the center of the cabin, Imkhian asked in a calm, deep voice, "What has happened?"
Dunvane opened the side shutters and let diffuse red light fill the cabin. "A storm like no other I ever encountered in my life, Revered Son. I shot the stars just before eight bells, and everything was as calm as a farmer's pond. The sky was fair. Then the lookout called, 'Fire! Fire!' 'Whereaway?' says I. 'In the air,' says the lookout."
"Fire in the sky? Most strange," Imkhian said coolly. "Then what?"
"A great globe of fire fell into the sea, and a burning hot wind struck us." Dunvane went on to enumerate his losses — sailors, sails, rigging. "But your special cargo is safe,' Revered Son, safe and undamaged."
The priest nodded. "That is well. The Kingpriest himself is expecting the serpentine bowl before the great Festival of Purification."
"If I may ask — what is it for?"
Imkhian folded his hands. "It will be placed in the great temple in the center of the city, and there an eternal flame will be kindled. That is why it must be made of serpentine; any other stone would eventually crack under the continuous heat."
Cries outside interrupted the priest. "Heave away!" yelled a voice, and there was a loud crash. The ship slowly righted itself.
"The men have cut away the broken foremast that was making us list," Dunvane explained. "The hull is undamaged."
"How will we proceed without sails?"
"There is spare cloth on board. We'll patch together a small sail, Revered Son. We are being drawn by a current. Our progress will be slow, but we can proceed."
Imkhian frowned, his pale blue eyes narrowing. "Time is short, Captain. The voyage was only supposed to last a week."
The captain shifted nervously, his head still bent in a posture of deference. "No one could have foreseen the tempest last night, but I don't think it will delay us more than a day. But… Revered Son, what could that globe of fire have been?"
&nb
sp; The priest looked thoughtful. "Forces of evil are rampant, Captain, and the work of our great Kingpriest is often threatened. Since the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue, evil sorcerers have plotted to stop this great cleansing work. Perhaps some wizard sought to prevent the serpentine bowl from reaching Istar." Imkhian drew himself up taller, his eyes glinting proudly. "But the will of the Kingpriest is not easily thwarted."
"May his blessings continue upon us," Dunvane murmured with feeling.
Imkhian frowned and studied the sea captain intently, as if searching for some sign of insincerity. Dunvane shifted uneasily.
"Ahoy! Shipwreck, ahoy!" came a cry from on deck.
Bowing, Dunvane hastily quit the cabin, jamming his hat back on his head. The mate and the other two members of his crew stood at the starboard rail, peering into the murk. The first mate put his hands around his mouth and crowed again, "Shipwreck, ahoy!"
Then the captain saw it. Lying very low in the water, some thousand yards off, was a dark, floating object. It resembled a fair-sized vessel, lying on its beam ends.
"Is the helm answering?" asked Dunvane.
"Aye, Captain, but without sheets, we're flowing with the current," Norry replied.
"That will do. Bring her about, four points to starboard."
Sluggishly, the Sunchaser turned its bluff bow toward the distant wreck. The smoky dust hanging in the air parted silently as the SUNCHASER glided along.
"Two points more," called Dunvane. He climbed the rigging and clung to the shrouds, studying the wreck as they came steadily closer. From his loftier perch, he saw that the sea ahead was flecked with flotsam of every kind: tree branches, boards, straw, bottles, the carcasses of drowned animals. Norry steered the ship until the bow was dead-on to the half-sunken vessel.
The water was muddy, a turbid brown mixture. It was impossible to see the usual changes in sea color that warn of shallows. Dunvane stared hard at the water, praying they wouldn't run aground.
"Keep us off that wreck," ordered the captain. "I don't want to foul her."
A sailor went forward with a hefty boat hook in hand. At the last moment, Norry spun the wheel, and the Sunchaser sheered left of the wreck.
A figure rose up on top of the hulk and waved both arms.
"Bring him aboard!" shouted Dunvane, and the sailor with the boat hook held it out to the castaway. The mudcoated figure threw both arms around the pole. The sailor levered him up and around.
Dunvane's attention was drawn from the rescue by a scraping sound below him. He looked down to where the side of the SUNCHASER was brushing against the wreck. Tufts of hay, tied with string, broke loose and floated away from the sunken ship. Bundled straw… thatch from a roof…
"I'll be damned!" Dunvane exclaimed. "That's no ship! It's a house!"
The rescued castaway collapsed on deck. Dunvane slid down a line and dropped onto the deck beside the stranger — a woman.
"Thank you!" she gasped, brown eyes gleaming out from under a thick mask of mud. She kissed Dunvane's hand fervently. "Bless you, sir! I saw your ship and thought it was a vision — !" Her voice choked off.
Embarrassed, the captain pulled away and stood up. He ordered a sailor to push them off from the wreck, and soon the unusual current was once more pulling them along. Norry fetched a bucket of clean water and a rag. The woman wiped her face, then raised the heavy bucket to her lips, drinking deeply. The water cut rivulets in the mud plastered on her throat.
"Who are you?" asked Dunvane. "Where do you come from?"
"My name is Jermina. I am from Gardenath."
Dunvane stared. "Where?"
The woman repeated her answer.
"How in all Chaos did you get out here, in the middle of the ocean?" he demanded.
Jermina looked forlornly at the receding bulk of the wreck. "This was Gardenath," she said. "Right where you stand."
"You're lying!" said Norry.
She shook her head, dazed, in shock. "That house was Herril's Inn. It stood on the highest hill in Gardenath. The wall of water fell upon us, covering the land in a single night. Nothing remains…"
"Bah!" Norry snorted, but the others weren't so sure.
"Can it be true, Captain?" one of the sailors asked.
"I cannot count it so. There was an upheaval, we know that, but I cannot believe that a town of ten thousand souls has sunk beneath the sea."
"So it happened," said Jermina softly.
The sailors frowned, exchanging glances. It was obvious they were beginning to believe her.
"I will ask the Revered Son," said Dunvane firmly. "He will know the truth!"
He took hold of the woman and headed for the priest's cabin. Dunvane knocked until the door opened and Imkhian appeared. The captain brought Jermina forward. She told her story.
The priest's composure remained untouched, and he spared no more than a glance at the muddy, bedraggled woman. "It is a lie, Captain," he said flatly. "Such things do not happen. The Kingpriest does not permit them to happen."
Jermina blinked at him. "Why would I lie? I tell you, the town of Gardenath lies under the water around you!"
Imkhian's impassive gaze remained on the captain. "Resume your course, Master Dunvane. I am on an important mission, given me by the Kingpriest himself. The serpentine bowl must arrive in Istar for the ceremony. Don't waste any more precious time worrying about this ridiculous tale."
"We'll set to work on the sail at once, Revered Son," said Dunvane, relieved, as Imkhian slammed shut the cabin door.
"Captain!" shouted Norry.
The Sunchaser shuddered and heeled slowly to port. Dunvane and his men ran to the rail. The strange current that had been carrying them along was changing direction, and the ship's rudder, tied straight ahead, was fighting the pull.
"Look!" Norry pointed.
"By all the holy gods," breathed Dunvane.
Off the port side was a scene from a nightmare. A vast shoal of floating debris covered the water. Clinging to the mass of logs, shake roofs, and uprooted trees were bedraggled, muddy, sunburned people. All stared hopefully at the oncoming SUNCHASER.
The first cries from parched throats reached their ears. "Help… help us… water, water… help…"
The captain recovered from his shock. "Norry. Take the wheel. Steer wide of them." Dunvane ran to Imkhian's door once again. "Revered Son! Come out, please! You must see this!"
Imkhian emerged. The captain pointed at the scene ahead.
A flicker of surprise marred the smooth surface of the priest's composure. His eyes moved left and right, taking in the dreadful panorama.
The flotsam shoal was only a ship's length away. Norry wrestled with the wheel, but, without sails, the SUNCHASER could not resist the current. The ship's blunt bow was pointed at the thickest concentration of rafts. The people were making ready to climb on board.
"Do not stop," Imkhian said swiftly.
"But, Revered Son, a seaman's duty is to aid — "
"We cannot help them," answered the priest. "There is neither food nor water enough on this ship to save twenty, much less such a multitude. We can do nothing for them. You must fulfill your mission, Captain. The serpentine bowl must be delivered."
"Help us… mercy, please… save my baby…" came the cries.
The cutwater struck the first line of rafts with a sickening crunch. Dunvane saw Norry's hands trembling violently on the wheel. In a cold, anguished fury, the captain shoved the mate away and took the wheel himself. The SUNCHASER rode over everything in its path. The screams and groans of the dying people were horrible to hear. Dunvane knew he'd be haunted by the memory for the rest of his days.
Jermina, left to herself, cast about wildly for some succor to give to the people in the water. She found a coil of rope and threw its free end over the side. The castaways clung to it, trying to climb the rope onto the ship.
Dunvane saw her as she steered to starboard in an attempt to miss a raft laden with people. "The Revered Son is right," he said throu
gh clenched teeth. "We've not enough food or water to share. Cut the line, Norry."
Jermina screamed. Norry pulled out his sheath knife, casting a look of agony at his captain. Dunvane could not speak the order again, but he nodded once. Norry cut the rope with one stroke, just as a pair of raw, blistered hands reached for the rail.
Dunvane would never forget that dreadful voyage. When at last they were clear of the floating refugees, he tied off the wheel and slumped against the sterncastle behind him.
"Captain."
Dunvane opened his eyes. Norry stood before him. "We're with you, sir," the mate said. "Me and the men, we don't want to die, but we're scared. What's happened, Captain? Who were all those people?"
"Pirates," said Imkhian, looming in the doorway to his cabin. "Thieves."
"Your pardon, Holy One, but those were ordinary townsfolk, not even sailors, by the look of their pale skin," Dunvane replied.
"Could they be? Could the woman be telling the truth?" Norry asked slowly. "Were those the people of Gardenath?"
"You're speaking blasphemy," warned the priest.
Still sobbing, Jermina cried, "Since when is the truth a blasphemy?"
"Enough," Dunvane barked. The sullen sky was darkening to purple as the sun began to set. "If there is a coast to find, it's got to be south. Norry, you and the men work on rigging a trysail on the foremast. Once it's done, maybe we can steer ourselves out of this current."
The sailors dispersed to their tasks. The woman, Jermina, went forward to sleep in the shadows on the foredeck. Imkhian began to speak of faith and trust in the gods, and faith in the goodness and power of the Kingpriest. After a few minutes, the priest realized no one was heeding him. Scowling, he withdrew in offended dignity back to his cabin.
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