Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Alamar stepped upon the stone pier. “Ferrymaster, I would go across.”

  One of the Men stood, gesturing the others to their feet. “It’ll be a copper, sir.”

  Alamar fished a coin from his purse and paid, and stepped to the raft, the trio of Men boarding as well.

  As the trio took hold of the pull rope spanning the river from this quay to that, a small cluster of shadow darted aboard to stand behind the Mage at the rear of the ferry.

  Facing the opposite way, none of the Men noticed.

  “With a Huh! and a Huh! and a Huh! and a…” chanted the ferrymaster, all the Men hauling, pulling the rope threading through ring standards fixed fore and aft, the ferry slowly floating across, haled by muscle alone. A short while later the raft clunked against the island quay, and, “Hoy!” shouted a ferryman as a shadow darted past and was gone. “Wot wos that?”

  The Men milled about, craning their necks, trying to see. Alamar hobbled slowly past and ashore, the ferrymen respectfully touching the brims of their caps as he trod by, making his way toward the towers ahead, crew voices following after:

  “Oi say ‘e’s a Maige ’n’ ‘at wos ‘is familiar.”

  “That as may be, but wot wos it?”

  “Nothin’ natural, ’n’ you can take my word on’t.”

  “A shadow-cat, Oi’d call it, six legs ’n’ all, wi’ drippin’ fangs ’n’…”

  Upon hearing these words Jinnarin smiled to herself and watched as Alamar approached, the Mage casting about, trying to discover her and Rux’s whereabouts there beneath a bush. As he was about to pass her by, “Here we are,” she softly said, urging Rux forward.

  Startled, Alamar glared at her. But then his face took on a look of mystified curiosity. “Someday, Pysk, you are going to have to tell me just how you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Why, gather shadows to yourself.”

  “Oh, that’s easy, Alamar, although I don’t know exactly how it’s done.”

  “Eh? You don’t?”

  “Well, it’s something I’ve always been able to do. All of my Folk can do so. We are born to it. It’s rather like—oh, I don’t know—like—”

  “Like the flight of birds,” interjected the Mage.

  “Exactly so, Alamar. It is the nature of birds to fly. It is the nature of my Kind to gather shadow. Whether or not someone else can learn to do so, I cannot say, just as I cannot say whether someone not a bird can ever learn to fly.”

  “Ha!” barked Alamar. “That trick has been mastered by some of us.”

  “You can fly?” Jinnarin was amazed.

  “Oh, I did not say that I could fly,” responded Alamar, “but I do say that I have many tricks up these old sleeves of mine.”

  Onward they walked toward the towers, lantern lit against starry skies. As they approached, Jinnarin could see that there were six of them: five widely spaced apart, forming a pentagram, the sixth in the center. “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  “To the middle tower. There we find the library.”

  “What are the other towers?”

  “The various colleges,” answered Alamar, pointing to each of the spires, and naming them: “Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Aethyr.”

  “And the sixth?”

  “I already told you,” snapped Alamar, “the library.”

  “Well there’s no need to bite my head off,” shot back Jinnarin, “I just thought it might have some exotic name like the others.”

  “Hmph!” grunted Alamar.

  Now Mage, Pysk, and fox came among lesser buildings and wended their way through. “And these, Alamar. What are these?”

  “Dwellings,” answered the elder. “Storage. Food. Other mundanities.”

  Now and again the trio would stop to let a distant stranger cross their path. And twice Jinnarin and Rux took to deep shadows and hid when two groups of passersby approached, each person among them absently murmuring greetings to Alamar but not stopping their own discussions to talk with the eld Mage.

  The three came to the edge of a wide flagstone plaza in the center of which stood the library tower, and there they waited until all was clear. Then Jinnarin guided Rux to pad next to Alamar, the fox brushing up against the elder’s robe as across the ’spanse they went—a Mage with a shadow at his side.

  At last they entered the building, Rux bearing Jinnarin darting through the archway and into the gloom within.

  Inside, beyond the foyer, they came among stacks of books, the shelves arranged about a central area filled with tables and chairs, desks and benches, at which sat various people in study. Telling Jinnarin and Rux to wait among the stacks, Alamar went into the central area. Jinnarin dismounted but kept the fox close at hand. Now and again a chair would scrape, and someone would get up to find a book. At these times, if necessary, fox and Pysk would move back among the shadows, shifting from row to row to remain out of sight.

  At last Alamar returned. “Up two floors,” he muttered, leading the way, Jinnarin again mounted on Rux.

  Along a wall a stone stair led upward, and here the elder paused, complaining, “They would have to put them on the upper floors.”

  “Put what, Alamar?”

  “The books we want,” he peevishly answered.

  “Oh.”

  Taking a deep breath, up the Mage trudged, stopping now and again to catch his wind. Rux, though, darted ahead, quickly covering the two flights, Jinnarin not wanting to dwell overlong upon the exposed staircase. Finally, Alamar came to the third floor landing and shuffled in among the stacks. Long he searched, at last finding the book he wanted, a large tome entitled Maria Orbis Mithgarii. “Aha! Now we shall see.”

  Alamar made his way to a table and settled in a chair in the sparsely occupied central area. No sooner had he sat than a slender young raven-haired Woman—or was she an Elfess?—came through the stacks and stopped at his table side. “Alamar?”

  The elder looked up at her, squinting his eyes. At last he said, “Drienne?”

  She smiled, nodding. “How have you been, love?”

  Alamar settled back in his chair. “Getting on, Dree. Getting on.”

  “I can see.” She sat opposite from him. “Isn’t it about time you crossed over? You can’t have many castings left.”

  Alamar sighed. “Aye, you have the right of that. It’s time I took my rest.

  “But, Dree, what about you? Last I saw, you were tottering, too. But now—well look at you. The same as you were on Faro.”

  She smiled again, her entire face lighting up. “The cottage in the woods. Alamar, I haven’t thought about that for…” Her hazel eyes fell into reflection, green flecks glinting. At last she said, “Would that we were there now. But not as you are, for I am certain that I would kill you.”

  “Perhaps you would, Dree, but perhaps not. Regardless, dying in your arms would be worth it.”

  “Why not go back to Vadaria, and when you return…well—”

  “Tempting, as always, Dree. But I can’t go right now. I’ve something to do. Then I’ll go, and when I come back we will hike to that cottage in the woods and mayhap not come out for years.”

  Drienne smiled, her eyes lost in gentle memory. But then she sighed and came to herself once more. Of a sudden, as if searching, she looked under the table, then toward the stacks. “I thought I saw a fox with you. Surely you haven’t taken a fox as a familiar.”

  “It’s just an acquaintance, Dree, following me about for the nonce.”

  “Good. I shouldn’t think foxes would make good companions. Too feral. Not like cats—”

  “Or owls,” interjected Alamar.

  Drienne rolled her eyes at this. “As I was saying, not like cats and their comforting ways as well as their wild energy. And Alamar, I’ve told you before, you can’t cuddle with an owl.” She glanced at the tome. “What is it you are researching? Perhaps I can help.”

  “Three things, Dree: a pale green sea, a black ship, a crystal castle.”

 
“Sounds mysterious.”

  “They’re elements of a dream.”

  “Ah well, I can’t help you there. But if it were stars—”

  “If it were stars, Dree, I think I could do it myself.”

  Drienne nodded, then said, “Why not let Aylis—”

  “She’s not on Rwn.”

  “Oh. Well. All right. Regardless, perhaps I can help. What other books do you need? I’ll get them.”

  Alamar fished a paper from his pocket. He peered at it a moment, then said, “See if you can find De Castellis Singularibus and De Navibus Notis.”

  While Drienne searched, Alamar paged through the tome before him, pausing now and again to read, then moving on. Ere he had gone far, Drienne returned, bearing two more tomes. Alamar glanced across at her. “Look for a crystal castle or a black ship.”

  “Hmm. A crystal castle shouldn’t be difficult to find, if one exists, that is. But a black ship now, I would think there might be many. What kind of black ship is it?”

  Alamar fished Jinnarin’s drawing from his pocket, handing it to Drienne. She squinted at it. “Lord, Alamar, who drew this tiny thing? A dragonfly rider?”

  “A friend.”

  Drienne looked at him in wonder, then back at the sketch. “A carrack or a galleon I would say. —A black one?” At a nod from Alamar, Drienne passed the small paper back to him and then opened a tome.

  From the shadows Jinnarin watched as Drienne joined Alamar in skimming through the books. Long moments passed, the silence broken only by the sound of pages slowly turning. Occasionally one of the other people in the central area would get up and leave, and a person or two came up the steps to the same floor and entered the stacks, but they were on the opposite side of the room and Jinnarin and Rux remained where they were. Rux lay with his chin on his front paws, yet his eyes were open and his ears pricked, and Jinnarin knew that he was on guard against discovery. And so the Pysk made herself comfortable on a bottom shelf among musty tomes and waited…and dozed. “Here’s one”—Drienne’s voice brought Jinnarin awake—“Oh wait, it burned while in port at Arbalin. During the rebellion.” Drienne resumed leafing, her eyes fixed upon the pages, and Jinnarin settled once more, leaning back against an aslant book.

  How long Jinnarin drowsed, she did not know, but the scrape of chairs brought her awake. Peering out, she saw that Alamar and Drienne were getting to their feet. Several tomes lay scattered on the table before them, and it was obvious that they had sought references in each. Alamar stretched, straightening his back, groaning, and Drienne said, “Love, you simply must cross over to Vadaria.”

  “Not right now, Dree. Got to solve this dream first. A past obligation.”

  “Stubborn as always,” Drienne muttered and began gathering up the books. But then she stopped and looked Alamar directly in the eye, her gaze filled with entreaty and unshed tears. “Heed me: don’t overcast, Alamar. I want you alive and young; not old and dead.”

  Alamar took her glorious face in his hands and kissed her gently. “I’m going now, Dree. But I promise as soon as I have this dream business resolved, I’ll cross over. Then I’ll come back and we’ll—where will I find you?”

  “Try here, first, Alamar, here in the City of Bells. You see, I’m Regent of the Academy at the moment.”

  “The Grand Dame?”

  Drienne nodded, smiling.

  “What will the apprentices say when I whisk you off to—”

  “What they’ve always said, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Alamar stood in thought a moment. At last he said, “I may be gone awhile. Should it take long, then where?”

  “If not here,” answered Drienne, “then on the Lady’s island, there in my cottage of the wood.”

  “Faro,” breathed Alamar, then he smiled and took her hands and squeezed them gently. “I must go.”

  Drienne kissed him on the cheek and released him, and Alamar turned and headed for the stairs, a bit of a spring in his step. And among the stacks Jinnarin swung aboard Rux, and the fox made his way through the shadows and reached the landing just as the elder started down. Urging Rux forward, Jinnarin followed the Mage. Yet ere they had gone halfway down, from behind, the Pysk heard a gasp. Jinnarin turned and glanced back, and at the head of the stairs stood Drienne, her eyes wide in wonderment. Jinnarin smiled and waved, then gathered darkness unto herself and urged Rux forward, the shadow-wrapped fox darting down in the gloom.

  “Nothing? You discovered nothing?” They stood in the dimness beyond all the buildings, Jinnarin looking at the Mage in consternation.

  “Right,” snapped Alamar, irritated.

  “But you said that this was the finest library—”

  “I said that it was one of the finest,” grated the Mage.

  “Don’t quibble!” flared Jinnarin.

  “I’m not quibbling!” shouted Alamar.

  Silence fell between them. Then in a more subdued tone Alamar said, “We may never discover where lies a pale green sea or a crystal castle or where sails a black ship. Did I not say that dream visions are often not what they seem? And, after all, it is nought but a stupid dream—”

  “Sending!” gritted Jinnarin.

  Alamar sighed.

  Neither uttered aught for a while, then Jinnarin said, “Let us not argue, Alamar. Instead, what can we do now? Where can we go and who can we see to find a clue, a lead? Who knows about ships and seas and islands—?”

  “Sailors!” declared Alamar. “Ships’ captains. Navigators. Cartographers. Mariners all.”

  “All right then,” said Jinnarin, “let us go see these—these mariners. But if they know not, then who shall we ask?”

  Alamar stood in silence a moment, twisting the bracelet on his wrist. At last he said, “Well, my tiny Pysk, if they know not, then will we seek the Children of the Sea.”

  Jinnarin and Rux waited, shadow in shadow, while nearby the River Kairn thundered down into the waters of the Weston Ocean, the river at last coming to the lip of the headland to plunge a hundred feet or more to the brine below. Across a narrow street stood the Sloppy Pig, a cliff-edge tavern frequented by apprentice and mariner both, or so Alamar had said. The Mage himself was inside hoisting a tankard or two, speaking with members of ships’ crews, captains and sailors alike. The Pig was the third such public house that Alamar had visited on the bluffs above the docks, having previously called upon the Dropped Anchor and the Foaming Wake.

  Jinnarin was just beginning to suspect that Alamar had forgotten her when the Mage lurched out the door. “Pysk, Pysk,” he loudly hissed. “Psst! Where are you, Jinner—Jinn—Pysk?”

  Reeling across the street, his eyes searching, the Mage stumbled among the bushes of the riverside grounds, one hand held high, a blue light glowing from his fingertips. “Pysk—!”

  “Hush, Alamar!” snapped Jinnarin. “And put out that light!”

  “Oh there you are, Jin-Jin. I was beginning to think—”

  “Alamar, you are drunk!”

  The Mage drew himself up in indignation and thickly protested, “Me? Drunk? Why, I’ll have you know—”

  “Alamar, I said put out that light.”

  Alamar bleared at his glowing hand, muttered a few words, and watched in amazement as it grew brighter. He muttered more words. Nothing happened. Finally he stuffed his hand into his cloak, wrapping cloth about it. “Never mind the cursed light. We’ve got to hurry. I’ve booked us passage on a ship. We’re bound for Arbalin tonight.”

  “Ship? Arbalin? Tonight? Why?”

  Alamar took his hand from the cloak and looked at it. It still glowed. He wrapped it up again. “Because, Jin-Jin, that’s where we’ll find Aravan, him and his Elvenship. If anyone knows where lies the pale green castle, the crystal ship, or the black sea, it’ll be Aravan.”

  “Oh, Alamar, you are in no state to make such decisions. How can we—how can I be certain that this is the right thing to do? I mean, I’ve heard of Aravan of course—he’s a Friend, after all…saved Tarquin’s
life—but to go traipsing off to Arbalin, well—”

  “Cer-certainly it’s the right thing, Jin-Jin,” averred Alamar. “And we’ve got to hurry. The Flying Flish, the Filing Frish, the blasted ship sails on the night tide. Besides, how else are we going to find Farr—Pysk—Rix, the boar killer?”

  With grave misgivings, at last Jinnarin nodded. How else indeed?

  It was with some wonderment that the crew of the Flying Fish watched as the old Man lurched up the gangplank, dragging behind a most unwilling fox on a long tether fixed on its harness, the animal snarling at the elder and snapping at the rope and jerking back against it, at times lying down and being dragged on its side. “’Smy familiar Ruxie,” slurred the old Man.

  When elder and fox were safely ensconced in their cabin, one crew member turned to another and asked, “‘Don’s blood, did you see that?”

  “Right, mate,” answered the other, “take my grog but that fox were wild.”

  “No, no, you booby, the fox ain’t what I were driving at!”

  “Well then, wot?”

  “It were his hand.”

  “His hand?”

  “Yar! Bleed me but I do believe his hand were on fire!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Asea

  Early to Mid Spring, 1E9574

  [Five Months Past]

  Alamar reeled into the cabin, dragging Rux behind, the fox struggling against the leash. As the door closed, the Mage dropped his rucksack to the planking—“Ow!” came a muffled cry from within. Paying no heed, the elder flopped down onto his bunk and lay on his back contemplating his glowing digits. “Out, damn light!” he thickly commanded. “Exi, Lumen! Exstingue! Fiat lux! Oops!”—once again the light grew stronger—“Peri—perite—perde lumen…” Nothing seemed to work. While on the floor the knapsack began to wriggle and thump and emit muted curses dire, a tiny hand emerging to unfasten the bindings, Rux whining and licking at the wee fingers, while the Mage on the bunk mumbled. At last the sack was open and out struggled Jinnarin, the Pysk fuming, fire in her eyes.