Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Lork, one of the Dwarven warriors, asked, “Do we know where lies this island?”

  Jinnarin shook her head then glanced down at the water. “The Children of the Sea know.”

  Relk, another of the Dwarves, barked a laugh. “How about the turtle, does he know?”

  Jinnarin giggled. “Even if he does, who can ask him?”

  Jamie smiled but cocked an eyebrow. “The Mermaid can talk to him, I’ll wager. The Mermen, too. Here, if you look real close, you can see that one or the other of them is always up there telling him where to go…that, or urging him on.”

  Jinnarin moved over to the wale and leaned out and watched for a while, verifying what Jamie had said, seeing that always one or another of the Merfolk stayed near the creature’s head.

  And deeper into the Swirl they went.

  Hours passed, the Sun riding up from the horizon and overhead then sliding down the western sky. There was little to do but sit and talk, or to carefully stand and stretch, and only Jinnarin did not feel cramped by the close quarters. They took meals and water, and modesty notwithstanding, they relieved themselves over the side, even Rux.

  Gradually the weed thickened, and when clumps of it floated past, Jinnarin could see small fish wriggling among the leafy tendrils and tiny crabs scuttling over the strands. She fished up a branch and wee shrimp scurried away, fleeing to other strands. Jinnarin and Rux examined the tendril, the fox sniffing and nosing this treasure from the sea. The frond was long and lank, thin stemmed and branched, with narrow pale green leaves curled at the very tips to form tiny snags to ordinarily hook onto other strands to form an entangled mass floating just under the surface. Diminutive berries grew on tender stems along the branches, and as she watched, a tiny snail slowly enveloped one.

  As she and Rux examined the plant, Jamie said, “‘Tis only green hereabout, Lady Jinnarin, here in the Great Swirl. In the other waters of the world, ‘tis reddish brown, this weed, and not thick.”

  “Reddish brown?”

  “Aye.”

  Jinnarin looked at the pale green sea to left and right. “Must be something about the water, eh?”

  Jamie peered over his shoulder, as if seeking something aft. “That or the curse of this place.” At his words, all the Dwarven warriors—Lork, Tolar, Relk, Engar, Koban, and Regat—peered warily about, their hands straying to their weapons.

  Shuddering, Jinnarin cast the weed back into the ocean and onward they fared.

  As the Sun sank in the west, the giant tortoise progressively slowed, and now its stroke began to change, its front flippers sweeping forward to spread the weed and clear the way. Even so it maintained a goodly pace, judged by Aravan to be some seven knots.

  Now one or two or sometimes all three of the Merfolk rode on the creature’s back, one always near its head, as if whispering instructions to guide the ¡th!rix across the slow-turning churn. When not riding, the other two sometimes swam back among the dolphin, the pod yet following in the wake of the turtle, there in the long curving channel behind. At times, the Children would swim alongside the wall of weed, now and again their quick hands darting out to snag a fish on their sharp talons, which they would laughingly cast to a nearby dolphin or eat with great relish, sharp teeth tearing. Too, the Children would gather sea bounty and bear it forward, presumably to feed the tortoise. Occasionally a Child of the Sea would swim alongside a dinghy and would look upon the destroyers within, the eyes of the Child filled with unspoken accusations, especially Imro’s eyes.

  And still they fared inward, ever inward, while the Great Swirl slowly turned.

  It was just after dusk in the dark of the Moon when they saw the first ship to the fore, a half-sunken hulk floating in the weed, dismasted, its timbers shattered, much of it clutched by a sickly green growth. A Jinarian junk it was, its battened sails long rotted and dragging alongside. The ¡th!rix gave it wide berth, refusing to swim near, though Aravan’s blue stone amulet remained warm as they passed it by.

  “Why doesn’t it sink?” asked Jinnarin. “I mean, it looks half drowned already.”

  “The weed, Lady, the weed. It’ll hold her up forever.”

  “Oh.”

  And on they went, deeper and deeper, a chill wind springing up at their backs.

  Mid of night came, and with it an overlay of dark clouds driven before the wind, and lightning sheeted low across the western horizon. Two more hulks they passed, one to the starboard, the other larboard, yet they were too distant to see what manner of ships they had been. None of the Human sailors could see them, for not even the stars shone down, but Dwarf and Elf and Mage and Pysk could yet just make out the silhouettes, though details were beyond even their extraordinary .

  On fared the ¡th!rix through the thickening weed, its rate continuing to diminish, while behind the storm drew ever closer, driven on a hard wind, large swells running under the weed. And Jinnarin looked at the boiling clouds above and shivered, for it was as if the nightmare itself had entered her waking life.

  “’Ware!” came a cry from the fore, and Jinnarin leaned over the wale and peered ahead and gasped in fear, for in the distance she could see another hulk, one directly in their path, its rigging burning with green witchfire.

  And in that moment, a great flaring bolt of lightning shattered into the sea, blanching all with a blinding glare, a deafening thunderclap whelming after.

  And drenching rain hard-driven by the wind lashed down from the ebony sky.

  And Jinnarin looked about in terror, expecting now to see a black ship, its masts stroked by lightning, plunging toward them across the pale green sea.

  It rained without letup through the rest of the night, the occupants of the boats in chill misery. And in each dinghy they wrapped themselves in their all-weather cloaks and draped the sail over as much as they could and huddled beneath for comfort and warmth and to escape the rain. Even so, water steadily ran into the boats and sloshed about their feet, and all but Jinnarin and Rux took turns at bailing.

  Drawn and weary and lacking sleep, dismal daylight found them yet faring inward, a thin drizzle coming down through a fog on the sea. And Jinnarin fretted about the state of Alamar’s health, for the elder lacked the resilience of youth, and surely he would suffer more than any of the others. Yet there was nothing she could do about it, and so she turned to Rux and did what she could to make the fox more at ease, Rux grumbling in cold discomfort, while the Pysk worried about her friend.

  Throughout the day the fog lingered, the cloud cover preventing the Sun from dispersing the mist. And every now and again they would pass another trapped hulk, the ship looming dimly on the edge of vision there in the swirling fog. Some of these wrecks caused the stone amulet at Aravan’s throat to turn chill, warning him of danger. Always it seemed the turtle knew of the peril as well, for the beast swung wide to pass beyond the hazard. And they did not pause to investigate the source of a given jeopardy, for they were on a different mission altogether.

  Rania, Nalin, and Imro became more subdued the farther inward they progressed, and even the trailing pod of dolphin now seemed restrained. But there was no change in the manner of the ¡th!rix, the great creature ponderously moving forward through the weed.

  In mid afternoon the day brightened, and Jinnarin guessed that the skies above the fog had cleared, and by sunset the mist had burned away and weary spirits took heart. When night fell, they set the watch, and all others bedded down, Jinnarin curling up against Rux and immediately falling asleep.

  And the ¡th!rix swam on.

  Jinnarin awoke to another grey sky, and once more a chill wind blew. It was the beginning of the third day of travel, and still the great turtle fared through the weed, towing behind seven dinghies. Bokar, Aravan, Alamar, Aylis, Jinnarin with Rux, and Jatu rode in separate boats, roped together in that order. As before, each dinghy also carried an experienced small-craft sailor, and each of the first six boats bore six Dwarven warriors as well. The seventh dinghy carried three Dwarves and three
sailors. All supplies were evenly distributed again, so that if a boat sank, it would not carry all of a given stock down with it.

  Behind the boats came the pod of five dolphin. And on the turtle rode the three Children of the Sea. How the dolphin or tortoise or Merfolk had slept, or whether they even needed sleep, Jinnarin did not know.

  And as Jinnarin awoke, she looked up to find Jamie peering white-faced and grim-lipped at the sea about. The Dwarven warriors, too, glanced around with flinty eyes, and they hefted their warhammers or thumbed the edges of their axes. Jinnarin climbed up to see what was amiss, and as she looked over the wale she gasped, for no matter in which direction she turned, it seemed that her eye fell upon the trapped hulk of a ship, its rigging draped with long ropy strands of greyish-green growth dangling down, like snares set to strangle the unwary, while weed and slime reached up to clutch at the hull as if to drag it under.

  “It is like a great web, Lady Jinnarin,” muttered Jamie, “just as I heard Tivir say, a lair of a monstrous spider, trapping all that sails in to her, this Sea of Lost Ships. I had always known about it but never thought I’d see it. But now here I am, I am.”

  These ships were weatherworn beyond endurance, devoid of color where the slime grew not, bereft of original paint, assuming that they had been painted to begin with.

  Grey and lifeless they were, or so Jinnarin assumed, though Aravan passed word back that his blue stone ran chill, and the Dwarves cocked their crossbows and loaded them with quarrels.

  Decayed were these vessels and strange their designs, the like of which Jinnarin had never seen before, though her experience was limited. But Jamie, too, commented upon their shapes and the manner of their construction, for he had not seen such either.

  One relic seemed made entirely of reeds, its stern and prow high and bundled, a roofed-over canopy amidships, now fallen into ruin, sharp-pointed oars hanging awry.

  Another ship was made of heavy timbers, its hull round-bellied and blunt on both ends. Perhaps it once had a deck cabin, yet none stood there now. Instead, it seemed scarred by fire, as if long past it had been aflame.

  One trapped hulk looked like nothing more than a huge hollowed-out log—though it was so weed-covered that it was difficult to tell—and no mast could be seen. What appeared to be two large poles jutted out to the side, but as to their purpose, Jinnarin could not guess, though Jamie told her that another, smaller log had once been affixed across the outer ends, lending the craft stability.

  “Look!” gritted one of the Dwarves, Tolar by name.

  Jinnarin’s gaze followed his outstretched arm and her heart leapt into her throat, for though she had never before seen such a ship, she knew without question exactly what it was—there where he pointed was the rotted, weed-covered hulk of a three-tiered galley, splintered oars hanging out through openings in the hull. “Durlok!” she hissed, a mutter of confirmation rising up about her.

  “Aye, Lady,” agreed Jamie. “His ship’ll most likely be somewhat the same, though more seaworthy, I ween.”

  Word filtered back from Aravan that they must be close to the heart of the Swirl, for these relics were from elder days, their designs long since abandoned.

  And through this ancient graveyard passed the turtle, towing seven dinghies behind.

  The chill wind blew and the day grew darker, even though it was not yet noon. Of a sudden there came a shrill cry from the fore. The ¡th!rix stopped swimming. The boats drifted aimlessly on the ends of their tethers. Jinnarin stood and looked, and in the distance ahead she could see the crests of rocky crags.

  It was an island.

  They had come to the center of the web.

  Now the dinghies were untied from the turtle and from one another as well. Alamar’s boat, third in file, was rowed to the fore. Coiling Bokar’s line, Rania and Nalin and Imro strode across the back of the great turtle and cast it to the Dwarf, then turned and spoke with the Mage. What they said, Jinnarin did not hear, nor would she have understood it regardless. Even so, she knew that the Merfolk had fulfilled their part of the bargain, for the island stood at hand. Now it was up to those in the boats to fulfill their promise and clear the island of evil, though just what that evil might be, none knew.

  Rania dived into the water and came swimming back alongside the dinghies, and she stopped at Jinnarin’s boat. There she was joined by the pod of dolphin, and lo! she raised her pale jade elfin face from the water and spoke to Rux!—her words filled with clicks and tiks and pops and chirps—completely unintelligible to anyone at hand, though Aylis in the next boat laughed. The dolphin chattered, and Rux barked, and then like liquid silver Rania turned and swam to the ¡th!rix, her long-finned feet appearing to be nothing more than the sweeping tail of a fish.

  With the Children of the Sea atop, ponderously the tortoise swam in an arc, turning back toward the channel it had left behind. When it reached the open slot, the silver-haired Merfolk turned and called a singing farewell. Aylis answering in kind, her own voice soaring. And in the clear water of the channel, the pod of dolphin leapt with abandon, speeding away in the distance toward the far-removed open sea.

  Jinnarin watched for a long while, as the Dwarves stroked easterly, the flat-bottomed rowboats gliding over the weed. At last she turned toward Aylis’s boat and called out, “What did she say, this Rania? What did she speak to my Rux?”

  Aylis smiled. “She told your little fox, Jinnarin, that if he was ever of a mind to leave the land behind and join them, the dolphin would like nothing better.”

  Jinnarin laughed and turned to Rux and ruffled his ears, and glanced back toward the receding ¡th!rix. But the Children of the Sea had long since dived into the water and could no longer be seen. The destroyers had been left behind at the lair of the spider to confront the peril on their own.

  CHAPTER 27

  Island of Stone

  Spring, 1E9575

  [The Present]

  Ship oars and raise sail!” called out Aravan, and the Men aboard the dinghies affixed the sheets to the silks and ran the cloth up the masts, trimming sail to make the most of the chill southern wind.

  The flat-bottomed dinghies skimmed over the surface, the rounded bows riding the weed down and under. With the steering oars being used as rudders, toward the rocky isle all boats fared, running in a ragged file beneath the cold grey skies, wending past waterlogged hulks half-drowned in the clutching weed.

  Jinnarin and Rux had moved to the bow where she could better view the course ahead. And in the distance perhaps seven miles away rocky crags reared up from the sea. This was their goal, the Lair of the Spider—Jinnarin thought of it as such. Bleak and windswept it appeared from here, grey stone tors jutting up, barren of greenery, perhaps devoid of life altogether. In grim premonition Jinnarin shuddered and clutched her cloak tighter about. And she threw an arm over Rux’s neck and whispered, “Don’t worry, old fox, we will be all right.” Yet whether she said so to assure herself or her companion, she did not know. Sensing her uneasiness, Rux freed himself and turned and cocked his head this way and that and peered at her, his cat-eyes seeking assurance that she was fit. She smiled at him and ruffled his ears, and heartened, he took a lick at her cheek then faced front once more.

  Past relics they sailed, hulls drawn down into the weed and awash, algae and sea moss enshrouding all that remained above. In one place only a mast jutted out from the brine, and to Jinnarin’s eye it seemed thickly covered by pallid mushrooms growing up the length of the shaft. On they fared and Jinnarin looked down into the water, trying to see past the weed. Of a sudden she gasped and drew back in apprehension, for below she saw the curve of a hull on its side, the ship dragged completely under and drowned, and her mind conjured up visions of dead sailors trapped within and clawing at the hull to get out.

  “Oh, what a horrid place,” she murmured, glancing about at the drifting graveyard, Rux the only one to hear.

  They sailed onward for perhaps an hour, the island looming larger, the dinghies run
ning slower as the weed thickened, until they were but moving at a crawl. “Fend weed,” bade Jamie, and as Dwarves took up oars to do so, Jinnarin and Rux moved back to the stern. But even with the Dwarves kneeling in the bow and along the sides and sweeping the sea plant aside and back, still the craft slowed, the wind no longer able to overcome the drag, the weed was so heavily grown. Not even the Children of the Sea could have swum through such without the aid of a ¡th!rix.

  “We’ll try to row from here,” said Jamie. “I’ll leave the sail up for whatever push it can give.”

  Oars were settled in oarlocks, and with Jamie canting a chant, the Dwarves began to row. Steadily they haled across the clutching waters, molasses thick, or so it seemed, the rowers grunting with the effort, sweat pouring down. And Jinnarin was glad that it was not she who had to row, though in looking down at the brine she thought she might almost be able to run upon the weed-thick surface, as if she were Alamar himself.

  The other boats, too, rowed through the weed, the last one struggling the most, for it was crewed by three Dwarves and three Men, hence could not bring the same force to bear. But then Bokar hit upon a scheme, and he ordered all boats in close file behind his, the thought being that his craft would break a channel, just as the giant turtle had done when bringing them here. And so all the dinghies lined up behind Bokar’s, and thereafter the rowing became easier for all but the lead craft, the other boats switching off at intervals to break the trail, sharing the burden.

  They fared this way for another mile, and lo! of a sudden the weed came to an end, the dinghies breaking into clear water, the growth behind like a great green wall falling sheer into the abyssal depths.

  And some two miles ahead lay the island, be-ringed by this clear water, or so it seemed.

  “Ship oars,” called Aravan, “and form up on me—geese on the wing.”