Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “But we don’t know that, Aravan,” protested Jinnarin. “Some may have survived.”

  “Jinnarin, dost thou not recall Durlok’s boast that Alamar had been slain?”

  “Yes, I heard him say that. But listen, he also said that Alamar had slain his ‘Negus of Terror,’ meaning the Gargon; well, in that, he was wrong. And if he was wrong about who killed the Gargon, well then, he could just as likely be wrong about the death of Alamar. — Surely Alamar escaped to Vadaria. Surely.”

  “Mayhap, Jinnarin. Yet Aylis was bound to the conjoinment. Had I stayed in Kairn, mayhap I could have saved her.”

  “Had you stayed in Kairn, Aravan, then likely none of us would have survived. We’d all of us have drowned—Dwarves, Men, you, Farrix, me—as well as Anthera and Bivin and those who came with us out of Darda Glain…we all would have been lost. And worst of all, Durlok would still be alive.”

  Tears ran down Aravan’s face. “Ah, Jinnarin, thou art right, and had I to do it all over again, I would choose the same. Yet it is a choice that leaves my heart sundered in twain, for my true love is gone from me just as surely as Rwn is gone.”

  “Look here,” interrupted Jinnarin. “You must stop all this talk about Aylis being drowned. Just as did Alamar, she too must have crossed over. After all, she is my sister. We dreamwalked together. And if something went wrong, I would know…I would simply know.”

  But the look deep within Jinnarin’s eyes belied her words.

  The farther south they went, the longer became the days as winter deepened in the South Polar Sea. In late November they had come enough south that the Sun no longer set, but merely circled round the full of the sky. And on December the thirteenth they sailed into the watery margins of the Silver Straits, and on that same day Boder came to Farrix, the helmsman acting on behalf of the crew.

  “Master Farrix, we’d rest more easy if you’d stand watch up in the main crow’s nest, we would.”

  “But why, Boder?”

  “Because, Master Farrix, you’ve the eyes to see the ghostly galleon.”

  “Ghostly galleon?”

  “Aye, Master Farrix, the Grey Lady. What we mean to say, sir, is even though it’s bright daylight and all, still she might be roving these waters and looking for the lost lad, and any one else she can catch. And well, you saw her before, and we’d like your eyes atop again so that we can take proper evasive action should it come to it.”

  “But Boder, what I saw may have been nothing more than wind-driven spray from a greybeard. Besides, I was endowed with magesight at the time, and none here knows how it is done, and so it won’t be the same at all.”

  “That is as may be, Master Farrix, but you have seen her and we have not, so the crew entire would take it as a personal favor would you ride the nest.”

  And so, with Slane’s help, up to the mainmast crow’s nest went Farrix to watch for the Grey Lady as the Eroean fared through the straits.

  Shortly after he had reached the nest, Jatu came climbing up bearing Jinnarin. “I came to watch as well,” she said. “If there’s to be any ghost ship sighted, I want to be here when it happens.”

  Jatu laughed, and after a word or two to Slane, back down went the black Man.

  ’Round the horizon they looked, and Farrix said, “How different the view from when last we were in these waters. —Hoy now, was it only six months past? Why, burn me, I believe it was. Regardless, this time there are no great greybeards trying to drown us, no hurtling snow trying to blind us, no screaming wind trying to sunder our masts.”

  “Right, Master Farrix,” replied Slane, “and I’ll take this mildness just the same, and I’ll thank you to leave it be, if that’s all right with you, now, eh?” Both Slane and Farrix broke into guffaws, while Jinnarin giggled.

  With the mast slowly swaying back and forth, they sailed in silence for a while, the ship heading northeasterly. Of a sudden Farrix pointed north, “Hoy, what’s that glint?”

  Low on the horizon something glittered in the bright winter Sun.

  Slane looked long, but at last said, “That’s the silvery glitter of ice in the sunshine, Master Farrix. It’s ice that gives the Silver Straits her name, glinting silver, like. To larboard and starboard lays the ice, and before we’re through the straits, we’ll see it good and proper.”

  Onward they sailed in the high, clean air, the three of them saying nought, the sway of the ship mesmerizing as they cut across the sea, silks belling outward in the following wind. After a while Jinnarin looked down from the height of the mast to the deck of the ship, and her heart pounded unexpectedly at the sheer drop below. But then she nudged Farrix and pointed downward. Below, Aravan stood alone at the midship rail staring down into the sea. “Oh, Farrix, I feel so sorry for him. He is so lost without Aylis.”

  Without shifting his eyes from Aravan, Farrix gently reached out and took Jinnarin by the hand. “Just as I would be lost without you, love.”

  Jinnarin sighed. “Oh, I do hope that she’s in Vadaria.”

  Farrix nodded. “So do I, love. So do I.”

  Again Jinnarin sighed, “The trouble is, Rwn held the only known crossing between Mithgar and the Mage world. And now it is gone.”

  “Maybe there’s another one, Jinnarin.”

  Jinnarin shook her head. “I don’t think so, Farrix, for the Mages long ago would have found it if there were.”

  “Perhaps they just haven’t searched well enough.”

  “Perhaps,” Jinnarin sighed. “You know, Farrix, I have tried walking a dream to her.”

  “And…?”

  “And nothing. I couldn’t form a bridge. You see, she has to be dreaming at the same time as I.”

  “What if dreamwalking doesn’t work between Planes?”

  Jinnarin shrugged. “There is that. There are also other things…worse.”

  “Such as…?”

  “Such as, if she were dead. Then it would be the same.”

  “The same?”

  “Yes. If she were dead, well, I don’t think I would be able to dreamwalk to her.”

  “Oh.”

  Slane turned to Jinnarin. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Lady Jinnarin. I mean, I’ve heard tales of the dead speaking to the living in their dreams, right enough.”

  A stricken look came over Jinnarin’s face. “Oh, Slane—”

  “Oh, don’t take me wrong, miss. I ain’t saying one way or the other whether Lady Aylis is dead. I’m only saying that spirits and ghosts can come to your dreams, they can, and that’s a fact.”

  Jinnarin nodded bleakly, and resumed her vigil of Aravan below.

  After a while he turned away from the railing and went toward his quarters. When he was gone from sight, Jinnarin turned to Farrix, tears in her eyes. “You know what the worst thing is, Farrix? We can’t even put our arms about him and comfort him, for Pysks and Elves are not of a size.”

  Through the Silver Straits they sailed without incident, and then on up into the Weston Ocean. The winter solstice found them anchored in Inigo Bay, crews ashore taking on fresh water from the clear streams flowing down to the sea. And that night, the rites of the solstice were held—three altogether: the Pysks and foxes in the courtly dance of rider and mount, the foxes moving in a stately circle, turning and bowing in unison; the Châkka chanting their paean to Elwydd, the Giver of Life; and Aravan pacing the Elven rite, tears flowing down his face, for when last he had stepped the steps, his chier was at his side.

  It was the day after the solstice that Aravan and Jinnarin again sat in the lounge and spoke of things that had been and of things that were and of things yet to be. Rux lay on the floor, dozing, for it seemed that all rats had gone missing, what with twelve foxes aboard. Aravan reached down and scratched Rux between the ears, then sat a moment in deep thought. At last he looked into his cup, the tea gone cold, and softly said, “This is the last voyage of the Eroean, Jinnarin. I am giving up the sea.”

  Jinnarin said nothing for a while, the sounds of wind and wave
and silk and rope filling the salon. Finally Jinnarin said, “I know that a great melancholy lies over all the crew, for many a good friend was lost there in the crystal caverns. But to give up the sea—it is your life, Aravan.”

  Slowly Aravan nodded, and his eyes glittered with unshed tears. “It is too painful for me. Everywhere I look, she is there. At every little sound, I turn, expecting at any moment for her to step from seclusion, her green eyes dancing in humor, she laughing her throaty laugh. I waken at night and it is as if she has just slipped from my bed, and I lie waiting but she does not return.

  “The Eroean is where I knew her. Where we laughed and loved. Where we strove against evil. Where we celebrated good. And without her at my side, the Eroean no longer brims with the bright promise of the morrow, but is filled to choking with dolor instead.”

  Aravan buried his face in his hands, while tears spilled down Jinnarin’s cheeks.

  The following day Aravan gathered the crew together and announced that this was the final voyage of the Eroean, for a while, at least. There were some cries of protest, but most of the crew understood. “We will sail to the hidden grot in Thell Cove where we will stow the ship,” added Aravan. “Then we divide the treasure, and when added to what we’ve already stashed away in the banks of Arbalin, then I say ye and yours should all have comfortable lives, whatever ye decide to do.”

  Aravan then asked if there were questions, but none spoke, the crew too desolate to think of any.

  As the meeting broke up, Jinnarin asked, “What are your plans, Jatu?”

  The black Man sighed, then said, “I think I’ll go back to Tchanga. Settle down.”

  “Take a wife?” asked Farrix, grinning.

  “More like several,” growled Bokar.

  Jatu smiled. “Aye, more like several.”

  “What about you, Bokar?” Farrix looked up at the Dwarven warrior.

  Bokar stroked his beard, then said, “There is a new Châkkaholt in the Grimwalls. Kachar, by name. I think I will go take a look, and if it’s to my liking, there will I settle.”

  “Meself, Oi’m goin’ back t’ Gelen,” said Tivir. “Run me a fishin’ boat.”

  “Not me,” said Tink. “I’m going to get me a manor in Rian, down by the Argent Hills, and be the squire of the land. Raise crops and suchlike.”

  “Ar, wot d’y’ know about croftin’, eh? Nothin’, says Oi.…”

  There sounded a pipe on deck, and both lads jumped up to answer.…

  …And for the weeks to come, talk of the future occupied those aboard.

  On February first, the Eroean hove to along the coast of the western continent, and all the Pysks and Aravan debarked. Into the forest they went, journeying to Tarquin, and he welcomed them with open arms. Here would Anthera and the Fox Riders stay, the ones that had come with her on that fateful day, for their home, Darda Glain, was gone. But Farrix and Jinnarin wished instead to go unto far Blackwood—called Darda Erynian by the Elves—there where Jinnarin’s sire and dam dwelled…for Aravan planned to go to Pellar, and he would take these two with him.

  They stayed with Tarquin for a sevenday, and on the eighth when Aravan was to depart, the Hidden Ones approached him and Anthera said, “When you came to Darda Glain, you said that you had come to rescue us. We came, but for a different reason—to make an example of those who would seek to enslave a Hidden One. We stayed for yet another reason—to seek revenge for the destruction of Rwn and our kindred in Darda Glain. Yet heed, Aravan, you were right all along—you did come to rescue us, though none knew it at the time. For this, my band and I will never forget. And we have made for you a gift to remember us by; it is a truenamed weapon, a crystal spear: Krystallopŷr.”

  As Jinnarin and Farrix flanked Anthera on one side, and Tarquin and Falain on the other, nine Fox Riders from Darda Glain—Bivin, Reena, Galex, Kylena, Rimi, Fia, Dwnic, Lurali, and Temen—stepped forward, and they bore a crystal-bladed spear with a long black shaft. “It is the dark crystal that slew Durlok,” said Anthera, “starsilver-mounted on the Wizard’s staff. As you know, this crystal is devastating in its power. Use it well and rightly, and guard forever its Truename—Krystallopýr—for in ill hands great wrongs can come of it.”

  Aravan took up the weapon, nearly eight feet in length overall. Slowly he turned it in his hands, and peered at the dark silveron mount holding blade to shaft. It was chased ‘round with strange runes, tiny in their incising. He looked at Tarquin.

  “It was forged by—by…hmm, you would call him Drix. He is too shy to come forward, but he is watching even now.” Tarquin tilted his head to the left.

  Aravan turned that direction and bowed to the woods. “I thank thee, Drix,” he called. “I will try to bring honor to this weapon.” Aravan turned to Anthera and the Fox Riders, and there were tears in his eyes. “I will try to bring honor.”

  In the dark of night of the vernal equinox, the Eroean sailed into Thell Cove along the coast of Pellar. There the Elvenship was secreted in a hidden grotto, the very place where she had been born. And the Men and Dwarves set about laying her away, putting her down for a while.

  Two days later they divided the treasure, shares being given to the dead as well as to the living, Jatu and Bokar taking on the task of seeing that the families of those who had been slain received their proper due. The only thing that Jinnarin took was a simple silver ring, a ring she slipped over her hand to wear as a bracelet. Farrix took a small red jewel on a golden chain, which he clasped about his waist.

  Before any departed, Aravan called one last shipboard meeting, and he and Jinnarin and Farrix and Rux and Rhu stood atop the wheelhouse as the crew gathered on the decks before them. And when all were assembled, Aravan said. “I mind ye each that ye are pledged to me to keep the secrets of the Eroean tight—how she is built, how she runs, and where she is stored.

  “And there is this, too: Ye hath completed a quest of the kind which bards extol. Yet none but we shall know of it, for I would remind ye all that drunk or sober, healthy or sick, in torture or pleasure, sadness or joy, we all of us are pledged to secrecy concerning this mission. Ye may not speak of such except to one another, and then and only then if ye cannot be overheard. The truth of the Hidden Ones shall remain but fables in the minds of all but the crew of the Eroean, and we shall keep such truth locked tight.”

  Aravan looked from Man to Man and from Dwarf to Dwarf, and when his eye fell upon Bokar, the warrior dropped to one knee and, with a fist clenched to his heart, shouted, “For the Lady Jinnarin!”

  And so did all the crew go down to one knee with hands clasped to hearts and shout, For the Lady Jinnarin!

  And tears welled in Jinnarin’s eyes, for the last time she had heard such a pledge, the quest was just beginning, and an old Mage had stood nearby.

  Farrix reached out and took her hand, and she looked at him and smiled, and he whispered unheard, “For the Lady Jinnarin.”

  At last Jinnarin held up her free hand and quiet fell. Her gaze swept across the full of the crew, friends all, and they waited in silence for her to speak. At last she said, “We ridded the world of a great evil, did you and I and others, and some of us gave up our very lives to do so. Yet heed: evil never sleeps. The challenge we face is to be ever vigilant against such happening again, and I know we all will maintain our guard. This, too, do I know: you are all my comrades. Should any of you ever need help, come to the Blackwood. Farrix and I will be there.”

  Jinnarin fell silent, and once again a lusty cheering rang out, and Farrix raised Jinnarin’s hand into the air.

  The crew disbanded and scattered to the four winds. Many of the Men sailed away in dinghies, heading to Arbalin to gather their fortunes, Jatu in the lead boat. Others struck out cross-country, mostly Dwarves, heading for the Red Hills, or Kraggen-cor, or Mineholt North, or elsewhere, Bokar among these.

  Aravan and Jinnarin and Farrix set out northeasterly across land, Aravan stopping long enough in the Pellarian village of Whitehill to purchase a buckskin
horse and a roan pack mule and supplies. And when he was gone, the villagers whispered among themselves concerning the taciturn Elf with the crystal spear.

  Slowly they made their way up through Pellar, camping by day, riding through the night, the Elf ahorse, the Pysks mounted on foxes. They avoided villages and farms, keeping to out-of-the-way trails, for the Hidden Ones would remain just that—hidden from the eyes of Men and Dwarves and even Elves, except for those accounted as Friends. Spring stirred in the land, and water seemed to run everywhere, with green shoots bursting through the soil and early flowers blossoming.

  Near the end of April they passed among the Fian Dunes and crossed over the Pendwyr Road. And still they fared northeasterly, for in that direction lay the Greatwood, where they would swing northwesterly and ride among those hoary trees until they came to the Rissanin to cross over Eryn Ford to come into Blackwood.

  It was early June when they passed through the Glave Hills and entered the Greatwood, a mighty forest stretching northwesterly some eight hundred miles, the forest nearly two hundred miles wide.

  Up through these woods they went, now riding by day and camping at night, for herein the Pysks felt sheltered from prying eyes. June passed and then July, and at last they crossed Eryn Ford.