The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock
First book in the Prince Malock World
by Timothy L. Cerepaka
Published by Annulus Publishing
Copyright © 2014 Timothy L. Cerepaka. All rights reserved.
Author: Timothy L. Cerepaka
Formatting by Timothy L. Cerepaka
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Contact: [email protected]
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without the permission of the author.
***
Chapter One
Every winter, for about two or three months, the island of Destan—a small island located south of the much larger Northern Isles, home to a few hundred people, mostly human, with a tiny minority of amphibious aquarians who lived just off the island's shore—was beset by the wrath of Kano. The waves of the Crystal Sea would rise to a height of at least 200 feet (in some cases even larger) and the incessant rain would be enough to drown even an aquarian.
During this time, travel by sea was nigh impossible. Fishermen from the Northern Isles didn't come down to fish and even pirates refused to come down this way during 'murder season,' as it was called, mostly because it seemed like the ocean was trying to murder everyone who dared sail upon its waves.
Most Destanians knew what to do during this time of year. They lashed their boats to their docks or brought them further inland so they wouldn't be swept off into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again; brought in or tied down any other physical possessions they usually kept outside, and stayed inside their homes almost all day every day. Worship services at the Temple of Kano were often put on hold during this time, which Kinker Dolan, an old fisherman who had spent his entire life on Destan, found rather amusing.
No sane person would ever go out onto the Crystal Sea at this point, especially in a tiny little fishing boat that could be capsized easily. Even large ships rarely strayed into the area at this point. Once, five or six years ago, Kinker remembered seeing an entire fleet of massive battleships from the island of Nikos sink, their entire crews drowning in the terrible ocean. It was a chilling sight, especially the next day, when some of their corpses washed up on shore half-naked and covered in seaweed.
It was an image that stood out in his mind as he rowed his tiny fishing boat, creaking and groaning, out into the darkness of the night. His old bones ached and moaned every time he was splashed with the cold water of the ocean, which was to say they ached and moaned all the time.
Kinker ignored his bones. This was the only chance he had of getting off Destan without the Priestly Guard noticing. It was not ideal weather, to be sure (his beard was soaked through and the rowboat's bottom was already filling with water, which he couldn't scoop out right now), but that was exactly why he had chosen this night to make his great escape. Not even the Priestly Guard, with their magic, would dare set sail on these deadly waters at this time of night, not even to capture someone who knew all their darkest secrets.
The only problem was that Kinker had no idea where he was going. He had forgotten his compass back home and the endless rain, the gigantic waves, and the blackness of the night made it impossible to tell where he was or where he was going. He could not even be certain how far he was from Destan, because the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the island's shores was obscured by the rain and lightning that shook the sky.
In addition, Kinker's stomach kept doing back flips every time the ocean waves raised his tiny boat and tossed it. His boat was tossed around so much that Kinker felt like he was a tiny ball being thrown around by a bunch of young, easily-distracted children who were not careful with their toys. He had faith he would survive, however; because before he left Destan he had made a sacrifice to Kano, the Goddess of the Sea, asking her to protect him and get him to where he needed to go.
Not that he had much time to think or remember what he'd done before he left. He was thrown about once more, this time so violently that both of the oars on his rowboat snapped off and disappeared into the rain and waves. That meant Kinker was totally at the mercy of the sea now.
He gripped the bulwarks of his boat as it rocked back and forth, somehow managing to stay upright despite the weather. His fingers grasped the sides of the boat with a steel grip, but he was all too aware that his capsizing was a when, not an if, and that it would not be long before he found himself sleeping on the bottom of the ocean.
A flash of light disturbed these thoughts, causing Kinker to look up in surprise. He at first thought that his old eyes—which were getting worse every day—were playing tricks on him, but through the wind, rain, and darkness, he spotted what looked like a line of lights not too far from where he was. His first thought was that the lights belonged to the spirits of those who had died at sea, said to travel the Crystal Sea's surface, only appearing to sailors, fishermen, and others when death was at hand.
Then a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the entire area, revealing that the row of lights were not spirits at all but rather lights shining from the side of a large ship.
That wasn't the only thing the lightning revealed, however. It also revealed a gigantic wave—much larger than any that Kinker had ever seen in his entire life—on his port.
Kinker had only a few seconds to register that fact before the wave crashed down on him with the force of thousands of pounds of water, smashing his rowboat into splinters and knocking him out instantly.
-
Dying at sea was not as painful a death as one might think. Kinker had spent his whole life on or near the Crystal Sea. He had become a fisherman, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather before him, and had always been aware that the sea was not your friend. Even though he had devoutly worshiped Kano his whole life, Kinker knew better than to let his guard down around the sea. It was an entity, unforgiving and impartial, that would kill you as soon as it would help you.
But now that he thought about it, he wondered if he was really dead at all. Every bone in his body felt like it had been smashed into pieces and he was shivering and cold, which was strange because he had always been taught that death would be feeling-less. As a child, he remembered asking his mother what death would be like and she told him that when he died, he would simply stop feeling because the dead could feel nothing.
In the midst of the pain and coldness, Kinker concluded that he was not yet dead. Somehow, he had survived, but how, he had no idea.
That was when he felt a sharp jolt of pain near his midriff. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air. While he coughed out what felt like the entire Crystal Sea, a chair nearby skitted across the wood floor. Someone with a thick Northern accent said, “He's awake. Quick, get the captain.”
Through his waterlogged ears, Kinker heard the sound of another set of feet running, then a door opening and slamming shut. He felt someone put a wet rag on his forehead (that smelled of mold for some reason) and heard the earlier voice say, “How are you, my man? You all right? Feel okay? Can you breathe?”
Kinker blinked several times before his vision became clear enough for him to tell what he was seeing. A man was standing above him, his eyes twinkling. The man had something hanging off his neck, a necklace, which had a set of multicolored beads on it. The man was probably from the North, because his skin was a darker shade of brown than Kinker's.
“Did you hear me?” said the man. “I asked, can you breathe?”
Kinker nodded slowly. His neck felt like it had been ripped off hi
s shoulders and reattached by someone who didn't know what they were doing. He realized he was lying on a bed; furthermore, he was utterly nude, with only a coarse blanket to cover him.
“Good,” said the man. “When Vashnas pulled you up from the sea, we were certain you were dead. But thank the gods, you're alive.”
Then the man frowned. “Or perhaps not. Our resources are already stretched thin, and I can't imagine the Captain would be very happy if he found out you are still alive.”
Kinker moved his lips, trying to speak, but he only managed a few words because his throat felt like someone had cut it with a long, sharp knife. “Why ... call him ...”
“Hmm?” said the man, leaning down closer. “What'd you say, my friend?”
Kinker didn't think of himself as this man's 'friend,' but he did say, “The Captain ... why call him ... if he doesn't ...”
“Oh, I understand,” said the man, nodding as he stood back up. “Well, the Captain gave us orders to summon him if you woke up. Don't worry, though. I doubt he'll toss you overboard, unless you happen to be a murderer or something.”
Kinker gulped, which was like swallowing a prickly thorn bush. “Who ... are you?”
“Name's Telka Agos,” said the man. “I'm the doctor of this ship. Been keeping you alive, which admittedly has been rather difficult because the medical supplies on this ship are, how should I put it, very bare bones.”
“Clothes,” said Kinker with a cough, “where ... are ... my clothes?”
“Your clothes?” said Telka with a chuckle. “The sea ripped them off your body. You were brought on board the ship completely naked, my friend. Once you're better, though, I have an extra set of clothes you can borrow.”
Despite the pain, Kinker felt extremely embarrassed by the thought that some people had seen him naked. He changed the subject. “Big ship?”
Before Telka could answer, the door slammed open, causing Kinker to look up from the bed he was lying upon.
Another man entered the room, a tall, strapping young man with dirty hair that looked like it was normally well-kept. His skin was as dark as Telka's. Besides that, the two looked radically different. The man who entered wore a long boat cloak that covered his whole body, except for his head, which made it impossible to tell what else he was wearing underneath.
The man strode into the room with an air of authority and command. At his side was an aquarian, perhaps female based on her figure (although Kinker had never been good at guessing aquarian genders). She had to be an aquarian. Her skin looked like fish skin and her head resembled that of a black fish, narrow and with a row of spines running lengthwise. She had webbed hands and wore a jacket that was completely buttoned up. She looked tired, like she had run a mile.
“Captain Malock,” said Telka, saluting the younger man when he saw him, “I see Vashnas told you about the old man awaking.”
“Indeed she did, Telka,” said Captain Malock, stopping at the foot of Kinker's bed as he adjusted his boat cloak. “I was in the middle of lunch, but I wasted no time in getting here when I heard the news.”
“He's breathing,” Telka said. “And even starting to talk a little, but it's pretty obvious that he's still in pain. He may not be able to say much.”
Malock looked at Kinker and said, “Old man, how does your throat feel?”
Kinker put one hand against his throat and said, “Like it was ripped off and nailed back on.”
“But can you still speak?” Malock said.
Kinker swallowed and winced. “A little.”
“A little will do,” said Malock as he walked over to the left side of Kinker's bed.
The Captain pulled up a nearby chair and sat on it. As Malock did so, Telka took a step back, perhaps to give Malock room. The young female aquarian stood by Malock's side, still not saying anything. Kinker wondered if that was because she was silent or simply couldn't speak Northern Common. Either way, he found himself staring at her a bit too long, mostly because he'd never seen an aquarian up close like this before.
Then Malock snapped his fingers. Kinker looked at the Captain. He leaned forward in his chair, his intense eyes borrowing into Kinker's, like he was trying to read Kinker's mind.
“All right, old man,” said Malock. “Let's start with your name. What is it?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because if you don't, I won't hesitate to throw you off this ship and into the ocean,” Malock said. “I'm a humane captain, but I also do whatever is necessary to keep this ship afloat. And if you don't tell me anything about yourself, then I'm afraid we won't have any room for you here.”
Based on the looks that Telka and the female aquarian were giving him, Kinker knew that Malock wasn't joking. Despite his youth, it was clear that the Captain already held the kind of authority over his crew that only the most experienced of captains did. Why, Kinker didn't know, but because he was in no mood for a swim, he decided to talk.
“My name is Kinker Dolan,” said Kinker. He spoke slowly because he realized it hurt his throat less to do that. “I am from the island of Destan.”
Malock quirked an eyebrow and looked at the female aquarian. “Ever head of it?”
The female aquarian nodded. “Yes. It's a small island, the southernmost of the Northern Isles. Its seas are home to a variety of rare fish, but otherwise is an an insignificant spit of land in the middle of nowhere.”
Kinker didn't like hearing his home insulted like that, but he noticed how protective Malock seemed to be of the female aquarian, so he decided not to argue.
Instead, he said, “I've told you my name. Now tell me yours.”
Malock brushed some of his dark hair out of his eyes and said, “Fair enough. But I'm surprised you don't already recognize me. My handsome features are renown throughout the Northern Isles, and I am admired by many fine women, even though I have room in my heart for one alone.”
“Well, I am not a fine woman,” Kinker said, “so forgive me if I fail to recognize you on sight.”
Malock sat up straight, puffed out his chest, and said, “My name is Prince Tojas Malock, son of Queen Markinia and King Halock, Crown Prince of the House of Carnag, Captain of the Iron Wind, and the Chosen One of Kano.”
He recited all of those titles with the kind of enthusiasm Kinker commonly associated with Priestess Deber, back home, informing the masses of a new message she had received from Kano. Yet none of those titles meant a thing to the old fisherman. Only the last one interested him, but even then, he wasn't sure he wanted to ask because he didn't want to hear Malock drone on about it.
“Well?” said Malock. “Don't you have anything to say?”
Kinker shook his head. “Not really. Most of those titles don't mean a whole lot to me.”
Malock looked so shocked that he almost fell off his chair, but he immediately righted himself and said, “Well, if Destan is as obscure an island as Vashnas says it is, then I suppose it makes sense you wouldn't know about me or Carnag. But you've heard of Carnagian boots, haven't you?”
Kinker thought about that for a moment. “My grandfather owned a pair, but he lost them at sea when he was fishing one time. They're supposed to be high quality, aren't they?”
“Indeed they are,” said Malock. “My people produce the best boots in all of the Northern Isles. I am wearing a pair right now, in fact. Behold.”
Malock raised his right foot high enough for Kinker to see. A large boot made of fine leather covered it, but the boot didn't look nearly as fancy as Kinker expected it to. It looked like it had been exposed to the weather, with water damage obvious at the toe. It was even ripped on one side and had obviously been hastily repaired by someone with no knowledge, training, or skill in boot repair.
Malock rested the boot back on the floor and said, “We produce enough boots to supply the entire Northern Isles. We have buyers from Kiskasa to Nikos and everywhere in between.”
“Okay,” said Kinker, though he wasn't sure what was so impressive about
being the prince of a giant boot factory. “Say, you mentioned something about being the Chosen One of Kano earlier; what does that mean?”
“That is not important at the moment,” said Malock in a tone that told Kinker it was actually very important. “What is important is finding out why you were on the sea at that time of night.”
Kinker blinked. “That time of night? Don't you mean this time of night?”
“Oh, that's right,” said Malock. “You don't know. Well, you were out for, what, three days?”
“Three and a half, actually,” said Telka, nodding. “That's why we weren't sure you were alive, Kinker. You were out for so long, why, it's a miracle you woke up at all. Younger men than you have died from the same injuries.”
“Three days ...” Kinker repeated, looking at the blanket covering his legs. He couldn't imagine being out cold for three days, yet he had no reason to believe that any of them were lying to him about this.
“So if you were hoping we'd take you back to your home, you are sadly mistaken,” said Malock. “We are already well beyond the Northern Isles. There's no going back, no matter how much you beg and plead.”
Good, Kinker thought. I don't want to go back, not after what happened there. Not after what I did.
“Again, I must ask,” said Malock, “what were you doing on the sea in that weather? Our ship was nearly capsized and it's much larger than yours. You must either be very stupid or have a very good reason for risking your life. Were you trying to save someone else?”
Kinker hesitated for a moment. He couldn't tell them the truth. They might kick him off the ship if he told them. He had to come up with a lie quickly.
So he said, “Yes, I was. My granddaughter was out making sure the boats had not been swept away by the sea, but then the ocean waves dragged her out. I suppose she's dead now.”
Kinker actually didn't have a granddaughter. He'd never married, never had any children ever. This was mostly because he had been devoted to his work, but also because he had never been interested in women very much. He much preferred men, but even then, marriage had never been a concern of his.
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