Game of Destiny, Book I: Willow

by J Seab

  The cart wasn’t as fast as their horses had been but it was certainly better than walking. Their journey south from the wayside inn had been uneventful. There was no one else on the road, that they’d seen, anyway. Progress was slow but steady.

  Willow jounced around in the back, trying to find some way of sitting that didn’t antagonize her already abused flesh. Gethro wasn’t any problem, he’d kept clopping along docilely for the last couple of days. Probably happy to be out on the road, she surmised.

  It was Geldane who was the problem. He kept twisting around from the driver’s seat, harassing her about watching the back trail. You see anybody? he’d ask. You checking the trees? Any dust plumes? She was about ready to jump out and walk far enough back that she couldn’t hear him, but she resisted.

  Geldane was clearly worried about her. When he got into his worry mode, he became overly protective. Better that than ignoring the situation, she decided. Bodies, she thought, her mind suddenly switching tracks. Dolfinas fighting? Seth must have gotten the story wrong. Dolfinas rarely fought among themselves; well, nothing more serious than some bumping and slapping or, at worst, a tooth rake. Nothing fatal. She’d never heard of such a thing.

  Willow shifted about in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. There wasn’t one. She gave up. She pulled herself up and flexed her legs to work out some of the stiffness. Geldane whipped his head around.

  “Did you see something?” he asked anxiously, reaching for his bo while pulling on the reins. Gethro clattered to a stop.

  “No, Geldane. I just need to get out and walk for a while. I feel like a sack of battered and bruised apples on the way to the cider press. Can we stop, have lunch? Looks to be well after noon. We should be only a few hours from Dolfina Beach, plenty of time to get there before dark.”

  “OK, I suppose,” Geldane said, eyes sweeping the brush and straggle of small pines that encroached on the road. “Half hour, no more. I’ll pull into that little clearing ahead.”

  Willow opened their pack and removed the remainder of the bread and cheese Wenny had given them and jumped to the ground. She followed the cart to the clearing.

  Willow walked around while nibbling on a piece of bread. She wasn’t really hungry, mostly needed to stretch her legs. She stopped momentarily to pet Gethro and give him the last of her bread. She then walked to the back of the cart. Geldane leaned against the tailgate, juggling bread and cheese in one hand while he clutched his bo with his other hand, his eyes shifting about, vigilant.

  “What do we do when we get there?” Geldane asked between mouthfuls. A few crumbs spewed out of his mouth and fell to the ground. His eyes continued to sweep the area.

  Willow approached and clasped his forearm, pulling his attention to her. “Geldane, I need you to do something for me.”

  “Err, what?” he sputtered, swallowing the last of his bread and cheese and swiping at his mouth as if suddenly conscious of the spectacle he must seem.

  “You’re all hyped up over this thing, Geldane. You’re wearing yourself down.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You’re not, Geldane,” she insisted. “I need you alert and rested so we can safely continue our journey, not all bug-eyed and jerky.”

  Geldane lowered his head and scraped his feet.

  “Geldane,” she said, lightly pushing at his arm. “Geldane.”

  He looked back up into her eyes.

  “Geldane,” she continued, “Part of life is discovering the value in all of your experiences, both the good and bad. Your dad says that the person who can’t make mistakes can’t make anything. If we eliminated our past mistakes, we would also eliminate what we learned from them and be weaker for it.”

  Geldane was silent, his eyes caught in Willow’s scrutiny.

  She sighed, dropping her hand but keeping her eyes locked on Geldane, “You can’t change the past, it no longer exists, only its memories and the ripple of its consequence that follow us in our present. Reflect on these memories, use them to open your awareness to the values you learned from the experience. Use these values to improve the quality of the choices you make in the present. Can you do this?”

  Blinking, Geldane jerked his gaze away and put both hands on his bo, his stance firming. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can only change the present so I’d best pay better attention to it.”

  Willow’s face relaxed into a smile and her anxieties eased.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. He perked with a sudden thought. “Does this mean that, after reflecting on these lessons of the past, that maybe,” he said, waving a palm in front of her, “just maybe, someone did take our horses?”

  “Yes, Geldane,” she said, evidently surprising him. “After reflecting on it and what Wenny said while you bounced me into a livid ecchymosis in that cart, I can’t deny the possibility. Precautions are in order.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he announced, louder, “OK, let’s go, then. Why do we dally so?” He brandished his staff with a wry grin. “Let us sally forth to meet our future with courage, reason, and great fervor.”

  Smiling, Willow leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Geldane.”

  Fumbling in embarrassment, Geldane stumbled over his bo, recovered, marched to the front of the cart, and climbed aboard. “Well, onward, then.”

  The rest of the trip seemed to pass more quickly, Willow’s aches going mostly unnoticed. She rode on the bench next to Geldane as they speculated on various aspects of what was happening and why but came to no satisfactory conclusions. Geldane only glanced behind them a couple of times, his attitude more optimistic, his actions more focused on where they were going.

  They clopped and rattled into Dolfina Beach a few hours later.

  A salty, fishy smell assaulted their nostrils and a chorus of squawks and caws stung their ears. Sea gulls were everywhere, perched on top of the few plank buildings lined up along the beach, dashing in and out of the swells that washed in from the sea, and gliding in the air currents above.

  To Willow, it was a paradise of sea gulls. But she loved most anything that walked, swam, crawled, or flew. She clapped her hands, delighted.

  Geldane scowled at her.

  Willow smiled back. Geldane didn’t like sea gulls. He’d fuss that they were too noisy, always demanding handouts, painting everything around them with icky white splotches.

  Other than that, things appeared relatively normal, except that there were more boats tied at the dock than Willow expected.

  “Hey, Gethro,” somebody called out. A man, heavily tanned and with a mop of sandy hair, ran over. He patted Gethro’s flank and looked up at Geldane. “Howdy, folks. Came in from Wenny’s inn, I see. How is she? She weathering the storms?”

  “She’s fine, no permanent damage.”

  “More glorious than that, I think I see Willow hiding behind you beneath a huge hat,” he said, craning his neck. “More weathered than I remember but nonetheless glorious.”

  “Art,” Willow exclaimed, climbing over Geldane, jumping from the wagon, and dashing over for a quick hug.

  Standing back, Art looked her over. “As fine a woman as I’ve seen.” He winked. “Did you finally come to your senses and come down here to swear your undying love to me?”

  “Of course I love you, Art,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But,” she continued more seriously, “we’ve got pressing business. No time to flirt with the best fisher in Etus.”

  Art’s lips drooped. “Argh, my heart crushed yet again. You are cruel, Willow, cruel.”

  “And you, Art,” she said, brushing his nose with a fingertip, “are a sweetie.”

  “Ah, I suppose I must struggle through life with just that morsel of your love to soothe my throbbing heart.”

  “Ah-hem,” Geldane grumbled from the wagon seat.

  Glancing at Geldane, Willow continued, more somber. “Wenny said there’s trouble among the dolfinas?”

  “Yes, tragedy has struck our community,” he
said, saddened. “A dolfina washed ashore a few days ago, badly mangled. Nobody we knew but it was unsettling on top of everything else that’s been happening.”

  Geldane stalked over. “When did this start?” he asked, voice stiff, acting as if he didn’t like this Art much.

  “Let’s see.” Art’s face scrunched, his attention on Willow. “Must be more than a month ago that the dolfinas reported some big predators in the area, farther south into Knok Gulf they said. Also, some fishers reported seeing big groups of dolfinas thrashing in the seas. Something has got them riled like we’ve never seen before.” He stared out to sea, his voice worried. “After that, the dolfinas told us they were heading south early this year. Haven’t seen a single dolfina since, not even the few who usually remain behind. We decided to stay in close to shore and keep together until we better understand these predators.”

  “Why didn’t you go out and check for yourselves?” Geldane asked.

  “We decided some precautions were the best tactic for now,” Art continued with a quick glance at Geldane, “but didn’t see anything else for a week; assumed that whatever it was had moved off. Then, a few days ago, Gorge was following a school of mackerel into deeper waters, drifted off by himself. He said he never saw what hit him, just that it was big and dark. Knocked him off his boat and busted it up some. Luckily, it held together long enough for him to get back to the fleet.”

  Willow and Geldane exchanged a quick glance. “That fits,” Willow said. “That means Swiik was involved somehow in what happened here.”

  “You know Swiik?” Art asked, expectant.

  “We found her stranded at Salty Flats about a month ago.” Willow placed a hand against his chest and asked gently, “You knew her too?”

  “Sure. We’re good friends, talk often. Why? What’s wrong?” he asked with growing concern.

  “I’m sorry, Art. She’s dead.”

  “Swiik is dead?”

  Geldane stepped back a pace and watched.

  “I’m sorry. She was badly wounded. Misti and I did what we could.”

  Art shook his head slowly from side to side, his eyes moist. “What’s going on? Swiik dead. At least one other dolfina dead.” He wiped at his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Willow repeated, hugging him.

  Taking a deep breath, Art composed himself, hands limp at his sides. “Is that why you’re here, to find out about Swiik?”

  “Maybe we need to find a place to talk,” Geldane said. “There’s something happening we don’t entirely understand and it seems to involve the dolfinas. We’ve come to find out more.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Art said, glancing around. “We can talk on my porch, up there,” he said, gesturing. “You can leave Gethro here. I’ll get William, the boy tending our stable, to take care of him in a minute.”

  They followed him. Several crude rocking chairs that appeared to be made mostly from driftwood and other odds and ends were lined up along the rough plank wall of a small shack. The porch was shallow, only about two meters deep. A log railing ran in front, supported by a crooked assortment of thin branches. Sea gulls squawked into the air as they approached.

  “I don’t have anything to offer you,” Art said, still disconsolate as they climbed the single step onto his porch. “Some water from the barrel, if you want it.”

  “We’re fine,” Willow said, holding up a palm.

  “While you’re settling down, I’ll get William to pull your cart over to the stables. You staying the night?”

  “Might be a couple,” Geldane said. “Long enough to talk to the dolfinas about Swiik.”

  “I’ll have William put your gear in a room at the inn. And, if it’s OK with you, I’d like one other person to join us.”

  “Who?” Geldane challenged, unable to abandon his nagging paranoia over the oddment.

  “Rengade,” Art said with a hint of a smile struggling through his melancholy.

  Willow responded quickly, before Geldane could launch into an interrogation, “That’s fine, Art, if you think he’d be helpful.”

  Art nodded and tossed a wave over his shoulder as he jumped down the step to tend to his tasks.

  Willow and Geldane dropped into the rockers. They were surprisingly comfortable.

  “So,” Geldane asked while he rocked slowly, his eyes following the gamboling sea gulls. “Who’s Art?”

  “A fisher, mostly, although he seems to do a lot of other things too, like make rockers,” she answered innocently. “He also doubles as the acting mayor of Dolfina Beach.”

  “Humph.”

  Turning to face him, Willow continued. “I like him, Geldane. He’s considerate and knows a lot about dolfinas. He also tends to be playful. Whenever I came down here, he was always willing to drop whatever else he was working on to help me observe or learn to converse with dolfinas.”

  “Playful, huh? Maybe spends too much time with his dolfinas?”

  Relaxing in her rocker, lazily pushing it with a toe, Willow closed her eyes, tired. “He’s a good friend, Geldane. Just that, a friend.”

  They continued to rock in silence, lulled by the calls of the birds and the puffs of salty air cooling their skin, enjoying the peace after the bumpy and tense ride from the wayside inn. Geldane momentarily cracked an eyelid to watch a small boy lead Gethro off.

  They were roused by the thump of booted feet on the porch step. They stood as Art led another man over. He was short but thickly muscled. A conflagration of necklaces and bracelets jangled about his neck and arms, each festooned with bits of rough stones, seashells, water-smoothed twigs, and even a few bones and teeth. Faded red stripes edged the hem and sleeves of his loose, sand-colored shirt. His dark hair was cut close except for a thick band that ran from forehead to a short braid dangling at the back. Black, intense eyes darted from Willow to Geldane and back, absorbing, judging. He stood with an alert grace; looked able to deal with anything that might threaten.

  “This is Rengade,” Art said, stepping aside as if presenting a particularly interesting but perplexing work of art.

  Willow and Geldane studied Rengade in return. He made no offer to clasp hands in greeting. They decided not to press the issue.

  “Don’t let that stoic facade deter you,” Art said. “Somewhere buried deep within all that mass of gristle is a big hunk of sanity and decency. In particular, don’t expect him to talk much. Actually,” Art said after a pause, “don’t expect him to talk at all, at least, not with words. He’s largely forgotten how. He’s a trekker, spends most of his days alone out in the wilds.” Art continued after another short pause, “Most will say he blends well with his environment. He can seem rather intimidating, self-reliant, if you will, until he gets to know you.” Art brightened. “Then he’ll become a fireball of cooperation and enthusiasm, assuming, of course, that he decides that he likes you. Nonetheless, he knows the Dolfina Isles and the southern seas better than anybody alive. We’re lucky to catch him today.”

  Rengade stood mute, apparently unconcerned about Art’s description.

  Willow smiled up at him. “Thanks for joining us.”

  Rengade’s expression didn’t change much. A flicker of acknowledgment might have crossed his eyes.

  “Why don’t we go inside to have that chat?” Art suggested.

  Mumbling agreement, Willow and Geldane followed Art inside. Rengade went in last, so silently Geldane glanced back to make sure he was coming.

  The inside of Art’s shack was no less impressive than the outside. It was small and roughly built but clean and orderly. An assortment of furniture made from the same odds and ends as the rockers was scattered about. A door on the far wall opened into a bedroom.

  Art indicated a long, bench-like seat with a high back. “Have a seat. I’ll get us some water. Oh, Rengade will probably stand. He doesn’t like chairs. Best not to even hint at telling him what to do. Just ignore him; he prefers it that way.” Art walked over to a barrel standing in the corner, ladled out four cups of water into eart
henware mugs, passed them around, and then pulled up a stool. “I think I’m ready,” he said, his face drooping again, “tell me about Swiik.”

  Willow and Geldane took turns relating the story. Art asked few questions. Rengade stood impassively, his back against the wall, listening.

  “And so,” Willow concluded, “we need to know the origin of our oddment. With Swiik gone, the only way we might do that is to find the Bathus Pod. Do you have any insights at all as to where they might be?”

  Art didn’t answer right away. He scratched at his chin, thinking. Finally, almost to himself, he said, “So Swiik was the Watcher.”

  “You know about Watchers?” Geldane asked.

  “Not Watchers, but the Watcher. There was only one at any given time.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “A lot less than you, apparently.”

  “And that is...?” Geldane persisted, sitting forward with his hands clutched together and arms resting on his knees.

  “I understand,” Art said, waving off Geldane’s burst, “is that the Bathus Pod is still around but they don’t, at present, live anywhere near here. I rarely see them, except for Swiik.”

  “Have you heard of the Mysteries of Bathus before?” Willow joined in, her tone conciliatory.

  “No, not that, but I’ve always wondered about Swiik since I met her several years back. At first, I thought she was a loner, but later she told me she was a member of the Bathus Pod. She seemed intent on learning as much as she could about man-creatures. She was extraordinarily curious about everyone; we’ve even talked a lot about you, Twine, Servitors, and others from up Oak Cove’s way, and I’ve seen her several times with Misti. Wanted to know about our lives, our stories.” He shrugged. “I guess I just relegated it to curiosity. Swiik was intelligent, even for her kind,” he said, voice catching. “We were good friends.”

  “But she never said why she was interested?” Willow continued sympathetically.

  “No, not specifically. I always thought it remarkable how well she seemed to understand human motives and behaviors, much more than any other dolfina I’ve conversed with. That’s when she told me about Watchers, how the Bathus Pod has had a designated Watcher for hundreds of generations to help the pod understand man-creatures, about how the pod considered that duty sacred.”

  “But she never mentioned anything about an oddment?” Geldane asked.

  “Nothing. Are you saying that was another duty of the Watcher, to determine when to pass over this object, or knowledge, or whatever it is?”

  “That’s what she told Misti,” Willow said, feeling again her own sorrows from that time. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “You’ve never mentioned Swiik before.”

  “No, she asked me not to, said she didn’t want to upset anybody because she was so curious about man-creatures.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “It’s been a long time, months, I believe. She visited more often than usual back then.” He mused, “I felt she was after something, she was asking more questions than usual. Wanted to know, specifically, more about you,” he added, looking directly into Willow’s eyes.

  “Me?”

  “Wanted to know everything: who your folks were, what you did for the community, your healing skills.” He paused, scratching at his chin again. “She seemed particularly interested in that garden you keep, for some reason. I told her everything you ever said about it, how well it grew and how good the spices were and the potency of the medicinal herbs.” He began pacing. “Curious,” he said, stopping before Willow. “Why would Swiik be so interested in that?” he asked her. “It’s not like she was thinking about starting her own garden.”

  Feeling diminutive, Willow said, “No idea. But why me?”

  “Can’t say for sure. She must have decided, for whatever reason, that you were the one she wanted to pass this oddment to.”

  Willow’s spine tingled, almost in fear. Why would Swiik seek her for that? She was still a kid, still struggling with adolescence and her studies. Why not Art? He was strong, capable, and they certainly were good friends. Or, what about Everam? He was better qualified than anybody she knew.

  “All this is interesting,” Geldane interrupted, “but doesn’t get us any closer to locating the oddment’s origin. We still need to find the Bathus Pod, find out if there is another Watcher or someone else who knows where the oddment came from.”

  “Did Swiik have a successor?” Willow asked Art.

  “I don’t know. She was young. I didn’t even know for sure that she was the Watcher. She never specifically said.”

  “Maybe her predecessor is still alive?” Geldane suggested.

  Willow sighed. “We have to find the Bathus Pod,” she declared. “You said they aren’t anywhere near here?”

  “No. The only thing I can suggest is to go out and find them.”

  “But you don’t know where to find them,” Geldane said.

  “No, not exactly; somewhere in the south isles, I think. I’m certain that if anyone could find them, it would be Rengade.” Art looked over at him, wiggling his fingers in some sort of sign language. Rengade flashed a few signs in return. There was a barely detectable nod.

  “And that, my friends, is what passes for an enthusiastic endorsement from Rengade. He says he can’t add anything significant to the discussion but is all aquiver to get involved. Mysteries and exploration are the muscle and bone of a trekker’s life.”

  Geldane looked skeptical but appeared to take Art’s word. “How long is this likely to take?”

  Art queried Rengade with a raised brow. Rengade flashed his fingers, too quick for Geldane to follow.

  “He says a week, maybe two, depending on how long it takes to find them.”

  “Two weeks! That’s much longer than we planned on being gone.” Geldane turned to Willow.

  “Do we have a choice?” she asked, resigned.

  He shook his head. “No, guess not.”

  “We need to let Arla and Twine know about that and our horses and take Gethro back.”

  “I’d be happy to make that comdev call in the morning,” Art volunteered.

  “We’d be grateful,” Willow said sincerely.

  “Ah,” Art said, recapturing his cheerfulness, although it sounded somewhat forced. “Then consider it done. It’s but a meager gesture compared to the indebtedness I have to the beautiful and talented Willow.”

  Willow shyly dropped her head, mouthed a thanks, and then, looking up at Art, added, “Please, pass along our heartfelt thanks to Wenny.”

  “What about the fighting and the monsters?” Geldane asked, turning Art’s attention back to him. “Aren’t we putting Willow at risk? Shouldn’t she stay here? Shouldn’t I go alone with this Rengade?” he said, pointing.

  “Absolutely not,” Willow objected, “especially if Swiik was bringing the oddment to me. As much as I’d like to get back to Oak Cove, this is more important and I owe it to Swiik. We go together,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I know that air of defiance.” Art winked. “Best step back and let her have her wish. She’ll not be dissuaded.”

  “Yup hup,” Geldane said without much enthusiasm and then let out a long breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I suppose.”

  They continued to speculate about Swiik, the Mysteries of Bathus, and the oddment. Nothing significant emerged from their discussion. Rengade disappeared somewhere during that time. Nobody noticed when. He was there at one moment, gone the next.

  Eventually they decided the only option was to go, taking whatever precautions they found appropriate. “Twine says that necessity is the mother of taking chances,” Willow said.

  Art nodded. “That’s true. The waters have been calm since the dolfinas left so maybe the predators have left as well. Still,” he cautioned, “take extra care and rely on Rengade. He’s exceptionally capable and knows the isles well. He’s your best chance to get through safely.”

 
It was late when they finally broke. Art said he would arrange for their supplies and Rengade would return in a couple days with a pirogue outfitted for their journey. They thanked him, even Geldane seemed grateful. They walked over to the inn and collapsed in a deep sleep for the remainder of the night.

  Chapter 9