The Magic Of Krynn (2 page)

The rest of the story is known to you, how Riverwind, bearing the staff, returned to the
People, the darkness of stones in his eyes, what the Chieftain ordered,

(I was there to see it my words this time could not stop them) what the Staff in the hand
of Goldmoon accomplished. But this you may not know: that in the pathways of light from
the plains to the Last Home riding she said to him, NOW ARE YOU WORTHY, NO LONGER IN MY
EYES ONLY, BUT NOW IN THE FALCON'S EYE OF THE WORLD FOREVER THE STORY IS WALKING FOREVER
THE STORY,

But Riverwind NO, and NO again No to the fractured light of the staff, for caught in the
light his hand was fading, through facet and facet unto the heart of the light, and not of
this earth was the third moon rising, and the heart of the Staff was his naming night.

HERE ON THE PLAINS WHERE THE WIND EMBRACES LIGHT AND THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT, WHERE THE WIND
IS THE VOICE OF THE GODS COME DOWN,

THE RUMOR OF SONG BEFORE SINGING BEGINS,

HERE THE PEOPLE UNDER THE WINDS ARE WANDERING EVER TOWARDS HOME, FOREVER IN MOVEMENT AN
OLD MAN IS SINGING THE SONG OF AN ABSENT COUNTRY, BEAUTIFUL, HEARTLESS AS SUNLIGHT, COLD
AS IMAGINED WINDS BEHIND THE EYE OF THE RAIN, AND WIDE BEFORE US, MY SONS AND FATHERS, THE
SONG OF THE COUNTRY CENTERS AND SWOOPS LIKE A HAWK IN A SLEEPING LAND, BORNE UPON HUNGER
AND THERMALS, SINGING FOREVER, SINGING.

The Blood Sea Monster Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel

Out of breath - and nearly out of hope - I ran across the wet sand, looking for a place to
hide. After the terrible storm earlier that day, running along the muddy beach felt like
running in a huge bowl of thick mush. But I ran just the same because Thick-Neck Nick, the
village baker, was dead-set after me.

I had lost Thick-Neck when I made a quick dash between two buildings and headed down
toward the sea. I knew he might realize that I had come this way, but then I saw my
salvation: along the shore was a long row of fishing boats.

Clutching the stolen loaf of bread close to my body, I looked back over my shoulder.
Thick-Neck hadn't yet reached the beach. I took my chance and dove into the very first
boat.

After covering myself with a heavy netting, I took in deep drafts of air, trying to catch
my breath. I knew that if Thick-Neck Nick lumbered by, he was sure to hear me.

I don't know how much time passed. When you're scared, breathless, lying in rainwater up
to your lower lip, and have heavy fish netting on top of you shutting out the light,
nothing moves slower than time. Absolutely nothing.

But my heart started picking up its pace when I heard fast- approaching footsteps. I
cringed down at the bottom of the boat. The rainwater covered my mouth. I had to breathe
through my nose.

The steps came closer. It was useless. I raised my mouth up out of the water and took a

bite of the bread. If Thick-Neck was going to beat me, at least I wanted to have something
in my stomach to show for it.

Despite my dry mouth, I hurriedly began to chew.

The steps came closer. Did he see the netting move? Did he hear my heavy breathing? Did he
hear me chewing his bread? Though I hadn't swallowed my first mouthful, I took another
bite, and then another, and another, until my cheeks were so puffed out they looked as if
they had the wingspan of a dragon. Well, maybe not that big, but there was more bread in
my mouth than there was left in my hand-and I hadn't swallowed a single mouthful. At
least, not yet.

The footsteps stopped right next to the boat. I closed my eyes, the bread stuck in my
throat.

I started to choke!

The netting flew off me. Even as I tried to breathe, I covered my face, hoping to ward off
Thick-Neck's blows.

But there were no blows.

I peeked out between my arms as big chunks of bread spewed out of my mouth.

“What is this?” asked a bewildered old man staring down at me. “A young elf, all by
himself?”

I didn't answer. I kept coughing, spitting out wads of half- chewed bread into the bottom
of the boat.

The old man shook his head with exasperation and began slapping me on the back.

When I was finally able to breathe again, I looked past the old man and saw that the beach
was empty. Thick-Neck Nick was nowhere in sight.

“You in trouble, elf?” asked the old man, seeing my furtive look.

I nodded my head, figuring to play on the old man's sympathies. “Thick-Neck Nick doesn't
like me,” I said.

“Thick-Neck Nick doesn't like anybody,” agreed the old man with a sigh. Then he looked at
me with a sly grin and added, “He especially hates one particular elf who has a habit of
stealing his bread.”

My face reddened. “What's your name, elf?” he demanded. “Duder,” I told him. “That's all?
Just Duder?” “It's enough,” I replied, not wanting to say any more on that

subject. “What's yours?” “Folks call me Six-Finger Fiske.”

My gaze immediately shifted to his hands.

“Don't expect to see an extra digit, elf,” the old man said with a harsh laugh. “Had a
drunk doctor at my birthing, and the fool thought he saw six fingers on my hand. My mother
didn't know enough to count them herself, and, well, nicknames have a way of catching on.
Know what I mean?”

I nodded. What else could I do?

Without warning, the old, leathery fisherman picked me up by my shoulders and set me down
on the muddy beach. “You're a funny-looking little fellow,” he said. “Don't see too many
elves around here. But you can't stay in my boat. I'm heading out to sea now.”

“You're going fishing?” I sputtered, astonished. “Everyone stayed in port because of the
storm,” I pointed out. “And now it's too late to go out. It'll be dark in just a few
hours.”

“The fish bite best after a heavy rain,” replied Six-Finger Fiske. “Besides,” he added
mysteriously, “there is one fish that I must catch-and my time is running out.”

I didn't know what he was talking about. The truth? It didn't really matter to me. All I
cared about was keeping out of Thick- Neck's sight; a hard thing to do in such a small
fishing village.

“I'll go with you,” I quickly offered. “If you head out onto the Blood Sea so late, it'll
be dark by the time you come back. I have really good eyes and I'll be able to help you
find your way back into port.”

The old man laughed. “I don't need you to help me navigate in the Blood Sea,” he said.
“I've been fishing in these waters since before you were born.”

I was sixty-two years old-just an adolescent for an elf-but just the same I didn't doubt
that Six-Finger Fiske had outlived me by a good ten or fifteen years. I had to find
another way to convince him to take me along.

“If you've been fishing for as long as you say,” I said slyly, “then you're not quite as
young as you look.”- Unlike most elves, I can stretch the truth until it's almost ready to
snap.-“But if you're as old as you say, Mr. Fiske, ” I continued, “then I'd be glad to
offer my rowing services to you for just the modest fee of ten percent of your catch.”

“You're a clever one, elf,” the old man said with admiration in his voice.

“Please, call me Duder.”

"All right, Duder. Though you don't look like you can row worth a damn, your company on a
dark night might keep these

tired eyes of mine from closing. But if you really want to go with me, you need to know
that I'm setting out to catch the Blood Sea Monster."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

“So, you're one of those who doesn't believe it exists,” he said without anger.

“I've heard stories,” I admitted. “But that's all they are. Everyone knows that. Even
kender.”

“Just the same,” the old man said doggedly, “it's the Blood Sea Monster that I intend to
catch. Do you still want to go?”

I certainly didn't want to stay around to face Thick-Neck Nick. So, I bit my tongue to
keep from laughing in his face again, and said, “Yes, I still want to go.”

Before he could say another word, I started pushing his little fishing boat toward the
lapping waves of the Blood Sea, hoping he wouldn't have second thoughts.

Suddenly, he called out to me, “Duder?” “Y es?” “You'll get two percent of my catch. And
that's final.” I smiled to myself. I was going fishing!

I pulled the oars of the fishing boat until the shore began to shrink out of sight. But
our progress was slow because the Blood Sea was still roiling from the storm.

I thought I might get sick from the boat's constant dips into the trough of every wave.
Six-Finger must have seen my suffering, but a deal was a deal; he didn't take the oars
from me. He offered only one consolation. “Don't worry,” he said. “The water will calm
down by dusk. It always does.”

He was right. As the sun set into the Blood Sea, dazzling crimson lights sparkled on the
now-smooth surface of the water. The sea was at peace. And, finally, so was my stomach.
Not that there was anything in it, mind you.

It suddenly occurred to me that Six-Finger hadn't cast his line. “You can't catch
anything-except your death of cold-without putting your hook in the water,” I said.

“Giving orders already, huh?” growled the old man. “I've fished these waters before and
I'll not find the Monster hereabouts.”

With my stomach calm, I was getting hungry. I'd eaten raw fish before, so I asked, “Do you
mind if I use your line and see what I can catch? After all,” I reminded him, “I get a
percentage of your take.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If you're going to fish,” he said gruffly, “give me the oars.”
Six-Finger heaved on the wooden oars, turning his head away from me as he stared out into
the gathering twilight.

My line splashed into the red water, trailing behind the boat as we moved farther out to
sea. I closed my eyes, enjoying the steady, rhythmic movement of the old man's rowing.

This is a good way to live, I thought. Someone to row for me, and dinner just waiting to
be caught. But then, as always, I started dreaming of more: I'd have a whole fleet of
fishing boats with scores of old men bringing in a huge catch every day. I'd be generous
and give them ten percent of the profits. Then I stopped and thought, no, I'd give them
just two percent.

I smiled to myself and sighed with satisfaction.

I'd be known as Duder, Captain of the Blood Sea. And I'd be the richest elf in the world.
The other elves would envy me. They would be sorry they had treated me so badly. I had
been expelled from my homeland;

punished for a youthful indiscretion; shunned, made to travel all alone-oh, how I hated
being by myself. But when the elves needed my fish, needed my money, needed my power and
influence .. . they'd come to me then and say, “Duder Basillart, we're sorry. Come home.”
And I would just grin and tell them-

“Ouch!” The fishing line was nearly torn out of my hands. My eyes opened wide as I
clutched at the line, thinking that though my reverie had come to an end, my dinner was
just about to begin.

“Looks like you've got something big,” said the old man as he watched me pull on the line.

“I told you I'd be good to have along,” I boasted. “This fish will bring in plenty of
money. Don't forget,” I added, “I get two percent!”

“I remember.”

Hand over hand, I pulled on the line. I was counting my money even before my catch broke
the surface. But when it did, I stopped my efforts. I had caught a dead man.

“I'm not surprised,” said Six-Finger after he helped me haul a drowned sailor up onto the
lip of the boat.

“You're not?” I asked, astonished. “Do you catch dead men on your line every day?”

His ancient face showed little emotion. “There is an old folk tale about storms on these
waters,” he said. "Whenever there's a storm, you can be sure that a ship has been sucked
down into the

whirlpool at the center of the Blood Sea." I shivered at the thought; in my lonely travels
I had seen so

many storms blow across these waves. “Too bad our fishing expedition had to end like
this,” I said

sadly, figuring that we would head back to shore with the body. “Don't be silly,” said the
old man. And with that, he cut the line

and let the dead man splash back down into the water. “What are you doing?” I cried. “The
proper place to bury a sailor is at sea,” he calmly

explained. “Besides, there is the one fish I've been after all of my life. Tonight,
perhaps, I'll finally catch that creature.”

It was only then, as I watched the body float away from the boat, that I fully realized
the old man's desperation. He was tired- worn out-and he knew he wouldn't have many more
chances to catch his fabled Blood Sea Monster.

Six-Finger didn't look back as the sailor's body sunk below the waves.

It wasn't long after I picked up the oars and began to row that I saw wreckage floating
nearby from the dead sailor's ship. Cracked and broken pieces of wood were strewn about
the water. And then I saw a plaque that must have been part of the ship's bow. In the
fading light I read the words, THE PERECHON. And then the plaque tumbled away on a wave
and disappeared.

Was it a big ship? Had a great many sailors died? I would never know. To me, it was just
another ship that would never see land again, just another crew of sailors who would never
see the sun again, just another shipload of souls who would never go home again . . . like
me.

It seemed like every passing day took me farther away from my home. And now I was in a
little boat, far away from land, somewhere out in the darkness of the Blood Sea in the
dead of night. Worse than that, I was sailing with an old fisherman who actually thought
he could catch a creature that existed only in the mind of man.

I'm not cruel by nature, but I thought I'd have some sport with Six-Finger. While I rowed,
I asked, “What does this Blood Sea Monster look like?”

“I don't know,” the old man replied. “No one has ever seen the creature and lived.”

“Then how do you know it exists?” I smirked.