Voyage of the Fox Rider (82 page)
They winched the mainmast into its footing, a length of the shaft going all the way through each of the decks and down to the mainmast base collar at the keelson. And when it was fixed in place, the mast raked back at an angle, the mizzenmast was likewise set. Then the crews swarmed up the main and mizzen and began refitting each mast with yards and crosstrees and other such. Up went the ratlines and nests, up went the blocks and halyards and other rigging.
And during it all, hidden by the hills, the Sun rose and set and rose and set again—several times altogether—each
day a fraction longer than the one before as icy summer gradually edged toward the distant renewal of life that would come with autumn. Nightly, the fulgent Moon looked silently down as it circled ‘round east to north to west, rising later and later in the passing eventides, the silvery disk waning with growing age.
And as the work progressed, Alamar and Rux tarried ashore, along with a single crewman to aid the eld Mage, should such aid be needed.
Finally the work of refitting was done, and two crews set out in boats to break camp and to retrieve Alamar. Jinnarin came along as well to fetch Rux. As the crews disassembled the camp, Jinnarin walked up into the woods and whistled a silent whistle, a call beyond earshot of Man and Mage alike. Soon Rux came trotting among the pines, and Jinnarin rode him back down to the boats.
On the sixth of July, with all silks flying, the
Eroean
sailed away from Inigo Bay and out into the wide waters of Weston Ocean beyond.
“Where away, Captain?” asked Jatu, the offshore wind belling the sails.
Aravan looked up at the early morning stars, the Sun not yet risen. “Take her east till we clear the coast, then north-northwest, Jatu. Set a course for Rwn.”
At these words, Aylis heaved a great sigh of relief and peered forward to where her father stood clutching the starboard railing.
As if sensing that a course had been chosen, Alamar turned and slowly made his way aft. Finally he stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the aft deck. And with his wisps of remaining hair blowing in the wind, and his rheumy eyes looking up at Aylis and Aravan, Alamar bitterly asked, “Are we headed for Rwn?”
At Aravan’s nod, Alamar groaned.
Aravan added, “Without the lexicon, Durlok is lost to us.”
“Don’t you think I know that, Elf?” querulously wheezed Alamar. “Of course he has escaped for now! And he’s up to evil, I can smell it! The grand weddings, you know. And speaking of them—nothing we sensed happened on the one in June. Perhaps somewhere, a
terrible thing occurred; what it might be, I cannot say. But remember, we were hot on his track at the time and perceived nothing in his wake, and so
nothing
may have happened. If so, there are three grand weddings left this year—in July, August, and September. We’ve got to find him before he does something dreadful. Yes, he is lost to us, but perhaps not for long—the Children of the Sea are searching for the black galley.”
Aylis’s eyes flew wide. “You called the Children of the Sea?”
“Of course, Daughter,” puffed Alamar. “What did you think I was doing back there on shore, sucking my thumb?”
“No, Father, I just—”
“Never mind, Daughter. It doesn’t matter what you think of me. The fact is, I called them and asked for their help. They came in the moonlight the day before yesterday, and even now are sending word to the
Ut!¡teri
—the whales—and to the
A!miî
—the dolphin. Soon they will be searching the seas for the black galley, and when it is found, they will locate the
Silver Bottom
and inform me or you, Elf—after all, you
are
known to them as a Friend—as to the whereabouts of Durlok’s ship.”
“Father,” said Aylis softly, “I did not think you were sucking your thumb. Pouting, perhaps, but not sucking your thumb.”
“Heh!” cracked Alamar. “Pouting. Heh! Well, to tell the truth, Daughter, perhaps I was pouting a bit.”
“Regardless, Mage Alamar,” said Aravan, “mayhap thou hast given us the means to find Durlok, perhaps to stop his scheme, whate’er it may be. Till then we sail for Rwn.”
Day after day, northerly they fared, running on the larboard wind for Rwn. Across the Lat of the Goat they sailed, the air light and shifty but they did not need to row. Another grand wedding came and went, and they knew not if aught had occurred. And on northward they voyaged, the wind generally to starboard aft as they sailed into summer.
They crossed the midline on the twenty-second of July, and once again Fortune smiled down upon them and the winds did not die, though they did shift to the
starboard fore. It was in the middle of the following night that a great shower of falling stars scored the vault above, a shower so bright as to light the entire sky with the luminance of day. Jinnarin and Farrix
ooh
ed and
ahh
ed, but all the Dwarves on deck at the time moaned in terror and threw their hoods over their heads—a sign of mourning—and refused to look at the blazing sky. In solemn silence they tramped down to their quarters below deck and none else came above to see.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jinnarin, concern filling her hushed voice.
At the wheel, Aravan answered, “‘Tis a belief of the Drimma that when a star falls it means someone will die, usually a comrade, though not always.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” said Jinnarin, as stars without number flared across the heavens above. “That something so beautiful could be a symbol of doom…how unfortunate.”
Aylis nodded in agreement. “Yes indeed, Jinnarin, and I wonder how such a belief came about? That such a dazzling display as this could cause fear…why, it is as if rainbows or butterflies had been made into symbols of death.”
“Perhaps,” mused Farrix, “it is because the star dies in a blaze of glory, whereas the rainbow merely fades and a butterfly flutters away.”
“Regardless,” said Aravan, “it is the belief of the Drimma.”
“Let’s go get Alamar,” said Jinnarin. “He will want to see such splendor.”
As the Pysks ran below, Aylis leaned her head against Aravan’s shoulder and looked at the sky and murmured, “What wonders the heavens are, my love.”
Aravan embraced her with one arm and whispered, “I have seen myriad wonders since I came to this world—temples of gold, rivers of fire, jewels of a thousand rainbows, great luminous wheels of light turning in the midnight sea…and more. But of all these marvelous things,
chieran
, none can compare with thee, for thou art the most wondrous of all.”
Onward they sailed, their course set for Rwn, now in the fullness of summer, but when they came to the Lat
of the Crab the wind died and towing gigs were called for. Across the calms they rowed, finally breaking into the wind once more, blowing on the larboard beam. Again the
Eroean
put her shoulder to the sea and raced toward the northerly isle.
On the sixth day of August, in early morn a judder ran throughout the ship, as if the hull had struck a shoal, but no shoals lay in these waters near Rwn. And although it seemed as if the
Eroean
had collided with something, the ship slowed not, as if whatever the hull encountered was ephemeral. Members of the crew ran to the railings, but nothing beneath did they spy. “Possibly we struck a great creature of the sea,” suggested Jatu, “one of those giant turtles, or the like.” Yet Aylis did a casting but sensed no
Onward they sailed, and as the Sun crawled up the sky, again the ship juddered, but once more nothing was sensed or seen to account for the vibration. Lookouts were stationed along the railings, yet none saw aught as once again and then once more the Elvenship was mysteriously shaken.
In mid morn, they came within sight of Rwn. Standing on the stemblock, Farrix turned to Jinnarin. “Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Bells. I hear bells.”
“Kairn is known as the City of Bells.”
“Do they normally ring in mid morn?”
Jinnarin shrugged. “I don’t know, but here comes Alamar. Let’s ask him.”
“Bells?” quavered the elder, glancing at the Sun in the sky. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” replied Jinnarin. “Farrix heard them first, but I hear them now.”
“Go tell Aravan,” hissed the Mage. “At this time of day they can only be ringing in alarm.”
Under full sail the Elvenship raced toward the docks at Rwn, furling her silks at the last moment and gliding into the quays. High on the rim of the isle there seemed to be a great commotion, with people rushing to and
fro, and above the thunder of the River Kairn plunging in cascade to the ocean, all aboard could hear the bells of the city wildly ringing in alarm.
Swiftly they debarked, Jinnarin riding and hiding in the hood of Jatu’s cloak, Farrix in Aravan’s. And as they made their way toward the long staircase leading upward from the docks, a prolonged judder shook the stone of the quay as a tremor ran through the isle.
HAPTER
38
Conjoinment
Summer, 1E9575
[The Present]
T
he city was in chaos, people rushing to and fro as buildings shook and swayed, some having collapsed into piles of rubble. Fires burned here and there, and bucket brigades of Men and Women struggled valiantly to extinguish the blazes. Galloping horses careered through the cobblestone streets, their riders bent low over their necks as if expecting arrows. Teams hammered past, drawing jouncing wagons after. Like flocks of gabbling geese, calling mothers herded crying children away from juddering homes. And throughout all, the bells of Kairn rang out their alarm.
