THE PASSENGER
By David DeLane Snow
His limp told the world he was different, and many treated the little man like he was far beneath them; yet, when he spoke, he garnished their attention, “With eyes as sharp as yours, and you still cannot see that a better man is around?”
“You talking to me runt,” a huge, bellied man loading barrels blurted.
“Thank you, you can see! The name is Malcolm, what do they call you – Cooper?
“Samuel – sir, I just toss barrels about, I am not a craftsman,” the big man changed his tone when he turned and saw the little man beside him, who sported a long beard nearly to his boots.
The smaller man replied in kind, “Your skills are needed, all the same, my good man. Direct me if you will to a Captain Billdrix.”
“Going through the front door is better and I am sure you will see him at the first table on the right,” turning away from the dwarf Samuel resumed stocking the goods along the back wall of the tavern.
The dwarf followed the given directions mingling among the much taller men, some recognized he was no child and made way for the foreigner. Dwarven folk wore their own distinctive traditional garb, and this one proudly showed his chainmail. Upon entering the open dining area. The room fell silent as the bartender called out, “No weapons allowed!”
“A Dwarf without an ax is no Khazul at all,” Malcolm ignored the directive and turned to the first table on the right instead, “Are you the Good Captain of the tethered vessel called Sea Pearl?” The crowds and barkeep went back to their own distractions as before.
The taller-than-average man, seated in the corner all alone, raised his covered mug as a toast, “The One and only.” His feather and ribboned hat sat on the table between the two, the stranger could barely look over its brim. Seeing the speaker’s weather-worn face as he moved the hat aside, Billdrix’s eyes grew larger. “So, what does a man of your character need with a boat like mine? I would think Dwarves -.”
“Would have a ship of their own?” The shorter man injected.
“That was my thought. What is on yours?”
“Seeking a better route to Mithar or at least as far as Kathos.”
“Better? Heading to Lindol in the morning, from there it is just a bridge across to Mithar; any cargo to declare or anyone else?”
“Just myself.”
“And?” If the Captain knew anything, he knew things were never quite what they seemed or as easy as people let on; especially – dwarves.
“Just me and my bag,” Malcolm shifted it from one shoulder to the other.
“And - what is in the bag,” Sardon Billdrix braved to ask.
“Only what belongs to me and mine, good Captain,” the Dwarf gruffed back.
“Two silvers throw in a third for a meal. We set sail at dawn. Still waiting for the crew to board tonight,” Billdrix withdrew a ledger from an inside pocket along with a hard pen, “Sign here, pay here.” He held a palm up as he offered the potential of his book at the same time.
The dwarf scratched out his name using the letters of the common tongue, then dropped a single polished coin in the man’s hand. “Alright Minster Malcolm Beard-to-Foot.” He wanted to laugh at the odd name but was taken aback upon seeing the large coin, “Mithril! That is eight times the boarding price.” The Captain pocketed the piece, adding, “Guess that comes with all the amenities and no questions asked.”
The Dwarf’s hand rested on the ax head tucked in his belt, “We have a contract struck then.”
“Indeed, the Sea Pearl has a new passenger. Should make port in Lindol noon after next.”
After a nod, Malcolm headed for the bar but took a seat near it at an empty booth. “What can I get for such a distinguished guest,” a maiden asked.
Removing his helm Malcolm set it on the seat beside him closer to the wall, then smiled broadly, “A tall ale, sweet bread, and a smoke would be most amiable my good las.”
“Coming right up!” She said, then was off to gather his order.
The dwarf sat there turning a large onyx ring around its finger, his face showed a deep thought had returned to the surface. Straitening his back a bit allowed the pack to slump more comfortably off to the side. “So, it begins,” Malcolm exhaled and whispered to himself.
After a meal the Dwarf went to the docks of Yem-Sol south of Mount Jebul, to board the ship where his passage had been guaranteed. Even late into the evening hours, the cargo ship continued to be loaded with barrels of spiced rum, bales of wool from the local Sheep herdsman of Felo-Sol, and other supplies like cooking ware made by the Jubalian Dwarves; it was near unheard of that a dwarf sought passage with such cargo or on a Man’s ship. Nevertheless, Malcolm Beard-to-Foot boarded the Sea Pearl despite the questioning and glaring stares, being greeted by her Captain was warrant enough not to question the stranger.
“There is a small Cabin boy’s chamber next to my quarters, but it should be spacious enough for you, master dwarf,” Billdrix called to his passenger upon seeing the small figure proudly walk up the gain way, smoking a clay pipe.
“Much obliged my good Captain,” they shook hands as the one passed the other, and a crewman lead the way below.
The cabin was roomy enough as stated, supplied with a large bed, roped bookshelf, a desk and chair, and to his surprise even a port window; high though it was. Malcolm disliked ships and water, but the trip was not for leisure. Stowing his bag, the small dwarf lay atop the huge bed for just a moment. Seconds later his eyes sprang open, not realizing he had been so exhausted only to find that his swaying and dimly lit quarters told him morning had come quickly! Rising and shouldering his pack again, the dwarf sought out the captain, but a crewman said he was up top for the departure. On deck Malcolm easily found Captain Billdrix behind the wheel steering the vessel away from the docks, “Morning! Well rested, I hope. Care to break your fast with me in an hour, maybe discuss some things?”
Malcolm took in the sights of Men working the lines here and there as the enormous sheets filled with sea breeze and calling gulls, he smiled, “Of course – to both.” He walked to the front of the ship watching as the land and waterlogged docks had begun to drift further away from them. The heavily loaded ship slowly gained speed out in the open waters of The Great Sea, the Blue Mountains edged the skyline on Malcolm's right. Looking down the curved coastline saw the triple crest of Mount Jebul fade away, growing ever smaller behind them as well. Home became a memory with uncertain times still ahead, so thought the Dwarf as he stood there on steps holding tightly to the roped railing. The crew worked silently or relayed the captain’s orders along the length of the vessel.
Even the Cabin boy was taller than Malcolm, “Sir, Cap ’em says he be ready to receive you. This way.”
“What is your name, boy,” the Dwarf inquired.
“Thomas, sir.” He stopped just outside the captain’s quarters, whose door was left open.
Upon entering, Billdrix called, “Thomas – if you will.” Gesturing a wave.
“Aye, sir,” the boy replied while closing the door behind the guest.
The table was nicely set with two filled plates, a flask, and empty goblets, “Have a seat – Malcolm.”
The Dwarf complied, pouring himself a drink as the Captain dug into his own meal, “So, how are the accommodations?”
“Very nice, sorry to have put Thomas out –. “
“Nonsense, he was thrilled to say he got to meet – a distinguished guest,” the Captain grinned.
“You mean, a dwarf?”
“Yes,” pouring himself a drink Billdrix looked the old man in the face, “So, what awaits you in Mithar, if I may ask?”
The Dwarf grinned back,” You may ask.” He then began eating the breakfast of eggs and ham in front of him. “Very tasty, my gratitude to the cook.” After a sip, added, “A mission. Emissary in advance of a more formal, slower one to come.”
“Ah, I see.”
“The times are changing, a last who-rah before the end of the world see us no more, I fear.”
“Indeed, the times have changed greatly in just the last few years of my brief lifespan,” knowing the longevity of dwarves was legendary. “I am not sure about the end of the world.”
“Even in my own three hundred and forty-seven years, these last few have been most extraordinary, to say the least,” at that they both raised their goblets to one another. The Great War was finally behind them all. “It would seem my own Lord King is as eager for a renewed alliance as are those who have sprung up in the Gray Havens.”
“That is wonderful news. Yet, I hear caution in your voice. Do you not wish to see such times, Malcolm?” The Captain’s eyes showed hope.
“Not caution as much knowing -.” The Dwarf hesitated before his cup, “I know the way of things and brief are such hopes. As before, Like the Elves fled the world, so too our time is nearing its close, even as yours has just begun.”
“Such expectations rim with loss, master dwarf.”
He laughed, “I am no master even of the road before me but thank you all the more, Good Captain.”
“More wine, master dwarf?”
Malcolm smiled at the courtesy. “Mind a smoke,” sliding the goblet over as he withdrew the tavern clay pipe.
“Certainly!” Billdrix rose and crossed over to a roped shelf, coming back to his seat he offered more tobacco and a finely carved tusk pipe to his guest, “A gift, from me to you.”
“Fine workmanship, indeed, gratitude.” Malcolm set the small clay one aside in favor of packing the long-stemmed Churchwarden instead.
“When I was a Cabin boy myself, my grandfather carved that very pipe from the spiraled horn of a Narwhal that was ensnared in our fishing nets. We needed the meat and oil, my grandfather crafted it and those, out of the sacrifice of the beast.” Behind Malcolm was a chess set and two identical mugs carved with scenes recalling the event the Captain mentioned.
“The man missed his calling, I dare say. Those are the most exquisite, and cherished heirlooms I see.”
The Captain placed a hand over his heart with a nod, “High praise, coming from such craftsmanship as Dwarves!”
“Elves and Dwarves are not the only ones in the wide world with such gifts, my Good Captain. Now, tell me, what talents beyond these inspirations gave birth to your own?” Malcolm poured himself a third and filled his hosts’ cup.
“There, my beloved Cyndrena, wife of twenty-three years, and mother of my seven boys and only daughter, Midah.” The Captain gestured to a huge portrait of a charming blonde woman, finely dressed, facing his guest on the opposite wall.
“Splendid work of a most handsome woman indeed!” His compliment was genuine, as Billdrix had noticed the dwarf eyeing the painting since he had first entered the room. “How long has it --?”
His answer came before the question was fully asked, “Seven years, three months, and four days since they were all lost in a fire. A siege, during one of the too many battles where too many other losses fell.”
“My gravest sorrows for that heartbreak, would that none of us felt such losses.” The Dwarf left his cup alone and drank no more.
Turning to a new topic, as Billdrix began scribbling on a note, “While in Lindol you must seek out Challah Billdrix, the home of my younger brother which is open to all travelers of goodwill; here, a note telling him that all your expenses have been paid in full. Call it, a gift for - getting to know a member of a nobler people, before the world changes again.”
“With that, I leave you with much gratitude – for everything,” the dwarf bowed his head, then withdrew to his own quarters.
In the solitude of his own cabin, Malcolm sat his pack on the bunk. Removing a shirt, he gently wrapped his new pipe and tucked away the jar of fresh pipeweed. He then removed a small mithril box. Upon opening its clasp saw a large clear stone, fashioned to the thinly twisted wire necklace, fit for royalty. Holding it up, the light from the window brightened the darkened room with brilliant sparkles, causing the stern face of the dwarf to brighten as if he had seen the crest of Mount Jebul again. “Naj-Khual’bath! Jewel of the mountain’s hope! I pray that those Mitharians will indeed be true to their word, and this peace long endures.” Malcolm whispered to himself as he re-wrapped the priceless gift that he was to deliver at his journey’s end. “It is still safe,” saying as he put the pack on again, and headed topside for some fresh sea air.
The uneventful day went by watching the sailors work the riggings and doing their selected chores as if the dwarf was never there. Again, he ate with the captain, only this time their noon meal was interrupted several with demands, “Tumal where is the First Mate, and why am I being bothered so much?”
“Aye, Captain that is the question - is it not? Sir, you best come look for yourself, sir.” The thin man leads the way, with Malcolm following along for the interest.
Up top, near the bow of the ship, a portly fellow was slumbering upon a coil of rope, and still holding a bottle of strong drink in his hand. “Get on your feet!” The furious ship’s Captain bellowed, and waved instructions for the crew about them, “Come along get this sod up and about.” Two others struggled to comply with the orders. The large man was still unconscious, snoring heavily. Following a nod from Billdrix, they began dowsing the drunk man’s head into a water barrel, until he came out gasping for air and staggering about, shouting, “I am awake Captain! I am awake!”
“Wherever we make port, that will be where you land Simon, and I dare say Sally will not miss you the whole while you are gone, either!”
The Crew burst out laughing.
The Dwarf laughed, “Chicken Lips and Goat Livers – is that your First Mate? What a grand ship this Sea Gull is,” the Dwarf shook his head.
“Now don’t you start,” Billdrix countered! “How long has that fool been asleep?” The crew were instantly back at work taking the question as rhetoric, “Swear to all the Gods of Lindol the next one I find like that will be thrown overboard, no questions asked!” Then looking down at the colorful bearded man, “See what I contend with? Lord help me!”
“The meal was nice,” Malcolm smirked, knowing the captain had work to get back to.
////….. PART II…. /////////////////////////////
No other incidents happened for the rest of the day. Even the evening meal with Captain Billdrix was filled with silence until he busied himself with overlooking charts and instructing his new First Mate, Callavan, from the port city of Kathos. He seemed a serious sort of man, intent on doing the right thing. Malcolm sat at the end of the table and enjoyed his wine, watching the two men discuss the details of maneuvering the high seas. It was not long before the dwarf noticed they had soon forgotten all about him.
Leaving to go up top, the dwarf stood alone on deck, near the main mast packing tobacco into his small clay-tavern pipe. Far overhead he could hear, “All is quiet along the coast, sir!” A voice called from the crow’s nest to the second Mate at the wheel below, who waved back his message was received. The night was still as the darkness grew about the full moon, which shone with a brilliant ring about her face. So bright was the moonlight upon the calm stillness of the open waters that even the stars themselves were afraid to come out. The massive sails were lifeless, eager to inhale again.
The Cabin boy, Thomas came up to the Dwarf, looking down at him, “Mister Malcolm is there anything I may get for you sir before I bed tonight?”
“No lad, gratitude all the same for asking,” the dwarf gave back with a polite smile knowing something else was on the boy’s mind. “So, what would a fine boy of your stature ask of a dwarf, if ever you came across one?” He grinned through the exhaling smoke.
“Well, sir,” Thomas eagerly began, “Why are Dwarves so secretive? Begging your pardon sir, your people are so rarely even seen in the world these days anymore.”
Malcolm glanced out over the glassy seas as the moon kept rising, he was beginning to like traveling aboard a ship, despite all the horrifying stories he heard spun in taverns. Looking up, back into the boy’s inquisitive eyes, “Well, you already know a few things we craft, like that rune buckle-clasp on your belt for one. I have it on good authority that the King under Mount Jebul himself will soon be seen in the city of Mithar, and for a short span of Men’s lives at least, some will come to know of us again. I suppose many of us ourselves have grown weary for the old days when we openly traded with big folk.” Malcolm drew in on his pipe, then, “Who knows, young man you may very well come to grow tired of seeing dwarves all about.”
“Never, sir! One could never grow bored of listening to all the high tales of the ancient days from a Dwarf!” Thomas’ eyes cut back up at the moon, “But – the skies are rather eerie tonight sir; I fear an ill portent of strange things to come, Mister Malcolm. See there!” The boy pointed to the moon’s halo beginning to be covered by clouds mounting in the sky, and a lone seagull calling.
“Ah, tis but only a sign of much-needed rain for the parched lands we now pass, boy – nothing more. Off to bed with you, before the captain bellows ere daybreak, that you are bothering his guest.” The Dwarf’s pipe stayed clenched between his teeth, all the while he patted the youth on the arm.
Thomas was not comforted but headed to his quarters, all the same, still glancing up at the gloomy skies brewing overhead.
No sooner had the dwarf repacked the bowl of his pipe a second time than a light rain began. Being undeterred, Malcolm got a flame from a nearby lantern, mixing the sweet aroma with the salty air. A sailor, who came to his post early asked, “That is a great smell you have there, what is it made of?”
“A special blend of – “
Instantly a bolt of lightning shattered the calm! It struck the Halyard arm of the middle mast snapping the forestay line into. The great sheet of the wind-filled sail gave into its weight, falling through the rigging down, toward the deck below. The next thing Malcolm saw was the man flying down from the crow’s perch, shouting, “ALL HANDS-ON DECK! Mayday Captain!”
The thunderous sound drowned out the shouting and growing mayhem of The Sea Pearl’s gathering crew. Everyone scrambled to their stations. They did what needed to be done, complying with the Captain’s Orders, and seamlessly working as a unit.
A crewman pointed out into the darkness of the night, that blended sea and sky into one, “Captain, it is Black Rock Alley!” The dwarf was impressed by how the men worked under such conditions! The heavens boiled overhead as spidery fingers scampered with brilliant lines across the skies. Suddenly everyone else aboard saw the same huge, moss-covered Standing stones jutting up out of the water. It became a seaman’s worst night terror, mixed with howling winds and the growing heights of the thrashing waves. “A storm from nowhere! The ill omen I told you was coming!” It was the voice of Thomas calling out to Malcolm. The boy was waving his hands for the dwarf to take cover with him to the lower deck. As Malcolm had begun to cross from the side railing another brilliant flash of light blinded his consciousness.
From the excruciating darkness, Malcolm struggled to open his eyes even as soft waves of warm water lapped against his beached face. The world lay on its side as a horrendous pain shot through his leg. “The dwarf – he is over here Captain!” The shouting came from behind him. Slowly his vision rose, then turned just in time to see figures running in his direction, but the darkness overtook him again.
The passage of time was beyond him as Malcolm's weak eyes blurred awake. He found himself lying on the ground; his overcoat was rolled up supporting his head like a pillow. The dwarf’s arm was in a sling, and his right leg was wrapped, braced in two broken planks. Looking aside he saw that Thomas slept next to him, with his back leaning against a bolder.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” Malcolm chuckled aloud, waking the boy up. “My first and last journey aboard a ship.”
“Captain, his fevers broke!” The boy gave a sigh of relief, smiling down at the dwarf’s huge messy beard.
“I know, I know. Not a brush in sight either I don’t dare ask,” Malcolm's humor remained intact.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
III
“I need to see the captain, he mentioned nothing about the difficulties of a shipwreck, and I would have been less generous with my coin,” Malcolm grumbled as he staggered to stand up, with the help of the boy.
The man he had seen the night before, looking over rolls of charts, approached saying, “Captains dead, we buried him yesterday, master Dwarf. You will have to file your complaint with the new one,” Callavan smirked.
“- And who might that be,” Malcolm surmised the answer before asking.
“Me, sir, and everyone’s complaints have all been dually noted.” Handing Malcolm an oar that had been snapped into, the First Mate newly made Captain, grinned, “Here, this might help the hobbling go a little better.”
“Much obliged - Captain,” the accepting dwarf nodded.
Thomas asked, “Captain Callavan, sir where we are heading from here?” He asked only because it was what the others were thinking.
“Say - we head north a peace. I heard a rumor of a rock-face village called Meno Gorge.” Callavan pointed off to the far right of the distant mountain ridge.
Malcolm spoke up with squinted eyes, “Ah, the Blue Mountains, with Jebul as its crown, wherein lies my people. But the gorge of Meno is no place to be found, not even on a good day. The dogs and snakes have overrun those desolate hills. Once, long ago there lived a vile people who would fall prey upon any traveler, even those of my folk have grown leery of them; never to be seen again, but as decorative bones warning others not to trespass!”
The new Captain huffed a sigh, adjusting his plans. “Then – we head for the road west, this side of Kinderval, after that we come down to the port of Kathos and acquire another ship, if possible.”
The man from the Crow’s watch stood just behind them, injected, “Kinderval is a cursed wood, Captain. They say all manner of creatures Dark-Fae, Elodreen, or Zeta roam there eager to devour all who dare misstep in that wretched forest. I dare say, to even put nothing against traveling the road would be much better!”
“Janis!” The captain yelled, swiping a hit against the man’s arm. “Fearful superstations and foolish children’s stories only give such tales life, Janis. I don’t care to hear any more of it spread about. To the wood’s southern road, it is. We’ll make camp here tonight, gather what provisions from the wreckage we may. Before dawn has fully come, we’ll break camp in the morning.” With that, his mind was made up. Callavan left the dwarf and boy behind and turned around to go and gather the rest of the crew. Out of a compliment of 47 crewmembers, only 15 souls remained alive. Three other sticks were added as grave markers beside the piled stones for Billdrix, as more bodies had washed up that very morning. The new Captain’s career began with an ill omen indeed, and whatever days that might have laid ahead remained in question.
That evening, after their efforts to salvage what they could, had been brought to the very spot where the dwarf had washed ashore, everyone pitched their donations of driftwood and wreckage into a pile. Then, in various clumped groups they all faced inward to warm themselves against the chill of the night. Some had caught fish earlier and shared the bounty. From the quiet tiredness of a harsh day, many had readied for sleep. Before taking the first watch of the night, a lone voice smoothed their fears away with happier thoughts:
“Had you ever wondered what is on the other side of the arched, stone bridge that crosses the river and falls?
My thoughts jump with leaps and bounds at all the fanciful adventures one might find among the yellow-green trees.
In the spring it’s such a beautiful view, tall and majestic outreaching trees amid the lush green, carpeted fields.
Oft I’ve pondered such a walk along that stony path up to and across that sturdy way of ancient stones.
Wonder of the lives and people who crafted such a devise to aid others from this to that side with no stumbled stride.
I can almost see the bees and butterflies courting the flowers, and the cicadas shrilling their songs in those branches.
What colorful, exotic fouls would call or take wing overhead along that peaceful walk I’ve wondered.
Of winter would that summer stream have frozen over or from that archway any fish be seen at all?
Would crossing such a way lead our footfalls to the realm of Fae, where troubles have faded away.
A lone stroll to a magical place over that bridge would be, yet far better hand in hand two would enjoy even more.”
Before the sun ever appeared, a warm glow showed across the Eastern skies with the moon nowhere to be seen. The third watch roused that fated crew to their feet, then one by one did they organize what little could be carried alone or by twos. At most, it would be a two-day walk in any given direction across a dreary land called The Cracks. It had once been a rich grassland, but the years of drought turned it into a desolate waste. The sun awoke and began to beat down on those survivors mercilessly. Only half a barrel of rum was found, and they all knew that by day’s end rum wouldn’t quench a dying man’s thirst. But still, they followed on as the captain led the way. The beach soon became a rock-hard plain, as the sun crept higher in the cloudless sky. The parched land gave way to cracks, like that of a dry mud pit. With each advancing step the distant woods felt no closer than those they left behind, and still, the dusty ground’s cracks grew underfoot. When the sun was straight overhead and all shadows disappeared, the captain called for rest beside what remains of a white knurled tree, baren of all its leaves in that singular scorched land.
“No shade whatsoever, why we are stopping here Callavan?”
“That’s Captain to you Brandon, and the answer is this dead trunk will make a perfect tent’s center-post. Stop the whining and make sure the others start setting up camp.”
“Aye, Captain,” Brandon did as he was told.
Within the hour a recovered sail had been pitched over what remained of the dead tree. Each man gave up a plank they’d been instructed to carry, and then by teams hoisted the edges of the main sail up upon staves that were pounded into the deep cracks. Half an hour later all 15 men had claimed a space beneath the great shade. “Brandon, you have the first watch and make a roaster, each man an hour. We break camp at dusk.”
Reluctantly, “Aye, Captain by your word.”
The Cabin boy and Dwarf had claimed a spot closest to the tree, where on the opposite side Callavan had laid down his bundle of collected things. Some slept, some talked among themselves, and all were thirsty.
Belmon, the cook, had gathered a chest of supplies and rode it ashore during the storm, but he was one of the first to lay beside Captain Billdrix in his own grave. The twins, Delbert and Delskirt had divided the food stock among themselves as it was and were responsible for rationing out the food and what little water bottles they came across, “Captain Callavan, at this rate we only have enough food to get to the highway.” Delskirt added, “From there, there is only rum to drink rum.”
Another crewman came and stood beside them asking, “By going the long route when should we arrive at the crossroad, sir?”
Callavan turned, “Sinjar is three days, Solomon if luck is on our side.”
“If not,” Malcolm inquired.
Belmon, the old Cook spoke up, “Without luck, master Dwarf, not even a rumor will survive. We must all stay together if one on one - death is assured, I’m afraid.”
Malcolm tucked away his clay pipe, “Mightily impressed at how I witnessed your crew in action, Captain.”
He was not as gay, “Gratitude, but Lady Luck has abandoned us all master Dwarf. Let us pray that fickle mistress sees us fit to meet up in Sinjar alive and this adventure is done with.” Then, Callavan called louder for everyone to hear, “Now, let us get some rest while the sun is out, for this beating heat in the wasteland will surely see us perish. We travel by moonlight.”
“Aye sir, I will take the first watch, and the men know their roster too, sir, at your leave.
Patting the man on his shoulder, “Good man, Brandon. Thomas is with me, and the dwarf as we shall rest together till dusk.
“Aye, sir.”
//////////////////////////////
Kinderval, The Monument of Trees, was also called the haunted woods; which grew along the southern base of the Blue Mountains and ran from the west to eastern peaks of Mount Jebul; lay strangely quiet off in the distance. The survivors walked the woodland’s footed path in silence, partly out of fear, but mainly out of exhaustion. Parts of the well-worn trail edged inside the tree line as new growth had begun to overtake the road. Without a spoken word …
followed Kinderval’s southern edge. It was nothing more than a well-worn footpath. Travelers who found themselves on the path from the east called it the highway to Sinjar. For those who traveled from the west, it was called The Misleading Way.
Sinjar was carved, a cliffside village Callavan headed for with his band of survivors. At the end of the footpath, it cut to the left for the coastline of Port of Kathos. From Sinjar the path became a kept road to the Sibling Gate city of Mithar. It was said that seldom travelers neared the darkened forest as its only path was waylaid with robbers and worse creatures of the imagination. But Captain Callavan noted that with their numbers it was a far better choice than staying too long in the desolate land they were entering now. Those who entered the cracked lands of the Waste never came out. They had no other choice as even the shoreline clefts were razor heights forbidding to any.
……………………………………….
Half the misery of enduring The Cracked lands was the unbearable heat. But as the lands had slowly become a prairie, the brutal heat of the day caused a shuttering chill when a faint mist suddenly burst into a downpour of endless rain. Within the hour the ground was soaked beyond its limit, and the marching survivors - were drenched. The happy men became frightened of drowning in a swap that arose from nowhere. Their leg grew exhausted and their feet sank. Strangely, by midday, the rains stopped as unexpectedly as they had begun.
The Travelers stayed their course on the western way, though it was more of a footpath, it was named the Forest Road on the latest maps. In several places along the route, the forest attempted to calm it as clumps of new growth had begun beyond the seen treelined.
On a rise in the road, the ill-fated Captain sought rest for his crew. “Halt,” Callavan bellowed out to those behind him, who stopped in their tracks. “Notice how Kinderval desires to reclaim the path and pulls us in a little at a time into her bosom? Follow me, even when I leave the trail beyond the trees so that none of us need be lost.”
“Aye,” they all called back letting him know the orders were heard.
The trail continued, out in the clearing as before, curving this way and that weaving ever so slightly underneath the cool shade that the massive limbs provided. Still, they followed Callavan as he stayed left in the growing of the high grassland south.
“Captain, sir,” Roshar, the last crewman pulling up the rear called out. Again, the line came to a standstill. Retracing his way back to the rear of the line, the man almost whispered, “Look! There.” He pointed to an obvious trail that parlayed their own path, “Three hundred feet or so in the depths,” Roshar’s voice dropped off as they both stared at the unmoving elms.
“What is it you see man, for there is nothing there?”
“A woman dressed all in white, She -.”
“She – what?”
“Sir, I swear to you, she glowed like the light of a full moon on a dark night.”
“Hitting the rum again.”
“No, sir – LOOK!”
It was at that moment as all the men had gathered about and seen the same vision deep in the woods for themselves. A young maiden, lean and tall, dress in a thin white gown as fair as the morning star. She turned and upon seeing the strangers stood still, mouthing words unheard, and then turned aside, and was lost beyond all their struggling sight.
Then came the loud voice of the dwarf, “Begone Witch!” Shoving the men back onto the path, Malcolm demand, “Leaver her to herself and disregard the demon’s vision! Well, known are the wiles of such deceptions, Callavan control your crew!” Even the cabin boy stumbled to regain his senses like a drunk man waking from a hard slumber. “Captain, we should rest, and next when we hit the road should be tied one to another so as not to stray.”
“Smart idea!” The captain complimented him, shaking the hazy thoughts from his own head. Then, drifting left of the footpath Callavan called for them to make camp. They began unfurling the massive canvas of the sail, and another was used as a dry floor. When completed they became preoccupied with a meal and settled down to gather and rest.
“What is it that rules these accursed Woods,” Thomas asked.
It was the dwarf who spoke up, “The dark things that once followed that Vile Lord of the east, reside here now. They say when he fell and his power vanquished, all manner of creatures both great and small that swayed under his control fled. Finding they were freed from his terrors and overwhelmed with bewilderment of having been so misguided they sought out all the dark places of the world unto which to retreat. Some to the Cracked Wasteland, the Blue Mountains, and others here to this forest whereby we now find ourselves avoiding.”
“Creatures,” the boy wondered.
Malcolm continued, “Yes, all manner of nightshades and delusions, boy. Orcs are said to have been misshaped forms of enslaved Elves, captives from ancient wars. Then, there is the fell, monstrous beast rumored to be mangled together from various parts, malformed into a beast called Zealton. So hideous to behold, that no single witness ever gave a full description of them.”
“Where have you heard such things dwarf,” Callavan asked.
“Captain, I lost two of my own brothers to that forest. One, Crestmont told of meeting such a beast, moments before he drew his last breath dying in my arms.” Then, looking at the boy he added, “Everyone who ever stumbled out alive went mad and none described the creature the same.”
“Enough of this fearsome chatter! It is to Sinjar we should set our thoughts on, for there is our aim tomorrow, and safety at this road’s end,” Callavan changed the topic.
Belmon’s low voice sounded ominous, “Evenson, Captain, Sinjar has its own woes. For many say the hill-carved village is populated with Pagans and beguiled Witches who lead them. They are said to be more fearsome than the haunted woods themselves.”
“Yeah, well there are no babes here to be skinned alive or boiled in their mother’s milk, eh Thomas?” Solomon looked at the cabin boy. They all laughed at him rustling the boy’s hair as he jested about dismissing their collective fearful imagines. Dispelling such troubling thoughts, Delbert injected his own hopes, “Be that as it may, better rumors are of the women more eager to please than the free wine that flows to the rare travelers who venture to Sinjar.” The crew cheered in agreement at that smile of happier thoughts.
Upon waking up in the predawn light, each man began packing up his own belongings without a word or order to do so. Suddenly the voice of Solomon called out, “Captain! Belmon is missing, and his gear too.”
“Fan out and search for -.”
“Over here,” the dwarf rang! They all gathered where Malcolm stood, near a bloody pool with drag marks leading off into the woods, littered with his pack’s torn belongings along the way. From that shocking discovery, they quickly resumed their efforts to break camp and leave without a spoken command.
“Should you not say something, Captain? Feels wrong to neglect without even an effort at trying to recover his body for a proper burial –.” The cabin boy’s words were cut short.
“Too soon is the dead forsaken as the living thinks only of themselves in moving forward, such as the need for expediency we find ourselves in Thomas. Even in less severe times are the living fearful to know the real state of the dead. Come and make haste,” Callavan said, even as the crew began roping themselves together in a single file.
………………………………….
A man sat on the ground, to the right of the worn pathway, with his back to the forest. As the survivors of the shipwrecked Sea Pearl drew closer, they saw his blind, white eyes and the clay pot next to him for donations.
Captain Callavan raised his hand, signaling for his men to stop awhile, “Strange for a person of your station to be sitting here all alone, so far from anyone else old man.”
“The discarded stay where they are welcome most,” the bald man’s ancient voice crackled.
The dwarf thought him an outcast Mitharian Priest, and asked, “What news have you gleaned to share? Has anyone passed this way recently Brother?”
The man on the ground wore only a tattered loincloth and showed the marks of many past beatings. “I have never belonged to that tower cult nor am I a brother to any other. Yet, for three days have I been alone. A horseman rode by with no coin or word worth his time to share and received only my silence in return.”
Hearing them whisper among themselves, the haggard figure in the grass added, “Only moments ago a woman spoke to me.”
Roshar asked, “A woman?”
It was then Callavan’s interest grew, “What did she have to say?”
The old man’s tone changed to one of foreboding, “Beware of travelers who follow soon, for just as their joy comes at the turn, death shall be on their heels.”
The captain pulled a dagger from his boot, nodding to his followers, “So, highwayman lie in wait for us up ahead, gratitude old man. Come, let us be warier now.”
Slowly the blind fellow began rocking back and forth, “I cannot even see when my own hand as it waves in front of my face, but my ears have told me much this day. Long have I sat here by the Roadside these many years for no reason has come to me to fear the woods so nearby. Yet, have the cities themselves become godless places with a dagger at every throat, I can at least see that.”
Sensing nothing more could be learned from the naked man, Callavan motioned for his crew to continue on their way. As the footfalls trooped passed the disheveled, shell of a man he began to shake his head in disapproval. Last among them in the line was Roshar, who dropped three coins into the beggar’s clay pot.
His quivering voice replied loudly, “Three coppers from eight strangers who can see, but their characters are revealed brightly before lesser men.”
Not long into restarting their journey, Thomas called out, after turning back, “Look! The old man is gone!” Stopping in their steps, they all looked back in astonishment to see the boy was correct! From there on none of them had a thing to say. Their eyes searched every approaching step with caution fearing what lay ahead.
………….
After many long hours and wide darting eyes, it was Delskirt who announced happily, “Up ahead is the Bend of Sinjar! Finally, this horrid trek is behind us.”
Solomon agreed, “Praise all the Vala of Lindol for that!”
Callavan cut a harsh glance back at the men for breaking their long silence, just in time to see Malcolm withdraw the long handle of his ax from its belt.
“Here boy,” the Dwarf whispered while handing over his pack, adding, “Remember well my words when we first made camp beneath the dead tree, Thomas.”
It was then…..
//////////////////////
The boy stood before the crowd of renowned figures of both the Mitharian Nobility and Dwarven dignitaries. Their stern faces wore bold with determined expressions, and all turned to questioning the boy’s approach. A wayward homeless-looking human child, dirty and discarded but they watched in silence as he stood before them with a bundle of rags in his hands. Then, with a loud and clear voice, “I am Thomas Tracelee, the lone survivor of the shipwreck Sea Peal. A passenger aboard our cargo ship, a dwarf named Malcolm Beard-to-Food, befriended me. Lo, my lords and ladies forgive me, for I bear distraught news of his demise; yet, by sworn oath to our friendship do I bring this to you, my Lady. This is from Malcolm and the people of Mount Jebul, a gift.” Thomas then unwrapped the ragged cloth and presented her with the Mithril box, at which the Dwarven King smiled with great pride. After accepting the ornate box Thomas knelt before her, and for the first time began to openly weep for his loss.
