Fisherman's War : Work in Progress

8/14/2019 Fisherman's War : Work in Progress

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The Gull and the Captains Gall

What does it mean, when a captain sets sail? For some it means hoisting the

sheets and tying the knots. For others it may mean gauging the clouds looming abroad in

the inclement horizon, perhaps spitting in the air to check the wind. Most self-proclaimed

captains nowadays have seldom seen a seaward squall, much less the seasick lurch that

goes with it. Every land lubber thinks of a captain as some sort of authority figure, one

that calls the commands while swarthy deckhands follow suit and jump to set the rigging

or haul in the lines. Others, even more disconnected from the deeps, think of a captain as

some sort of heroic idol, someone to be respected and listened to, because only theyknow

how to keep the boat straight. Well the true fact is that a captain is none of these things

he is merely a ghost upon the shifting tides, an imposter of the winds, a dreamer of lost

things never to be. He is a thing gone from reason or rhyme of measured things. But most

of all, a captain is a wandering thug amongst the beautiful, ever seeking to join with the

eddies in a never-ending symphony doomed to fail.

A dreary night settled in, and there were few people in the town of Tressut. Onlythe dull glow of tavern lamps lit the streets by the local inn. The town lay to the side of a

massive lake, which they tried to keep tamed through the use of cement barricades and

wooden bolsters, however, the tempest was not to be dismayed, and the waves came

crashing in with great force, spraying gouts of mist fifty feet into the air. A grayish hue of

the color blue took hold of the skies to the east, making the town look something like a

grey nightmare, with shuttered windows and scared voices muttering behind oaken doors.

Any people living on the shores of Tressut were surely inn-doors, enjoying the

meager contentment of a burning hearth and a taste of strong fish stew. Such simple

pleasures made Tressut the town that it was. A harsh towna town for and by the sea.

The old men here had hardly ventured to the closest villages to the North or South.

Indeed, some of the haggard fellows had hardly known but the islands and shore markets


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of their sailing voyages. The women of Tressut were land faring folk, traveling many

miles by foot or mule cart to the neighboring towns for small goods: wool thread,

needles, woven baskets, the occasional silk scarf or luxury soap. About twice a year the

same women were expected to travel countless furlongs to cities like Kent or even as far

as Jordans Harbor to purchase necessities that they themselves couldntfashion, such as

cart axels or clock gears.

However tonight these clock parts did little to assuage the growing anxiety of

people in Heddas Inn. The muted dong of an ancient grandfather clock sounded eerily

over the howling din of the storm. The clock stood in the corner of the dining room of the

inn, which served also as a meeting place and sometimes as a dancing hall for the town.

At the moment the room was furnished with two dark tables, each brought up alongside

the stone hearth in the corner opposite the great clock. Flickering firelight made the

silhouettes of four figures visible, sitting, or huddling rather, at the table. From behind

they might appear quite large, their shadows casting great blotches across the floor,

which expanded upwards to create shimmering puppets along the distant wall. However

on closer inspection you, would find four elderly folk, three women and one man, all

tuckered into their cloaks like shelled turtles. The pale golden strands of hair from one of

the wizened ladys head curled limply down from under her hood and made its way along

her shoulder, strangely contrasting her small pointed chin and protruding forehead. She

glanced unwittingly around the room at each creak or moan of the wooden floorboards,

green eyes flitting from her companions, to the door and windows, back to the fire, to the

ceiling etc

As the clock sounded on the hour, whichever hour it might have been, all four

people pitched forward, sucking in breathes of anticipation. When they realized that it

was once again the mischievous clock ticker, the feeble man produced a nervous laugh.

He he, well Ill be damned, the man croaked, youd think we wers youngsters

again by the way we fright at things His voice petered off so that the others could

barely hear what the man said, but they quickly nodded in sympathetic agreement. The

small women to his right granted him a slight smile in return for his effort to make light

of the frightful night. However, the silence grew strained and stretched, and the sound of

whooshing winds and cracking waves threatening to regain control of their four pounding


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hearts. The man took note of the flowering unease and spoke up once more, this time

with firm determination to the woman to his right. Teresa, did you ever get around ter

makin that sugar sweet rhubarb pie, unno, the ones I had a few yearsback? He

attempted to sound nonchalant, as if it was a careless spring day, but his trepidation

poked out around the edges.

The lady on his left side turned to the man and said, with no little scorn, Ruben,

pies are the last thing on her mind right now. Her husband is dead not but a week ago, her

sons are working in this ungodly torrent, and my Inn is about to crash down around our

heads right now! The pent up anxiety from the innkeeper woman seemed to come to a

boiling point. I mean, I appreciate your attempt to help, Ruben, but honestly, do you

really think this the time to make light of our predicament?

The man sputtered out a couple incoherent sentences that sounded vaguely like an

apology. His shoulders sagged then, and he looked down at the floor. Suddenly the man

named Ruben looked much older than before, as if each year lived had attached to his

face, drawing the deep wrinkles down and over his chin and into generous jowls. The

howling winds seemed to dull down at that moment, leaving a gaping hole in the world

filled only with waves crashing, crackling fires, and whistling alleyways.

Im sorry girls, I didnt mean ter make you upset, he said within a sigh, but it

seems the times have caught up with me. The sea was my home once, but it fights against

us now, and I fear at some day soon itllcast me out fer good.

The innkeeper turned to him, her red hair glowering over a handsome face that

was now relaxing into a softer expression. Im sorry Ruben, Im just a tad stressed right

now, as you might'ave guessed. Teresa, Im sorry for reminding you about that stuff so

soon after

The woman she spoke to stirred on Rubens right, showing relief that the tense

moment had passed. She was the smallest of the four, but retained an unusually regal

posture, as if she had perhaps been a concert pianist, or dancer in times past. She didnt

have the bright blonde hair of the quiet lady on the far left, nor the burning red of Hedda

the innkeeper. Instead, she had braided her own brown locks into two thick ropes, which

twined themselves around in a knot pattern, vaguely suggesting some latent maritime


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fashion. Her light red lips pursed with empathy as she drew a sympathetic arm around

Ruben, laying her forehead on his shoulder.

Dont worry about me Hedda, she said in a soft tone, after all, my sweet Jeorge

wouldnt let my boys be harmed out there. Hes paid hisblood to the waters, and even

though the lads are young, they have the lakes blessing now. For all we know they might

be pulled into port somewhers along the northern shore, safe and sound in an inn or

sound harbor.

Teresa spoke with the calm conviction of a priests daughter, and yet her faith was

of a different sort. Her blue eyes appeared like reflective pools, deep in color but with a

greenish hue near the pupil. Some said that the peoples in these areas were formed by

natures own hand. A farmer was hewn of the earth, skin like that of a potato with hands

that gripped of the earth. The hunters lithe limbs were grown in the shape of tree limbs,

with hair like mottled and strewn about like that of forest underbrush. One of another

land might look at Teresa and see a quaint lady with a pleasant enough countenance, but

a native of this land saw an entire history at a glance. Teresa was born of the sea, with a

steady gaze along the horizon, and a sturdy spine like the mast of a ship. The others in the

group were created in a similar way: Ruben the product of long days inside as a penny

trader, Hedda resembled an able-bodied fire starter, and the other woman was clearly

made of golden wheat fields or hickory hemlocks.

The silence between the group continued once more, but this time it way buoyed

by the release of emotions and hidden feelings. In this country there were few that wore

their emotions upon their sleeves, and yet somehow these four, in their old age, had found

an appropriate release for their anxiety. Standing up abruptly, Hedda gathered her shawl

up around her shoulders, as if protecting herself from the shadows and garish sounds

from the outside. She made her way steadily to another dark room which adjoined the

main area into a small hallway that lead to the stairs. The other three craned their necks

around to see what she was doing, and after a few moments and some rummaging, there

was a solid slam of wooden cupboards and Hedda came bustling back.

I feel like we should have a little midnight snack shouldnt we? she said. A

particular gust of wind brought howling closer still.


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Teresa piped up, Yes that sounds absolutely lovely! Her bright reply shift

swayed the group into a murmuring agreement.

Well you just staythere and Ill go fetch some of my finest pie. Im sorry Ruben

I dont have Teresas touch for the rhubarb pies, but my blueberry sweetcrust should suit

just fine, she said this while dipping the candle she had fetched from the cupboard into

the fireplace. The candlelight added an ominous glow to Heddas face as she appraised

the three others, looking for signs of weariness.

Hehehe, thanks ta ya Hedda, that sounds like the sweetest thing, he replied.He

licked his lips and pulling at a stringy white mustache.

The red haired innkeeper went to each of the small four windows in the

livingroom, making sure they were fastened and latched against the heavy gusts. The last

window to be checked overlooked the harbor barricade and branching docks. There was

just enough moonlight seeping through the clouds that one could make out the lightest

colored buildings and white ship rigging. As Hedda peered out from a crack of the

shuttered window the others noticed that she gave out a small sigh of relief, almost

drawing away from the window entirely. It looks like most of the boats are doing okay

for now, she said. She was about to pull away when something caught her eyesfor a

second, and she pressed her face close to the glass. The windows had been boarded from

the outside, making it only possible to see through a few cracks in the wood.

I think I see... Hedda muttered, groping with her old eyes to see something in

the distance, out to sea.

What is it Hedda, asked the woman with golden hair, not having talked for the

past three hours, is there something out there? Are the boats ok? A very long moment

passed, and the three by the hearth suddenly felt like children asking their parents if there

was really a bogey man under the bed.

I swear I saw it, I swear. Hedda muttered once more, eyes struggling to make

sense of the world outside the crack. Suddenly she gave a frightful yelp and staggered

back from the window. The candle she had been holding dropped to the floor, flashing

ghostly lights around the room as it rolled on the maple beams. The source of her

outburst quickly became apparent. The heavy woolen curtains Hedda had brushed out of

the way had caught flame from her idling candle, creating a third source of illumination.


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Damn damnDAMN! Hedda shouted. Ripping the curtains from the iron hangers, she

stomped furiously on the fabric, quickly suffocating the ribbons of fire into a few

glowing embers. The others remained firmly twisted in their seats, too surprised for

movement. It had been many years since Hedda had been heard flinging obscenities or

losing her temper. The sight of this usually stolid woman panting with heaving breaths

over a set of burnt curtains might have been comical in a different scenario, but in this

case was decidedly disturbing.

Breathing heavily, Hedda slowly gathered the curtains up with one hand and

walked back to the window, where were she proceeded to look once again into the

subdued darkness. She then let out a raspy chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief, as if

she had just woken from a bad dream. Well it seems that you are not the only one that

age is catching up with Ruben. My eyes are playing tricks on me like a child plays with

their parents. It was not the other week that I thought I saw my dear old grandmother

foraging for blueberries in the woods. But this was a little strange. I havent seen his

boat for a long time. Hedda looked distant for a moment and then shook the feeling off.

Wha happened exactly? asked Ruben warily. Whadya see out thar?

Hedda simply shook her head and waved him off, gesturing that it was of little

importance. She stated solidly, Im going to go and fetch some more fuel for the fire.

Dont forget that pie! exclaimed Teresa.Dont worry dear, your sweet tooth will be satisfied soon enough, she replied.

Hedda had the habit of talking to everybody like they were children, even if someone like

Teresa was a few years older that she herself. This might have come from long years

managing an inn by herself, or perhaps because she had helped raise seven children with

her ailing mother. Everyone in the town knew that she was tougher by most men by half,

and more tightly responsible than any big city governor. Rumors held that she had given

birth to her second son Gendry by herself, while poaching rabbit a few miles out of

Tressut. As the story goes, she crawled to the stream nearby, birthed and washed the babe

in the frigid waters, and walked back into town with a baby in one arm, and two fat

rabbits in the other. While Hedda herself had never acknowledged the truth behind this

particular tale, her eyes did sparkle a bit around the edges whenever she herd the story

told by others, especially her Gendry, now a full grown seaman.


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Hedda walked briskly off toward the pantry, and the others huddled once more

back to the fire. The atmosphere was more comfortable now after the commotion, the

thought of a sweetcrust pie next to a glowing flame surely easing the minds of the three

elders. The blonde woman, seeming to come out of her musing daydream, let out a long

sigh and pulled her blonde hair out from beneath her cloak. Then she shook it, similar to

the way an alley mutt shakes mud from its main after a hard days rain. It tumbled down

around her shoulders, glinting marvelously in its pale white form. Ruben gave her a slow,

sidelong glace, as if he didnt want to disturb her splendor. Being of the conversational

sort, the gnomish man piped up again brightly.

Deep thoughts take ya fer awhils there? he asked. A moment passed where she

stopped and gave him a lazy look, and then returned to preening after a short nod of

affirmation. Well I getcha, not many souls be undisturbin after this here sorta frightenful

stormin, he continued conversationally to himself, fact is Ivebeen around Tressut fer

mer than forty years and have rarely seen the mothar wind torment us like this. Mighta

been as far back as 25 o them years that I couldnt go outside because the wind fer fear

o being blown over.That reminds me, I once saw me a cat who was blown off me

mums house, some twenty foot tall, and it came down soft as a pillow feather, not once

scratch. And just anotha time not long after I saw the same cat crawlin in the Ruben

began to ramble fondly on about many fantastic tales of the local cat who seemed to defy

the laws of physics and also the towns mayor, whomordered it killed after the vagabond

pussy left a nasty scratch across his face. Teresa chuckled knowingly in all of the right

places while the other woman paid more attention to her ruffled appearance, a slight

smile playing across her lips now and then.

Ruben was just finishing up his story about the cat stealing the fishermans catch

when Hedda could be heard coming back from the pantry. The light from her candle

bounced with her steps in the adjoining hallway. Rounding the corner, the group could

see Hedda hoisting an armload of firewood in one arm, while cradling a cloth wrapped

package in the other. Hedda paused for a moment, balancing the candle, and then started

for her companions.

Right as she took her first step, there was a large thump smack against the door, as

if a load of lumber had been thrown at the entrance. The room jumped out of their socks.


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jes n Lord Mercy! cried Ruben.

WHAT IN THE HELL! yelled Hedda while ungracefully dropping the pie and

firewood on the floor. Whats going on out there?

There was a shuffling as the three terrified onlookers scuttled across the room,

stumbling over the benches. Hedda stood at the ready with her candle and wielding a

piece of firewood like a club, ready for any unsavory sort. The other four huddled behind

her. There was a moment of pause, and then a quiet thump started to repeat itself.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. It grew louder and louder, the door rattling upon its

hinges. While the door was of simple and strong build, the hinges had been rusting for

some time, obviously not a priority for Hedda with her many concerns. However it was

of upmost concern at the moment, and Hedda thus motioned for her compatriots towards

the pantry, shooting them her most serious face.

There was a pause and every heart in the room tried to escape its owners chest.

With a splintering crack the door burst open. What came through the door could hardly

be identified at all. Wind accompanied the ragged pale figure that stumbled into the Inn a

few steps, and Heddas candle blew out, leaving the four elders huddled together in the

darkness of the room while the hearth coals flared and whipped about. All four people

gave out ragged yelps, Rubens being the highest and most womanish. Leaning against

the red firelight was a man of sorts. His long ropy hair was mottled and spread about his

naked form. The remnants of his clothes were tattered strips of dark cotton in place of his

shirt, and a leather belt, leaving little else to imagination. His skin seemed to sag and

stretch simultaneously, adding ghoulish shadows to a well muscled torso. The pungent

firelight somehow reflected a greenish hew upon his physique. What was most noticeable

about this aberration, however, was the lifeless form of a bird in his hand. He dangled it

absentmindedly, swinging it back and forth while giving a slothful gave around the room.

The four terrified onlookers stood motionless, gripping each other behind Hedda,

who acted similar to the prow of a ship, parting the waves of danger. They saw the man

wavering in his sodden boots, which were his only garments that remained relatively

intact. They slowly realized that the man was moaning. Over the wind it was more

difficult to tell, but between the drafts, a hoarse grating could be heard, like the raking

sound a rusty mill saw makes. He took a few steps forward and shook his head back and


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forth. Spurts of salty brine spurted from his ears in what would have regularly been a

comical fashion. He wavered horribly then, like some unruly tavern drunk. He heaved up

a bucket of seawater vomit, retching quite terribly on his knees. Clearing his eyes with

his hands, the burly man saw the people standing in the darkness. He grunted and paid

them seemingly no attention, although Hedda raised her makeshift club higher in

warning. The warmth of the fire seemed to attract him, and he made his slow way toward

it. Standing behind the tables, silhouette in the fire, the man shuddered. The shudder

turned into a strange wheezing, and Hedda realized that this strange man was laughing. It

was something about the way his shoulders move up and his head tilted back.

Mother be with us, she whispered, more to herself than the others, hes a

lunatic!

The man abruptly stopped, teetered, and slammed onto the table, bird still

clutched in his hand. His body slumped with a nasty thud when his head hit the oak, and

splinters of wood shot up around the indent of his forehead, which would last until the

next age or two most likely, as would the sore on his head. There was a deafening silence,

only punctured by the occasional heartbeat.

Hedda began to shimmy towards the man.

What are ye doin?! hissed Teresa.

Hedda merely motioned for the other three to stay put, which they also felt was

appropriate. When she was within reach of the mans limp leg, Hedda used her piece of

wood to poke his leg. There was no response from the man. So Hedda prodded the man

on the back, and eventually the head, which was beginning to drip blood onto the floor.

Instead of waking up, the man merely began to snore like an ox. The man heaved large,

slow breaths, as if the weight of the sea had been lifted off his back.

Suffice it to say that the four elderly folk had had enough excitement for one

night. They thought to themselves a few thoughts, but kept these close in their hearts.

Hedda was of the mind to club the man while he was down, but didnt say so. Teresa

considered helping the man, but didnt say so. Ruben felt like running to the constable,


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but was too afraid to say so. It was the tacit blond woman that was keen on the wheel,

and decided to make herself heard.

Theres nothing else for it, we must wake this man, she said firmly. We cant

have a complete stranger trotting in here like the bogeyman himself, and not find out

what his intents are.

But what if his intents be of the troublesome sorts? asked Ruben.

Im too old to be afraid of some bedeviled merman beatingthe soul out of me,

declared the woman. She walked over next to Hedda, who looked warily from the golden

haired vixen back to the slumped man.

Youd better be careful, Hedda cautioned with a soft, serious voice, Im not

sure if I could hold of such a brute as this, depending on his intentions. If he attacks you

just run out the door and bring the others. Ill hold him off as best I can. The two ladies

exchanged looks of grim foreboding, and the blond woman nodded slowly. She looked

back at Teresa and Ruben to make sure they had heard the plans. When they motioned

their understanding, the blonde woman started to shake the stranger.

No response. The blonde woman started to shake him harder, grabbing hold of his

shirt remains and beginning a rhythm. Nothing happened. Impervious to the outside

world, the man snored like a hurricane. The women consulted with one another and then

grabbed a hold of him by the pits. They wrenched him up out off the table with no little

effort, and began to drag him around towards the fire.

Well dont just stand there! croaked Hedda. And so Ruben and Teresa

scampered over to grab the legs of the meaty sailor. The fact that he had no pants on to

cover his most valuable parts did not quite seem to bother these two anymore than it did

Teresa or the blondie. People around here were not so opposed to the naked form.

Everyone was naked to the sea, after all.

They set him near the fire upon a deer skin rug. He seemed to enjoy the warmth,

shifting sleepily to face it. They then soundlessly unclothed the man, pulling off his boots

to reveal horribly wrinkled feet. His tattered shirt and other effects they threw next to the

fire to dry. The only thing that the man possessed besides his birthday skin was the dead

gull. He clutched this preciously to his chest, fingers white and cold. Hedda reached to


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grab the thing, but the blonde woman grasped her arm and shook her head violently.

Hedda whipped a sour look at her, but then shrugged and let the man have his bird.

There were moments during the night that the four weary elders had thought a bit

strange, to say the least. However, nothing compared to the weirdness of a fully grown

man snatching a dead bird up to his chin for comfort, all the while sleeping naked next to

a fire. Hedda sought to remedy the unsightly scene by covering him with a blanket. And

so it was at Heddas Inn, until the morning.

The town of Tressut woke up at sunrise to the sound of the town squares bell

being rung. Some that heard it thought that the market during equinox had been opened

early. This was impossible, however, because the scheduled gathering was weeks behind,

and most of the merchant boats were still sailing off to the south. Other thought that it

might be the mayor announcing a long expected engagement between his daughter and

the butchers son. Some of the older folks that heard it thought that they were being

called to war, as in the olden days of that land. All of these people were wrong. For the

few souls that gathered to the town square in response to the shrill clank of the bronze

bell, four old people were there to greet themone whippy old man and three crones ofsimilar age but different countenance.

And so it was that the quaint town of Tressut learnt of the troubled tale of the

previous night. A general stirring called for the towns mayor and constable to be swiftly

sent to Heddas Inn. Both men were of a thicker girth and unused to the general discord

of things, and so a sweaty sheen took upon their necks as they trudged towards the

northern bay area, upon which Heddas Inn sat overlooking the scene. While hearty and

straightly willed the peoples of Tressut were, they were also as prone to a slice of gossip

as Ruben was to a slice of pie, and so it was that rumor spread rampant across earthen

alleyways until the whole of Tressut knew of Heddas mysterious man of the sea.

A ratty boy took the opportunity to peddle bread alongside the growing crowd,

which surged up alongside the Inn. The sum twenty people tried to peek inside the

window cracks for any sign of the goings on. However, it was Leeland son of Asen, the


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mayor of Tressut, that went barging into the front door, muttering to himself about

missing a breakfast pastry or some such pittance. Slamming the door behind himself, a

choral murmuring started up, such as you might see before and after a church service in

other lands. After a minute or two the rotund man cricked his rosy cheeks out from the

doorway.

Peter, go fetch me some of my clothes, would ya man? he asked the constable.

Oh sure thing, Peter replied then parted the crowd and loped off toward the

mayor Leelands house.

A couple of the more talkative towns people asked the mayor what was afoot, but

Leeland simply shook his head and told everyone to go back to work. A couple of the

busier folk shrugged off and parted from the crowd, but the majority of the gathered

remained, waiting for a better explanation. With a rueful gaze the mayor grabbed the

clothes that the constable, huffing and puffing, had brought back from his house. The

constable, took Leelands place while he went inside once more. Time dragged on, and

eventually most of the crowd had dispersed into the town once more. It was nearly half

past noon when Leeland made his appearance again, and this time, he was far and away

more composed than hed been earlier. In fact, it seemed to the townspeople that he was a

tad bit excited, to say the least.

Leeland took his place on the wooden steps of Heddas inn and looked out fondly

at the five or six people left outside. Four of these were the four that had found the man in

the first: Teresa, the blonde woman, Ruben, and Hedda herself. The other was Thomas,

thebutchersboy, who ever ventured to gain Mayor Leelands approval because of his

impending proposal to the mans daughter. Puffing up his chest and giving his suspenders

a little snap, the mayor of Tressut pronounced clearly the next few lines.

Ladies and men of Tressut, it will gladden you to hear that the man who beset

upon you on the nights last is no vagrant or villain. Nor is he any relative of Heddas

uncle, who had his red colors flown steady from the mast. This may bee a mere

coincidence, as Ive not yet heard the full tale yet, Hedda, because I know as well as you

that those sheets we see along there, he pointed from across the bay to the far docks at a

vessel wrecked upon the white rocks with torn red sails, are the very sails of Nelson

Bruce, your long lost uncle. The mayor saw recognition dawn upon Hedda as she stared


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at the marooned vessel. She turned her head slowly, in a cocked fashion, as if listening to

her own thoughts one by one. A cloud of anger began to blossom on her ruddy cheecks,

complimenting her red hair in color.

Are you meaning to suggest to me, she began loathsomely, that this man, this

intruder, is responsible for Bruces death, and the stealing of his ship! Her disgusted

look made the mayor raise his hands as a wrangler might calm down a studded horse.

The man has told me quite otherwise, in fact, he said, raising his voice to ward

off any further attack. He also says that he will explain himself to anyone that would

hear his tale, and that all judgment about such matters should be allayed until the end of

his wind.

The four frail folk looked about at one another, as a group of sparrows might do

when considering some food scraps amongst the wayside street, making sure the coast

was clear. Looking impatiently up, Teresa said, well lets get on with it then huh? What

are we waiting for?

He said hed like to rest a bit more, Leeland replied, and then hell say what he

has to in front of the whole town. When the four started to protest the absurdity of the

thing, the mayor staved it of, gesturing in the air the fact that hed thought it through. No

listen, he said patiently, Ive talked it through with him at a sully length, and he really

doesnt mean a spot of harm. In fact, he makes it out that hes going t o warn us of

something.

Whadya rekon hell warnus av? Ruben chortled. E should warn us o imself

if anything!

Yes yes, just let it go man, Leeland said while rolling his eyes just a flick,

Youll come to find that the man has been through more than most do in a lifetime. And

besides, he added, Its been too long since Tressuts had something to talk about

besides tides and fish and storms.

Teresa nodded her head in agreement. Im tired of everyone asking me what

happened to my husband, and if I think that Gendry will fair well in the storms and all

that.

Hedda had been listening with narrowed eyes, and gave out a long exasperated

sigh, looking around the bay. And I suppose you would like to have him rest in my inn


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The sunlight stretched itself out and yawned over the large hills to the west,

casting shadows upon the town except for the boathouse at the end of the stone pier,

which stood prominently white and shining above the dark waters that boiled around it.

Fingers of soft yellow sun crept down the buildings sides as the local fisherman packed

in boats that hung low in common fisherman fashion, lashed to the many iron rungs

within the structure. The ringing of dinner bells and the calling of mothers to their

children echoed in and around Tressut, drawing solemn attention to the calmness of the

sea, which swayed and shifted into the distant horizon. There wasnt a cloud in the

airinstead a vast azure blanket stretched over the silent tides, as if whispering

comforting breaths to the very few whitecaps. The fingers had become a burnt orange,

and the boathouse sat dormant upon the pier like a glowing paint chip amongst the

palimpsest. Human beauty rarely reared its head, but at moments like this even a

lonesome gull might stop and cock its head in puzzlement and awe.

Sweat dripped hard down the cottoned backs of so many villagers. The wood was

as sore and unwelcoming as church pews within the clustered confines of the longhouse.

The air stank of the world; butchers, earth workers, fishers, the tart aroma of hands which

pickled pickles, all of these seemed to fraternize with one another until it rose thicklythrough the venting slats at the apex of the building. But this aromatic squalor seemed to

go unnoticed by the common folk of Tressut, snug as sardines upon the wooden benches

as they observed with anticipation the makeshift stage sitting before them. There was

gallant banter from the townsmen, and more than a few jokes rang through the crowd

about the mayors daughter and the butchers boy, who blushed heavily and hung his

head in the front seat of the place. Something was stirring, something nameless and of a

whimsical spirit. After all, a story was about to begin, and they could feel it.

Such a gathering had not taken place since old Ben had seen his last days. Ben

Haben had been the last of a long interrupted line of story tellers in the Haben clan, and

now he was passed, with no heir to his garrulous throne. The culture of a story lives as

long as its teller does, and not any longer, unless of course the teller tells someone to tell

it again. No one in the village had Bens pace and candor, the deep chest and piercing


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green eyes, or the adventures. Everyone knew that all the great storytellers had gone on

adventures. Long adventures, sometimes taking up a great portion of the tellers life. The

best sort of tales were the sort from foreign lands, deserts or great mountain valley filled

with the unknown creatures and customs. Usually the typical tropes were involved; the

fearsome hero and the feckless fool, traveling together to save the life of some damsel

caught in the clutches of evil. However, whenever these stories became too commonplace

or worn out from use, the savvy storyteller would tell of a tragedy. These stories often left

children wary, and widows weeping. In a sailing town like Tressut, as with any

community, the people needed stories to relate to and sympathize with. This might have

been, in part, why the crowd gathered sat on the edge of their seats for the coming event.

Leeland, garbed in his lightest and finest cotton vestments, huffed up the few step

to stand on stage before the crowd, fingering his suspender straps and beaming out at his

people. There was a general shushing and muttering as the many faces turned their full

attention to their portly mayor. The man, who some said had a knack for the stage, drew

out the quiet until there was not a mutter left on the air. The old wooden seemed to creek

and groan under the weight. Then, in a quite comical and grandiose manner, he raised his

hands in the air to quite the already silent horde of Tressut.

Greetings friends. I am happy to see you all gathered so quickly. We should all

thank the littleuns that spread the word, he said, waving his hand toward the fifteen or

so gangly children huddled to one side of the room. Everyone grinned and gave them a

hearty applause as they all squirmed and spun around on the ground like spindle tops.

Yes, and we should also thank Hedda and her companions for enduring such a fright the

night of last.

What append out there Leeland? cried an unintelligent man in the midst of the

second half-hearted applause. Where da this man comfrom aneeway?

All in good time, man, Leeland responded. Our guest will explain it all for

you, and I expect everyone to treat him as well as youd treat your own blood and bones.

I wish my husband treated me half as well as he treats his bone, if you get my

meanin, piped up one of the fishermanswives. A general bumble of chuckles and

guffaws arose after the bawdy comment.


17/30

After a little chuckle himself, the mayor continued, Ok, ok everyone I think it

is time to introduce our guest to the stage, or rather, we will let him introduce himself.

The energy shifted palpably in the room as Leeland lurched his sweaty bulk down

the makeshift boards off stage. They saw him hobble back behind the room and open the

door to one of the store rooms in the back, which doubled occasionally as a waiting room

or foyer. There was a murmuring from the place, and people craned their necks to try and

glimpse the mysterious man. After a few moments mayor could be seen walking back,

with the shape of the man behind him. The sound of heavy boots stepping solidly into

place was heard. The deep breath in a new pair of lungs could also be heard. Everyone sat

in rapt attention.

A thick mat of brown hair, a large nose, and a renaissance chin appeared moving

up the steps. Next came the straight, robust torso, and athletic abdomen. A tight waist

complimented the largeness of the mans thighs, which bulged againsta green pair of

fishermans shorts. The thick hair of the mans legs curled over black leather boots,

which pounded out the last few steps remaining. He stepped up to the stage, and turned

towards the throng. For a moment it took awhile for the folks to fully appreciate the sight

before them. As fishermen go, the man was not unusually tall, and yet his girth matched

that of any tree trunk. His hands would be better used as cudgels, being big and knotty,

like the ropes he must have hauled since he was a boy. And yet it was the fierce blue

eyes, almost white in color, that captured the audience. They were like slow icebergs,

roaming around the room in a timely and thorough manner. When his eyes met those of

the crowd, the person saw the ice melt away into the depths of a timeless sea, or

something stranger. And the people knew this to be true, because it was a mans life that

wrought his body and temperament. As sure as Ruben worked indoors with delicate

things, this man was of the opposite sort. The man stood with hands on his hips, poofing

out his chest like a puffer in unconscious preparation. Slowly he exhaled, lips drawing

together into a crooked, salty smile.

Gaelish diolotum har i har, he said, his sonorous voice filling the room in a

musical baritone. He stared around at them, waiting for some reply that most assumed

was never to come.


18/30

Twashquilish til diolo gimera, an old man in theback wheezed in his old voice.

Everyone in the room turned on a dime and stared gaping at the haggard fellow in the

back pew. Murmuring ensued.

Ahhso I see that at least one of you remembers your native tongue, the man

upon the stage said, It was not so long ago that the people that live where you now make

bay now all spoke it. It is always a shame to see such beautiful things diminish into time.

I applaud your remembrance, old man, and I would beg that you preserve your

knowledge in these children. The old miser gave him a gracious nod, and the people

around looked at the man in a new light.

But now I give you my humble greetingsunfortunately, I dont have my

traditional gift to impart, but my thanks and advice will have to suffice for the present.

The truth of it all isthe deep truth of it is, Ive come to herald a warning to you all. Do

not be alarmed just yet, because there is much to be told before the full girth of this

harbinger be set upon you. The drift and roil of the sea has conveyed things to me in

curious ways, and I fully intend on departing upon you this hard knowledge that I have

won through luck and pain. But first comes the tale, as tall as it may seem at first, so that

you may later judge its worth and my merit. Is this acceptable to everyone?

Some in the crowd nodded in agreement, being wise and old and wild people as

they were. Many others whispered to each other, fomenting a building excitement around

the prospect of the thing.

Whooo is thiiieesss, what are we doooing here? croaked an anciently old

woman who peered out at the stranger through wrinkled eyelids. There was a muted

laughter around the room at the incredulity of the senior person. No one chuckled louder

than the stranger before them, who swung up onto him stool and began preparing a pipe

with tobacco. The laughter died down as the womans relatives shushed her, trying to

explain such a complicated phenomena. The man began puffing his pipe horn, releasing

large wafts of smoke to the air, which billowed up to the rafters like fat white

mushrooms. After a few moments the silence of a story rested snugly throughout the

building. Real or not, the peoples of Tressut were at full attention for his story.


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The man, sensing this, gave a long sigh and slowly closed his eyes like a lazy

whale. His face relaxed and slackened, until the onlookers almost grew uncomfortable.

Then, when the mood was taught, the stranger began to speak

There was a legend told about my peoples, back before I lost them so long ago. It

was a legend that existed not so much because is was true, but because they needed some

reason for what was, and what wasnt. They needed things to make sense, to function like

they had been taught or told. This is as it is with any humans, true? We are creatures of

purpose, and will, and logic, after all. We are creative to a point that meets our needs, but

not so outlandish as to be out of place, or distracting. We follow the winds and the stars,

things that we know well, can understand. Assuredly you can all embrace these simple

pursuits, in that they make your living possible, and that they extend our traditions to

encompass more of these charted shores, and the fathoms beyond. But my peoples were

different. Mysterious things happened to them, as constant and unexplainable as the

turning of the tides, the blowing of a squall."

The peoples of which I was kin were not so unlike yourselves today. Coastal

fishermen, and women all. Resourcefulstalwartfeet to the ground, so to speak. My

village relied heavily upon the migration of mink whales from further south. As the pods

drove through our shallow waters, we would hunt only what we needed and left the rest

to go breed and later return with greater bounty. Whale meat and oil preserves provided

us with a means of trade with the Whitbittle clans to the south, and with the Shokonaru

peoples from hundreds of leagues away across the Shambling shoals. It also provided

sustenance and shelter for us throughout the wintery times in which heavy snows

bombarded us. This happened for one long season in the early spring, when the waters

were still clear and cold, to the point where any sailor should die within a few minutes of

buttery blood if his boat capsized. But we were a hearty folk, and even the drunkards

amongst our people were savvy seamen enough to keep afloat in spring. We called this

period of hunting "The Great Torbent".

The Great Torbent was a merry time for us all. The fondest memories I own are of

my uncle and I keeping lookout for the fleshy beasts. We lived in a craggy place. Our

village was situated next to large rugged cliffs and there was in the air a salty brine which

attacked the nose. Many of our houses were perched up upon long stilts, so as to prevent


20/30

the swells from razing the town. These houses were called ramburns, and stood in semi-

circles around the stony islands. At the end of this spit of land protruded a mass of black

rock that overlooked the shallow bay of the town, and the mountains farther inland. It

provided us with a place to keep look during the Torbent, up high above the earth. Each

family took turns thrusting a wary eye to the horizon for the tell-tale signs of the minks

pods. Although nobody complained of the nightmarish task, it was perilous, and some

died upon its rocky heights.

My ancestors attempted to build a steadfast lookout upon this spire. Year after

year, the struts and lashing that kept it fast was torn down, either by the gales and

swells... or the winter's ice. And so forth it was that my peoples took their turns spotting

the minks during the Torbent. I've spent many days and moonlit nights with my uncle and

cousins upon the stone. The gale winds shred talk into scraps of sound. The rock holds no

warmth as you gaze into the hinterlands. Leather skins are kept tight to the body,

grasping at ever piece of warmth as if it were our last. At times we licked each others

eyes, because we forgot to shut them, and so they froze wide open. It was during the

Great Torbent of my 28th year that the legend was due to unfurl once more, and it was I

who was doomed to keep watch.

Many in our quaint village wished to forgo the season's bounty in order to avoid

the affects of the mystical Torbent, which had come like clockwork every 10 years. Being

that I was 28 years of age, I had seen the flash of light claim 1 fisherman, when I was 18

years old, during my first Torbent. It was a simple enough occurrence, and yet what I saw

was disturbing in its method.

It was a calm night, as calm as they get on the frigid straight which lay heavy with

dark water beside our ramburns. The waves had smoothed into slow swells, and shone

with flecks of moonlight from above. One of our oldest and heartiest fishermen, a man

named Shlem, was up upon the black rock keeping watch. Most of we others remained in

our beds, grabbing what restless sleep we could before the inevitable whale hunt. Hours

turned over until at long last we heard the single dong of the Torbent bell at the base of

the black watch rock. Shlem had sounded the alarm, and soon the town was hustling and

bustling like a shoal of silver fish, preparing for the hunt.


21/30

For the first time I was a man of the town, and I clearly remember the pride

welling up in my chest as I glanced around at my friends and family. My own father had

died at an unlucky age while hunting the minks, but I could still see his reflection in the

eyes of my uncles, and the ruddy chins of my cousins. While the men in the village began

rigging their boats, and preparing their hooks and rope coils, the women and boys readied

packs of dried meat and root snacks that were foraged from the summer before. The

fishermen chewed on a few of the more bitter of these, helping them wake up from the

dreariness of sleep. Others simply dipped their faces into the frigid water of the bay, cold

enough to wake the dead from their graves.

On this night the wind decided to fly over other lands, leaving the black water to

rest like a mirror. So shiny it was that the jagged, snow tipped peaks appeared both above

and below the water towards the land. Only the native eye could make clear the

difference between where the shore began and where the real mountains lied. These

gigantic rocks, glowing in the moonlight, were impressive to say the least, and yet it was

the stars that took our breath away. From the docks where we rigged our longboats began

an infinite world of white dots, scattered from above our heads to between our legs. It

was as if our village was floating in the heavens, some fathomless orb of white freckles,

the remnants of our ancestors. And then the whales slowly appeared to me.

As trained as I was for spotting the beasts, tonight it took my direst squinting to

make them out. Upon the astral tides they looked like a cluster of stars, glinting as the

heavens bounced off them. My uncle Toby nudged me to get moving, because I had been

found standing flat footed on the end of the dock, captivated by the sight, rigging sheets

loose in my hand. But before finishing my rigging, I caught the billows of white smoke

that were released silently in the distance, the tell-tale pillopwy clouds of the pod. In fact,

it was only because of their sneezing that I was able to spot them. I remember grinning

foolishly like a jackal in that moment. The hunt was finally mine.

Eventually we had launched our boats, and were rowing at a direction that was far

from straight towards the beasts. We expected to meet the minks head on in an hour, and

so we took the swiftest currents eastward that we knew of. Even with almost no wind to

speak of, our troupe could have coaxed a few knots from the sails had we tried. But, we

could move more quickly rowing, and it would also provide us with a bit of warmth in


22/30

our muscles for the time at hand. Also, there was the slim chance of the minks actually

seeing our boats from a distance. Our woolen shifts were thick on our backs, and chaffed

mildly as we strained to reach far with our oars and pull hard. Tonight we had forsaken

our whale hide cloaks to the catchment in our hulls, being that they would be far too

warm for a still night. If it came down to it, one of our peoples could jump into the frigid

waters and be covered from head to toe in the suit. Depending on how many stone the

person weighed and the span of his lungs, a grown person might even survive in the

water for twenty minutes or so in such a garb, at least as far Ive ever heard. This fact

comforted me a small bit as I rowed, the youngest member of our party by five years or

more.

The hour went quite quickly, and many things made their passage through my

head. The first was of the many fishing stories gone wrong that Id listened to as a lad.

The ones that irked me the most were of the sad souls whom were caught in the rigging

after they pronged one of the beasts. My heart chills to this day at the thought of the man

ripped from his vessel and drug down into the deeps by his own prey, cold water forced

into your airways, too ensnared to escape. As the motherstale goes amongst our folk,

this is how new minks are made. A man is taken down to the depths, where the whales

tell him their blubbery secrets. His legs then become the tale of the beast, while the rest

of his body takes on the characteristic shape of a newborn. And you will know when you

see them first, because their skin has been kept as white and pale as our own in the dead

breath of winter. These pale whales are also said to keep the ability to speak our tongue,

and so many old whalers will tell tales of whale songs which sound oddly like the ones

we ourselves make around the cooking fire. It goes like this

Weee see you up thereWeee feeeel your stare

Comee to our homeAnd be never alone

And as I rowed forth to the hunt ahead, I hummed the tune deep in my chest. I

was rowing with three others, my uncle and two cousins. They caught on to my rhythm

and soon added their own soft humming to the chorus. After awhile we stopped. Ahead


23/30

of us only a few hundred lengths was the first of our prey. I crouched low in the hull, next

to the mast, which had been lashed down alongside spare sails and food satchels. The

boat appeared unfinished in its design, with it cleats and centerboards exposed. This was

so that quick repairs could be made at a moments notice. I knew what I had to do as well

as I knew how to put on my trousers, and yet my heart pounded with the anticipation. My

mouth sucked in wispy white air. The boat grew tense. My uncle and cousins sat poised

in the mid-ship. We were ready

The spotsman in the lead boat was motioning commands to the rest of our crew as

they approached the pod. We followed these and slightly turned the bow to face a little

past the east flank of the whales. We had discussed at length our strategies the nights

before. Tonight we would attempt to spike a few of the largest females leading at the

front, scattering the rest so that our outlier boats could capture a straggler. If we could

manage this, then it would be enough of a bounty for nearly the rest of the season.

And so we pulled up to the whales. They didnt seem to notice our thirteen boats

drifting in front of their path, or else they didnt care. I watched as the head boat passed

the first whale It gave out a large plume of smoke from its blowhole, but was otherwise

uninterested in our boats, which probably appeared like flotsam to the rubbery devils. I

held my breath and listened. But instead I felt. One of the whales decided to surface

directly beneath us in a whirl of boiling water and hissing foam. The lurch was startling

and I almost cried out in exclamation, but my uncle grabbed my shoulder and gave me

piercing look. The next moment we were lofted into the air. A strange sensation occurred

while atop the animal. It felt as if I were pressed to a gigantic set of lungsa pair of

lungs that began to roll. As the beast turned its weighty mass, I was tossed to the

starboard gunnel, banging my head upon the edge. The oar locks disappeared underneath

the water, and the boat began to capsize. My uncle mustered his fiercest whisper, and we

managed to haul our bodies to the opposite gunnel. The boat swung back up in response,

and we avoided an icy death by a few inches.

I tell you all now, I have more respect for the sea than most, but in that moment, I

felt the master of it. Riding that whale was my initiation into life. In that moment I was

little more than an insect in the wind.


24/30

A minute after my dance with nature, the hunt began in earnest. The sky was

filled with the sounds of moaning minks. My uncle plunged his harpoon through the skin

and cartilage of the whales dorsal fin, ensnaring it to many buoyantwood pieces we kept

aboard. The whale thrashed about for awhile. It was at once a terrible and yet powerful

sight for me. These whipped out of the boat like corks out of ale kegs, and rocketed out

into the sea as the beast tried to escape. The trick with these whales was to tire them out

with buoyant wood blocks, which pulled them towards the surface as the dove for safety.

The result would be a long oversea chase until they gave up their lifeblood to us.

Our back ached as we heaved the wooden oars. We found a rhythm which suited

our needs, and stroked out and away from the group of besieged whales, some of whom

were beginning to do the same in any direction away from the pronged harpoons and

stabbing sticks. The raucous din of the whales died down, and was replaced with the

clunk and clatter of the four wood pieces, which gave its strange sign of the submerged

beast.

Being seated in the stern end of the boat, I was in charge of keeping the stroke. I

heaved as hard as could, or at least as hard as I could sustain over the hunt. Since my

arms were shorter by a finger or two than the others, I had a shorter stroke from catch to

finish, at which point I would twist and whip my oars back to the front of the gunnel, as

far as I could reach, until I caught the water again for my next stroke. The result was that

I had a strong but fast stroke, which is why I was elected the stroke-man for my first

Torbent. My cousins, being the gangly horses that they were, grunted with effort to keep

time with my faster pace. In the bow was Uncle Arne, in charge of steering the vessel all

the while easily handling my quick stroke. He would look back from time to time to

adjust our course a little, but Im sure that he could have steered without eyes if need be.

His ear were trained for this sort of thing. He once told me that he could hear the currents,

and tell if there was a whale hundreds of lengths beneath the waves.

Cmon boys, he said. Weve got maybe an hour or so before she slows. Good

pace Willie, but straighten up your back before you pull a muscle.

I gave a quick look over my back at the other three, and saw that my cousins were

grinning through the shine moonlit shine of the sweat. Yeah Willie, you look like my

mama when shes tending the fireplace, said Sorren, the closest of the two. At that same


25/30

moment, my left oar got caught up with the right one, and slammed into my fingers. I let

out a yelp as my other oar swung up and hit me in the jaw. The others in the boat laughed

at the spectacle while I returned to my seat that I had been knocked from. Finally

recovering, I took up the stroke again, feeling like a fool. The others had a few more

laughs and set about making all sorts of lewd jibes to my chagrin. After a bit my uncle

told my cousins to shut up and keep rowing, and so we were off again.

An hour of long work later, we came upon the buoys. We carefully maneuvered

the whaleboat around its tale, which could have sunk us in one mighty thwap. Coming up

along its side, I readied my javelin as I stood upon the prow. Suddenly I saw the massive

thing under the starry reflection of the water. A lonely eye the size of my head turned

upward, and stared at me through the ripples. Looking to my uncle for direction, he gave

me a solemn nod. I leaned back, readied myself, gave thanks to the mink for its life, and

plunged my spear through its hide behind a great black eye. My strike was true, and my

shaft sank deep into its flesh. Great shaking spasms coursed through our prey while it

attempted once more to dive deeper. A great calm came over me as I struck again and

again. Uncle Arne barked at me to stop at one point, and I fell back into the boat, chest

heaving.

My cousins clapped me on the back as we drifted a ways from the mink to let it

die in peace. Sweat trickled coldly down my brow as I watched my companions tie

rigging to the ends of the poles I had put inside the beast. Manning our oars once again,

we began the arduous journey back unto our wintery home upon the rocks. I felt as if I

were inside a dream. Id had visions of this moment from the time that I was old enough

to tie knots, and yet at the moment I felt like I was merely apart of some gigantic story

being told by someone else. And then I began to get this feeling. A feeling as if our few

fishing folk were not the only ones upon the sea. As if there was another person or people

watching us from the distance, above in the stars. A soft chorus of singing voices drifted

into my mind. A tingling went up my spine and back down to my toes as I rowed my

strokes. The next few minutes are hazy to my recalling, but I distinctly remember trying

to say something to my cousins, and seeing the look back at me with blank, sweaty

expressions. I shrugged it off, but in the back of my mind, I could feel a swelling

anticipation.


26/30

Rowing was slow with the behemoth floating along lazily behind, streams of

blood running off its hide in viscous oily pools. We could see a few of our companion

boats off in the distance, tugging their prey home just as we were. I saw Shlem in the bow

of their boat, waving a meaty hand at us. Uncle Arne gave him a hearty howl in response,

heralding our success. We began to hear similar shouts drift out over the waters,

indicating that most of our clan had also met with a bounteous catch. After a couple

grueling hours, the hunt was finally over. For most of us, that is.

A wavering mist, which I had not noticed before, had drifted near Shlems vessel.

I could not tell you now how I failed to notice it earlier, but I swear it came upon them

like a chill in the night. Shlem seemed to notice as well. He spun around and began

shouting at his oarsmen to haul to and hurry their pace. The peculiar fog followed them at

an inevitable, unnatural speed. I had seen this before, in the way a predator slowly lopes

after its prey. They were being hunted

We looked on as the twinkling mist overtook Shlems vessel, the rowing figures

fading away into the white like four dark memories in a snowstorm. Before we lost sight

of them completely, I witnessed the unthinkable. The wispy shape of Shlem stood in the

bow of the boat, shouted something at his men, and then leaped out into the water with a

dull splash.

Sweet mother of stone and snow, said Arne. A quick glance back at my uncle

put my nerves on end. His pale face reflected the fear I felt myself.

We stopped rowing and looked on in stunned horror. The mist swallowed our

friends in a giant, billowing maw. All at once it seemed like a thousand lanterns had been

lit within the column of fluffy clouds. Light pulsated, creating a slow beating heart within

it, white as the sun at midday. It swelled up into the sky, getting so bright that we could

see it flash behind our eyelids. I tried to shout out, but it was caught dead in my throat.

When the piercing rays seemed too punch right through to my bones, everything stopped.

Blackness as I have ever known took over, until I woke up hours later in the hull

of our whaleboat.


27/30

The man rested back on his stool, issuing a great puff of white smoke from the

long pipe. His eyes came back from the past, once again sharp and keep, once again

observing his audience. They were as petrified as the oldest tree. Some mouths were

agape, asking for the next verse to be foretold.

One burly man spoke up, So what happened then? Was it a lightning storm er

something?

No, no friend. Im afraid that this was beyond anything of a persons usual

understanding, replied the man upon the stage. I would be remiss to describe it in any

other way than I already have. In fact, while I myself have come to understand whythis

happened, I may never know howit happend.

What append to Shlem and his crew, asked another man, did the boat make it

out av the devilish smoke?

The man drew himself up in his stool. Aye in fact it did. Those in Shlems boat

were found knocked clean of their senses, just as I was for a time. Their vision did not

return for some days hence. However, after a fortnight of rest and mink broth they were

brought back to their normal state of being. As it goes, there was only one man missing

from the boat, and that was Shlem himself.

The man watched as few people shift uncomfortably in their seats, rubbing the

back of their necks in confusion and discomfort. A few of them muttered to each other,

and soon the lofty room was full of voices, taking advantage of the natural break in

storytelling. The din of conversation dimmed a little as the man got to his feet and

stretched his back while motioning to the Mayor to join him on stage. He whispered in

Leelands ear and marched off the stage.

My friends, our guest will continue with his tale in after a short time. Please

refresh yourself and join us at the bells call, said Leeland. He then skipped off stage in

pursuit of the mysterious seaman. The crowd floorboards creeked as the throng of

Tressut natives dispersed out into the dirt streets. A general oooh awwwing could be

heard as the rare lemon tart treats were carted out by the towns only baker. The


28/30

excitement could be felt crackling like electricity in the air. Only two men did not

partake in the frivolity.

Leeland approached his guest, who was taking yet another smoke on a stone

piling behind the towns hall, looking over the shoreline.

That was all good and fine sir, said Leeland, but do you really think that you

should be concerning yourself with thesepithy details? The man upon the rocks did

not move to reply, but instead placed his pipe down and rubbed his face. I mean of

course I thank you for your dramatic flare there at the end, and I would of course not

want to intrude upon your story, Leeland continued, but from what youve told me

yourself earlier, we simply havent much time before

The man threw a pebble into the water, saying, How long do you think Ive been

alive, my good friend?

The mayor glanced around, hands in his pockets. I guess I dont really

understand your meaning sir he replied.

Im asking you, how many moons have chased after the sun over the course of

my life? said the man.

Well, I couldnt say for sure, but Id venture to guess more than thirty five or

forty moons, Leeland replied.

The man gave a bitter, rumbling laugh and stood up to face the portly mayor of

Tressut. And of course you should, and why not? But to say truthfully, I do not

remember the passing of time as you do. Ive been at war for such a length that memory

of days and years has come to mean less than it does to a child.

Listen, sir, said Leeland, I know nothing of your troubles, or your peoples, or

your war. All I hope to do is protect what small number of folk as we have here from the

evil that you describe. This much Id hope to do.

For the first time, it seemed like the mans attention was paid in full. Bright green

eyes pierced into Leeland like a razor. The eyes betrayed a respect and praise for the man,

but also a lingering sadness. The future was uncertain.

Too many times have I seen folk such as yourselves fall into the clutches of the

Drom, and perish. As I have done countless times, I will muster what strength I can to

help your people, but it can not be done without the tale, the understanding of what you


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will face. This is why I take the time that I do, at the pace that I will. Trust in me, and we

may yet thwart their efforts as a mouse may escape the clutches of a cat.

Ok, Leeland said, I suppose you know whats best. Just please do make good

time, so that I can prepare my peoples with the best warning in advance. These Drom

seem most terrible indeed.

The bulky seaman looked forlorn for a moment, nodded, and then began walking

back towards the town hall side door. Yes, and as your kin will fin out in a moment,

they have lost none of their potency since our last encounter.

The town hall had been cooled down by the drifting currents of wind, and now

smelt less dank and dour. The man took his stool atop the stage once more and nodded to

Leeland, who crossed into a back staircase. A minute later the bell could be heard ringing

in the tower, heralding its people back again. The place filled again quickly. After a

delicious treat, the folk were in a much more pleasant mood. A few jokes about Glenn

were being thrown about, and the butchers boy was flushed red with merry

embarrassment as the rumors about him and Liv, the Mayors daughter, were spreading

around the gathered. This was, after all, a rare occasion for the peoples of the town to talk

amongst one another as the group. Glenn tried to throw out a couple spirited rebuttals, but

it was quite clear hed been bested by the crowd. He took his seat with mock shame next

to Liv and her mother, who was laughing merrily at the whole affair.

Yes Glenn, when areyou going to ask my young sweetling here for her hand,

eh? asked her mother, Of course you know that before I consent in giving her away to a

butchers boy, I will need to see how you can use that knife of yours to cut more than just

cow meat. Liv will need protecting from all the foul men around these parts. The mother

spoke out across the crowd, making sure everyone could hear. There was a general howl

of laughter and bantering as the sailors bandied about, shouting lewd obscenities.

And then it happened.


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Date post:	04-Jun-2018
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Fisherman's War : Work in Progress

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