Trai - part 8

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Sunday, 20 April 2008 16:28

{jcomments on}For two days the three men drifted, the current and wind never changing, propelling the small ship ever closer to the vast expanse of the frozen wastes. The air around them was freezing, the rails and boards covered in a sheet of ice and snow. Rubon stood at the tiller of the make shift rudder they had constructed. Two table tops lashed and nailed together had been lowered into the icy seas, held by the cannibalized remains of the lesser of the ships two masts, planks pulled up from the main deck had been were nailed to the back of the ship forming a triangular shaft for the reclaimed mast to run through. Rubons had to strain against the tiller every time he tried to turn the ship to avoid the icebergs that now littered the sea. They had more that a few near misses as the icebergs grew in number and size. Trai stood watching Rubon, small beads of sweat frozen to his forehead. “Let me help” pleaded the Prince. It was the umpteenth time he’d asked, he knew what the tired mans answer would be.
“Nay lad, a captain needs to steer his ship in times of danger, such as these” his words came in a cloud of steam, as his warm breath struck the ice cold air.
Rubon reached up and rubbed his bald head, his hand hesitated for a few brief moments as it sort his cloth cap, lost during the storm, before rubbing his shiny head. The old sailor didn’t seem to feel the cold as much as the Prince. Trai had packed quickly; giving no thought to the clothes he stuffed into his ruck sack. Every piece of clothing he had brought, he now worn. Three cotton shirts and two pairs of trousers, on his feet he worn three pairs of sock, the other two pairs were on his hands. The cloak he had worn the night of leaving White Peak was the only warm clothing he had. The great clock was wrapped tightly round him, held at the waist by a length of cord, recovered from the riggers store.
A piece of old sail was draped over his head and tucked tightly into the top of his three shirts. At Cranheart’s direction he had stuffed his boots with old maps from the captained cabin, the legs of his trousers tied tightly over his boots, with the remains of the cord. But Trai still shivered, he was used to the cold of an Ironmark winter, but he’d never know cold like this. The stubble that ran from below his nose to just under his chin held the condensation of his breath, forcing Trai to keep wiping the frozen droplets from the short whiskers. Shivering he watched the icebergs up ahead, warning Rubon if he saw one that blocked their path. The current was pushing them directly north, a point Rubon brought up at every opportunity.
“Never seen the like, a south to north current” he would shake his head, a worried and confused look on his face.
Cranheart had remained quite on the subject, offering no opinion, just stroking his moustaches, deep in thought. After they had constructed the rickety rudder, Cranheart had disappeared in to their cabin, remaining there for the rest of the day. When Trai had gone to bed, leaving Rubon on deck, his old master was sound asleep in his bunk. Trai had slept poorly worrying about Rubon alone on deck. The old sailor had insisted Trai get some sleep.
“I’m perfectly capable of steering my own ship” he had said, grumpily. As the first rays of sunlight had touched the cabin window, a tired Trai had returned to the deck. Rubon was standing on the same spot he had left him the night before, the sailor had not slept since before the storm, but he looked fresh despite the battering he’d taken and the lack of sleep.
The weak sun was at its zenith and Cranheart had still not appeared from the cabin, Trai had come to the conclusion the storm had taken more from the older man than he let on, deciding to leave him to sleep. Stamping his feet on the cold deck, he raised an arm to point at a large iceberg, directly in their path, but before he could say a word, Rubon cut him off.
“I see it” he snapped, his tone annoyed.
The sharpness of Rubon’s tone stung Trai, who dropped him arm hastily, he knew his companion was tired even if outwardly he looked as if he had enjoyed a good nights sleep.
Trai was not a man to hold grudges against someone for petit things and ignored the sailor’s hard tone. “Sorry lad” said the Rubon, realizing he had snapped.
“It’s not your fault, my bones just ache with weariness”, Trai opened his mouth to reply. A raised hand stopped him as Rubon continued.
“But don’t bother asking, it would be like me asking you to share your women”
Trai returned to his vigil as the ship glided past the iceberg, neither man spoke for sometime, each lost in his own thoughts.
Their musings were broken by Cranheart’s voice, as he carefully climbed the slippery steps to the steering deck.
“Elementalism” he said, as if expecting the others to understand, the blank looks he received from his two companions made him smile as he watched his footing on the icy planks. “Elementalism” he repeated.
“You’ve said that bit already” said Trai.
“Ah yes, indeed I did”
In an exasperated tone Rubon asked.
“And what exactly is this elementally thing”
“The power to shift the forces of nature” grinned Cranheart pleased as his own cleverness.
Rubon and Trai exchanged frustrated looks.
“And that has what to do with us” asked Rubons scowling.
“That my fine sailor friend is what put us in this predicament; someone or something has managed to turn the tides and winds against us driving us north”
“How” asked Trai doubtfully? “That I can’t answer…..at the moment, but the sea waters and air around us have distinct linings to them, magic linings”
“You can see magic” asked Trai, this time he did not try to hide the skepticism in his voice “I can” said Cranheart crossing his arms over his chest, as he looked at Trai indignantly. “Do not think because I am a lowly sword master, that I don’t have knowledge in other areas” the hurt in Cranheart’s voice was evident to both his fellow travelers. “Sorry” said Trai “I didn’t mean to question the truth of your words, I’m just …..Surprised, you never said you knew magic”
“You never asked” replied Cranheart turning his back on the two men. Rubon and Trai stared at Cranheart’s back, unsure what to say. Trai broke the silence first. “How is this possible?”
Smiling broadly, Cranheart turned to face them.
“Well as you know all of the known magic’s or sorceries, Body, spirit, birth and death” he counted off the four disciplines on his fingers. “Are based around the manipulation of the aura that surrounds everyone, even the dead until the spirit leaves the body” he continued.
Trai nodded, he knew this, but what did it have to do with the change in the currents and winds. Rubon just looked blankly from Trai to Cranheart, the men’s words meaning nothing to him. He had seen those who practiced birth, healing minor wounds and injuries, but he’d never asked how it worked, or even been interest. But he listened intently as the two men spoke.
“And this has what to do with this elementalism you spoke of” asked Trai, wishing his former master and now friend would get to the point.
“Well, every person has his or her own aura that glows around them and can be seen by those with the gift of ‘viewing’”.
Trai nodded again, waving his hand in a circular motion to speed Cranheart up. But Cranheart was paying no attention to either of the other men, absorbed in his own oration. “The colours of the aura that surrounds someone, shows their characteristic and to some degree the trials and tribulation they have experienced, well at least for those who have enough of the gift” Trai stamped his feet hard on the wooden planks, his toes numb from the cold. Cranheart glared at Trai, annoyed at the interruption, before continuing as if nothing had happened. “So, image if you will that the whole world had an aura, each of the elements surrounded by the energy of life”
Trai scowled at the comment, unconvinced by Cranheart’s words. “That would mean everything was alive, rocks, plants, the oceans” replied Trai, making a sweeping gesture with his arms.
“Exactly” said Cranheart pointing a finger at Trai, before hurriedly returning his hand to the warmth of the pocket on his thick, fur lined travelers Cloak, similar to the one worn by Rubon and envied by Trai.
Trai stood contemplating Cranheart’s words, his brow furrowed.
The sound of Rubon’s voice startled both men; they had forgotten he was there, so engrossed were they in their conversation.
“That would mean, this here change in the current and stuff, would take great power and strength, more than any man could have. Surely”
Cranheart shrugged.
“This is pure theory at the moment my old sea dog, my books tell of this power being used in ages past, but I though the knowledge had faded with time”
Trai looked inquisitively at Cranheart. “I have read nothing of this in the books Helix gave me to read” a hint of jealousy in his voice. “er….not books like these young Trai, they are……a bit rare”
“May I read them” asked Trai eagerly.
Cranheart turned away as if not hearing Trai’s question.
“How far are we from Frozen wastes do you think Rubon” asked Cranheart, artfully changing the subject. “No more than a day maybe less, no ones traveled this way before and returned, we only know its there because it on the old maps” said the captain.
“If no ones returned how could it be on the maps” inquired Trai. Rubon’s just shrugged at Trai’s question, squinting as he stared ahead, one hand always on the tiller. The afternoon drifted away as Rubon skillfully dodged the floating icebergs. It was getting colder as they traveled north, the gentle breeze managed to find its way into the slightest gap in Trai’s clothing as he looked enviously at his two companions clothed in their thick fur lined travel cloaks, the soft leather cupping their heads and protecting delicate ears.
Turning his attention to a particularly large iceberg to their port side, Trai noticed a black smudge on one of the icebergs shelves. Trying to focus on the smudge as it came closer, he realized it was moving. “Seal” said Rubon watching the same iceberg.
“We must be close to the wastes” as if in answer to his statement, the crash of breaking waves could just be heard over the whistling of the wind.
As the sound of the breakers grew loud, Rubons shouted to Trai. “Reef” the fear in his voice was unmistakable.
Cranheart, who had disappeared back to the cabin, ran up the steps, alerted to the danger by Rubons shout. Catching himself on the ice and snow covered rail as he lost his footing on the icy steps. “Grab hold of something, we’re going to hit it, I can’t steer round” A white line of breaking waves showed where the hidden reef lurked under the salty waters, its jagged daggers of coral waiting for the small ship.
With both arms gripping the tiller, Rubon searched frantically for a route through, his eyes ran the length of the white frothing waves desperate for a break in the coral. As the weaver was sucked into the fast current that ran over the reef, the first layers of coral scrapped against her hull. The force of the swirling water spun the weaver around so she closed on the main reef port side first. Rubon pushed the tiller as far to starboard as it would go, trying to pull his ship back round.
With a grating crunch, the weaver hit the reef, lifting the ship up, as the waves battered the starboard side. The doomed ship started to capsize as the waves pushed her over. Then with a whoosh the current pulled the ship back from of the razor sharp coral, before turning and smashing the ship back against the reef. The under side of the Weaver was ripped away, the shattering timbers, smashed into tiny splinters. Cranheart and Trai both held on to the stump of wood that was the remains of the mast used to make the rudder. Trai grabbed hold of Cranheart’s sleeve as the man’s grip started to slip, their feet kicked uselessly in the air as the ship once again lean precariously to the port side. Rubon still clung to the temporary rudder that now stood clear of the sea waters.
The weaver lifted into the air against, before falling back, the ships spine snapped as she hit the rocks just below the surface. The two section of the ship broke clear of the reef; the strong under current propelling them towards the beach. The waves crashed over the two suspended men, as they clung desperately to wooden stump, soaking them with icy water that drove the breath from their lungs. Numb fingers locked around the oak support, loose timbers flying around them as the waves smashed the remains of the wrecked ship. A piece of timber struck Trai across the back of his head, his vision exploded with stars; he felt his grip finally give way. Still holding onto Cranheart’s sleeve the men fell towards the waiting waters.
Consciousness returned to Trai, bringing with it the agony of the bitter cold and a thudding headache. Shivering uncontrollably, he opened his eyes. He could see Icy tentacles reaching towards the lapping waves from the boundary of snow, which ended by the high tide mark. A full moon lit the ice and sand in an eerie pale glow. He tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t respond, his limbs was lifeless, any trace of warmth sucked from them by the bitter cold. He could feel the ice that had formed on his wet clothes, sharp edges digging into to flesh as he tried to move.
His shivering slowly faded, as a strange warmth crawled though his body. He knew he was dying. He could make out the still form of Cranheart some ten paces away, but in the dim light of the moon, he couldn’t see if the man was breathing. He didn’t feel any fear or panic at the thought of death, all he wanted was to sleep, but he knew if he closed his eyes, death would claim him.
The only thing he felt was guilt, he had failed his sister, his vengeful plans nothing but a pipe dream. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he thought he heard the shuffle of feet over the breaking of the waves. He tried to lift his head to see the source of the sound, but his muscles refused to respond. He sound grew closer; he could hear the crunching and cracking as feet walked over the ice and sand. At the edge of his vision he could see an approaching figure, wrapped in furs, he could not see the figures face, but as it got close he could see the person was small. He tried to smile. “Probably deaths come to claim me” he wondered.
The fur enshrouded figure crouched down by his head, he felt a hand against his face, the warmth of the skin felt like a red hot iron. Kneeling the figure leaned down towards him, pulling back the hood which hid their face. Trai expected to see the fleshless skull of death smiling at him, as he took his spirit. As the hood was pulled back, long dark brown hair cascaded down onto the figures chest. Two hazel eyes appeared looking down at him, filled with compassion. “Lay still” she said
“Heleana” Trai managed to whisper.
Pulling up her hood the women stood quickly, breaking into a run she disappeared from Trai’s field of view.
Convinced he had imagined seeing the women, Trai finally closed his eyes, turning over in his soft down filled bed, it had all been a dream. He was still in White Peak lying in his own bed, warm and safe. “Trai” his eyes snapped open, dragging him back to the agony of reality. The sound of Heleana’s voice still echoing in his mind.
He could smell wood smoke and hear the crackle of flames, the warmth of the flames brushed against the side of his face. Blood slowly returned to his frozen skin. Icy flames burned through him as his circulation started to return. He groaned at the thousands of needles that stabbed as his skin. He felt something being placed over him, adding to the warmth and increasing the pain as feeling returned.
His weary mind and body could no lone keep his heavy lidded eyes open as he drifted back into unconsciousness, the sound of his dead sister’s voice mingled with the soft tones of the female voice he’d heard earlier.
“Sleep” said the two voices.
“Sleep”
Part 9 – Companions abound.

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Last Updated on Saturday, 05 July 2008 11:10

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#1 UK Watch Yer Back
2008-07-0512:09:58 Just testing

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