A Torn Kingdom: Chapter Three

DISCLAIMER: Though I did put a considerable amount of effort into this chapter and other chapters of this novel, this is in no way even close to being my best work. This is not an attempt to defend my work. Honestly, I'm simply saying if you find it to be a terrible writing piece, I may have something else you like. I acknowledge that this chapter is sometimes very boring and could do with some action. This work, in my mind, is already done and finished. I almost regret uploading some parts of A Torn Kingdom so far, because I believe they don't reflect my writing abilities. To be honest, I had to struggle to write this because I often times got bored of writing it. I still tried to make it decent, though. Thanks to anyone who has reviewed any chapter of A Torn Kingdom. Your feedback is appreciated and useful. Keep it up! Chapter Four should be out today!

Preface

This is about half of the original chapter three. Due to the length of the original third chapter, I decided to split it into two chapters (three and four respectively). Once again, please take time to review this.For those who thought there was a little bit too much dialogue in previous chapters, this has much less dialogue. You should be forewarned that chapter four is a rather detailed explanation of the kingdom's from King Holskolm. I tried to write it in a way that made it not come off like a boring essay. It touches upon later aspects of symbolism and information that will be crucial later on in the novel.

Chapter 3

Torr’s Annoyance

Torr was thoroughly annoyed as he gathered heavy, rusty swords for the superstitious masses to use against whatever imaginary monsters resided in the forest.

No matter how many times he assured his crewmates to the fact any animals wouldn’t dare come near the camp with so many men about, and that so many weapons weren’t necessary, they grew quiet and began to prattle on about the Uthidagva or the Yurii or any other superstitious nonsense they could drag up from their minds.

There was talk of a raise in their earnings when they reached Iberian, but quickly any hopes of that were dispersed. The king couldn’t possibly afford an extra dime for his traders, no matter how loyal they were.

“We fighting tooth and nail to get ‘em the supplies, but he won’t pay us a nice raise!” one particularly rowdy crewmember conceded.

“You mean “we’re” fighting…you’re just drinking.” Solomon, one of the more solemn crewmembers, said smiling slightly.

“I am not!” the rowdy one protested, almost knocking his mug of ale over in his exasperation.

They were all putting the work in to prepare the boat for the oncoming storm. The captain took this line,

“We’ll make it, I’m sure, but we ought a be prepared for, eh, injuries we might sustain throughout. We have naught supplies to prepare the boat should she be felled, and for that, I am worried. But by God, I am sure also we shall live to see our next days.”

This sort of enthusiasm had been rare for the past while, and it was embraced regularly by the men.

The charisma did not affect all of the sailors, however. Akven, with his superstitious nonsense, prattled on about the chance they might all die or that the Uthidagva could steal out in the night and eat them all as they lay sleeping.

Torr, on the other hand, took his own, logical line. The fact they might not make it affected him more than any other, as he was to marry a young aristocratic girl from his village in but a month, and his death would sadden her so.

Of course they had planned for his death when he was in the army, but alas, this was different. He was not facing soldiers now, perhaps only the army of the sea.

The word was that they were leaving the island the second the storm abated and heading to Sion, for possible repairs, supplies, and the good will of its ruler, King David. It was far closer than Iberian, and Iberian was allied with Sion, as it had been for decades.

Iberian had been in a long-standing relationship with Sion, but it hadn’t always been the case. During the great wars, Sion had indeed fought against Iberian for various territories. But, they had eventually been able to come to an understanding.

Torr didn’t mind heading to Sion, though he would have preferred to have been reacquainted with the king and his lover sooner than later.

With these hopes, they closed the ship off from the winds currently rustling its sails, that would soon tear into it with unimaginable violence.

They sealed the supplies, and at last, the ship was put aground, sitting upon a small mound of sand, glancing at the storm now with equanimity. The cliffs around it would protect it from the damaging winds and rain, and as it was now aground, it would not be capsized in the affray, a fact that in its intensity like the sun, blinded them with some happiness, and greatest of all, hope.

“Lucky for the cliffs, eh?” Captain Storbook inquired, as they built a shelter within the forest.

“Hopefully, they will serve to protect us, Captain. I do hope so, but one must doubt it. ” Torr said, shaking his head.

“Ah, be a mighty pessimist, my friend. I know we shall live. We are prepared, we are ready for any storm that may come.” Captain Storbook proclaimed, smiling.

Torr held his tongue. The captain was no ignorant man. He had sailed the seas for many years, and perhaps, perhaps he was right.

“Ah, yes, I suppose so. I just wish to be with my wife, Annabelle.” Torr said, sadly.

“And that you shall, I promise. A recently married man, I shall proclaim to the heavens, will not fall from his grace on my watch.” Captain Storbook said, sincerely.

“Let us pray to God, then.” Torr said, as the winds became increasingly violent, and the rain began to fall in tiny drops, not yet testing their makeshift shelter.

They did pray. The other crewmen too, followed suit.

The night grew steadily darker as the storm progressed, now sneering at them from above. The sky was entirely dark by the time the storm had nearly arrived.

“This is a storm that shall forever be imprinted in my mind.” Captain Storbook concluded, as the storm dumped yet another swath of water upon the beach. They watched all of this, with careful eyes, from their own shelter, which the cloth itself had become wetter than any of them had hitherto witnessed.

“It is as if we have angered God himself.” Julius, who was the most religious of them all, said, nervously.

“We are good and whole men. We have done nothing wrong.” Captain Storbook admonished.

“It is late, and we should bid ourselves to sleep. This storm may last a week or more.” Captain Storbook added, lying down carefully after removing his sword from his scabbard and setting it beside himself.

Crewmen across the makeshift shelter, which stretched from one stout tree to another, measuring at least a good 200 feet long, fell into a struggling, unforgiving sleep. They had utilized the only provision available to them, the replacement sail for the main mast. After all, they had stored the main sail safely in the store, and need not worry about its condition, as long as the ship prevailed.

In a stroke of brilliance, they had dug somewhat deep trenches around their camp to deter the rain that was sure to run down the hills in the wooded section of the island. The island itself was divided into four main quarters, with steep mountainous land in one quarter, deep forest in the other two, and then the beachfront, which bore the brunt of the storm. They had observed this earlier, Torr in particular, to devise a strategy should they be driven from their shelter. It was concluded that the best way to survive would be to make a beeline to the mountains, where several shallow caves made their homes. In a system of pulleys and ropes, their own makeshift shelter held firm against the roaring storm, protecting the men beneath as if they were its children.

They were all, accurately enough, children in the storm before them. Torr had seen but one storm on the sea, and it now seemed acutely miniscule compared to the monstrous one before him.

At midnight, when the darkness swallowed them whole, Torr alone sat up, unable to drive away the fight in his mind. His survival was in the hands of the storm now, and as the night progressed, it had become notably harsher. Previously, the rain had been a harsh pitter-patter, but now, it was a waterfall it seemed the whole world was being submitted to.

The candles they had lit to chase away the superstitious nonsense had soon gone out by the wind, which rushed beneath the sail, pulling the ropes taut. Torr had no illusions that the sail might last forever. The system was designed in a way that should a section of rope go slack, another would pick up that slack. But they depended heavily on the trees the rope was actually bound to, rather than other factors that might allow it a longer life.

They would simply have to weather the storm until they could find some reprieve.

As Torr found himself unable to sleep, so did the king.