Astorian Tales - Part 1

The sleek black craft glided on the tumultuous waves, tossed to and fro, but never plunging beneath the writhing waters. The rain slapped against the ink black sails and mast of the boat. Though not visible through the thrashing water, wind, and rain, the cliffs of Dalen rose starkly to the heavens, somewhere up ahead. The boat’s captain fought against the wheel, keeping a steady, oblique course towards the shore, as his crew scurried about, keeping ropes tied and sails taut.

Below deck, amid the heaving and rolling, a man tied a waterproof bundle. He had stripped down to his trousers. He pulled the cinch tight on his equipment, strapped it to his back with a leather belt, then headed to the deck, steadying himself with his arms. The freezing rain stung his bare torso. He grimaced and made his way to the captain. The intensity of the storm cut communication to the bare minimum and so the man simply pointed in the direction where he knew the cliffs lay. The captain nodded.

Now, as the cliffs came into view as dark silhouettes with no distinguishable shape, the man carefully made his way to the edge of the boat and grasped the railing. The captain waved his hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, the man propelled himself over the edge of the boat. His body plunged beneath the ice-cold water, then he pushed himself to the surface, gasping and spluttering at the dramatic change of temperature. Then, once he found the cliffs in the hazy sky, he began to swim toward them with broad, powerful strokes.

The waves dragged him back and forth, helping his endeavor one moment, undoing it the next. At last, he came within view of a small beach, protected by jagged sea rocks. An undercurrent swept him below and he fought to regain the surface. He swallowed water as he went down, and came back up coughing and choking. The waves tossed him towards the razor-sharp rocks, but he managed to grab ahold of one. The sea tugged at his feet every which way, but he held on, grunting in exertion. Then, as a particular wave crashed inland, he used the momentum to pull himself atop the rock.

For several minutes the man laid on his back, regaining his breath. When he pushed himself up he surveyed what route he might take to get to the beach. The waves thundered against the sea rocks for another hundred feet before splaying out into a small pool that lapped at the sand.Now he had a choice. He could both hop from rock to rock, and hope to make it to shore without getting knocked back into the frigid sea, or he could wait till dawn, which by his calculations would be no more than two hours, by which time the storm should have subsided.

He chose to brave the storm and began to leap from rock to rock, hands out to balance himself. The rain intensified, and the waves crashing against the rocks showered him with frigid mist. He pulled his satchel tight to his back and leaned forward as he landed on a particularly narrow rock. He chanced a glance downward. Bad idea. The water was churning and foaming like a cauldron and a slight wave of nausea swept over him. He faltered, took a step forward, and lost balance. His right leg shot out from under him and he landed on his side. Pain vibrated down his arm and he yelled.

Despite his best effort he careened off the rock and was taken in by the waves. They dragged him back and forth, and although he tried his best to protect himself from the rocks, he was barreled into them time and again, until at last he was hurled up on shore, gagging and choking. His throat was on fire from swallowing the sea water, and his head was swimming from the wild ride. He rolled on his back, now not only frozen to the bone, but soaking wet and covered with sand. His entire body ached and was beginning to shut down. He huddled into a ball and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * * 

He awoke. To say that he was sore would be an understatement, but he managed to pull himself to the side of what appeared, in the dim candlelight, to be a cot. His eyes flicked back and forth, as he became conscious that he was in some sort of a room. The young man surveyed his surroundings, taking in the sights and smells. The room was small, with just a cot and a large chest at the foot of it. A candle sat atop, glowing with warmth.

The smell of salt invaded the man’s nostrils. The sea. The landing! He’d passed out. Had a stranger found him and took him in? Doesn’t matter. He felt the cool, wooden floor on his bare toes, and realized that he had been dressed in a loose gown. My satchel! He gathered his footing and strode to the chest, flung it open, and peered inside.

“Bingo.”

He pulled the leather satchel out of the bottom of the chest and blew out the candle. Now in the silence and complete dark he could hear the faint crash of waves. Still on the shore. He could hear the faint voice of someone outside the room, and below. Second story then. He quickly lost the gown and dressed in his outfit. Crimson pants and shirt, black leather vest and boots, and a blood red, hooded cape. He armed himself with his usual: rapier at his hilt, dagger in both boots, and bow with quiver in his back.

As he pulled on the black leather gloves, completing his outfit, he heard heavy footsteps ascend. He shrunk behind the door, just moments before the visitor opened it and peered in. The light that sliced through the opening allowed the hidden man to make out the silhouette. It stretched all the way to the opposite side. It was a man. From the heavy, raspy, breathing, probably later in his life. His footsteps thumped over to the bed. A grunt.

“Mari, come here!”

Definitely an older man. His voice had a slight quiver, and it didn’t have the power of a younger voice.

There was the sound of someone much lighter springing up the stairs. Another silhouette, and this time a gasp.

“Papa, where’d he go?” Female. Young. Maybe ten or so.

“I don’t know. I was out mending the nets. Did you hear anything, Mari?”

“No, Papa! Not a peep. He must be a wizard!” The girl’s voice rose to a high squeak, mixed with excitement, and apprehension.

The man laughed. “Maybe. Come, let’s look around. He may have fallen out of bed.” There was a groan, and the old man chuckled. “Perhaps you should check. My back isn’t doing so well today.”

The hidden man took a glance around the doorframe. Old man, young girl, both with their backs to him. He waited for the girl to drop to her knees and peer under the bed, and flashed around the door.

A stairway greeted him and he stole down it silently. It led into a circular room, about twenty feet in diameter. It was a quaint sea cottage, replete with a coral and teal blue rug, a few wooden chairs, a kitchenette off to the right, one section closed off by sheets, and directly ahead, a wooden door.

He rushed for it, and for the first time, missed a detail. One that came in the shape of a big white and black ball of fur. With barred fangs. And quick feet.

The man sprinted for the door as the dog sprang to its feet with a growl. The man slammed the door shut as he rushed out, and a split second later he heard the dog slam against it and begin to bark up a frenzy. Knowing that the girl and old man would hear the noise, he gathered himself, surveyed his surroundings – a rocky shoreline facing a dismal sea, with an incline to his back that was sparsely inhabited by trees.

He turned up the hill, back to a strong breeze that had a nip in it from the waterfront, glancing back to see if he was pursued. Sure enough, the little girl had opened the cottage door.. Out rushed the dog, a mangy looking thing, with dirty-white fur, speckled with black spots. It let out a ferocious bark as it spotted its prey, and bolted up the hillside.

The man gritted his teeth. Sorry about this. He drew one of the daggers from his boots, and danced lightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for the dog to attack. The animal leapt at him with surprising agility and height, but the man reacted quicker, and with cat-like reflexes he spun to the left. The dog landed hard, and before it could turn, the man brought the hilt of the dagger down on the dog’s head. It let out a whimper and slumped to the sand.

Ignoring the little girl’s shriek, the man dropped the dagger back in place and was up the hill in seconds. The trees grew thicker, and the ground leveled out for several hundred yards before plummeting again. He headed inward. There’s a mission to be done.