[LJ Story] Part 9

[thorarosebird.livejournal.com]

Here is part nine, sorry I'm posting so much! I'd appreciate any suggestions on rephrasing or dialogue (or anything, for that matter) and if you're lost, the previous parts are on my journal. :) Many thanks if you take the itme to read this!

Rating: PG
Genre: Fantasy
Length: approx 2000 words

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All of them were quiet, watching the distant, fiery shape of the Saxwoldian ship. It was sailing at full speed, and some four knots more than what the Athelo could manage now.

           
thorarosebird
 

“Stay behind it,” Farron told Galthor, “I want to reach Thorus in a few more days.”

            The atmosphere on ship tensed as each hour passed and they came closer to the gentle sands of Pelanion’s coastline. Wary eyes glanced at the torn ensign displayed on the other ship at every opportunity, to check if it was still real. Men muttered to one another in their hammocks, too low for Cara to hear.

            “Finlay,” she whispered. The boy tilted his head. “I don’t understand. Why is everyone scared of the ship?”

            “Go to sleep, Cara.”

            “But what is it?”

            He sighed. “It’s Callen’s old flag, I think. I’m not much older than you so I don’t know for sure.”

            “But Callen’s dead. Why would they be flying his flag on a ship from Saxwold?”

            “I don’t know, Cara. Ask Imlad in the morning.”

            He fell silent and after a while she heard his snoring. She tried to find Imlad the next day, but he spent a lot of time with Farron in his study, and whenever he was free to pester, Galthor seemed to give her another errand to run. Sometimes she crouched by Farron’s door and tried to listen, but she only caught snatches of anxious voices before one sailor or another would spot her and send her away. And all the time, her eyes greedily watched the shore. Past the pale sand she could see the beginnings of grassy hillocks and clusters of vast willow trees, and the scent drifting from the shrubbery surrounded the ship in a dreamy haze. The sailors couldn’t escape the sickly smell of lilacs and orange blossom as they went about their duties.

            They hugged close to the shore until, three days later, they turned slightly north and the prosperous town of Thorus opened before them. The Saxwoldian ship had almost come to port at the huge landing, and behind it was another, smaller transport ship with colours that Imlad didn’t recognise. The town itself, even from this distance, was a swarm of activity. The oldest buildings had been built right on the waterline, and over time it had grown, fanning over the glorious, grassy fields. The most luxurious looking houses and halls were made of a pale blue stone that had been buffered to a smooth sheen, and the smaller buildings were made of small bricks that fit together without the need of clay. Everywhere the streets were punctuated by patches of green, little squares, explosions of flowers and the occasional oak tree, their branches spilling out over dozens of houses like a protective canopy. The most noticeable thing about Thorus, Cara thought, was the strange glow that surrounded everything. Every colour was vibrant and seemed to bleed from the outlines of their objects. Flowers looked twice as large, the stonework glistened and seemed to swell, and the people brimmed with warmth.

            As the Athelo nudged its way to its usual mooring post, several dozen men came running forward, waving. “Greetings, Captain! You’re late, we were getting worried!”

            Farron leaned over the railings and hailed them back. “We were caught in a storm further south,” and he gestured to the forecastle that had been ripped away by the sea serpent, its planks dangling pathetically.

            Cara looked over the town, bristling with excitement and anxiety. She’d never known such bustle; the market week in Amantra was nothing compared to the life here. A group of children were splashing about in the shallows like pale fish some way off, and she grinned at their energy. She didn’t realise, but the Cara that grinned at them looked far different from the Cara that had stolen through Amantra’s drains. She’d gained a hint of brown on her cheeks and nose, her freckles had darkened, and she no longer looked drawn and skeletal thin.

            “Brilliant, isn’t it?” Finlay said, hauling a coil of rope onto his shoulder. “Come on, we have to help moor.”

            They ran down the strong rope ladder that had been lowered, and stood with Galthor on the landing. The wood was smooth and warmed by the sun. They set to wrapping and knotting several lines to the three mooring posts, Galthor pulling with all his might. When the ship was close enough to nudge the jetty the sailors went down in the lower decks and unlatched a door that Cara had never noticed before. A huge portion came down and rested on the jetty, forming a ramp that led into the belly of the ship, from where the cargo could be unloaded easily. The men of the Athelo disembarked, patting the hull of the ship fondly, their eyes drinking in the welcome sight of dry land. Urgrim and Brenlan nodded to Farron and Imlad, making their own way to the town.

            The crew strolled down the jetty with the men from Pelanion, chatting excitedly; they all seemed to be on friendly terms with each other.

            “You ran into a storm?”

            “A sea serpent, actually!”

            “No!”

            “Yep. It smashed right into the starboard side. You can’t see it from here. And we lost one first-timer.”

            “You’re kidding? That’s terrible! What’s in the cargo this time?”

            “The usual. We lost half of it when we smashed against some rocks, though.”

            “Damn, seems like an unlucky voyage-”

            “Well, we had a sail come loose at the start of it,” Imlad said, with a worried glance towards Cara, “and you know what the Saxwoldians say about that!”

            And so the conversation continued until they’d reached the broad square that opened to the sea on one side and was surrounded by clusters of warehouses, shops and pub rooms, all overflowing with people, on the other.

            “A cold drink would be good in this heat!” Galthor said, fanning his face.

            One of the Pelanion nodded, saying, “Hottest summer in years, this.” He led a few of them into one of the larger pubs and they managed to squeeze in. Cara sighed in relief as they entered the cool, clean room.

            “I suppose I’m the first round, am I?” Farron said, knowing his duty as Captain and begrudgingly tinkling the loose change in his pockets. There was a murmur of assent and the large group pulled together several tables and chairs, stools and benches to accommodate them all. Cara sat next to Finlay, glancing around and avoiding eyes. There were sailors here, mostly; they stood out with their usual green coats, hats and sashes. The noise was loud, cheerful, and almost boisterous as friends and family met to swap stories.

            “So, how has Thorus been since our last stop?” Imlad said, pulling out his pipe and sucking on it pensively.

            “We’ve been pretty fair this year. The harvests were better than ever,” one of them grinned. He was in his middle ages, with a scruffy beard and bulky, tanned arms.

            “It’s damn busy this season, Althar,” spoke up one of the crew, who had been squashed between his neighbour and the wall.

            “Very busy, I know,” Althar said, a frown creasing his forehead. Imlad opened his mouth to say something but at that moment Farron returned with a beaming barman, each holding a platter full of precariously placed drinks. He handed them out, mostly mixtures of ale or rich wine. Cara grabbed her mug and took a sip; the alcohol burned her throat and she choked. Finlay slapped her back.

            “It’s his first drink,” Imlad quashed their odd looks. “So, tell us what we want to hear. What’s that ship doing in port?” He nodded out the window towards the vibrant, red vessel.  

            Althar stared at them, swallowing his mouthful of wine. “Haven’t you heard?”

            “We’ve been at sea for two months. Why, what’s happened?”

            “There’s been a call to arms, by Prince Lydoris.”

            The crew gasped; Farron had taken a draught and spat it out over the table, gasping, “What?” while Imlad slammed his palm on the table. “You’re joking!”

            “I’m not,” Althar looked him evenly. “We’ve had a few ships from Saxwold come through here with passengers, and from other places further east. People who fled, like yourself.”

            “Does Velas know?” Farron asked him, wiping his coat clean.

            “Oh, probably. He has eyes and ears everywhere,” Althar glanced at the Captain, “but he won’t come near Pelanion. It’s the only place in Pelarmene that yields anything edible.”

            Cara’s eyes flicked round at the men; they looked aghast, faces as sour as milk. Some of the older ones looked furious. Others had a vicious gleam in their eyes. “Where is this Lydoris? If he really is the Prince,” said Galthor.

            “He’s just north of Thasius,” Althar replied.

            “Makes sense,” Imlad said.

            “Exactly. You haven’t been there in a while, have you? I can tell you now; it’s unnatural. The cattle give twice as much milk, the flowers are triple the size and the cornfields for miles around are constantly ripe.”

            “Even in winter?” a young sailor scoffed.

            “They’re not so rich, and smaller. But even then,” he nodded.

            “No wonder Velas won’t dare come here. It’s his only source of food, surely,” Imlad muttered. He had discarded his pipe, fingers stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day... what nerve does that boy have, waiting fifteen years?”

            The men couldn’t stay idle for long. They drained their drinks and headed out again into the early summer sun. Crates, sacks and fabrics came from the gaping hull of the Athelo at a steady pace; it was a small cargo considering the ship’s size and didn’t take at all long for it to be stored in one of the warehouses and for coins to pass hands. Even Cara had a few coppers given to her for her work. The metal they were made from was dull and warped, but it was legitimate money she’d earned for herself. She beamed at Finlay who clutched his own wage, and the moment Farron gave them the afternoon for leisure the two of them disappeared into the crowd, weaving between bodies, to get to the centre of the busy town.

            They ran across the warm cobbles, darting in and out of cool shops, poking at eels in a vast barrel, chasing after excitable dogs. The shops were full of anything and everything that Cara might ever want. They brimmed with food, gadgets, trinkets and clothes. The sellers shouted the best bargains from their windows, young couples strolled together. Everywhere was the smell of flowers, of sweet bread baking or the rustic reek of a chicken coop outside a dairy shop. Cara couldn’t contain herself and bought a honey cake with her new wages before Finlay could stop her; when she bit it the sweet innards trickled over her chin and coated her tongue. As she looked about the little square they were in, clustered around a broad oak tree, she caught the eyes of a girl.

            The girl was walking through the crowd, and she stopped in her tracks when their eyes met, as if she’d never been looked at before. She had a smooth, round face like a child and her skin glowed like the rest of the town; she wasn’t beautiful, but she was happy, alive, her cheeks flushed with health and vibrancy. Her small mouth broke into a brilliant smile and she raised a delicate hand to wave, shyly, at Cara.

            Before Cara could wave back, a broad woman with a brood of children behind her blocked the way, and when it was clear again, the girl had gone.

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