Post by Kittiedragon on Oct 2, 2008 17:12:17 GMT -8
This is the first chapter of the two-part novel I'm working on. Feedback is greatly appreciated, I'll need your help in refining it. I will post each chapter periodically once they are completed. I hope you enjoy the story, as I’m enjoying writing it!
Part 1. Of Surf and sails
Chapter 1
The Captain waved her cutlass at the man in front of her. The sea was moody that evening but the wavering deck did not unstable her mariner legs, that kept her upright in the foulest of weathers.
Captain Orazon was a well known individual in the great southern seas. Her name bought cheers whenever it was mentioned on the water, but if even muttered on land it sent shivers down the spines of all present. Not even her own crew knew her first name; sure they had guessed, but nobody knew for sure. It was the only secret she kept from them. It was her surname that most called her by, that or ‘captain’ for those under her sails.
“Fear not Mudman, your death will be faster than a great white on an injured seal pup and we’ll return you to the solid ground I’m sure you crave. It’s too bad that ground will be the ocean floor rather than the rocky scrub of land you’re used to…”
“No no, please!” came the desperate cry of the man that had just been knocked to his knees by a particularly angry wave, “I’m a Seaman, I swear it! My father was a navigator for the Bertanga fleet; I was born on the sea!”
“Lies!” Orazon growled. “If you were truly born at sea like you dare proclaim; then surely those weak, jelly-fish legs must be a figment of my imagination!”
The man was yanked to his feet by the surrounding spectators, who laughed gleefully when the man once again demonstrated his inability to stand up.
“Perhaps we should chop ‘em off and see if he can stand better then m’lady,” sneared one of the more rugged-looking crewmen. He nudged the freshly decked spectacle with his foot like it was a long-dead seagull.
Orazon seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment. Her long, black, sea tattered hair blew around her face with the force of the wind. While her eyes, the colour of the stormy ocean around them, glinted with contempt towards the man at her feet.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Murdock. I’m sure the carvachs will enjoy ripping the limbs from him once he’s in the water, I wouldn’t want to deny them their meal….
Of course, we could always throw them in after him.”
The Mudman's forehead glistened with sweat, and was creased in pain. He was hunched over where he sat, sobbing. Not the weepy sobs, the sort often heard at the loss of someone dear; these were the dry-ragged sobs of a man at deaths door with the sound of a key clicking on the other side.
Her ship bore the name ‘Fair Lady’; quite ironic when you consider the captain was anything but fair to those that heighten her temper. Fortunately for her crew, it was only traitors and folk of the land that truly riled her. Such was the divide between land and sea that even a mention of setting foot on anywhere solid sent her almost gagging at the thought. Captain Orazon had lived her entire life on the water and, as was usual for any seaman’s child, was born at sea.
At a brief hand signal from the Captain, the man was forcibly stood on the balustrade and positioned facing out to sea. Captain Orazon took a stance, drew back and slashed the man right across the back with her cutlass sending him off balance and down to the water below him and closer to the jaws of the many sea predators lurking beneath the ship. The slash was not a killing strike but as Orazon wiped the red liquid from her blade she knew the sharks and carvachs would be drawn instantly to the blood, doing her job for her.
This was the Slash-back Sending; One of Orazon’s preferred ways of executing traitors and Islanders, or Mudfolk as the sea farers had happily nicknamed them. This particular Mudman had been picked up about a mile off shore from Freymere, a mid-sized island east of the largest, Highwald, floating on the remains of a small rowing boat. The captain was reasonably sure that he’d been the victim of a carvach attack; it would be unlikely that anyone of the land knew how to handle such a creature. It was her opinion that Mudmen who dare fish in waters beyond their depth deserved to face the wrath of any lurking sea predators anyway.
She watched as her crew hauled up what was left of the man’s boat; it kept her eyes locked away from the foaming red water around where he had just landed. There was a large chunk out of the overturned vessel; she was surprised it hadn’t sunk completely, being as small as it was. At least the wood was new enough; she could use a few strong planks to patch up a couple of worn areas on her own Fair Lady. The sea was rich with food but not the resources to stay afloat. This was the only thing she envied of the islanders; something that, for as long as anyone can remember, had meant that most sea farers had to scavenge from those on land.
Luckily though, for her generation at least, there was the trading peninsula on Highwald. Where Islanders would trade wood and metal for fish at the times of year when land-grown foods were in short supply. It was about two lunar cycles until the next trading season; the only time of year where the two races actually seemed at peace with one another. She and a couple of other ships had already begun preparations. The farming of fire-fish, so named due to their bright orange hues, was common practice at this time of year. Huge netted areas of sea were delegated to the select few that could pay the price; the profit margins were worth it though.
The fish themselves grew to be at least the length of a man’s arm once fully grown. They bred like mad in the enclosed pens with no predators or other fish to compete with; this made them the ideal species to use for trade. However, the level of protection required to keep them also came at a price, and not the sort paid with pearls. To ward off the predators from the farms there had to be constant patrols each day and night. As you would expect, not many were keen to volunteer for these hazardous missions. Attacks were common on the perimeter net, the floating walkway offered little protection for those pacing it; you had to be good with a harpoon and quick on your feet to stand much chance of getting through the night. Luckily there had been only one victim on the farms this year, and that happened to be a fire-fish hungry shark.
“Captain?” Orazon pulled her eyes away from the discarded boat wreckage she’d been staring at for the past few moments and turned to see the friendly face of her second in command; Skinnet.
“We’re set to go; what are your orders?”
“We’re not too far form port Ansem, let’s dock there for a night or two, check up on the city.”
“Sounds fine to me,” he shrugged.
“Thanks, Ski.”
The man left, limping slightly on an old wound that had never fully healed. As stubborn as he was though, he would never use a cane. He claimed that his legs were still stable enough to tread the decks, and that’s all he needed. He would rather limp than show weakness. On her ship, it was almost like the measure of a man was mainly his ability to remain on his feet in unruly waters. It didn’t help that the vast majority of her crew members were fiercely competitive.
The weather had worsened by the time they set off, the captain stood at the wheel as rain battered her face and she strained to see ahead in the steadily darkening sky. It was nothing she wasn’t used to though. Even as the ship rode a wave almost as tall as itself; this was still mild in her books.
While she could anchor the ship anywhere she pleased, the Captain felt safer at Ansem than she felt out in the open. The floating city was the largest of many in her waters. Like a giant anchor, the port-city kept all tethered boats from drifting and provided some protection from the battering storms that were common at this time of year. It had been many days since they were last docked at her harbours. Orazon braved the storm with images of her destination as the focus of her thoughts. A ship safely secured, a warm meal and a cosy bed awaited her and the crew once they reached the port, something definitely to look forward to.
Just as the Captain started to become unsure of the direction they were travelling in, the bright lights of the city came into view through the darkness and driving rain. Where her ship rocked haphazardly from side to side, the lights of Ansem remained steady, guiding the ship to its docks.
In the centre of the city, buried deep in the sand were several hardwood poles. These provided a constant anchor for everything tethered to them. Flexible sea bridges fanned out from the centre, leading from one area to the next. Large boats and small, all connected in one thriving community of trade and commorance. Young children were educated in the laws of the sea, the ways of the sword and the temperament of the sea god, Ichthios. This particular city had been where she herself had grown up, with her brother, Hanlow.
Orazon thought fondly of her brother; they had been close when they were younger. Now though, with different interests, they had drifted apart. Her duty was with her ship and her crew. His duty was in the city, working in his lab; a barge she herself had acquired for him. It was tethered near the centre of the community, where the larger, older vessels resided. Many of them had already been taken apart and remade into floating apartments as the city grew; but his was still holding together. She wouldn’t let him know that she had saved his home form demolition on at least three occasions.
Once her ship was completely secured to the docking platform, her and her crew made their way towards the centre of the city where the lights shone brightest. Though the rain was still beating down, the bridges and platforms under their feet remained fairly stable. There was little need for the railings to each side of them and the more competitive members of the crew took pleasure in making sure they didn’t grasp hold of them at all.
Together with Skinnet, Orazon saw the crew off at the nearest inn, The Shark’s Fin and set off towards her brother’s barge. She had to slow her pace down a little so that Skinnet could catch up, but she tried not to make it noticeable. The man wasn’t old in his years, barely a few years older than herself, but he seemed to have aged since the injury to his leg. Not just in his pace but in his heart. He seemed a lot more wary, more sceptical; you could see the fear in his eyes every time a victim was pulled up out of the water. While the scar was hidden under clothing, it was never forgotten about; he would rub his leg where he was bitten and shiver slightly even at the slightest mention of a carvach. Nobody commented on this little tic, all that knew him knew it would break him if they did, shatter his pride like a boat on the rocks in a storm.
Her brother’s barge was not hard to distinguish from any other; it stood out like a sore thumb against the rest. For a start it was green; not by paint, but with plants. Foliage of seemingly every variety under the sun draped down from his roof garden. The roots clawed their way through the steadily rotting wood, destroying its strength and integrity. Moss and salt-loving lichen were about all that held the walls together, and any exposed metal was orange with rust.
She knocked on the door and heard a scuffling coming from inside.
“Leave me alone you squid-faced drunkards! I’ll get my sister on you! I will, you’ll be sorry. Don’t you go thinking I won’t!” the Captain and Skinnet exchanged glances, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Don’t you know who she is? Orazon! Nobody knows her first name but me! She’d feed you to her carvachs, she keeps them as pets you know…”
Rather than listen to any more, the captain spoke out.
“Is that true, Han? I never knew such a thing was possible.” She was greeted by silence on the other side and the door opened, a scrawny pink-cheeked man came into view.
“You could have told me it was you!”
“That would have ruined the fun, my dear little brother. Now are you going to let us in or not?”
Hanlow stood back and let the pair through. The barge on the inside was noticeably cosier than it looked on the outside. They stood in the hall, dripping onto a polished hardwood floor. The door was closed behind them.
“Don’t just stand there! Go get changed before you soak through the floor and sink my home!”
Orazon chuckled, “Woe be the day anybody bosses me around as much as you do, Hanlow.”
“I could try, but she’d have my good leg!” remarked Skinnet.
They took the towels offered to them and retreated into separate cabins to change into the drier clothes they had with them. When they reappeared, they found Hanlow sitting by the stove. The alchemical firelight showed a tired expression, Orazon hadn’t noticed when they had first arrived. He looked worn, troubled by something.
As they sat down with him, he spoke up. His voice was serious, purposeful, “Sister, I have a favour to ask of you.”
Part 1. Of Surf and sails
Chapter 1
The Captain waved her cutlass at the man in front of her. The sea was moody that evening but the wavering deck did not unstable her mariner legs, that kept her upright in the foulest of weathers.
Captain Orazon was a well known individual in the great southern seas. Her name bought cheers whenever it was mentioned on the water, but if even muttered on land it sent shivers down the spines of all present. Not even her own crew knew her first name; sure they had guessed, but nobody knew for sure. It was the only secret she kept from them. It was her surname that most called her by, that or ‘captain’ for those under her sails.
“Fear not Mudman, your death will be faster than a great white on an injured seal pup and we’ll return you to the solid ground I’m sure you crave. It’s too bad that ground will be the ocean floor rather than the rocky scrub of land you’re used to…”
“No no, please!” came the desperate cry of the man that had just been knocked to his knees by a particularly angry wave, “I’m a Seaman, I swear it! My father was a navigator for the Bertanga fleet; I was born on the sea!”
“Lies!” Orazon growled. “If you were truly born at sea like you dare proclaim; then surely those weak, jelly-fish legs must be a figment of my imagination!”
The man was yanked to his feet by the surrounding spectators, who laughed gleefully when the man once again demonstrated his inability to stand up.
“Perhaps we should chop ‘em off and see if he can stand better then m’lady,” sneared one of the more rugged-looking crewmen. He nudged the freshly decked spectacle with his foot like it was a long-dead seagull.
Orazon seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment. Her long, black, sea tattered hair blew around her face with the force of the wind. While her eyes, the colour of the stormy ocean around them, glinted with contempt towards the man at her feet.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Murdock. I’m sure the carvachs will enjoy ripping the limbs from him once he’s in the water, I wouldn’t want to deny them their meal….
Of course, we could always throw them in after him.”
The Mudman's forehead glistened with sweat, and was creased in pain. He was hunched over where he sat, sobbing. Not the weepy sobs, the sort often heard at the loss of someone dear; these were the dry-ragged sobs of a man at deaths door with the sound of a key clicking on the other side.
Her ship bore the name ‘Fair Lady’; quite ironic when you consider the captain was anything but fair to those that heighten her temper. Fortunately for her crew, it was only traitors and folk of the land that truly riled her. Such was the divide between land and sea that even a mention of setting foot on anywhere solid sent her almost gagging at the thought. Captain Orazon had lived her entire life on the water and, as was usual for any seaman’s child, was born at sea.
At a brief hand signal from the Captain, the man was forcibly stood on the balustrade and positioned facing out to sea. Captain Orazon took a stance, drew back and slashed the man right across the back with her cutlass sending him off balance and down to the water below him and closer to the jaws of the many sea predators lurking beneath the ship. The slash was not a killing strike but as Orazon wiped the red liquid from her blade she knew the sharks and carvachs would be drawn instantly to the blood, doing her job for her.
This was the Slash-back Sending; One of Orazon’s preferred ways of executing traitors and Islanders, or Mudfolk as the sea farers had happily nicknamed them. This particular Mudman had been picked up about a mile off shore from Freymere, a mid-sized island east of the largest, Highwald, floating on the remains of a small rowing boat. The captain was reasonably sure that he’d been the victim of a carvach attack; it would be unlikely that anyone of the land knew how to handle such a creature. It was her opinion that Mudmen who dare fish in waters beyond their depth deserved to face the wrath of any lurking sea predators anyway.
She watched as her crew hauled up what was left of the man’s boat; it kept her eyes locked away from the foaming red water around where he had just landed. There was a large chunk out of the overturned vessel; she was surprised it hadn’t sunk completely, being as small as it was. At least the wood was new enough; she could use a few strong planks to patch up a couple of worn areas on her own Fair Lady. The sea was rich with food but not the resources to stay afloat. This was the only thing she envied of the islanders; something that, for as long as anyone can remember, had meant that most sea farers had to scavenge from those on land.
Luckily though, for her generation at least, there was the trading peninsula on Highwald. Where Islanders would trade wood and metal for fish at the times of year when land-grown foods were in short supply. It was about two lunar cycles until the next trading season; the only time of year where the two races actually seemed at peace with one another. She and a couple of other ships had already begun preparations. The farming of fire-fish, so named due to their bright orange hues, was common practice at this time of year. Huge netted areas of sea were delegated to the select few that could pay the price; the profit margins were worth it though.
The fish themselves grew to be at least the length of a man’s arm once fully grown. They bred like mad in the enclosed pens with no predators or other fish to compete with; this made them the ideal species to use for trade. However, the level of protection required to keep them also came at a price, and not the sort paid with pearls. To ward off the predators from the farms there had to be constant patrols each day and night. As you would expect, not many were keen to volunteer for these hazardous missions. Attacks were common on the perimeter net, the floating walkway offered little protection for those pacing it; you had to be good with a harpoon and quick on your feet to stand much chance of getting through the night. Luckily there had been only one victim on the farms this year, and that happened to be a fire-fish hungry shark.
“Captain?” Orazon pulled her eyes away from the discarded boat wreckage she’d been staring at for the past few moments and turned to see the friendly face of her second in command; Skinnet.
“We’re set to go; what are your orders?”
“We’re not too far form port Ansem, let’s dock there for a night or two, check up on the city.”
“Sounds fine to me,” he shrugged.
“Thanks, Ski.”
The man left, limping slightly on an old wound that had never fully healed. As stubborn as he was though, he would never use a cane. He claimed that his legs were still stable enough to tread the decks, and that’s all he needed. He would rather limp than show weakness. On her ship, it was almost like the measure of a man was mainly his ability to remain on his feet in unruly waters. It didn’t help that the vast majority of her crew members were fiercely competitive.
The weather had worsened by the time they set off, the captain stood at the wheel as rain battered her face and she strained to see ahead in the steadily darkening sky. It was nothing she wasn’t used to though. Even as the ship rode a wave almost as tall as itself; this was still mild in her books.
While she could anchor the ship anywhere she pleased, the Captain felt safer at Ansem than she felt out in the open. The floating city was the largest of many in her waters. Like a giant anchor, the port-city kept all tethered boats from drifting and provided some protection from the battering storms that were common at this time of year. It had been many days since they were last docked at her harbours. Orazon braved the storm with images of her destination as the focus of her thoughts. A ship safely secured, a warm meal and a cosy bed awaited her and the crew once they reached the port, something definitely to look forward to.
Just as the Captain started to become unsure of the direction they were travelling in, the bright lights of the city came into view through the darkness and driving rain. Where her ship rocked haphazardly from side to side, the lights of Ansem remained steady, guiding the ship to its docks.
In the centre of the city, buried deep in the sand were several hardwood poles. These provided a constant anchor for everything tethered to them. Flexible sea bridges fanned out from the centre, leading from one area to the next. Large boats and small, all connected in one thriving community of trade and commorance. Young children were educated in the laws of the sea, the ways of the sword and the temperament of the sea god, Ichthios. This particular city had been where she herself had grown up, with her brother, Hanlow.
Orazon thought fondly of her brother; they had been close when they were younger. Now though, with different interests, they had drifted apart. Her duty was with her ship and her crew. His duty was in the city, working in his lab; a barge she herself had acquired for him. It was tethered near the centre of the community, where the larger, older vessels resided. Many of them had already been taken apart and remade into floating apartments as the city grew; but his was still holding together. She wouldn’t let him know that she had saved his home form demolition on at least three occasions.
Once her ship was completely secured to the docking platform, her and her crew made their way towards the centre of the city where the lights shone brightest. Though the rain was still beating down, the bridges and platforms under their feet remained fairly stable. There was little need for the railings to each side of them and the more competitive members of the crew took pleasure in making sure they didn’t grasp hold of them at all.
Together with Skinnet, Orazon saw the crew off at the nearest inn, The Shark’s Fin and set off towards her brother’s barge. She had to slow her pace down a little so that Skinnet could catch up, but she tried not to make it noticeable. The man wasn’t old in his years, barely a few years older than herself, but he seemed to have aged since the injury to his leg. Not just in his pace but in his heart. He seemed a lot more wary, more sceptical; you could see the fear in his eyes every time a victim was pulled up out of the water. While the scar was hidden under clothing, it was never forgotten about; he would rub his leg where he was bitten and shiver slightly even at the slightest mention of a carvach. Nobody commented on this little tic, all that knew him knew it would break him if they did, shatter his pride like a boat on the rocks in a storm.
Her brother’s barge was not hard to distinguish from any other; it stood out like a sore thumb against the rest. For a start it was green; not by paint, but with plants. Foliage of seemingly every variety under the sun draped down from his roof garden. The roots clawed their way through the steadily rotting wood, destroying its strength and integrity. Moss and salt-loving lichen were about all that held the walls together, and any exposed metal was orange with rust.
She knocked on the door and heard a scuffling coming from inside.
“Leave me alone you squid-faced drunkards! I’ll get my sister on you! I will, you’ll be sorry. Don’t you go thinking I won’t!” the Captain and Skinnet exchanged glances, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Don’t you know who she is? Orazon! Nobody knows her first name but me! She’d feed you to her carvachs, she keeps them as pets you know…”
Rather than listen to any more, the captain spoke out.
“Is that true, Han? I never knew such a thing was possible.” She was greeted by silence on the other side and the door opened, a scrawny pink-cheeked man came into view.
“You could have told me it was you!”
“That would have ruined the fun, my dear little brother. Now are you going to let us in or not?”
Hanlow stood back and let the pair through. The barge on the inside was noticeably cosier than it looked on the outside. They stood in the hall, dripping onto a polished hardwood floor. The door was closed behind them.
“Don’t just stand there! Go get changed before you soak through the floor and sink my home!”
Orazon chuckled, “Woe be the day anybody bosses me around as much as you do, Hanlow.”
“I could try, but she’d have my good leg!” remarked Skinnet.
They took the towels offered to them and retreated into separate cabins to change into the drier clothes they had with them. When they reappeared, they found Hanlow sitting by the stove. The alchemical firelight showed a tired expression, Orazon hadn’t noticed when they had first arrived. He looked worn, troubled by something.
As they sat down with him, he spoke up. His voice was serious, purposeful, “Sister, I have a favour to ask of you.”
