The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (23 page)

 As the sun finally
departed in an orgy of molten gold, the little boat spread her wings like a
swan and drifted down the estuary until it crossed the sandbar.

  Celedorn sat in the
stern looking back towards the departing shore, his expression inscrutable.
Elorin sensed that one of his black moods had descended upon him and left him
alone. Strangely, the emotion she detected in him was regret but she was unable
to guess the cause. The sailors, too, with unexpected sensitivity, left him to
himself, and he sat until the darkness descended upon the sea and one by one
cold pinpricks of light pierced the deep blue canopy of the sky.

 The Captain had
surrendered his tiny cabin to Elorin, deeming it fitting that she be accorded
some privacy with no other company than her brother. Elorin, revelling in the
fact that she had somewhere to sleep that was not the hard ground, very soon
availed herself of the opportunity. She awoke only once during the night when
Celedorn softly entered the cabin and lay down with a sigh on the other bunk.

 “What’s wrong?” she
whispered.

 “Nothing,” came the
quiet reply out of the darkness. “Go back to sleep.”

 “I’ve spent a great
deal of time in your company recently, enough to tell when something is
troubling you. Tell me what it is.” she said, sympathy suffusing her voice.

 “Nothing,” he replied
roughly.

 “But.....”

 His patience, always a
little fragile, snapped. “You might think you know me but you don’t,” he
declared sharply. “Just try to be a little less busy.”

 She chuckled softly,
unimpressed by his ill humour. “Said with all your usual charm.”

 He didn’t reply but she
sensed that he was smiling in the darkness.

 When she awoke in the
morning, Celedorn was already up and was seated in front of a small mirror
concentrating on the delicate operation of shaving around his scars. She
watched in silence for a moment, admiring his skill. He seemed to become aware
of her scrutiny because without turning around, he remarked: “The fishermen are
getting anxious about the weather. I don’t quite understand it, because I have
just been on deck and there isn’t a cloud in the sky, but they are all standing
in the bow looking to the south-east and shaking their heads.”

 “Do you know anything
about boats?”

 “Not a thing - which
could prove awkward if I’m asked to help raise sails or steer. Don’t forget
that you did say we owned our own boat.”

 “I hadn’t thought of
that.”

 “I thought I’d better
stay out of the way in case I’m asked to give an opinion about the weather, so
I came down here and as you see, am profitably engaged in keeping at bay the
beard that so incurred your displeasure.”

 “I’ll go up and find
out what’s going on. They probably won’t expect me, a mere female, to be expert
but.......” she paused uncertainly.

 “But?” he prompted.

 “Well, this might sound
odd, but I feel perfectly at home on this boat, almost as if I was used to the
sea.”

 “Perhaps a clue to your
life before Relisar’s bungling interference.”

 “Perhaps,” she agreed,
“but as usual when I try to pin down the memories they slip away.”

 She combed out her hair
and re-plaited it, then feeling more presentable, she ascended the short ladder
to the deck.

 All four fishermen were
in the bow looking worried, much as Celedorn had described.

 “Good morning,
Captain,” she greeted him. “A fine morning.”

 He shook his head. “For
the moment perhaps but if I read the signs aright there’s trouble brewing.”

 “Trouble?”

 “Look here,” he pointed
to the sea and instantly she recognised what he meant. Although the sea was
blue and calm there was a long unbroken swell from the south-east. The little
boat rose slowly on the sloping face of each glassy wave and sank smoothly down
its tail as it passed underneath. There were long, calm valleys between each
wave, but the vessel arose and descended so smoothly that the movement had not
been perceptible in the cabin.

 “The south-east is
where the storms come from at this time of year,” she remarked, surprising
herself by her knowledge. “This long swell means bad weather too distant to yet
be visible.”

 “Aye, that it does,”
the Captain agreed, “but it’s the length of this swell that worries me. Some
heavy seas must be running to produce it. There’s a small fishing village in
Serendar just across the border with the Forsaken Lands where the Harnor
plunges into the sea. It hasn’t much of a harbour but I think we’d better try
for it. There’s no shelter any closer. From this point southwards to the
Harnor, the coast is all cliffs and hidden reefs. Not for a king’s ransom would
I go in close to it. Mind you, the breeze is coming offshore so we’ll have our
work cut out tacking against it, if it comes on rough. Still, we may make it to
Serendar in time. No need for doom and gloom just yet.” Noticing her anxious
expression he smiled at her and changed the subject. “There’s freshly caught
mackerel for breakfast - a nice change from oysters, I imagine.”

 For the rest of that
day the sky remained blue. The breeze freshened a little but not enough to be
alarming. Yet still the long, rolling swell continued. The little vessel
ploughed steadily southwards, keeping well out from the treacherous coast. The
sails filled taut with the steady breeze and the Captain piled on as much
canvas as he thought she could bear, clearly keen to increase their speed. The
ship heeled over, its keel swiftly cutting the deep water, until the deck was
canted at an exhilarating angle. Elorin appeared to be in her element, her face
shining with enjoyment, the wind whipping little tendrils of hair free from
restraint. Celedorn, true to his word, kept out of sight, informing the Captain
that he had no intention of interfering in another man’s ship.

 Towards evening, the
colour of the sea changed from blue to a deep, translucent turquoise- green.
The swell had now deepened to the point where the boat climbed the sides of
each glassy wave as a man might climb a steep hill. In the depths of the green,
Elorin could see dark ribbons of kelp torn loose from their anchorage on the
seabed. The sky burned an evil bronze as the sun departed, casting lurid gleams
into the depths of the waves. A narrow bank of dark cloud slipped above the
horizon, into which the sun plunged, its light snuffed out like a candle. The Captain
gave orders for the sail to be shortened and the speed came off the vessel just
as Elorin descended the ladder to retire for the night.

 She found Celedorn
stretched fully dressed on the bunk, his arm cast across his eyes. She knew he
was not asleep, but clearly he didn’t want to talk, so she lay down on the
other bunk and was soon asleep.

 She awoke some time
later, aware of a sense of alarm. Her eyes opened in the darkness. She could
see nothing, but felt instinctively that something was wrong. Suddenly, the
vessel gave a lurch that was so violent that it hurled her out of her bunk. She
crashed against Celedorn and he caught her in an iron grip.

  “Are you hurt?” He
asked. She shook her head and he released her. “The Captain’s fears have been
realised,” he confirmed grimly. “The storm has arrived.”

 “I’ll go on deck.”

 “You’d only be in the
way. I’ve already been up to offer my help, but they have taken in all the
canvas except a storm-sail and there is only room for two men at the tiller, so
there is nothing else to be done.”

 “Still, I’d rather be
on deck than thrown around in the darkness down here,” she shouted over a peal
of thunder.

 Something fell off a
shelf and struck Celedorn on the shoulder. “You may have a point,” he conceded.

 When they forced open
the hatch above the ladder, the full ferocity of the storm became evident. The
wind howled through the rigging, rain lashed the deck, and broken, foaming
waves periodically swept the entire length of the ship. Lightning crackled,
briefly illuminating the scene from a nightmare. Monstrous waves rose up like
jostling mountains on every side. The regular rhythm of the swell had gone, and
now the jagged waves collided in pandemonium all around them, their crests
curling over and breaking with a roar on their own flanks. Waves coming at each
other from insane angles, crashed together like cymbals, sending thunderous
shock waves rebounding in all directions. The little vessel, looking
terrifyingly fragile, was tossed like a stick on the heaving chaos, her tiny
scrap of canvas the only thing keeping her before the wind and away from the
jagged coast.

 “Close the hatch,”
yelled one of the fishermen over the shriek of the wind, “and hold tight to the
lifelines.” He struggled towards them, clinging with all his might to the
ropes, as a deluge of cold, green sea thundered aft, smothering him in foam up
to his chest.

 “Here,” he shouted,
indicating a small area behind the hatch. “Stay here, it is the safest place.
Stay with her,” he ordered Celedorn. “There is nothing you can do to help
except keep her from being swept overboard.”

 In the few seconds they
had been on deck, both Celedorn and Elorin were drenched to the skin. Rain
hammered down on the deck in the short intervals between the cruel waves.
Elorin clung to Celedorn with both arms around his waist, convinced that the
lifelines offered no real protection against the power of the waves that surged
along the deck. He wedged himself in a corner by the hatch, twisting a
securely-anchored piece of rope around his wrist and shielding her as best he
could from the debris that each thundering cataract swept along with it.
Several times they found themselves enveloped in a heavy, trailing mass of kelp
and struggled to free themselves of its entanglement. The two men at the tiller
fought the waves with the determination of men who know their lives depend on
it. The flashes of lightning revealed their white, strained faces.

 Elorin, watching their
efforts, yelled to Celedorn: “If the tiller breaks under the strain we are
lost.”

 If he heard her, he
gave no sign of it, for a massive foaming wave hurled itself across the deck
and for a second both their heads went under the water. They surfaced, gasping
for breath, astonished to find they were still aboard the vessel and not adrift
in the sea. The gallant ship shouldered the burden of water and slowly arose,
shaking off its weight.

 Celedorn yelled
something in her ear which she couldn’t make out but she nodded to show she was
all right and tightened her grip on him.

 By morning the thunder
and lightning had become distant, growling like a sullen threat on the gloomy
horizon. Dawn revealed a wasteland of heaving grey sea and low menacing clouds
that fled before the fiercely aggressive wind. Unabated, the storm still blew
in all its fury, howling across the waves, forcing them into fearsome crests
still strong enough to inundate the little ship. For two days of fear and
misery the elements continued their reign of terror and the vessel fled before
the wind far out to sea, away from the coast, away from the safety of Serendar.
The Captain could only guess at their position and judged that they must be
somewhere in the region of the Isles of Kelendore. A sharp lookout was kept for
the islands but all that could be seen was endless angry grey sea. All the
crew, including Celedorn and Elorin, had remained constantly on deck. The cabin
was uninhabitable, quickly reduced to a disordered mess in which about a foot
of water sloshed around. Celedorn salvaged from the mess what food he could
find, but no one felt like eating much and certainly very little sleep was had.
Several times he lent his considerable strength to controlling the tiller, no
longer hiding his lack of seamanship but content to act under the Captain’s
directions.

  By dawn of the third
day, lack of food and sleep and constant cold and fear had reduced everyone to
shivering wrecks. When the first glimmer of light appeared, Celedorn, who had
for the last four hours been wrestling single-handed with the tiller, nudged
the Captain with his foot. The older man had been dozing and opened his eyes
with a startled jerk.

 “What is it?” he
demanded anxiously, his voice hoarse from days of shouting over the tumult.

 “I think the storm is
subsiding at last. Look to the south, the clouds are lifting.”

 The Captain dragged
himself wearily to his feet, instinctively bending his knees with the roll. As
he looked southwards, a long beam of light slid from beneath the trailing
clouds and touched the tip of each tumbled wave with a gleam of silver. The
waves now only occasionally broke over the fishing boat. Packets of spray still
slapped the faces of the weary crew but they were so exhausted that such
treatment had no power to keep them awake.

 “I believe you are
right,” the Captain croaked. He looked about his little vessel. The trim
fishing boat had gone and in its place a sorry sight limped across the sea.
Ropes and damaged spars trailed in the water. The mainmast was spilt so badly
that is could bear very little sail, despite being tightly frapped. The rowing
boat, nets and oars which had all been lashed to the deck, were gone and long
strands of kelp clung forlornly to what was left of the rigging.