The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (24 page)

 “Where are we?”
Celedorn asked.

 The Captain shook his
head. “I don’t know. For three days now we have been driven to the north-west.
The only land in that direction is the Isles of Kelendore but I’m pretty sure
we have missed them and are now further north than I have ever been before. The
Forsaken Lands lie somewhere to the east of us but how far, I have no way of
knowing. The only spot of civilisation on that coast is the Island of Sirkris,
but it’s so small it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If I
could get a sight of land, I would have something to go on but until then, all
we can do is set up a jury mast and try to veer in a more easterly direction.
If the wind continues to drop we might risk a bit of sail this afternoon.”

  He looked at his crew
sprawled asleep at all angles on the wet deck. Elorin was curled up in a corner
with a rope around her waist securely tied to a ringbolt. Her dark hair was
plastered over her face concealing it from view.

 “It looks like only you
and I will be fit to carry out repairs,” he observed, “and yet you have been
fighting with that tiller more than anyone. I don’t think we could have managed
without you.” He grinned tiredly and added. “Even if you don’t know anything
about the sea.”

 “I’m learning fast,”
replied Celedorn, unperturbed.

 “I knew from the moment
I saw you that you were no merchant - and no seaman either. If I’m not
mistaken, you live by that,” he said, pointing to Celedorn’s sword.

 Celedorn met the faded
blue eyes frankly. “Your guess is correct. I live by my sword. Not a very
honourable profession.”

 “You’ll get no
condemnation from me,” his companion informed him firmly. “I take a man as I
find him.” His gaze fell on Elorin. “She’s not your sister, is she?”

 Celedorn shook his
head.

 “Well, just you make
sure you take care of her. She’s a nice lass.”

 Celedorn snorted
derisively. “She’s a hot-headed, disobedient load of trouble.”

 The Captain laughed.
“All the best ones are.”

  The respite was
short-lived. When the seas moderated from mountainous to merely rough, the crew
used the opportunity to make what repairs they could. The cabin was bailed out
but the bedding could not be dried, as the deck was still washed with spray and
deluges of rain which plummeted down from time to time. The Captain, still
unsure of their position, set out containers to catch the fresh water to be
stored against an emergency. Most of the supplies of food had been ruined when
sea-water had got into the cabin. Elorin managed to find some flour that had
remained intact in a sealed jar and once the galley stove had been relit, baked
some bread for the hungry crew. The men were glad of the sustenance for they
had a difficult task ahead of them, trying to repair the rigging and clear away
the debris in the heaving sea. By dusk, the little ship was looking less of a
wreck and more of a viable proposition. The Captain had managed to raise a
small sail and she was soon scudding across the iron-grey waves, still driven
to the north-west by the pugnacious wind. However, just before night descended,
the wind dropped off a little before backing round to the south-west. The
sailors, instead of looking pleased, looked even more grave.

 “What’s the matter?”
Celedorn asked, perplexed by their attitude. “Surely this will bring us back to
the shore?”

 “Aye, it will. A lee
shore, with a blow like this behind us, is not a pretty proposition. It looks
like we’ve missed the Isles of Kelendore. I would guess that we’ve come too far
northwards. We’re probably north of Sirkris as well, and that means that we
face an unknown part of the coast of the Forsaken Lands. Not a place where one
would wish to be shipwrecked.”

 “Will it come to that?”

 “Not if this wind dies
down by morning. Trouble is, I don’t know how far out from land we are. With
the mast split like this, I cannot manoeuvre, but must run before the wind, and
if it keeps on as it is, it will drive us onto the rocks of the Forsaken Lands
for sure. Our only hope is Sirkris, but it lies so close to the coast of the
Forsaken Lands that it is dangerous to approach when a south-westerly is
blowing. It’s rare for the winds to back to that quarter.” He looked anxiously
up at the scurrying clouds. “The Destroyer is in the sky these days.”

 Celedorn said nothing
of this conversation to Elorin, but he didn’t need to, because she was well
aware of their peril. She sat shivering on deck, her dark hair pasted to her
face by the rain, her eyes staring over the bow for hour after hour, searching
for the tell-tale sign of white surf, until darkness fell, blotting out the
desolate scene. Still her eyes searched the darkness, until fear and cold could
keep them open no longer.

 In the dark hours just
before dawn, she awoke from an uneasy doze. Nothing appeared to have changed.
The blackness was complete. The wind still howled in the rigging and the ship
pitched and rolled in the turbulent waves. Celedorn, who had spent most of the
night wrestling with the recalcitrant tiller, was sitting beside her, his head
hanging forward with fatigue. She shivered again, chilled to the bone by being
constantly in wet clothes, but she was nevertheless alert, convinced that
something unusual had awoken her. Then she heard it again. Over the howl of the
wind and roar of the waves, she heard a booming noise. She listened intently.
It came again: louder this time. With a stab of fear, she recognised what it
was. She leapt to her feet and scrambling along the deck, reached the Captain
at the tiller.

 “Surf!” she shrieked
over the storm. “I hear surf breaking on rocks up ahead!”

 The Captain kicked his
companions awake. “Rocks are near!” he thundered. “Quick! Can you see
anything?”

 They needed no urging
but scattered around the ship, tiredness forgotten. One ascended several feet
up the injured mast. Celedorn hung dangerously over the side. All frantically
scanning the darkness in every direction. The booming noise could now clearly
be heard over the gale, coming from somewhere up ahead. The sailor up the mast
caught the white gleam of tumbled surf in the darkness and let out a terrified
yell of alarm.

 “Hard to port!” he
bawled.

 The Captain heaved the
tiller over with all his might but it was too late. With a mighty jolt that
threw them all to the deck, the little vessel struck the rocks. The waves
thundering in behind her, lifted her and heaved her higher onto the wicked
black teeth, to the accompaniment of a horrible rending sound which was the
death cry of the ship.

 “She’s done for!”
someone screamed.

 Celedorn caught the
Captain’s arm in a fierce grip. “Is this the coast or just an isolated rock?”

 “I don’t know....”
before he could finish, a mighty wave curled over the stern of the little ship
and broke on her deck, nearly sweeping them both away. When the Captain fought
his head clear of the water, he shouted: “It’s too dark to tell where we are.
There’s no hope of getting her off. She’s going to break to pieces with the
pounding she’s getting.”

 Celedorn scanned the
seething deck and all at once a cold stab of fear shot through him.

 “Where’s Elorin?”

 “I last saw her in the
bow!”

 One glance assured
Celedorn that she was not there now. He darted into the cabin but it too was
empty. The dreadful truth dawned on him. In his mind’s eye he saw her leaning
out over the bows, scanning the sea. When the ship struck the rocks with such
terrible force, she must have been flung into the sea.

 Pandemonium reigned on
deck with everyone running in different directions and he knew he could expect
no help. Coming swiftly to a decision, he lifted an empty wooden cask from the
deck and tied a rope tightly around it, then getting a powerful grip on the
rope, he lifted the cask in his arms and deliberately leaped into the sea.

 Down the thundering
waves dragged him, suffocating him in their pristine white embrace. He could
hear only the roar of  his own ears. His eyes were blinded with foam and
the power that grasped him held him down for so long he was sure he was going
to drown. But he held grimly to the cask and finally surfaced, gasping for
breath. A huge wave picked him up with the ease of a piece of driftwood and
hurled him forward on its crest at truly terrifying speed. It hunched its
powerful shoulders, streaming spume in the wind and drove for a gap in the
jagged teeth of stone. Celedorn clung desperately to the cask, aware that if he
got caught in the rebound from the rocks, he would be dashed to pieces. But the
monster wave overrode its smaller cousins and hurled him through the gap before
disintegrating in a cataract of white foam.

 When Celedorn surfaced,
he found himself in the slightly calmer waters protected by the black reef. The
first threads of a grey and cheerless dawn revealed a wave-lashed coast ahead
of him and he kicked vigorously for shore. As soon as his feet touched the
bottom, he dragged himself onto the stony beach and fell like one dead, just
out of reach of the waves. He retched with the seawater he had swallowed and
tried to calm the shuddering gasps for air that still wracked him. When his
breathing calmed, he struggled to his feet, his fear, which his fight for
survival had momentarily suppressed, reawakening. 

 Of the ship there was
no sign. He could now, in the grey morning light, clearly see the waves
crashing on the jagged reef, but there was no evidence of human presence at
all: not a plank, not a rope. There were several gaps in the reef where the
waves surged through unbroken, like great sea-serpents, their backs sleek,
their manes dazzling white. The reef stretched across the bay from headland to
headland, encompassing the dismal beach where he stood and a stretch of choppy
grey water.

 His keen eyes probed
the bay, searching for sign of survivors - yet desperate to see only one.

 Suddenly he saw
something - a small black shape wallowing between the choppy waves. Swiftly he
shed his boots and scabbard and waded into the sea. Several long, powerful
strokes brought him beside the floating body. He had known even before he
entered the water who it was, and hope collided against fear as violently as the
waves against the reef, as he turned the unconscious form over. Elorin gave no
sign of life. Her eyes were closed, her face was white. He hooked his hand
under her chin and began the laborious struggle to get back to shore. With the
last of his strength, he dragged her up onto the beach beyond the waves and
bent anxiously over her.

 Her face was deathly.
She did not appear to be breathing but when he pressed his fingers against her
throat he thought he detected a faint pulse.

 He turned her over onto
her face and went to work on her, heaving against her ribs, forcing the water
out of her lungs. He muttered under his breath as he worked, unaware that he
was speaking. “Don’t give up, you little fool. Fight, damn you, fight!”

 Suddenly she gave a
little choke. He rolled her over and shook her.

 “Elorin,” he urged.
“Open your eyes. You are safe now, just open your eyes.”

 She choked again and he
raised her up, supporting her in his arms, so relieved that he neither knew nor
cared that the rain still lashed down upon them.

 She opened her eyes,
staring at him without recognition for a moment.

 “Celedorn,” she gasped,
“What happened? Where am I?”

 “You fell into the sea
when the ship struck the rocks. We are now, once again, marooned on the coast
of the Forsaken Lands.”

 “Where exactly?”

 “I have no idea. But at
least it is solid ground. If I never see another boat again it will be too
soon.” As her eyes were showing a tendency to close again, he added sharply:
“You can’t go to sleep here or you will die of cold. Can you stand? We must
find some shelter.”

 She nodded a little
doubtfully but allowed him to help her to her feet. She stood swaying a little,
holding on to his arm for support and looking at her surroundings with
disfavour.

 “I don’t think I care
for the accommodation,” she remarked sourly, looking at the rain-lashed beach
and dripping forest beyond.

 The shadow of a smile
crossed his face and he picked up his sword and boots, remarking approvingly:
“That’s more like it. Now let’s get off this God-forsaken beach.”

 But as he turned to go,
she suddenly seized his shoulder.

 “
The others
!
Celedorn, where are the others!”

 He hesitated. “I found
only you. I jumped into the sea immediately after you and was swept ashore but
I think the others stayed too long with the ship and went down with her.

 “No,” she groaned,
closing her eyes. “They were so kind to us. They cannot all have drowned.”

 He looked at her with
unaccustomed compassion. “Perhaps they were swept along to another part of the
coast,” he suggested, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. “Come,”
he said gently, “we must go.”

 With a final haggard
glance at the tumbled sea, she turned and followed him into the trees.

 They entered a
miserable little wood of ash and elder trees stunted by the prevailing winds,
their flattened tops bearing witness to the strength of the elements. No mighty
oaks or beeches grew here. The thin branches dripped water onto the
moss-covered ground, providing no shelter whatsoever. The trees nearest the
coast tossed and writhed, tormented by the wind but as they penetrated deeper
inland the power of the wind declined.

 Yet still it rained,
lashing down upon them like a punishment. Soon they were both shivering
violently, water streaming from hair and clothes.

 “I have flints in my
pocket,” Celedorn told her, “but everything is so wet there is no possibility
of starting a fire. There are no caves and no trees large enough to provide
shelter in this accursed hole of a place. All we can do is to keep heading
southwards.”

 “We....we have n-no
food either,” Elorin stammered between chattering teeth.

 “No. If only this rain
would stop.” He looked up at the patch of sky visible between the lachrymose
trees but it was grey and bleak, loaded with a seemingly inexhaustible supply
of rain.

 By late afternoon they
still had not cleared the dismal wood. The ground had begun to rise and not far
ahead of them, a round hill thrust its bald crown above the encircling fringe
of trees. Celedorn guided Elorin into the only shelter they could find - a hole
left in a bank when a tree had fallen victim to the storm, pulling out its
roots as it fell.

 “Wait here,” he
commanded, rain coursing down his face. “I’m going to climb to the top of that
hill to try and get my bearings. Just stay here until I come back.”

 She nodded and sat down
in the meagre shelter. He soon vanished from sight amongst the trees and after
a short while reached the base of the hill. It was a steep and slippery climb
but when he emerged from the trees onto the grassy summit, he was provided with
a panoramic view of the forest below and the rocky coast about half a mile
away. The sea still fought with the coast, hurling itself against the rocks,
but out on the horizon a shaft of light escaped from the clouds and turned the
restless surface to crumpled, shining metal. The mist of sea-spray and rain
began to lift, catching up is silver skirts towards the clouds, and as it did
so, it revealed something that it had hidden before. Far along the coast,
beyond many projecting headlands, in the hazy distance Celedorn saw something
he recognised - the Island of Sirkris.