The Sea Less Sailed
Chapter 2: The Spark
...
"This is all just a huge misunderstanding, I swear!"
The massive Viking currently lifting Garrett off the ground by the cusp of his tunic fumed with rage. With a grunt, he threw Garrett to the ground, eliciting a surprised yelp from the lean youth. With heavy footsteps, the mountain-of-a-man approached Garrett, a finger pointed at him accusingly.
"Listen 'ere, whelp. I got no time for yer games. Yer gonna tell me, right bloody now, how ya got that staff."
Garrett flopped on his back, hastily backing away in fright. Standing more than a foot over Garrett, the Viking sported a huge, blond beard, braided on the ends, and a large scar tracing over the right side of his face. The sun beat overhead, causing the ends of his beard to glow as if godlike. The Viking came closer still, a muscled arm drawing ever closer to the scabbard laced to his belt. Garrett held one hand up, attempting, and failing, to calm the man down.
'N-now, no n-need to be hasty, Bjorn, my friend. I can explain everything!"
Bjorn stopped, staring down right into Garrett's eyes. With a blur, he drew his sword and planted it firm in front of his throat, "Start talkin'."
Garrett gulped, his hand hovering cautiously near the blade at his neck. "S-so, you see, I-I was -"
"BJORN! WHAT IN HEL'S NAME IS GOIN' ON?"
The loud, interrupting voice startled Garrett, causing him to jolt upward and cut himself, shallowly, on the tip of the blade. He spun his head around, fearing even more retribution.
Another man, equally large and muscled as Bjorn came storming onto the dock, parting the steadily-growing crowd. A large axe hung from the man's back, the tip of the pommel brushing against the man's long, black hair. The crowd regarded him cautiously, and those that weren't pushed out of the way scattered fearfully. He seemed to radiate with authority. Or was that intimidation?
"Margreve, stay out of this!" Bjorn shouted at the newcomer.
Margreve strode right up to Bjorn, red in the face. He briefly glanced at Garrett, but quickly looked away in disinterest. He waved his arms up in the air, his long, braided moustache flowing in the cold breeze. "So you get to make all the judiciary decisions now, do ye? Why wasn't I told of this? I thought we had all agreed on equally distributing governmental authority!"
Bjorn leaned closer, almost spitting with rage, "I can make my own bloody decisions, damn it! I remember, under the code of law, that any man witness to a crime can legally perform a citizens' arrest. So, therefore, I don't need your… your permission!" He spat the last word out with disgust, raining spittle down on his enraged tribemate.
Garrett eyed the two, uncertain of his position. A crease of confusion steadily wove its way onto his expression. Is…is this a bad time?
Margreve shoved Bjorn back with both hands, nearly tripping the man up, "You won't need my permission for anything after a hearing is called and a fair, satisfactory punishment is arranged!"
At that, Bjorn yelled and lunged at Margreve, tackling him to the ground as they engaged in a brutal wrestling match. Garrett yelled, scuttling away from the brawling men. His back hit a support beam jutting up over the side of the dock, ocean spray from below wafting up and dampening his clothes.
The crowd gathered back towards shore began to cheer. Cries of "Go Bjorn!" and "Give it to em, Mar!" echoed off the cliffs of the harbor. Garrett stared in disdain as several other fist-fights began breaking out among the gathered, their cheers quickly turning into threats, "Bjorn's decisive! He should be in charge!" "Over my dead body!" "That can be arranged!"
Soon enough, swords and axes were drawn, and the clang of steel-on-steel reverberated through the air. The action even spread up the ramps and into the village proper as neighbors turned on each other, spurred on by the chaos of battle.
Garrett stared blankly. Was this really happening? Was he dreaming?
For sure, this is going on the 'Most unusual' list.
The two Vikings who started it all slammed into the planks near Garrett's feet, snapping him out of his confusion. Bjorn had pinned Margreve, desperately trying to drive a dagger through his chest. With incredible strength, Margreve flipped Bjorn over his head, resuming their lethal wrestling match.
Garrett followed their brawl, his voice weak, barely a whisper, "I… I can see that there's some, uh, tension here," he began to inch his way around the support beam, "So I think that this is the time to see myself out."
The tumbling men didn't even notice.
"Have a, uh, good day, I guess."
Not one of the politically-progressive Vikings noticed the splash Garrett made as he fell into the waves below.
A wet hand leapt out from the water, desperately grasping the rocky edge. Its fingers clenched as it pulled up the rest of the body's weight. Another hand emerged, taking on a similar role.
Garrett's sputtered, gasping for air as soon as his head broke the surface. He pulled himself up over the edge, flopping on his back and breathing deeply. His entire body felt numb and his muscles ached. Either everyone had lied when they told him working a ship would make you toned, or those waves were especially violent.
His body began to shiver when he sat up. Damn Nordic ocean. Why do these madmen live so far north?
Feeling the cold setting in, Garrett pushed himself to his feet, teeth chittering. He looked around, eying his surroundings.
The current had taken him south along the coast, around an outcropping of rock that blocked his view of the pier, although he could barely make out a soft orange glow emanating from the edge.
To his right, a cliff, to which his safe-rock belonged to, jutted up before him. A small ravine broke the cliff face in two, snaking its way inland. While it was wide enough to walk through, it certainly wouldn't be comfortable. To the south, the cliffs curved to the left and out of sight, leaving nothing to view except the expansive ocean.
Garrett shuddered. Nothing could ever be normal, could it? No matter what he did or where he went, people were always trying to change the world. And he always found a way to ruin it. Misfortune seemed to be intricately weaved into his life. If only Dad were still around…
Garrett shook his head. Now was not the time.
A strong wind blew past him, rustling his damp hair. With a sigh, he turned to the ravine and made his way inland, his clothes snagging on every bit of thin underbrush peeking out from the walls. The tight fit was no joke, he barely had room to squeeze in his shoulders.
On he went, his legs switching to autopilot. The ravine gradually began to widen, revealing thicker plant life. Overhead, the sky was beginning to glow a relaxing shade of orange as the sun dipped ever further towards the horizon. Garrett picked up the pace.
His mind began to wander as he walked. What would Dad do in this situation? Probably laugh it all off, the bastard.
Nothing was hard for him. Ever. He was always such a natural at whatever he did. One would think he was the luckiest man alive.
Why didn't Garrett inherit some of it? Selfish ass.
Garrett was only a small boy when his father took him out to live a life at sea. He never knew his mother; Dad didn't like to talk about it. His father loved the ocean, the feeling of the wind rushing past you as you tugged and tied at the rigging. He was never in a bad mood about anything, either. Garrett grudgingly remembered the times he was forced to suffer through his fathers' horribly out-of-tune singing. Every voyage was different, yet the same. They'd make port, deliver their cargo, and pick up a new shanty at the inn.
Then he'd sing it, over and over again, in a never-ending quest to perfect it. Even as storms raged across the sea, he was singing. Nothing could get him down.
It all ended quickly. And now here he was, alone. Well, except for a dragon.
Reminding himself of Saska was enough to snap him out of his reminiscing. He stood level with the trees now, the bottom of the ravine having gently inclined up to the surface. The thick trunks offered welcome shielding from the wind, alleviating some of the freezing pressure.
He began to wander aimlessly, hoping to spot any sign of his little dragon. He didn't yell out for her, in fear of attracting the attention of wandering predators, or worse, blood-crazed Vikings.
He paused as he approached the edge of a cliff. From here, he was able to see almost the entire island. On the other side, off to his right, rose a small ridge of low mountains, tapering off into even smaller foothills dominated by lush foliage. The island was primarily forest, save for a few clearings littered with tree stumps.
To his left, about a mile away, lay the thoroughly-on-fire Viking village. Garrett's eyes widened in surprise. That was fast.
A low, familiar rumbling sounded behind him in the tree line. He didn't even turn around.
"Saska, never underestimate the Viking aptitude for destruction."
He reached behind him and placed his hand on Saska's warm snout. He lowered himself down, aiming to sit down on a fallen trunk. "Thanks for showing up to help. I don't know what I'd have done without you," he said sarcastically.
Saska curled up around the trunk, wrapped her wings around him and crooned in concern at his wet clothes.
Garrett grinned, laughing gently at his dragons' attempts to tug off his tunic. He ran his hand over her forehead ridges, scratching affectionately. He turned his head back to the burning village, observing the carnage.
His eyes drifted to the docks down at the cliffs. His heart sank when he eyed the burning Viking fleet moored there.
His ship was on fire, too.
"Oh, son of A BITCH."
…
"Alright, so you know the plan, right girl?"
Saska growled in confirmation.
"Why don't I believe you?"
Her next growl was less certain.
Garret sighed. "Alright, one more time. While we were up on that cliff," he gestured up at the rock face they had been resting on, "We saw a separate group of ships tied down away from the threat of fire. What you'll do, is you'll fly over the village and get the Viking's attention. They probably still hate dragons so you- Saska!"
The dragon had lost interest, instead turning her attention to the burning village. Garrett had to yell and snap in her face to bring her back, "Damned lizard. Just… get their attention away from the docks, okay? Can you do that, your Majesty?"
Garrett could've sworn she rolled her eyes at him. He stepped back and shielded his eyes from dust as she pumped her wings down and took to the darkening sky.
"Ooookay, guess we're going, then."
He fumbled his way through the forest in a direction he hoped would take him to the village. Just follow the heat and glow, right? As he grew closer, he began to make out the yells and screams of the battling natives. Garrett noted their endurance with awe. Did attrition mean nothing to them?
He stepped behind a tree at the border of a clearing. Beyond it lay the first few buildings of the village, luckily untouched by the inferno. For now. The heat was already unbearable, and he was still a considerable distance from the flames. He caught a glance of Saska's silhouette fly through the smoke overhead, followed by a resounding roar. Followed by distant explosions.
Good 'ole Saska.
He sprinted across the clearing, ducking behind the wood hut and panting. He stepped to the corner and peeked his head around. A thin road extended to the left, where it snaked through more trees to the village proper. Seeing the coast was clear, he stepped out to the road.
He wasn't two steps in before the door of the hut burst open, producing two Viking men dueling to the death. One screamed at the other as he buried a massive battle-axe in the other's shield. Garrett screamed in surprise and took off running down the road, hoping to every god ever that he was unnoticed.
The forest path steadily began to fill itself with smoke as he made his way into the beginnings of the fire. Trees all around the path were engulfed, with burning limbs obstructing much of the path. He leapt over them, coughing all the way. He began passing burning houses and noticed several bodies piled up on top of each other in nearby yards. It seemed that the cries of battle had shifted from against one another to the threat of a dragon attack. Shouts of "Dragons!" and "The devils are back!" gradually filled the burning air.
Garrett approached an intersection, the left leading to the docks, and the right leading up to the village's great hall. He was forced to duck behind a pile of bodies gathered on the corner as a large group of voices approached from the left, "Get as many men as ya' can up to the siege weapons! I want those torches lit yesterday!"
Several men acknowledged this and quickened their pace down the road to his right. Garrett held his breath.
As they passed by, Garrett leaped from his hiding place and started to sprint down the left road. Before he could get his momentum, however, a meaty hand grabbed his collar and hoisted him off his feet, "An' where do ya' think yer goin'?"
Garrett's heart beat a million times a minute as he was spun around, coming face-to-face with his captor.
"Bjorn! So good to see you!" Garrett raised up is arms, feigning joy.
Before he could say another word, the man in question raised his arm and punched Garrett straight in the face, stars exploding over his vision. Bjorn leaned in closer, the smell of mead and victory thick in his breath, "Don't think I've forgotten about you, theif. I've got enough problems with the dragons as is, but yer worth the time."
Bjorn reached to his belt and drew his sword drawing it and hoisting it over his shoulder, ready to strike. He grinned, his jagged, uneven teeth drawing all attention from his face, "It's yer fault this all started, boy. Keep that in mind."
An explosion from behind blew Bjorn off his feet, a stray piece of wood slamming into the back of his head. His unconscious body fell on top of Garrett, eliciting a grunt from the scrawny youth. Saska flew overhead, completely smug. Garrett wasn't going to hear the end of this. He wormed his way out from under Bjorn, his breath rapid and shallow, and turned to run down the path. He made it several steps before hesitation.
He looked back to Bjorn's unconscious body sprawled out over the dirt and loose cobblestone. Strapped to his back was the very thing he came here for.
His mind was a blur, his body indecisive. One leg twitched to the left, to keep running. The other motioned to his prize. After several moments, temptation won out as he sprinted over to Bjorn. Fumbling with the straps, he finally managed to free the impressive staff. Not pausing for a second, he took off running down the path, and, in what must've been a new speed record, arrived at the now-abandoned docks.
Garrett sighed in relief. Perhaps Dads' luck was rubbing off, after all?
He sprinted through the burning planks to the side of the harbor yet to be engulfed in fire. He stumbled as he emerged from the fire, coughing and eyes stinging. He desperately searched around in his poor vision for a means of escape. The smoke was making it impossible for him to see more than 5 feet in front of him. He hugged the left edge of the dock, eventually coming upon a gangplank leading off the dock.
He scrambled over, tripped over the end, and fell onto the deck of a Viking longship. He grasped the railing and pulled himself up, untying the knots binding the ship to the harbor. Slowly, it began to drift away from the dock, but not fast enough to avoid the approaching flames. Garrett looked up, and realized in dismay that the sail was not unfurled. He sighed inwardly. Why would it be?
He ran to the mast, working the ropes with amateur hands and unfastening the sail. The wind caught it quickly, causing the ship to lurch towards the open ocean. Garrett took a deep breath, quickly becoming engulfed in a coughing fit, as he emerged from the thick smoke. Several minutes of coughing and ragged breathing passed as he lay there on his hands and knees. On the deck next to him sat the prized staff he spent so much effort to obtain.
It was an impressive work of craftsmanship, to be sure. Made of what seemed to be steel, the weapon was forked at one end, similar to a harpoon, with the rest of the body being wrapped in what Garrett was almost sure was dragon-skin. He could barely lift the damn thing, it being as tall as him and weighing even more.
He pushed himself up to stand, looking back at the rapidly disappearing island. The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, leaving a very dark blue sky as a background for the plume of fire and smoke reaching up to the heavens. He yelped, flinching as a large force slammed into the deck. He spun around and was met with a very wet, very concerned tongue exploring his face.
He dropped the staff onto the floor and raised his hands up to push off the dragon attack, "Saska, Saska, Saska! Okay! I'm fine!"
She ceased her licking and pressed her head into Garrett's chest, crooning softly. He ran his hand over her neck, "Good work up there, girl."
Saska backed off of Garrett turning her snout down to the staff lying in the deck and sniffing curiously. He crouched down, gliding a hand down the length of the weapon. He looked at Saska, a worm of worry burrowing into his stomach, "Let's hope that gold is worth it."
She growled uncertainly.
…
If it weren't for the abundance of furs he had found below deck, Garrett would surely have frozen to death by now. How did it manage to keep getting colder?
He sailed past wandering icebergs, his grip on the rudder like iron, his gaze never leaving the obstacles. To his fortune, Garrett had stumbled onto a smaller-sized longship back at the harbor, one with which he could solely rely on wind power to get him around. No oars required.
Silence filled the air as he navigated his way through the maze. Below deck, Saska napped happily. Garrett prayed they didn't search his ship. He was plainly aware of his employers' reputation with dragons.
From around ice formations in front of him, two small ships appeared, all manned by a great deal of men wearing white fur pelts. It was made obvious that Garrett was to follow closely.
The trio of vessels made their way through caves formed out of a single, massive iceberg. Garrett would've marveled at the sight had he not been fearing for his life.
They began passing more and more ships, some incredibly huge and reinforced with iron. All around him were men shouting orders at each other, the whole fleet anchored there a beehive of activity. They slowly sailed towards a single, gargantuan ship standing vigilant at the center of the formation. The two escorts at either side hemmed him in, restricting his movement to only forward.
As they approached what must've been the flagship, men on the escorts began yelling at him to stop. Garrett ran down to the main mast and began working with the ropes, quickly tying up the sail. A gangplank was thrown over the side of the ship to his left, connecting the two craft. Several armed men stormed aboard his ship, brandishing all sorts of horrifying weaponry. One man, sporting an unusual white bear fur and an equally confusing moustache approached him, his tone foreign and intimidating, "Come with us. Bring the staff."
Garrett retrieved the staff, sitting peacefully near the rudder, and boarded the other ship. He prayed more than he ever had that this wouldn't be his last time boarding a ship.
The gangplank was brought back aboard as they began approaching the flagship, quickly settling beside it. The size was incomparable. The sides of the ship could've fit two or three of these escorts within it, and that's not including the submerged sections. Several ropes were thrown over the sides of the massive vessel, with men on the escort scrambling to secure them in place. As they were pulled taught, the man who confronted Garrett turned once again towards him, "Climb," and gestured to the ladder ingrained on the side.
With the staff strapped to his back, Garrett began his ascent, nearly losing his grip several times, to the dismay of the men below him. He scrambled up and over the railings, landing on his feet with a thud. He waited for the following men to reach the deck, then was prodded forward none-too-kindly to the bow of the ship.
There, he found a large man with dark, braided hair and a black, flowing cape of dragon-skin standing over a table, observing a map. Several other men stood around the table as well, conversing with each other, but not with the dark-haired man.
One of the escorts held Garrett back, forcing him to stop. The man stepped in front and addressed the man at the table, "Sir, the merchant has arrived."
Without looking back, the dark-haired leader questioned the escort disinterestedly, "Did he bring what I want?"
The escort's voice seemed to quiver, "Yes, he did."
The leader, still not turning his gaze from the map, gestured with his hand to hand over the merchandise.
Before Garrett could react, the staff was torn from his back, the leather attaching it to him slashed. He spun around, a protest forming, then dying as a sword came up and hovered over his chest. He was quick to silence himself.
The man who took the staff tossed it towards the dark-haired leader, who caught it with one hand without looking. He stood up, admiring the staff. Garrett sat there in silence, a desperate urge to leave gnawing at him. After several moments, the man reached inside his vest and produced a pouch, which he threw back. It impacted on Garrett's chest, causing him to stumble backwards. Still without looking, the leader's deep, hoarse voice addressed him, "You're payment. Now leave."
His escorts spun him around, herding him back to the railing. He marveled at the pouch full of coin which he cradled against him. As shady as the job was, he was right to take it. This amount of gold would last him a good, long time. That's all that mattered, right?
Before he knew it, he was back aboard his ship and being yelled at again to turn it around and sail back the way he had come. With a reckless amount of speed, Garrett sailed out of the iceberg, grateful to be back out at sea.
He leaned to his right, closer to the floor, and yelled, "Saska! You still down there?"
He was met with an annoyed growl.
Garrett leaned back up, chuckling to himself as he steered the rudder. The sun was just beginning to set, a full week having passed since the events at the Viking village. He gazed out at the sunset, pondering over the quickest way to spend their pay.
"Good 'ole Saska."
…
Sup
As you might notice, my (weak) strength seems to lie in exposition, rather than POV. I guess that's part of the improving process, I guess.
Doesn't mean it doesn't suck.
Hope you guys enjoyed!
