Authoress's Note: Thank you for bearing with me and my writer's block over the past few months. I'm hoping to update more steadily.
The usual disclaimers apply.
Chapter the Forty-fifth: Stormfire
11 Sunbend 2076
The Archen fleet had continued East and a little North for about a week without sight of land, when one morning found Commodore Torin sweeping the Northern sky with evident concern. Lyra and Galen were enjoying the sunrise nearby, and the Narnian noticed the Archen officer's furrowed brow.
"Is anything wrong, Commodore?" Galen inquired.
"These fair days are at an end or I'm a landsman," Torin muttered in reply, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. Indeed, dark clouds gathered strength on the northern horizon and a cold gust of wind set the sails flapping and the timbers creaking.
"Take in everything but the courses!" He bellowed at last. "Signal the fleet to prepare for a storm."
Whistles and barked orders instantly set the ship's crew bustling. Some climbed aloft, while others ran to and fro fastening down everything on or below deck. Still others lit the lanterns and doused the galley fires.
"Keep our heading as Easterly as she will lie," Torin ordered the sailor at the helm, and the signal officer repeated the order to the other ships.
"How long will the storm last, Commodore?" The princess asked.
"It is hard to say, my lady," the seasoned officer answered. "If we can hold our course East, the storm will likely pass in a few hours. If, however, it drags us along as it moves South, it may be some days."
"What can I do to help?" Galen volunteered.
"Retire below deck, my lord, of your courtesy," Commodore Torin replied with a slight bow. "Your highness too, if I may beg your pardon. You will be safer there, and my men will need a clear deck to work through the storm."
"Of course, commodore," his sovereign deferred to his expertise.
"May Aslan watch over us all," Galen whispered as he looked at the approaching storm front and the tall masts of the Valiant and Huntress silhouetted darkly against it.
The two friends made their way down to the ship's library. Already, the ship pitched and rolled more aggressively through the waves, and the light streamed only dimly through the thick window. Lyra managed to light the lantern hanging from the beam, and after a moment it threw its warm, cheerful light against the storm's grey murk. Rain began to pelt against the window as the two settled into the library's comfortable chairs, which were mercifully nailed down to the deck. The small compartment made a cozy place to wait out the storm.
"Have you experienced many storms at sea, my lady?" The Narnian asked at last.
"Father and I were caught in one when I was little. We were coming home from the Seven Isles and it blew down out of Ettinsmoor," she answered. "The snow blew so thickly that we couldn't see the bowsprit from the quarterdeck," she shivered involuntarily.
"I remember those Ettinsmoor snowstorms," Galen chuckled. "They would come sweeping through the Shuddering Wood with such howls—I feared the White Witch was returning. But the ground didn't move beneath the house at least! I'd never want to weather one at sea."
"They are fearsome indeed, wherever you encounter them," Lyra laughed. "Did your parents assure you that the White Witch wasn't coming for you?"
"Oh yes," Galen nodded, gazing fondly out the window. "Mother would make up a pot of hot mulled cider and a batch of maple-sugar cookies—gingerbread if there'd been a recent raid on a Telmarine outpost. Father always wrapped me up in a blanket near the fire and told me stories of the Golden Age while we waited. Then we'd eat the treats together and sing carols—early Christmas (or second Christmas), Mother called it."
"Because if it's Christmas, the White Witch can't be back," Lyra guessed, her eyes twinkling in delight at the story.
"Indeed," Galen chuckled at the memory.
The ship shuddered and rolled as a wave caught the port quarter. Many running feet pounded against the deck above them in answer to an order they could not hear. With muffled creaks, the pumps began to work.
"Does it ever strike you as strange that you carry something that was once hers? You've held the same hilt—so have I," Lyra shuddered a little.
"And when she last held it, she cruelly slew our dear Lord," Galen finished quietly. "Aye, I have thought of it."
A moment passed in weighty silence, the wind and rain beating against the window as the ship continued to labor through the high waves.
"Yet it is the Witch's knife no more," her knight broke the silence with a thoughtful smile. "It represents at once the darkest night and the brightest dawn."
Four days later, the Jewel and her sisters still tossed on the heavy sea. After long hours snatching uneasy sleep in their cabins below, Galen and Lyra joined several off-duty officers in the wardroom. Many chewed slowly on cold biscuit or dried beef—the galley fires still could not be risked. For his part, the poor Narnian was too green around the gills to stomach even that little food.
"How fares the ship, Commander?" His lady asked the first officer.
"We've had to heave-to, my lady, to keep from being driven along," Randolph answered wearily. "And Huntress is sheltering under our lee, else she'd be blown miles off. The sailors are doing as well as they can. Thankfully we've managed in shifts so far. Some of the spars are cracked, and the jibs are blown to ribbons, but the ship is in one piece yet."
"We are grateful for your efforts, Commander," his sovereign answered solemnly.
"Commodore Torin hopes the storm may break in a few hours. We will see," the first officer concluded, standing. "By your leave, my lady," he bowed before pulling his cloak around him and stepping back out into the storm.
Some time later, Galen stood uneasily by the window. His lady sat nearby, trying unsuccessfully to read a book as the ship rolled terribly.
"This is an evil storm, my lady," he murmured.
Suddenly, they heard panicked shouts from the deck. A sickly yellow-green light filled the wardroom, and the wind shrieked with a high-pitched rushing whistle.
"What is that?" Lyra exclaimed, covering her ears.
"Aslan's mane," the second officer's eyes went wide. "Get down, your highness! Now!"
Without explanation, Barstowe seized his sovereign's hand and pulled her under the table. Galen promptly followed his example.
"Cover your head! Quick!" The Archen officer hissed as the shrieking whistle intensified. The thick windowpanes burst in a terrific crash, and a hail of wind-propelled glass stuck in the wood paneling, the upholstery, and the table.
The Narnian thought his ears would burst from the air's pressure, and the ship shuddered as crashes and a hideously unnatural creaking sound reached their ears. The sounds dissipated after a few moments, giving way to shouted orders and the muffled groans of injured men.
"Are you alright, Lyra?" Galen asked with concern as they emerged from beneath the table.
"Aye, I think so," she answered breathlessly. "What on earth was that?"
"Waterspout, your highness," Barstowe panted, cradling his left arm as he pulled himself out from beneath the table. "I encountered one once on the Intrepid."
With a shuddering breath, he leaned back against the battered wall, and the princess looked down to see a large shard of glass impaling the officer's forearm.
"Galen, could you bring my kit, please?" She asked, concern coloring her voice as she kneeled beside the unfortunate second officer.
"Of course, my lady," her knight promptly answered and made for the main deck.
A dreadful sight met him there. Broken spars, frayed rope, and shreds of sail littered the deck, and many sailors lay stunned or wounded with pieces of their own ship. Long, sharp splinters were even driven into the side rails. But the state of the masts took the Narnian's breath away. The recently repaired foretopmast was completely gone, and its remains formed a tangled nest of spars and ropes that hung limply off the side of the ship and impeded the ship's way through the water. The remainder of the foremast was half its usual height. The mainmast and mizzenmast were completely twisted—the wood grain corkscrewed around and frayed like the fibers of a rope. Their frayed supporting ropes blew limply in the wind and what few spars were left hung at strange angles. Sailors worked frantically to restore the supports and keep the masts from breaking altogether. Galen managed to tear himself away from the destruction and hastened to retrieve his friend's medical bag.
When he returned, Lyra was carefully tearing Barstowe's sleeve away from the wound. After placing the hand of his injured arm on her own shoulder, she pressed her left hand hard against the unfortunate officer's shoulder to keep him steady.
"Hold fast," she cautioned, then began to ease the glass from his arm. Barstowe cried out through gritted teeth and clenched his hand as he struggled to keep his injured arm still. Galen could not help wincing as he watched his lady succeed in removing the blood-covered glass shard. The second officer breathed in relief as she tossed the glass away and pressed a napkin to the wound.
"Thank you, Galen," she smiled as he gave her the requested kit. "Here—keep pressure on it for a moment."
The Narnian took the officer's arm as his lady readied silk thread and a bandage. With his help, she dressed the wound in short order.
"There are many wounded, my lady," Galen spoke with concern.
"Very well," she answered grimly, then stood and followed him to the deck. "Dear Aslan," the princess breathed as she stepped out onto the main deck and surveyed the damage. At that moment, sailors succeeded in cutting away the tangled wreckage of the foretopmast. The ship jerked away as the pressure released and then began to move more naturally through the waves. It still heaved on the heavy sea, but the pair managed to climb to the quarterdeck. The storm clouds had resumed their grey hue, and only light rain fell now.
"One, two, heave!" Randolph bellowed. A heavy yardarm pinned Commodore Torin to the deck, and four sailors strained to lift it.
"Over here, your highness!" Lieutenant Finnegan called, and the princess hastened to the other side of the quarterdeck while Galen joined in the effort to move the yardarm pinning the commodore. Finnegan was tending a young helmsman, who lay senseless with blood streaking his face, hands, and back.
"He kept the ship from hitting Huntress, my lady," Finnegan admired.
"But he paid for it," his sovereign finished, examining the injuries.
A cheer came from the other side of the quarterdeck as the sailors and their Narnian passenger at last managed to move the yardarm off the Jewel's commanding officer.
"Take him to sickbay, lieutenant," the princess stood, "he's had the wind knocked out of him and fallen afoul of some splinters, but he'll be alright."
Then she hastened to Torin's side. The seasoned officer labored to breathe.
"It—it's my leg, your highness," he stammered, and she began to feel for the break she surmised was responsible. He groaned pitifully as she found it.
"Hold still, my old friend," she spoke soothingly as she worked to stabilize the injury.
"We're fortunate the waterspout only passed by on the port side," he panted.
"Fortunate, indeed," she murmured wryly.
At the same time, Randolph began barking orders to keep the ship steady. The tortured masts creaked wildly as sailors worked to replace the ropes that supported them. Galen looked off to starboard, and he could see Huntress bobbing over the waves nearby. Her upper works hung at odd angles, but she seemed relatively unharmed. Valiant stood further off and ahead. As Galen watched her labor over the waves, he could see the top of the Valiant's masts and the tips of her spars begin to glow blue as though lit with blue flames.
"What in the world?" He marveled. "Commander, look!" The Narnian pointed, and the first officer joined him quickly.
"Ah, Stormfire," he observed with evident relief. "That is well—it comes now and then at the end of storms. I pray it means the end of this storm is near."
Galen nodded, then pulled himself from the strange phenomenon to see how Lyra was doing with Torin. At that moment, a blinding flash and deafening roar of thunder tore through the air.
"Valiant is hit!" Someone exclaimed nearby.
Indeed, Galen could make out clearly, even at this distance, that the lightning strike split Valiant's mainmast down to its base. Yellow flames licked the dry wood, and sailors ran back and forth on her deck to extinguish the fire the lightning strike left behind. But the Stormfire did not herald wrongly—in a little while the sky began to lighten as the golden rays of sunset burst through at the horizon to play with the shadows at the storm's retreating edge. The Jewel's remaining masts shuddered and groaned with each wave, but little by little the deck began to regain some normalcy as the sailors cleared away the wreckage. Lyra managed a makeshift splint to keep Torin's leg immobile long enough to take him below to set it properly, and presently several sailors lifted their commanding officer down to his cabin.
Galen stayed on deck to help with the clean-up, and Commander Randolph continued the orders necessary to keep the ship together. In a little while, Torin sent for his first officer, who invited the Narnian to join him. As they entered, a sailor was sweeping up shards from the ruined window, which a double layer of sailcloth now covered. The commodore rested against the pillows of his bunk while Lyra carefully propped up his heavily splinted leg. Nearby, a medic busily stowed his supplies, and the commodore's steward lit lamps that threw a warm, cheerful glow through the cabin.
"How fares the ship, commander?" Torin inquired wearily.
"The ship is badly wounded, sir," Randolph sighed. "The masts won't last long, and we can't carry much sail on them. And Valiant has even less time than us—she reports a crack in her hull in addition to the split mainmast. Huntress made out alright, though. She's going to scout ahead for land."
"Valiant's hull—how manageable is the crack?"
"They're patching it and keeping the pumps going—that should keep her afloat for a while at least. And her foremast and mizzenmast can still carry full sail."
"Good," Torin nodded. "Can we jury-rig our foremast?"
"We'll know better after dawn, but I think so."
"Very well. What casualties?" The injured officer saved the worst of his questions for last.
"Three sailors fell to their deaths from the mainmast. Another is missing and presumed lost. Ten sailors are seriously wounded. Over fifty others are injured, including you and Commander Barstowe," Randolph answered quietly. His commanding officer did not respond immediately and passed a weary hand over his face.
"I'll be on deck for the funerals, but you're in command for a while, I'm afraid, Jim," Torin spoke ruefully at last.
"Don't worry, cap'n," Randolph patted his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll keep her together."
The following afternoon, Huntress returned with news that it spotted an island on the horizon, about two days away at the Jewel's limping speed. A relieved Commander Randolph gave the order for the fleet to alter course. Huntress, however, hurried ahead of the fleet to scout out a suitable anchorage for her wounded sisters. At Commodore Torin's request, Lyra and Galen embarked with her. Huntress's captain lost no time once his passengers were aboard; as soon as the Jewel's quarterboat pushed away from the sloop-of-war's side, he ordered all sail set, and the ship fairly flew through the waves.
"You have a fine ship, Captain Scott," the Narnian complemented as he and his lady stood on the quarterdeck of the fleet-footed warship. "It is a pleasure to sail with you again."
"The pleasure is ours," the Huntress's commander returned warmly, glancing to where the princess's standard flew beneath the Archen flag. The sloop's crew also noted its presence with evident pride.
"Captain," Lyra began, "may I ask your frank opinion of the other ships' states? It concerns me that the commodore insisted I transfer my flag."
The bright-eyed officer considered a moment.
"Our sister-ships are badly damaged, indeed, but from what I know, I think it more likely the commodore thought the Huntress better able to protect you, your highness," Scott answered. "And it is also likely he considered the potential need to negotiate with any inhabitants on the island—just because the previous islands have been uninhabited does not mean that every island will be so."
"Fair enough, captain, thank you," his sovereign nodded. "When will we make the island?"
Scott took a moment to consult the chart at the binnacle.
"With this wind, we will likely raise the island before dawn," he predicted.
The Huntress's captain proved an accurate navigator. The sloop sped over the waves through the night, and the ship sighted the island a few hours before dawn. First light found the Huntress anchored snugly in a wide, smooth bay. The low island showed a wide sandy beach and a glimpse of trees beyond it. As was their custom, the two friends stood together near the stern rail and watched the dawn creep across the sky. In the peaceful moment, Lyra noticed her knight smiling broadly.
"What is it, Galen?" His lady asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Birdsong," the Narnian answered, delight in his voice. "The last birdsong I heard was," he paused to calculate, "the day before the dragon attack on the Lone Islands. Just over a month ago."
"It feels an age ago," she mused. "And what is yet to come?"
"Your highness," Captain Scott's voice broke her reverie, "The landing party is about to embark, if you would like to join them."
"I would indeed, captain," the princess responded with a smile, and she and her Narnian friend joined the waiting marines.
Huntress's skiff made several trips to ferry the substantial landing party to the beach. In addition to the marine contingent, several naval masters and their apprentices accompanied them to assess the island's raw materials for use in repairing the fleet. In short order, the party began to move inland, striking a path that led up from the beach. It was well kept, with lovely saplings lining each side at regular intervals. In a few years' time, the trees would grow enough to shade the path pleasantly.
"It seems that your diplomatic abilities may be needed after all, my lady," Galen remarked as they walked.
"It would seem so," his lady murmured in reply. "I wonder what sort of people live here. This path is somewhat new, I think," she nodded towards the surrounding forest, which seemed wild indeed compared to the well-tended path.
As they continued, they noticed gardening tools scattered beside the path. An axe lay beside a half-felled tree at the forest's edge, a hand trowel was flung next to a wooden box full of flowers near one of the saplings, and a long, pointed cap lay sadly forgotten on the path. Lyra picked it up as they passed and scrutinized it.
"It seems small," she puzzled. "Perhaps a child lost it?"
"Or a dwarf," the Narnian observed.
"Our arrival has not been overlooked, my lady," the Huntress's first officer, who led the landing party, concluded. "We have frightened some poor gardeners, I think."
"Indeed, Commander Tremain," the Archen princess concurred, her brow furrowed. "We are a large party, after all."
"If I may, your highness," the Archen officer suggested, "perhaps we might divide into smaller parties that can explore the island in sections and identify necessary resources for repairing the fleet. In the meantime, a smaller party might prove less threatening to establish contact with the inhabitants."
"Very well, commander," his sovereign agreed. "My escort and I will continue on and seek the elusive gardeners. I trust you can arrange the exploration parties without my interference."
"Of course, your highness," Huntress's first officer bowed, "but by my lady's leave, I will join your escort momentarily."
Lyra nodded, and presently smaller groups of sailors and marines departed in various directions to survey the island. Commander Tremain joined Captain Anderson and the princess's faithful marine escort as Lyra and her Narnian friend continued along the path. A few minutes' walk brought a long, low grey house into view. It seemed utterly deserted but for the smoke rising from a chimney.
"A charming house in the middle of this remote wilderness?" The marine officer puzzled as they entered the courtyard. "What kind of people would live here? Build such a place?
"Well, we could always knock and find out," the Narnian suggested with a wry twinkle in his eyes.
The princess nodded, and they approached the door. Anderson, ever the marine, pounded resoundingly on its heavy wood. The sound reverberated through the courtyard, but only silence answered.
"Though I appreciate your military enthusiasm, captain," Lyra chided softly, "perhaps next time you might make it sound less like we've come to conquer the house."
Her faithful protector looked down guiltily. In the corner of his eye, Galen caught movement in the nearby windows.
"They're there, my lady," he whispered.
"Knock again, captain," his lady spoke steadily.
This time, the marines' commander knocked in a more civilian manner.
"We are travelers from afar come in peace and friendship," the princess added, raising her voice to reach the inhabitants sheltering behind the curtains.
The curtains rustled again, but the door did not move. Captain Anderson knocked again. At last, the door swung open with a great creak, revealing a wizened man in red robes. His white hair stuck up in all directions, and he wore no shoes. He stared at them with bleary eyes.
"Good morn, friend," Lyra began pleasantly, but the old man interrupted her abruptly.
"Those who come in peace and friendship would do well not to call at such an early hour," he growled. "What do you want? You've frightened my servants."
"You have our apologies, sir," the Archen princess answered coolly. "Your servants need have no fear of us. We are travelers from far away—"
"Very far, indeed," the strange man interrupted, his eyes glistening brightly. Galen could not quite make out whether his calculating gaze held malice or simply dislike. "Archenlanders and a Narnian," he spoke evenly, looking pointedly at Galen.
The young knight exchanged a wary glance with his lady. Though the party's Archen origin was readily apparent from their uniforms, the Narnian himself wore nothing to betray his own nationality. Satisfaction reflected briefly in the old man's countenance before he continued.
"Leave my island at once," the man sharply demanded.
"Have a care to properly address her highness the princess of Archenland," Commander Tremain responded dangerously, his hand moving to his sword hilt.
But the house's owner laughed cynically.
"Your highness," he swept an exaggerated bow, "leave my island at once."
"I would be overjoyed to quit your island, sir," Lyra drew herself up proudly, "but our sister ships require repair. We invite you to negotiate fair terms for the supplies we require; otherwise, we will be pleased to avoid your company as we see to our own needs."
"Oh, indeed?" The old man leaned forward menacingly. "What makes her highness think she has a choice in the matter?" His eyes glittered malevolently now.
The two officers beside her drew their swords, and their sovereign did not rebuke them. Though he held no weapon, the aged man felt very dangerous indeed. In silence they stared at each other. He seemed to loom over them now, and the air of the hallway behind him seemed to darken. Galen gripped his sword hilt tightly, and the subtle movement caught the old man's eye. His gaze lingered on the hilt's distinctive sapphire, and the young knight thought he saw some flicker of recognition in the stranger's face. The wizened man's dangerous gaze moved from the sword hilt to its owner's face, and the Narnian met his look firmly. To his surprise, the old man's burning eyes shifted and looked away. The spell was broken, and the world began to breathe again.
"Take what you need to repair your ships, princess," he refocused his gaze hard upon Lyra. "But stay away from my house and my servants. Be grateful that Aslan protects your company," he snarled. "I may not do you harm, but I need not and will not aid you."
With these cryptic words, he slammed the door shut, and they heard a bolt thrown into place. The Huntress's party looked at each other in stunned silence.
"Let us return to the ship," Lyra spoke at last, her voice thick. Those who had drawn their swords sheathed them quietly. Murmuring softly among themselves, the group began the walk back to the beach. They reached it soon, to everyone's unspoken relief, and returned to the Huntress. Lyra sought out the captain almost as soon as her boots touched the deck.
"Welcome back, your highness," Captain Scott greeted pleasantly as she, Galen, and the two officers joined him in the wardroom.
"Thank you, captain," she answered as she took a seat and nodded her thanks to the captain's attentive steward, who promptly poured welcome cups of tea for her and her companions. "We bring a curious report, I'm afraid. Our begrudging host is a strange old man—alone, it seems, but for a few shy servants. Yet, he seems fell indeed."
"Some manner of wizard, I think," Galen added, and Commander Tremain nodded his agreement.
"Is he hostile?" Scott asked, leaning forward. Lyra and her Narnian friend glanced at each other briefly.
"Yes and no," the young knight replied. "He bears us great hostility, but he also seems to fear Aslan. He could see that we came with Aslan's blessing and dared not harm us."
"All the same," the princess added, "I think it wise if we seek an anchorage further away from his house."
"Very well, my lady," Captain Scott agreed. After giving orders to leave word for the shore parties, he set the Huntress to sail around the island and survey its coast.
Lyra and Galen spent most of the day watching the wild, forested shoreline slip by. As a young navigator's mate sketched the island's contours nearby, the two friends pondered the morning's encounter with quiet voices.
By evening, the Huntress retrieved the shore parties and anchored in a deep bay on the western side of the island. A moderate cliff rose from the peninsula framing the northern side of the bay, but the height softened into a wide beach that arched to the south in a gentle curve. A wild oak and pine forest stretched beyond the beach, and a scouting party could find no sign that the island's inhabitants frequented it. A good spring on the highland fed a clear, rushing stream that wound through the forest from the height to the sand.
Over the following day, the Huntress's industrious crew built a camp and began clearing timber suitable to repair the ships. Several crewmen kept watch at the highest point of the cliff, where the peninsula enabled them to sweep a large portion of the western horizon. At sunset, the lookouts reported sails. Huntress made quick sail to intercept them, and within a few hours guided her wounded sisters to safe anchorage. The next morning repairs began in earnest.
Authoress's Note: Thank you for reading! The particularly intriguing natural phenomenon that Commander Randolph called Stormfire is known in our world as St. Elmo's fire. It happens in certain atmospheric electrical fields, usually related to a thunderstorm or volcanic eruption. Sailors sometimes regarded it as a good omen, but it can also warn of an imminent lightning strike. Next up, the ships begin their repairs and we learn more about our curious host. Perhaps you recognize him already.