Sir Apropos - Tong Lashing Part 5

This time around, however, they were all dressed in black. They were smiling, though. It seemed to be some sort of bizarre combination of funeral and banquet.

I wandered through the crowded hall, drawing no looks or conversation. It was as if I wasn't there.

That figured somehow. To be a nonent.i.ty even in a figment of one's own imagination.

People were crowding in around a table and I pushed through to see what they were looking at.

I saw myself lying in the table, done up like a prize pig for the slaughter. I was on my stomach, my eyes dead and glazed. For that matter, the rest of me was glazed as well, cooked to perfection. I had an apple in my mouth. Sharee was standing there with a large fork and carving knife, preparing to slice me up. Others were leaning in with plates and eager expressions.

I awoke into daylight and realized I no longer knew for a certainty how long I'd been floating out there.

I wondered how long it took for the human body to turn on itself, to start devouring itself when there was no other means of sustenance around. I thought I'd heard somewhere that two weeks was the maximum.

I brought the water skin to my lips, not without effort, to eke out my meager rationing.

There was nothing in it.

Delicacy gave way to franticness, and I shook the skin desperately, trying to obtain a few more drops of moisture. Nothing. Bone dry. I'd finished it. I was finished. However long one could survive without food, I knew that continued existence without water was an impossibility.

Water, water everywhere, but none to quench the thirst of Apropos. More irony. I was getting well and truly sick of irony. I twisted around, bringing myself to a sitting position, ready to toss the water skin into the ocean and myself along with it.

Then I saw it.

I stared long and hard, thinking that perhaps this was an illusion of some sort. Then I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

It was land. Far distant, and not directly to the east, but more to the northeast. It was large, whatever it was. Not a simple, small island, but something more substantial.

With newfound strength invigorating my exhausted limbs, I grabbed my sheathed sword and started paddling with it. I held on to it with all the feeble strength that remained to me. The last thing I wanted was to lose my grip on the weapon and watch it slide away into the depths.

I paddled and paddled until my muscles were so sore that I had to put the sword down upon the board lest I lose it.

The land seemed no closer. I couldn't even be sure if it wasn't farther away.

I choked in frustration. To be within sight of possible salvation and not be able to do anything about it other than stare at it from afar... it was almost more than I could bear.

Then I heard some sort of curious splas.h.i.+ng from behind me, as if something was moving through the water in a very direct manner. I s.h.i.+fted myself around on the table and looked behind me. At that moment, my thirst and hunger were forgotten, replaced by an overwhelming sense of blind panic.

Something was definitely heading toward me at a significant speed. The only part of it that I could see was the exceedingly large, triangular curved gray dorsal fin bearing down upon me.

I had never seen a shark in my life, but I certainly knew of the creatures. I'd heard stories of sea beasts bearing a dorsal fin that knifed through the water toward you, grabbed you in their powerful jaws, and bit you in half. If you were on a sailing vessel, you had a modic.u.m of protection. If you were just swimming or adrift, you were more or less screwed.

In my case, I was leaning closer to "more" than "less."

My limbs shook with terror as I envisioned that monstrous mouth sinking its teeth into me. Judging from the size of it, the meager defense the board would provide me wouldn't even slow it down. It would simply slam into it, upend it, send me tumbling into the drink. And then devour me whole, or perhaps bite my head off. And those were the best case scenarios.

Well, I was determined I wasn't going to go that easily. I may not have had any great love of my life, but dammit, it was the only thing that I truly possessed, and I was not going to lay it down cheaply.

I ceased my vain attempts to use my sword as a paddle and instead pulled the blade from its sheath.

The sword seemed to glitter in the sun, eager to be pressed into service. For all I knew, it was going to be the last time I endeavored to use it. The creature sporting that fin might loom out of the water with a maw wide enough to swallow me whole, or drag me down and just hold on to me as I thrashed about helplessly and my lungs exploded. But I was not going to go down without a fight. I watched carefully, my arm trembling from the strain of waiting, waiting, waiting for just the right moment. I sensed I would have only one shot at the beast. And I could only guess just how tough its hide might be. It was possible I'd have no chance at penetrating it. But if I was going to do it, it was going to require every ounce of my strength and every fragment of what I laughingly referred to as my luck.

Closer it drew, and closer still. It seemed to be coming faster and faster, probably sensing its prey. If it was possible for the creature to do so, it might well have been licking its lips in antic.i.p.ation. I started counting out loud, trying to time out my thrust based upon the speed of its approach.

"One," I said, "two, three," and as I watched it draw toward me, I readied my sword, realizing that the velocity of the creature would bring it within range when I got to "ten." I continued to count, and suddenly I decided to bring my sword back and try for a sweeping slash, rather than a thrust with the point. I figured I had more chance of striking something vital that way. I drew back my arm with such nervous force that I almost capsized my fragile craft, but I never lost count.

"Seven," I said, my parched voice becoming thick in my throat, "eight... nine...ten!"I shouted the number in order to focus my energy and power my attacking cut and I swung the sword around and down as hard as I could, antic.i.p.ating the creature's lunge.

It came up out of the water, and its face was pale and gray and quite human-looking, as was its torso.

And it had human arms as well. It most definitely was not human, however, but rather some bizarre kind of mer-creature presenting itself to me, its arms wide as if greeting a long-lost friend.

All of that took a second to register on me. Unfortunately, in half a second less than that, my blade cut through him like kelp.

He was looking at me in unbridled joy with eyes as black as the ocean depths and then, startled, he looked down. Whatever pain he must have felt didn't dawn on him at first, because he appeared quite puzzled to see the gaping wound in his chest, and the black blood seeping out of it in copious amounts.

He looked back up at me, and there was a rattling in his voice that sounded as if his lungs, if such he had, were already filling with blood. "I... I came... to wors.h.i.+p you..." he managed to say.

"All right, now, to be fair," I said, desperately trying to sound reasonable when all I felt was sinking horror. "I thought you were attacking..."

"I was swimming!"

"Yes, but... you were swimming very menacingly," I told him, not sounding convincing even to myself.

"Look, I... I admit I might have been a bit hasty..."

"You... you have no idea what I..." The water was getting thick with his blood. "I... I've been on a quest... through a hundred hundred tides, I have searched..."

"Oh G.o.ds," I moaned, flopping back on the board. "Not someone else's d.a.m.ned adventure again."

He didn't hear me. He seemed totally absorbed with the sound of his own voice. His eyes were starting to glaze over. "...through untold menaces, searching for... for the one who was foretold..."

"Please, stop," I begged, "you're giving me a headache." The mortification at my haste in slaughteringwhat was clearly not a predatory creature but, instead, my potential salvation was bad enough. But now he was prattling on about quests and menaces and such, and it was just making matters worse. As guilty as I felt, I was starting to regret I hadn't decapitated him. Then again, the day was young.

"The foretold one... the drifter with the pale skin," he continued, "whom I would bring back to our island home... and we would wors.h.i.+p and serve his every whim, provide him every luxury until the end of his days..."

"Okay, well... we can still do that," I told him. "There's no need for this quest of yours to end on a down note...."

He fixed his fading gaze upon me. He was starting to sink, but with his last dregs of strength he held on to the edge of the board. "Now... now I realize. The prophecies played me... false... you are, in fact...

evil incarnate..."

"What, just because I accidentally killed you?" I protested. "As if that's never happened to anyone?"

"My people will know you... for the destroyer that you are... and they..." His voice was fading. "They will... attend to you...."

"Look, I would really like to go back to the wors.h.i.+pping and island thing, if that's okay with--"

And then he let out a series of high-pitched whistles that near to liquefied my brain. I clamped my hands to my ears, rolled over, tried not to scream in pain, and failed miserably."Shut up! You'll deafen me!" I shouted, grabbed my staff, and rapped him soundly on the top of his skull with it.

It didn't take much more than that, since he seemed barely alive anyway. He lost his grip on the board and slipped beneath the surface. I watched him sink but lost sight of him almost immediately.

"All right, this reallywasn't my fault," I said to no one in particular. And indeed, I was reasonably sure that it was fair to say that. Yes, in my lifetime, I had stolen, and lied, and cheated. I had taken advantage of women, slaughtered men, behaved in a consistently cowardly manner. But for once, I felt I really had an excuse for the misfortune I had brought upon the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He'd been on a quest and it ended badly. 'Tis to weep. He should have done more to announce himself before drawing within range of my blade, that was all there was to it, and if anyone asked, that was exactly what I would say.

That was when the water began to churn beneath me.

I sheathed my sword, secured my staff, and held on as the waves surged. I imagined it to be some sort of current that would, in short order, pa.s.s. I could not have been more wrong. Instead it grew in intensity and force, and the ocean began to buck fiercely as if it was trying to expel me from it. The waves became so choppy that they literally flipped me into the air. I landed hard, the water "splatting"

beneath me. My clothes immediately became soaked through, my eyes stinging from the salt.

I squeezed them tightly shut, opened them, and gasped.

In the distance, but coming toward me quickly, was a series of gigantic waves. And silhouetted in the waves were gargantuan beings who bore a resemblance to the one I'd just killed, but much, much larger.

Twenty, maybe thirty times bigger. The dead creature had obviously summoned them with his series of whistles, which had carried considerably well through the air, and I had a sneaking suspicion he had not painted a favorable picture of me. They were barreling straight toward me. Because of their vast size, they were churning up waves that were bigger than some castles I'd stayed in. They were huge, capable of swamping me in a heartbeat if they caught up with me.

Cupping my hands to either side of my mouth, I bellowed,"He should have done more to announce himself before drawing within range of my blade!" They seemed unimpressed by my explanation as they continued to bear down on me.

I threw myself flat on the board, facing away from them, and started paddling madly with my arms toward the distant sh.o.r.eline.

My progress remained depressingly slow, and then suddenly I realized I was starting to speed up. The water was surging, carrying me faster, higher. The water threw the board to one side and the other, and I realized that by remaining flat, I wasn't going to be able to control it. I got to my knees, remained that way, my arms paddling even faster. My speed increased, no thanks to me and every thanks to my briny pursuers, who were descending upon me.

I did the only thing I could. I clambered to my feet, even though my right leg was lame. But at least I was able to use my left to manipulate the board, steady it, prevent it from flipping over. The waves blasted toward me and I continued to ride on the crest, being carried at higher and higher speed toward the land. The water was a deafening roar around me, which would have been more severe if my ears still hadn't been ringing from that desperation scream the dying creature had emitted earlier.

And then the waves caught up with me. I kept the toes of my lame right leg resting gently, using it for steering and guidance, counting upon the strength of my other leg to provide the sheer muscle of balance.

The waves tried to push me sideways, to drive me away from the land. But I saw a cresting wave that was going where I wanted, s.h.i.+fted my body weight, and sent the board skipping through a virtual tunnel formed by the water. I was down and through, and I tilted yet again, driving myself hard toward the land.

I heard the outraged shrieks of whatever those creatures were hidden within the depths of the wave.

They were howling for vengeance, for my blood. My blood. They hadn't even met me and they wanted to kill me. Usually people had to get to know me a little before they wanted to kill me.

For half a second I found my mind drifting, wondering if my mother--were she still alive--would have joined the ranks of those eager for my demise. I liked to think not. But I was probably kidding myself.

Then the creatures shrieked in chorus, and again my ears rang, and suddenly I was turned completely upside down. I couldn't keep my feet on the board, couldn't control it at all, and then the wood--my only salvation--skidded away from me. I flipped twice in midair, miraculously managed to keep a grip on my staff, and then crashed into the water.

Swimming was, to put it delicately, not my strength. So I was reasonably sure that this was it. I was going to die. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive splas.h.i.+ng around in the ocean. Even left to my own devices, I wouldn't stay afloat for very long at all. And those creatures, whoever and whatever they were, weren't going to give me the luxury of time.

I sank and my feet hit bottom.

However, when they did, my head was still above water, as was everything above my waist.

I staggered forward, splas.h.i.+ng, coughing. I tried to lean on my walking staff, but it sank into the sandand it was all I could do to pull it out. I looked around in bewilderment to discover that I was not more than eight feet from land. The combination of the pure power of the waves and my adeptness at using the board to navigate them had resulted in me winding up exactly where I'd wanted to: namely, anyplace except where I'd been.

Then I heard another earsplitting screech, and I realized the creatures were almost upon me. They had not remotely given up. I splashed desperately toward the sh.o.r.e, and then another wave of aquatic force hammered me, sending me tumbling. I went under, reminded myself that I was in relatively shallow water, hauled my head up, and pushed myself forward, slowed by exhaustion, spurred on my desperation.

Exhaustion and desperation warred with each other for a moment and then, as it so often did with me, desperation won out.

I threw myself onto the sh.o.r.e, falling and rolling from the water as fast as I could. It surged onto the sand as I rolled frantically away. I crab-walked backward up the sh.o.r.e, watching the way I'd come, looking for some sign of the waterlogged monsters that had driven me hither.

Nothing. Whoever, whatever they were, they seemed to want to have no truck with the surface world. I couldn't entirely blame them. Many was the day when I likewise wanted to have no truck with the surface world. As much as they might have allowed their silhouettes to be seen in the huge waves, when it came down to it they preferred to remain hidden.

I gulped in air greedily. I still needed something to eat and, even more, something to drink. At that moment, though, all I really wanted to do was rest.

Which is what I did. Once I pulled myself securely out of range of the tides, I flopped onto my back and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 4.

Leading with the Chin

The roaring of the ocean was far more muted by the time I awoke again. I was astounded to see that night had pa.s.sed into morning. Apparently I had been just that tired and filled with relief upon making landfall. Miraculously, no one had disturbed me in my slumber. Then again, I'd been lying flat on my back, so no one could have reached my sword. And I didn't see why anyone would want my staff, particularly if they weren't aware of the special weaponry built in. Other than that and the clothes on my back, and an empty water skin, I had nothing.

Now that I'd landed, the first thing on my agenda was water. I hauled myself to my feet, all my joints registering an aching protest. My clothes were still a bit damp, but the temperature in this place--wherever that might be--was quite warm. So my vestments would likely be dried off in very short order. I looked around, trying to a.s.sess just where the h.e.l.l I was.

It was not some small, puny island, that was for sure. It stretched as far as I could see. Not only that, but even from a distance, I could see that there were signs of civilization. Small wafts of smoke drifted in the breeze from what I was reasonably sure were homefires. I took some measure of comfort that there were fires burning and I didn't have to worry whether I was responsible for setting them. There was a grove of trees obscuring my view, however, so I couldn't see what type of villages or residences lay in the distance, or even how near they were.

Then I stopped and stared at the trees in wonderment. They were unlike any I'd ever seen. I drew closer to make certain that I was viewing them properly. It was as if a grove of walking staffs had sprung up. Tall and supple they were, more than a hundred feet high by my guess, with great green sprouts coming out the top. The trunks were jointed every foot or two along their length. I wasn't even sure if "trunks" was the right word for them. "Shafts" would have been more accurate. I could wrap my entire hand around even the largest of them. They were swaying gently in the breeze, rustling softly, and if I had not been sure before that I was in some strange, alien land, this was more than enough to convince me.

I pulled on one of the trunks experimentally. It moved with my tug, swung right and left, but did not break. I pulled again, harder this time, and was deeply impressed with the strength and resilience of the wood, if wood it was. As slender as it appeared, I could see that it was remarkably durable and did not break easily. I pulled it toward me with as much strength as I could and all it did was bend. Finally I released it. It snapped in the opposite direction, swung back with remarkable force, and smacked me in the face. I stumbled back, almost fell, but caught myself at the last second. Then I rubbed my nose and, despite the fact that I was bone-weary, still smiled at the mental picture of how ludicrous I must have looked at that moment.

Then I heard something. My hearing remained sharp as always, and I was reasonably certain I detected the faint trickle of water. My mouth was too dry to salivate, and I was so excited by the prospect of quenching my thirst that I nearly pa.s.sed out from excitement.

I made my way briskly in the direction that my ears told me water lay. Every so often I would glance up once more, marveling at the walking-staff forest surrounding me. The trees were not particularly close together, so maneuvering was a fairly easy ch.o.r.e, even for me.

Eventually, just over a rise, I heard water rus.h.i.+ng, even stronger than before. I clambered over it and, sure enough, there it was: a narrow river, the most glorious thing I'd ever seen. The water looked crystal clear and pure, and I almost broke my good leg in scrambling down to it, finally falling flat on my stomach and shoving my whole head into it. I made the mistake of laughing underwater and got a noseful of water for my troubles, but I didn't care. The river was quite shallow by the sh.o.r.e, and I rolled myself into it so that I was facing in the direction from which the river was flowing. Keeping my head elevated, I simply allowed the water to cascade into my mouth, and I swallowed it in great, eager gulps. I coughed some up at one point, then brought my head back down and drank some more.

I had been so parched that I wouldn't have thought it possible I could ever drink my fill. But finally I was indeed sated. Just to play it safe, I took my water skin and held it underneath until it was filled as well.

And then I noticed something drifting toward me from upstream. It was a little ways out in the water. I waded out a few steps and then used my staff to snag it and bring it in close for me to pick up and study. It was a boat. A small wooden boat, as a child would have made. Nothing fancy. It looked like a miniature canoe. I looked in the direction from whence it had come. I wasn't sure whether to go toward the origin point of the toy, or away. I finally decided that a meeting with the locals couldn't be forestalled forever. Sooner or later, I was going to have to deal with whoever it was that was residing hereabouts.

A pocket lined the inner folds of my cloak, so I tucked the boat in there and started following the sh.o.r.eline.

The day continued to be warm, and I was actually beginning to feel relatively good about myself. Such a frame of mind was always dangerous for me, for it was usually when I was in good spirits that huge storms of s.h.i.+te would rain down upon me courtesy of the G.o.ds on high. It was easier and safer for me to remain a pessimist. Nevertheless, there was a spring in my limping step that wasn't usually there.

My thoughts were continuing in the direction they'd been heading earlier. Here I was, still alive. The number of incidents threatening my life that I'd survived was starting to border on the epic. It was almost enough to make me wonder if I really was intended for something great. Then again, for me, just surviving from one day to the next was something of an accomplishment.

Although the sky was clear, a thin mist of rain began to fall. I pulled my hood up to keep myself dry...

a ridiculous goal, I admit, considering I'd spent practically the last week being soaked. Before too long, however, the rain was letting up.

The walking-staff trees started to thin out and I soon found myself on the edge of some sort of field, a stiff but gentle breeze to my back, helping to dry me off. The field was filled with stalks of something that came to just over my head, thickening at the top. They were thin and white, and waving, and sure smelled sweet when the wind came right behind the rain, but I had no clue what they might be. I continued on my path, and soon I was starting to detect sounds of humanity. Mostly female. That sounded promising.