The sand between Smithe’s teeth was insufferable. The old pirate ran his tongue through his mouth attempting to wash away the grainy sensation; yet more wind blew, and more sand filled every crevice of his body. Everything was gritty and dry. The entire crew was covered in it. Tiny grains of sand rubbed together between his fingers and toes, drying out his skin; toughening his aged body even further. Smithe tried to get used to it like he had gotten used to the grease in his beard and the gunpowder under his nails; yet the terrible sand persisted. The crew had been riding through the desert an entire day now, and as the sun set over the dunes of Faithhallow, Smithe grew weary. The donkey beneath him certainly grew weary, too; but the two of them trudged on into the desert’s orange sunset behind the rest of the crew. Bloody neverending mission, the old pirate thought.
“There! On the horizon!” Yelled the young Captain, Julian. Smithe looked up, squinting into the orange light, attempting to see through the fog of the sandy horizon. The outline of a tower climbing into the sky stood far in the distance. “Ride on men!” The dark haired Captain said, trotting forward. Smithe watched as the crew members each gave their donkeys a kick to move forth. He nodded to the blonde Quartermaster, and gave a knowing smile to the Healer; whose braids were speckled with sand. The crew of the Sea Dragon had been bouncing between cities in the Southern Empire for months, bribing merchants and priests and faeries for information; and now, scouring the desert. After failing their mission what felt like hundreds of times, Captain Blackwell had drunkenly decided that what the crew needed was a Seer. Rare thing finding a Seer in the age of men, but Smithe knew better than to argue with the Captain; for he had spent the past eight years watching Julian search for answers.
As he rode through the dusky desert, Smithe wondered to himself if they would ever find the answers to what was written on that damned tablet. The pirates had whispered amongst themselves for years. “Why does he still carry that thing around?” “Can’t we just sell it for silver?” “Do you think it might be cursed?” Once again, Smithe knew better. He was old enough to remember the day that Captain Flynn Blackwell had fished the amethyst crystal tablet out of the sea on the shores of Tarride and showed it to his wife and their little boy with delight. He was certainly old enough to remember the day that Flynn Blackwell had been killed by the royal guard of Rivermoor; and the days after that spent comforting and feeding little Julian, newfound Captain of the Sea Dragon. Ever since then the boy Captain kept the tablet close.
Smithe wiped his brow of sweat and sand, looking up to the pale tower in the middle of the desert. The famed Lonai, order of the Seers of the South. It was just as beautiful as the tales had said it would be; an ivory stone tower climbing high into the clouds, engraved with swirls and forms that looked like sand on the wind itself. A faerietale come to life. Captain Blackwell swung himself off his donkey, and instructed his men to share some of their water with the creatures. Smithe dismounted with less grace, sipped warm water, then shared some with his mount; and waddled over towards the front of the crew.
“I wonder what his plan is now?” Bellamy, the ship’s Healer said as he brushed sand from his trousers. Smithe shrugged in silence. Lawrence, the ship’s Quartermaster, shook sand from his shirt and laughed, “I figure it’ll be the same as always. Act alone now, tell us later.” He winked. Smithe shook his head, “The boy has his ways, but he got us to the Lonai. Many men could only dream of such marvels.” When the donkeys had been watered, and the sand sufficiently shaken off the crew, Julian commanded them to wait outside, adding that if he took too long, Lawrence should be the one to come look for him.
The young Captain unsheathed his sword, uncertain of what lay beyond the doors to the pale Seer’s tower. With his free hand, he reached into his satchel and fiddled around. Since Smithe had known the boy forever, he knew Julian was running his fingers over the engravings on the tablet. He always did so when he needed comfort. Smithe looked Julian in his deep eyes, framed by his dark hair glowing in the orange light of the sunset. Julian caught the old pirate’s eye and gave him a slight smile and a wink, before turning around and pushing open the bellowing stone doors of the Lonai. Within seconds, the young Captain Blackwell had disappeared into the darkness of the famed desert tower; and all that was left to do was wait.
The crew waited in silence, passing around a pipe of greenleaf to quell their minds as they worried for their Captain. Finally, under a dusky purple sky, Julian exited the tower; a look of confusion and frustration on his face. Cries of relief from the crew sprang out, “He did it!” “What happened?” “Did you find the Seers?” The crew crowded around their Captain while the donkeys rested on the dunes. Julian sighed, then stalked over to Elchin, the ship’s white bearded cartographer; and whispered something in his ear. The old mapmaker silently fished out a scroll from his bag, passing it to the Captain. Julian unravelled the large scroll of parchment, staring at the map with pensive eyes, “It would seem the Seers believe we are in the wrong corner of the world.” A few groans were heard from the crew, but Julian just looked back down to the map. He ran a finger from the bottom corner of the parchment to the middle of the map a few times, “I will admit, I had it all wrong.” The Captain mumbled. He flipped the parchment around. It was a sun bleached map of the entirety of Atlatia, all twelve Isles, painted in coloured ink.
“We must get ourselves back to Faithhallow immediately,” he placed his finger over the market port city on the southern tip of the Isle, “Then, we sail.” He moved his finger onto the turquoise of the Southern sea, dragging it up to the pale blue Sea of Kings. “For the sake of the holy eight Cap’n, what did they tell you in there?” Smithe blurted. Julian paused with his finger on the central most Isle of Atlatia, the crescent shaped island in the centre of the world. “It matters not what they told me, Smithey old friend. We are going to the Moon Isle.”
Leave a comment