Chapter Twelve – The Thresher and the Moontide
Gunrow was a legend in the Pelagic fleet. He made Commodore at an early age and declined on three occasions the invitation to join the admiralty. Not only was he an impeccable sailor, the maverick possessed a seemingly impossible level of mastery over the complex bureaucratic machinery of the fleet.
No Commodore had ever stayed with the same ship-pair as long as he. Routinely, his best and most experienced sailors conveniently and suspiciously stayed aboard with him years after their normal tour lengths. New sailors with poor aptitude or attitude quickly found themselves working under the command of other Commodores on other ships. Despite her own achievements, Pria felt inadequate in his presence.
“There won’t be a need for formal turnover, my retirement home is in the same group of islands as the Academy, we’ll get done what we need done during the voyage,” said Gunrow to Pria. The two ships were docked side by side, with the Thresher starboard of the Moontide. “This is Captain Dohm, he will be your counterpart aboard the Thresher,” Dohm nodded while he coiled a bundle of line.
It would have been gracious to call the ships well worn, they were seemingly in disrepair. Gunrow watched Pria’s eyes as they jumped from one broken plank to the next. “We do most of our repairs at sea, we drive the ships hard but they can take it,” reassured Gunrow as a large pallet of fresh wood was craned aboard.
Fake and Andin reached the end of the docks where the two ships were anchored. The master at arms escorted them aboard. “Commodore Gunrow, Lady Pria, good morning,” said Andin.
“Fire prince,” nodded Gunrow.
“What are you two doing here?” asked Lady Pria.
Andin looked confused, “We’re going to the Academy of course.”
Pria scoffed, “Do these ships look at all like they are ready to sail?” The Thresher was already beginning to untie herself from the Moontide. “Actually, Lady Pria we are setting sail today,” said Gunrow. Pria could say nothing but look at Gunrow in dismay.
“Your belongings aboard the Bitter Chain have already been brought aboard; you’ll find the men are happier when we pull into… less militarized ports,” said Gunrow hinting at something Pria might find off putting. “Greater Pirenna might just be my least favorite port actually,” he noted. Gunrow relished in Pria’s culture shock.
Four sailors began curling the water alongside the Thresher, pulling her about towards the harbor exit. The Moontide followed suit and followed her little sister out of port. Pria watched carefully as the crew conducted themselves, “Your ship movers also help with the rigging?”
Gunrow nodded, “It’s faster that way.”
The crew nonchalantly went about their business, talking and joking as they executed tricky maneuvers with ease. Gunrow offered no direction at all. If Gunrow was the brain of the operation his deck chief Sorrel were it’s capable hands. The chief occasionally ordered a line changed or a ship mover to adjust the angle of his water flow. The ship-pair exited one of the busiest harbors in Pelagos quickly and cleanly.
Andin and Fake stood near the bow watching the waves crumble under the prow. “Is this your first time at sea?” asked Gunrow as he approached them.
Fake smiled, “Yessir, the water is lovely.”
Andin added, “This is our first time in Pelagos and our first time on a ship.”
Gunrow saw the bright curiosity in Fake’s eyes, “Feel free to direct any questions to the crew, they will be happy to answer.”
Gunrow saw the same eager determination in Andin’s eyes as others saw in himself, “The deck chief can show you to your cabin whenever you like fire prince; the cargo you’ve asked to be brought aboard is secure below decks.”
“Thank you Commodore; how long is the voyage to the Academy?” asked Andin.
“Six or seven days depending on the wind,” said Gunrow.
Gunrow left his two passengers and returned to Pria. The two ships cleared the harbor and opened up their sails. Two of the sailors tied line around their waists and crossed over the deck railing. They hung suspended just over the surface of the water and began sending jets of water at the hull.
Fake went to one of the sailors tending the safety line, “What are they doing?”
The sailor looked to where Fake was pointing and answered, “Knocking barnacles off.” Fake didn’t quite understand and the sailor saw this. He explained what a barnacle was and why it was important to remove them.
Satisfied, Fake reported back to Andin. “Can you do that?” he asked.
“Do what? Control water?” guessed Andin.
“Yeah.”
“All the magical disciplines are related, but the spirit can only ever be devoted to two, mine are fire and earth. I can only do very simple spells with the other elements.”
“What about me?”
“I’ve never seen magic like yours; it’s something we’ll have to study at the Academy.”
“Thank you,” said Fake as swirls of salty air ruffled his hair.
“For what?”
“For bringing me with you, I was really sad before I met you.”
Andin pat Fake on the back, “Let’s get some coffee.”
The two friends sat in their cabin while Andin drank. “No way, it tastes weird,” said Fake refusing a cup.
“Suit yourself, mortals have devised all sorts of clever beverages, you should sample them when you can,” said Andin.
Fake leafed through the beefy text Andin had found for him, “Where should I start?”
“Wherever you like I suppose, each plane has a rich history. The first few years of the Awakening are usually interesting so the beginning might be a good place to start,” answered Andin.
“The Awakening?”
“In Beldur we call it the Rekindling, but it means the same thing. It’s the first few years after the Sundering, when the planes first formed and mankind retook physical form.”
“What about the immortals?” asked Fake.
“That’s less well understood; some think they are reformations of the first four gods’ physical forms. But we just don’t know for sure.”
“You don’t know where you came from?”
Andin smiled and asked, “Do you?” He went on, “Of the little we know about the world before the Sundering it seems that the first gods were distinct from mankind, whereas now an immortal and a mortal are much more similar in appearance and demeanor. Less pure, some would say.”
Fake flipped back towards the beginning of the historical text. Andin sat up from his bunk, spilling a bit of coffee onto the wooden floor. He leaned over Fake at the desk, “Actually you might find the Pelagic Awakening quite interesting, because of the geography I think they were the last civilized plane to locate their portal site.”
Andin leafed through the first few pages quickly, then back to the table of contents. He ran his finger down the soft paper as he read the chapter titles. “Here we are,” he said as he flipped to the second chapter of the second section. “Year seventy-seven the portal site was discovered,” Andin read aloud.
Andin walked back to his own book, “Let me know if you read anything interesting, I don’t know much about Pelagos.” He spilled more coffee as a large wave rocked the ship. A few minutes later Fake became bored of reading and left the cabin to pester the sailors for sea stories. “Hey if those sailors offer you rum don’t drink any without me,” joked Andin. Andin felt paradoxically uncomfortable with how comfortable he was around Fake, the prince was also amazed at how quickly Fake was adjusting.
“No one has been able to give me a straight answer about who you are illusionist,” said Gunrow to Fake. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to either, the portal from Pelagos was the first I had ever seen in my plane,” apologized Fake.
Gunrow relieved the helmsman and took the wheel himself and said, “I didn’t get a chance to visit your plane but I heard it was much like ours.”
“I didn’t have a great ocean, I didn’t even h
ave wind, it was just an endless expanse,” said Fake. Gunrow smiled and said nothing.
Fake scanned the horizon; there was no land in sight. “How do you know where you’re going?” he asked. Gunrow pointed above the moonlit horizon, “Tonight’s voyage is easy, as we are heading due north.”
“You use the stars?” Fake guessed.
Gunrow nodded, “Those two right there are the Matrons, two old sisters who show the way north to wayward sailors.”
“How did they get there?” asked Fake.
“No idea, but awfully convenient to have them pointing north isn’t it?” said Gunrow. Andin joined the two on the bridge still sipping coffee. “Fire prince,” greeted Gunrow.
“Commodore,” answered Andin.
“A rare occurrence to see you free of Lady Pria, Commodore,” noted Andin.
“The Lady slept with the sun – a Commodore taking the midnight watch isn’t something she is used to,” said Gunrow.
“Do you usually take the helm this late?” asked Andin.
“Every night that I could.”
“What will you do after you turn over your ships to Pria?”
“Sleep in and harass my wife.”
Andin retired to the back of the bridge to watch the bioluminescence in the wash compete with the stars for majesty. Gunrow entertained Fake’s curiosity answering his questions about the ship and Pelagos. Gunrow was a patient educator; he enjoyed indulging Fake’s endless barrage of inquiries. In the darkest hours of the morning the trio retired as the next watch took over.
None of the three slept long. By nine o’clock all were awake and back on the bridge. The Thresher had maneuvered closer to her big sister to deliver her daily report. Captain Dohm sent an orb of water bridge to bridge. The ball of water hovered lazily over to the Moontide. Pria caught the ball and retrieved the glass jar suspended in the orb. The water splashed harmlessly on the deck.
In the jar was a loosely rolled parchment. “Do you have any orders for the Thresher Commodore?” she asked.
“No, nothing has changed,” said Gunrow as he waved to the Thresher, signaling that it was okay to sail off again. The deck chief brought up the Moontide’s own report and the two Commodores reviewed them together.
“If both ships have at-sea repairs I schedule them staggered so at least one of us is ready for an engagement if the need arises,” said Gunrow to Pria. They continued to discuss operations as Andin and Fake helped the deck chief with some of the simpler rigging.
“The only fire user we have is on the Thresher, if you don’t mind prince we have some worn harpoons that could use refurbishing below decks,” said the deck chief.
“No, not at all; we like to pull our own weight,” said Andin.
The deck chief gruffed in approval, “You’ll fit right in then.”
The voyage was blessed with good wind and weather. Andin and Fake helped where they could as Pria and Gunrow continued their turnover. On the evening of the fifth day they had reached the first island in the Academy’s archipelago. The tower observatory could be seen shining in the distance.
As the ship-pair sailed closer and closer the stone and glass structure of the Academy grew triumphantly. “Is that where we’ll be staying?” asked Fake. “Unless of course you prefer the ocean,” said Andin only half-jokingly. The two ships swung around the stubby peninsula the Academy sat on and into the docks.