wowzer77

Here it is (finally). Chapter three of my novel in the works. Its a long one, divided into more than one post. Hope you like, please critique!


III


A steady rocking. Lurching and swaying. Eric came awake but didn’t open his eyes, for the aching feeling and exhaustion were too great. His whole body hurt, the pain like hundreds of insects crawling all over him. He could feel a hard surface below him, and he moved his hands about him, trying to discover where he was. He lay on hard wood. Straw was scattered sparsely about. His eyes slowly opened, causing pain to build behind them. He noticed the wooden beams and planks above and around where he lay, and he realized then that he was on a ship. That ship!
Memory: that dark and baleful messenger who, now quickly becoming a more frequent visitor into Eric’s thoughts, always brought with him the pain of loss. It visited him now, but this time with a heavier load than ever before.

Long, silky blond lochs fell loosely about her shoulders as they rocked back and forth in the canoe. Just the two of them and that perfect fishing spot Eric had come upon by chance when he was only eighteen years old. It was frozen most of the year, but during the summer months the small lake was teeming with life—white cranes flew swiftly overhead, beavers worked furtively along the shores, kingfishers dove for food among the lake’s waters, and fish swam about, occasionally jumping in an arc out of the water and back in. There were so many different kinds of fish here that a man could spend months just finding and counting the different species. Varieties of salmon and trout, carp and herring, grayling, and a huge amount of smaller silver-colored fish could be found swimming abundantly throughout the crystal waters. This was Eric’s favorite place. He called it Homeling; it was the closest thing to home for him.
No one else knew about Homeling but Eric. It was his special place, and he wanted to have it for himself in case he ever needed to be alone. No, he had never told anyone of the lake until today. He felt differently about this person, though. He felt as if he could trust her. Not only did he find her interesting and enjoy her company, he also found her beautiful and captivating, like some rare treasure. She was the first and only person who he knew would stay with him through anything, though they had only known each other for just over a year. She was born an orphan in a far off city, and when the man and woman who ended up adopting her died, she was accepted by the mayor of Kingstad himself along with his wife and they had taken care of her ever since. She was the depressed sort, and she had good reason. She often talked of her past to Eric when they went on walks together; to him her life seemed like a dark labyrinth littered with traps that could spring at any moment. Sometimes, however, when in her darker moods, it seemed like she wanted to fall victim to one of these traps so her miserable life would finally come to a close.
“It’s so warm and nice here in Kingstad, I feel as if it must be a dream that will soon shatter,” she used to lean on him and say.
“It is real, you don’t have to worry. Here you can live well in the care of the mayor,” he would reassure her comfortingly.
The first time he had ever seen her truly relaxed and at ease was in Homeling. She marveled at the life in the lake, and was always watching the curious animals’ behaviors curiously. She was like Eric in the fact that she loved wildlife. It was something simpler than a human—not so cruel.
Eric, though, having seen the lake many times before, focused his attention on her. He found himself entranced by her every expression. Strangely, it was her dark point of view on life, her complexity, and her somehow beautiful sorrow that drew him to her. She was a tragic play with a happy ending, and he wanted to be a part of it.
They had been on the lake for no more than fifteen minutes, Eric explaining all the different aspects of fishing and of the place they were in. But when he had finished showing her how to reel in the fish, she had simply told him, “I don’t want to fish...” she paused seeing his slightly surprised but nevertheless content look, “I don’t want to kill a thing. We have food back in town. I just like being here on the lake, Eric. It’s not as busy and unnatural as the city is.”
“Very well, but we could just catch them and throw them back into the water. Should startle them but no harm will be done,” he hesitated, seeing on her face that she wanted nothing more than the scenery, “here, I’ll catch a few and throw them back and you can sit back and watch.” She smiled at this and set down her rod, folded her hands in her lap and relaxed.
All that afternoon they stayed in Homeling.

Eric slumped back down on the floor. He felt bereaved and dismal, but could not muster the energy to cry. He lay there on his back and eventually fell back to sleep.
It was a few hours before he woke and had the power to sit up. There was no window in the room, thus the time of day was not known to him. He turned his head around, noticing a door about six feet to his left, a wall in front of him, and to the right—
Sudden surprise caused Eric to curse aloud, and he tasted blood on the roof of his mouth. A small boy was sitting in the corner of the next room over, which was separated from his only by a set of iron bars about ten inches apart rising vertically from floor to ceiling. The boy was sitting with his knees folded up to his chin; his arms were wrapped around them tightly. He stared through what looked like a small round hole in the wooden wall to his left. He seemed very small and fragile appeared not to notice the man staring at him or the curse that had broken the silence. His mouth slowly moved, but Eric could hear no words. Who would he be talking to? Eric could not recall the boy from Kingstad.
Kingstad. His home was home no more. Now he was reduced to a physically and mentally injured life form lying in pain God knows where on a massive ship filled with people who he guessed wanted him as prisoner or slave. But his fate was to unknown and harsh to think about, so he discarded thoughts of the future and began focusing on the present situation.
“Hel...Hello?” Eric found talking painful and again tasted dried blood. He saw the boy stop his silent chattering and look at him. “Yes,” he hesitated, “My name is Eric. I mean no harm.” It occurred to him only after speaking that he could visibly do nothing of the sort anyways. Yet the boy still held that bewildered, threatened, and ultimately petrified look on his face.
“Obviously,” He replied in a surprisingly casual voice, “you be trapped in ‘ere as I am, aren’t you? It’s those horrible dark men who want to harm us. Oh, nasty wound you got there.”
“Yes, I was stabbed I think. It all seems kind of blurry now though; can’t seem to recall much of anything that happened last night.”
“Last night? You’ve been in here for three days, just lying there like a dead man. Except for the rolling around and frequent fits during the night, of course.”
Three days? It’s been that long? Where could we be headed?
“Where are we going?” Eric decided to shorten his sentences. He needed more rest, he knew.
“Who knows where we’re being taken. All I know is we’re headed southwest and goin’ fast, too.” He said, sounding a bit edgy.
“So that hole—that lets you look outside? How do know all this?”
“No silly, old Havard here tells me. His room has a barred window. And keep you’re voice down; we don’t want the guards to come peeking in.”
“Havard?” Under normal circumstances Eric would be able to process that the boy must be talking to the man via the hole in the wall, which must in turn lead to another room. But his liquid mind couldn’t grasp any form of thinking that was remotely complex. Besides, he might as well let the boy explain it and save his energy.
“Yes, his room’s right next to mine an’ I can talk to him through this spot in the wood.”
Suddenly a low voice—that of an old man, sounded from behind the wall, “Can’t see you sir, but it seems you’re in bad condition. Name’s Havard as the boy told you. Best thing we can all do right now is rest. If they find out you’re awake, which they will, they’ll have you on deck tomorrow cleaning and such. Bastards don’t even have any respect for the injured.” His voice was that of one who has endured much and is tired of the world. He sounded defeated and broken, and Eric pitied him. “Well, I’m going to get to sleep. If you have any sense you’ll do the same.”
“It is the middle of the night, after all. You should sleep like he says.” Said the boy.
“What about you? Won’t you sleep?” Eric lay down as he spoke and tried to become as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances. It hurt to move so much. “And what’s your name?”
“Markku. I’m not tired, really. I think I’ll keep watch.” And he rested his chin in his hands and sat in silence.
Keeping watch was pointless, of course—a prisoner can’t very well keep watch for anything when he is the one under strict supervision. The thought didn’t occur to Eric and he soon fell into an uncomfortable and light sort of doze. His half sleep was empty of all dreams. Memory would not visit him again this night.

“Up and about you worthless soul!” The shout startled Eric out of his sleep and the sound of chains rustling and a lock being freed caught his attention. “Get up! Up and about now, make it quick; there is work to be done and you’re to do it!”
Eric got up, wincing from the pain in his torso as he remembered the wound. He felt slightly better after the small amount of rest, but the physical pain and metal stress still dominated his consciousness.
Two of the soldiers in black managed to get Eric up a few flights of stairs to the ship’s deck. It was very cold out and the wind was quite strong. The sky was completely clouded over with a bright white layer—not yet heavy and dark enough to release rain or snow.
Eric was surprised he wasn’t shackled or weighted, then again they were probably a long way away from any land and the water was undoubtedly freezing cold. Swimming was out of the question. As he stood on deck with his two escorts, he noticed Markku and Havard already toiling about with chores they had been assigned to earlier that morning.
“Here. Go and join your friends. See that the deck is spotless before noon.” One of the men said in a gruff voice and handed Eric a cloth and bucket full of water. Eric wordlessly obeyed. The bucket felt very heavy, and the task seemed overwhelming.
This ship is huge. Do they really expect me to do this sort of thing every day? Eric moaned a curse and bent down wearily next to the boy and old man.
He could now see the boy clearer and could observe old Havard for the first time. He noticed a small scar on Markku’s neck that ran across his throat in a faint red line. Whoever sought to kill the boy hadn’t cut deep enough it seemed. He didn’t mention it. Havard was a pale, slightly portly old man who looked about seventy years old. His eyes had a constant look of sadness and hopelessness, which Eric didn’t find the least bit strange or out of place considering the situation the three were now in. The boy wore plain brown nightclothes; a jagged stain of black-burgundy discolored the front of the shirt from collar to stomach. He looked sad also, but defiant too, almost confident. The look of one who is seeking revenge and answers.
“Feeling good? We’ve got a long way to go still. They brought us up here just moments before yourself.” Havard spoke in a low voice, as if they weren’t actually allowed to speak.
Eric knew the question was rhetorical and replied, “Are we going to be made to do this every day?”
“No. Everyday brings something slightly different. The first day was bad. They made me and poor Markku here mend a mast in these high winds. About fell a few times.” The man dipped his rag into a bucket and continued scrubbing.
“I don’t understand. They have so many men. Why don’t they clean this damn ship in less than half the time? Why watch us three mope about the task all day? Bastards are lazy, that’s what. If I were in any sort of position, I’d give them a taste...” Markku spoke loud and with hatred. He didn’t care if the guards heard him; let them be angry.
“Ah, young boy, always the rebellious type.” Havard said calmly
A thought then came to Eric. Were they were the only three men aboard that weren’t guards? Was that possible? “So, where are the other prisoners? Surely there are a great many cells like ours in the lower levels?” He ventured.
“Empty ones.” Was Havard’s dry reply. “For some reason, we’re the only ones they picked up. Don’t ask me why we’re so special.”
Eric decided not to bring up Kingstad. These people were already in such a bad state of mind, painful memories could only make matters worse. He shrugged in response to the man’s words and slowly went about his work, sliding the wet cloth slowly across the wood.
The day went on in this manner, the depressing conversations fading to be replaced with the sounds of strenuous breathing and empathetic sighs to one another. Now and then Markku shot hateful glances at the soldiers, who simply screwed up their features slightly and ignored him or told him to keep to his work in a threatening tone. Markku was the only one, it seemed, who wasn’t afraid or even wary of the ship’s crew. It was as if he had nothing to lose, and indeed, he probably didn’t.
After awhile the three were shivering uncontrollably. Their hands became numb and shriveled.
Eric thought as they worked. He thought about what had befallen him since he awoke that lonely morning on the side of a mountain. He thought of all the memories he had regained since that morning, and he thought of Kingstad. He remembered the black dog, and a cold deeper than that of which he was already experiencing coursed through him sending chills down his spine. The men all reminded him of the dog, he noticed. He tried unsuccessfully to remember more about the girl and Homeling, but he could gather nothing beyond that solitary experience which he had somehow recalled when he regained consciousness on the ship.
Everything seemed so strange. What would be his fate? Was he to be made a prisoner in whatever country he was being taken to? Where did this army come from? After pondering about these things for quite some time and finding no answers, and deciding the search for such answers was to be fruitless until he had more information, he stopped and began concentrating on what he was doing. He stopped to stretch his limbs and crack his knuckles.

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The Cold in Kingstad--Ch.1-2-3

wowzer77

It must be close to noon by now. The three were now about two thirds of the way complete. Each was feeling the effects of exhaustion wearing down on him. They had moved from the stern slowly up the deck and were now close to the general’s quarters. Markku stopped once in defiance and said, “This part of the ship isn’t even dirty! Why are we forced to clean something that doesn’t need it?” A few men who were smoking pipes and leaning against a wall stopped their chatting and stared at the boy.
“Come now Markku, let’s just finish up here. We’re almost done anyway.” Havard said.
“It’s ridiculous. This ship doesn’t make any sense!” Markku stopped then, and, seeing the guards coming nearer, gave them a dirty look before getting back to his work hastily. The men merely stopped a few feet away and threatened the boy.
“You’d better just concentrate on your work there, lad. Those waters are deep and cold as—as death itself,” the man chuckled coldly, “There’s a good boy, now keep cleaning!”
A minute later they were gone and the three were alone again washing. “Markku, you’ll get us killed like that!” Havard whispered harshly. His bucket was nearly empty for at least the twelfth time, and he sighed and rose slowly to his feet to go and ask for more water.
They finished within two hours and were sent down to the upper gun deck amidships. There they were made to polish up the dozen-or-so demi-cannons that lined that floor. Relieved they could finally cease their former bent and kneeling positions and that they were out of the wind and cold, the three started this job promptly.
“Better than scrubbing floors,” Eric offered in a depressed but slightly relieved tone.
“This powder could prove useful.” Added Markku sourly. He observed the black powder and touched it with a finger, looking back to make sure the soldiers stationed nearby hadn’t noticed.
“Don’t go getting any fancy ideas, boy. It’ll only lead to trouble, and we’ve already got plenty of that on our hands.” Havard said as he moved along the shaft of the cannon toward the opening in the wall.
Eric noticed that the emblem on the soldiers’ capes was also carved into the top of every gun. Two pointed crowns surrounding a small circle, one crown facing up and the other down. He wiped the small rag over the emblem making it shine lustrous black.

That evening after finishing the jobs appointed to them, they were sent back to their cells for the night. Markku seemed deep in thought the entire time.
“Looks like another storm’s brewing.” Said Havard to Eric talking through the wall. Though in separate rooms, they could hear each other if they sat up against opposite sides of the same wall.
“Another...” Eric’s reply was quiet, almost to himself.
“It all seems rather ironic, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“A storm just happens to come along, we’re stuck fast in this predicament, so many things unanswered, and no doubt they’re gonna make us work outside again. The weather always matches our feelings,” Havard was now, it seemed, speaking in a general sense. ‘Our’ not meaning the three prisoners, but all people in the world, “Just that no one notices until they are in such a state of depression...” he trailed off.
“One would think they control the clouds.” Eric said sarcastically yet in a melancholy manner.
“One would think.
“Markku, you should sleep tonight. Rest that mind of yours. What’ve you been thinking about anyway? You’re worrying me.” Havard said, almost making it evident that he wanted to change the subject.
“You won’t have to worry about anything much longer.” Said Markku. “It’ll all go away. I’ll make it all go.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, lad. It’s the lack of sleep, I tell you. Now come on, lay down and rest.” Havard heard the boy slump down and put himself at ease.
Eric then felt the need to speak. “Havard, do you remember anything?” he said quickly. “Do you remember Kingstad?” There was a sense of urgency in Eric’s voice. A long silence followed.
“Boy,” the old man was now addressing Eric as he always did Markku, “you’d do good to get some sleep too.” His voice sounded sadder than ever before.
Eric waited a while longer, but all he heard from Havard before the man had fallen asleep was one jumbled word which he couldn’t make out very well, partly because the man half spoke it and half muttered it, but also because of the barrier between them that muffled all words. “Evn...lvn.”

The sky unleashed torrents of rain that night. Thunder and lightning kept awake the prisoners aboard the massive ship with its mysterious crew. Eric woke frequently during the night hours, what would have been a good night’s sleep becoming a series of naps interrupted by flashes of lightning and the boom of thunder.
Then came morning of the fifth day on the ship—only the second day of consciousness for Eric Munin. The storm persisted throughout the day, wild as the one that had occurred only a few nights ago. Thankfully, for the first time, no work was assigned to the prisoners. They were instructed to “stay put and shut up,” and they complied rather gratefully. They tried to sleep through midmorning, but again only found themselves taking short naps. Havard didn’t talk at all. He claimed he was tired and wanted to sleep, but Markku, after being asked by Eric to look through the small hole in the wall, revealed to him that the old man was simply sitting in the corner of his cell, gazing up at his solitary window. The two decided not to disturb him.
Eric and Markku talked for a while, exchanging theories regarding the reason for their lack of chores that day. Eric found in the youth’s words a strong sense of innocence, though all he talked of was his complete hate and need for revenge on the men in black uniforms; when one is wrongly accused of something and tortured for it, he finds in himself a need to retaliate.
The storm grew more violent as the day progressed; the ship swaying heavily back and forth on the massive ocean waves, which rose like mountains around the vessel. Eric was thankful they were relatively close to the deck. Occasional shouts were heard from above of soldiers calling to each other through the roar of the storm. When he was not engaged in conversation, Eric thought of the general. The man who had stabbed him he had not seen since the incident. He remembered the authoritative figure vividly: his unmoving features and all-commanding voice.
It was during these thoughts that Eric heard the noise. A sharp cry pierced the ambient sound of the storm, followed by a series of shouts that were repeated over and over again. Eric and Markku both looked up, as if expecting to see through the wood all the way to the source of the calamity. Then they looked at each other.
Havard spoke for the first time that morning. “What could that have been?” He said loudly so the others could hear him.
“I dunno,” replied Markku.
“Maybe a man fell overboard.” Eric said in a sarcastic and gloomy manner.
Then they heard the sound of heavy footsteps not far apart from each other approaching quickly. A man burst into each one of their cells simultaneously, all with the same look of fear and panic upon their distraught soaking wet faces. “Come on now, get up and follow me quickly!”... “Hurry up now, we’re wasting time!”... “Get your ass moving!” The soldiers shouted and dragged the men to their feet hastily.
They were brought on deck and into the storm and rushed across by the soldiers to the starboard side of the ship. The cold wind and rain stung the faces of the three prisoners as they were prodded forward at a grueling pace by muskets. They reached the edge of the ship shortly and were brought to a halt. No less than a dozen of the black-caped men were huddled in one spot standing a good distance away from the elaborately carved wooden railing.
So a man has fallen overboard! What do they expect us to do? Eric felt increasingly worried. There was a long thick rope with at least two hundred feet of slack wound around a massive spool. A good deal of it was unraveled already and lay in a pile next to the railing. They were shoved forward towards the edge and handed the end of the rope, which was tied in a knot around a wooden handle.
“Save our man or we’ll push you all in!”
Eric looked overboard. The ocean looked black and endless below. Giant waves rocked the ship, which rose and fell with the movement of the water. It was hard enough to stay balanced! After a few seconds of searching, he spotted a man waving and screaming wildly in the water below. He threw the end of the rope overboard, and after a long moment, saw the small splash it made as it reached the surface.
The water seemed to darken even more, a blackness in the water next to the ship at least fifty feet in girth and growing. Eric’s mind and body froze. What was he seeing? Was it a shadow cast by the ship? No.
The man was swimming as fast as he could, it seemed. His screams turned to whimpers, and it seemed as if he too noticed the darkness growing beneath him. He reached the rope, grabbed the handle, and tugged twice to indicate he was more than ready to be pulled to safety.
Markku and Havard were now behind Eric pulling with all their might on the rope. Time after time they heaved with all their might, but the rope wouldn’t budge. It was as if something had pinned it to the ocean floor. It was as useless as trying to rip an anchor out of a rocky seabed. Eric watched the water as they pulled.
There was a moment then; all previous knowledge of what could and could not be seemed to vanish abruptly. In that moment, that temporary eternity, every law of nature was broken, everything assumed impossible was proven as fact, and every scientific notion of what can and cannot exist was shattered. Every fear that was previously dubbed “childish” sprang to life like wildfire, and the cold dark cell Eric so loathed suddenly seemed like a welcome haven he would be lucky to see again.
The water’s surface at the waist of the struggling man, who was now trying to climb the rope itself, suddenly sunk dozens of feet, revealing his legs and making the ship begin to tip slowly. They were going to topple over sideways if the water stayed at this level.
Death. Death. Death. The words repeated in Eric’s mind.
Then suddenly the loudest sound any of the men, prisoners and soldiers alike, reverberated from the oceans depths, rattling the wood of the ship. It was a deep roar of such magnitude it made every man scream and clutch his head for fear of going deaf. The roar echoed for what seemed like a great deal of time, and a few of the men, including Markku, passed out and fell unconscious. When the sound faded, Eric opened his eyes (they were closed due to the excruciating pain the noise caused) and scanned once more the ocean below him. The dark mass grew deeper than the blackest of black and the water rose, not only back to its former level, but several feet higher, making the vessel begin to tip the opposite way.
When the water leveled out, there were no signs of the man whom the three were trying to save. The black slowly faded, and with it the storm turned to a drizzle. The soldiers, seemingly forgetting about the two men and unconscious boy, simply walked away slowly. They all stared downward, their faces twisted with a look of fear, shock, and woe.
When they were gone, Eric picked up Markku and followed behind the old man to their cells. Havard stayed in the boy’s cell to look after him for the remainder of the day. The storm was over but the light rain lingered long afterward. The ship seemed to sway less and kept fairly steady. It was mid-afternoon before anyone spoke.
“Eric, there is something we all witnessed today that must be spoken of. You know we must speak of it as well as I.” Havard said, the same apparent emotions in his eyes as the ones the soldiers had shone on their faces earlier that day.
“You heard that sound. Everyone did. I know that was no whale, or any other known creature of the sea. What else is there to say?”
Havard gazed at him, as if saying, “You know very well there was more to what happened than you say.”
“The soldiers seemed as petrified as we were. That was no natural occurrence, Eric Skyler Munin!” Then the man broke his gaze and looked about, as people do when they have said something they shouldn’t have. Suddenly Havard’s voice became that of a sentimental father. “I’m sorry young man. None of what happened is either of our faults. I don’t know what it was, but it scared me I tell you. Scared me to death.” Then the man curled up like Markku always did in his corner and lay down slowly. There was something new in his eyes. He now seemed, even more so than before, completely hopeless. But now another feeling gleamed in his eyes, small but ever-present; Havard was losing his grip on sanity.
The day went by without further event—Eric sitting awake in his cell, Havard and the still-unconscious Markku sleeping in the other. After a few hours Eric slept as well.

The next day was a slow one, and, not being able to see the sky to indicate the time of day, Eric slept often. Sleep did not come easily to his restless mind, but the incident from the day before took its toll; he was still physically exhausted. Havard rolled onto his side once, but otherwise slept the entire day away, leaving Eric with no company.
It must have been close to midnight when Havard finally did wake up. He immediately left the cell and returned to his own. Eric, who was awake at this time, did not know why. Upon entering his cell, he promptly moved to the corner where the wall dividing his cell and Eric’s stood. His voice sounded shaky and desperate when he spoke. “Eric, you must listen to me.” Eric was surprised by the urgency in Havard’s voice. “I am dying, Eric. Markku will awaken soon, and I did not want him waking to find my corpse in his room.”
“Havard, what are you saying? Everything is going to be...” he was cut short.
“No, there is no time for that, Eric! You didn’t notice yesterday when I spoke your full name, did you? Aren’t you wondering how I know it? Eric Skyler Munin!”
Eric’s mind was flooded. Indeed, how does this old man know my name? Havard. The name now sounded familiar, as it never had before. But how do I—did I, know this man? From Kingstad? These questions could not be answered; Eric could not remember.
“Eric, listen. I saw that—that thing yesterday! I saw what no one else witnessed. Everyone’s eyes were shut except for mine! That man, what was done to him. What I’m saying is, I think we’re already doomed. There is no chance! Look...” his voice became more raspy and his breathing quickened. He coughed mid-sentence.
“Havard, slow down! Just relax, try to breath!”
Markku squirmed a little. He was waking up.
“Eric. You remembered. No one else did. You. I don’t know,” a series of coughs, “don’t know what this means.” His words became very hard to distinguish through the wall, and Eric pressed his ear closer and was about to get up to run out of his cell and into Havard’s.
“I’m coming over there!”
“No, don’t. I need to say one more thing to you.”
Eric couldn’t believe what was happening. His eyes began to well.
“Do not touch the water. Can’t you see what has happened to us? Don’t tell Markku! He was so young...” more coughing.
“I don’t understand, Havard, don’t tell him what?” Eric was distraught and felt helpless.
“Think...what have we eaten? Does your wound bother you still? And Markku. It’s all so obvious.” The old man was sitting back against the wall and sounded so tired, so worn, as if on the verge of collapse.
“She was a good girl...a little gloomy, but lovely all the same.” Havard never spoke again.









end of chapter 3

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The Cold in Kingstad--Ch.1-2-3