Echoes on the Water

“That rogue Rashar looked up thinking he might have heard a sound or a voice. Speaking to him from the cliffs of the cove. He could not properly hear the words, but he thought it said a name. And he saw no one and no thing. Not even a gull or a crab. Like a whisper, he told himself, it must have come from the gentle lap of the water, or a rock splashing into it.

Soon his eyes looked into the sky. Thin streaks of cloud of teal and mazarine with faint wispy highlights of ochre and misty rose floated on the horizon. Though it was dawn, the light seemed to fade, and the wind picked up and soon there were ripples in Rashar’s reflection. So many he didn’t see the fingers curl over his shoulder.

Slowly he turned around and saw to whom the hand belonged. Unsurprisingly it was his master, Jabar.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Rashar.”

On that cold morning, Jabar wore a coat with a high collar, and gathered his hair in a knot at the back of his head. He smiled and and took a deep breath as he always did upon arriving in a new or foreign land, sucking in the last of the dissipating mist.

Soon the crew joined them above deck, quietly going about their posts without being told. And the rest of Jabar’s entourage had risen as well, preparing to disembark. They moved about crates and parcels of rations and equipment left from their journey, and had even begun to unload the baron’s horse, Zulfiqar. A destrier of grey dapple.

From the starboard side Rashar saw their peg-legged merchant captain Mummada leering at him. And his second, Juttamat, with his long beard of braids stood alongside the captain sneering as well. Whether they and the rest of the crew were normally miserable, or they simply detested or judged Rashar, the young squire could not be sure.

“You’ll be pleased to know, that this is our port,” said Jabar.

Rashar then looked up the small disintegrating jetty toward the settlement beyond the beach. Where there were a few stone structures standing. However the gabbro appeared quite weathered as well and ready if not willing to crumble. Whereafter they would immediately sink into the mud. Yet as uninviting as the village was, another day aboard Riptide seemed potentially worse.

“Good.”

“At last we can stretch our legs�"”

“And be free of this miserable crew, sir?”

Jabar chuckled, “Yes, quite rid of them. There is something odd about them, isn’t there? Never did they laugh or crack a smile. Not at my jokes or tale-telling. Not even when I told them the story of the shadows and the goblin horde. They’re unlike any mariners I’ve ever met… It’s rather tragic. Perhaps it’s because we’ve overstayed our welcome, hmm?”

Furthermore, to hear Sir Jabar’s account in his own words was indeed entertaining. But that is a story for later.

“Maybe we were not welcome from the start?”

“Perhaps not. I often wonder…” The baron’s words were quickly drowned out by a high, and at first screeching voice. However not so high as to deafen Rashar, or even so loud that his master or the crew of the ship could hear it. In fact, Jabar continued speaking as if Rashar was listening intently. As if the very air was content to listen; undisturbed.

The voice belonged to a female, yet as Rashar looked around there were none to be seen. Not on deck in any case; not among the crew. Those who travelled in his master’s entourage had recently disembarked and were presumably waiting in whatever lodging was available in the village. And Rashar didn’t strain to give more than a cursory glance.

Soon the shriek of the woman, despite Rashar not seeing one, ended. Though her volume and the fear Rashar detected in her voice remained, as her cry became a shout. What sounded to him like a call for help was like an echo throughout a cavern or a castle so great and vast, the young squire could barely imagine. And simply enough she said his name.

Over and over again he heard his name uttered so shrilly the speaker could only have been a giant or a banshee. Eventually however, Rashar decided that it was the cliffs of the bay which must be amplifying the woman’s voice. Somewhere, on one of the headlands, skirting either side of the harbour, thought Rashar, a lass was calling to him. In vain he looked again, but still he could see no one.

His master saw Rashar crane his neck around now, and with a great big smile on his cheeks he asked, “I’m not boring you now, am I, Rashar?”

As abruptly as the hollering began, it stopped. Ending only just as Sir Jabar inquired. Rashar blinked rapidly out of his daze, and focused back on the baron. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry, sir. I…” Rashar cleared his throat, “I thought I… Did you hear anything?”

“Hear what?”

“I heard... something.” Rashar left it at that. Not meaning to keep a secret, he became quiet as he was stumped and trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Well nevermind it then. Let’s disembark before this ship sails away with us aboard.”

Both men marched off, where only gloomy eyes would follow. The murky tars, standing and staring judgmentally at the foreigners�" Jabar and his squire�" went about their duties the moment they descended the gangplank. Rashar turned back once to see, strangely, the caravel already underway.

Moving fast, the Riptide’s next heading and destination were unknown. What Rashar found most peculiar however, was that the crew had stopped at port without resupply. Into the horizon they went; into the morning. Where the sky had become dull. The clouds dark and crawling. And a very hairy grey.