FOUR

JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY

Krystos decided not to accompany Leonado on his journey to recruit the pirates. Apart from the fact that the entire notion left a foul taste in his mouth, he wished to be free of the little sorcerer’s company. His presence filled Krystos with too many conflicting emotions. Even though Krystos hated Leonado’s meddling, something about his flamboyant, cheeky personality appealed to him. And the way he spoke to Krystos, lavishing him with endearments was enough to send his pulse racing.

Left alone with his restored ship he began to plot how to be long gone before Leonado and his pirates returned. Even though barely a handful of men had survived, surely they would be enough to get The Crystal Rose moving and into a port where he could recruit new sailors.

Krystos set out in search of them, unhinging his mind from his body to soar above the ship and across the dense, inhospitable countryside. He soon saw why few dared venture this far north. The jungle was impenetrable, and when he drew closer, he thought he saw strange sinuous beasts slithering though the undergrowth, their eyes flashing up at him out of the darkness.

He saw no trace of the sailors on his first expedition. Exhausted from the journey, he decided to spend the next day consulting the ship’s charts. Perhaps they might yield some information as to how he could return home.

After several hours of fruitless perusal, he threw the maps down in disgust. What had that cursed navigator been doing all this time? Contemplating his navel? None of the charts matched, and the man’s handwriting was a mass of illegible squiggles.

“May your useless hide nourish the sea creatures, for you did no good as a sea man,” Krystos cursed, deciding to try his luck again with the other sailors. He would convince them to come back with him somehow. Inhabiting a new body had to have its advantages. They wouldn’t know him as Captain Rose, or the sailor they left behind.

It took several astral journeys to discover what had happened to them. Seeing their discarded bones and possessions strewn about a tiny clearing, made his heart knot painfully in his chest. Leonado had been right yet again. The jungle beasts had made a feast out of them.

Krystos returned to his body, feeling wrung out and so damn sad, he couldn’t bear to move. He must have lain in his bed for days, lethargy and melancholy constant companions.

“All right Leonado, you win,” he grumbled on the third day. “Bring your pirates. We’ll play the game your way.” But many weeks passed before Leonado returned, until Krystos wondered if he should try his luck on foot. As long as he kept to the beaches, he would reach a seaside port eventually. The little sorcerer had assured him there were plenty of riches to be had along Avion’s coastline. Krystos reasoned he could recruit enough sailors on his own, but the longer he procrastinated, the more he dreaded returning to find his ship stolen by the wily Leonado and his pirates.

The sun sat low on the horizon when a vessel rounded the headland. It was the ugliest tub Krystos had ever seen. Barely large enough to house the fifty odd men crowded upon its decks, it rode dangerously low in the water, the single mast supporting dirty, patched sails.

As the ancient old boat drew alongside The Crystal Rose, Krystos felt as though a filthy hand had smeared feces down his spotless white shirt. The tub’s occupents seemed to be in no better shape. All dark like Leonado, they were clad in little more than rags, their eyes wide with awe in their grimy, hungry faces.

“Serpon’s spawn!” Krystos exclaimed. “What have ye done, Leonado?”

“Set out to do what I said, found ye a new crew,” the little sorcerer said from beside him.

Krystos spun round, stunned to see him there. He had discarded his unbecoming robe, and was dressed as a sailor, wearing a soft white shrit and snug-fitting trousers tucked into tall boots. He still favoured the colour red, for both his pants and boots were as bright as the susnet now streaking the sky crimson.

“Do any of them even know how to sail?” Krystos demanded.

“O’ course. I tought them myself,” Leonado replied smugly. “Tie up and come aboard men,” he called out.

“I cannot abide this,” Krystos protested, already knowing that he’d been duped yet again. He turned and stalked away, unable to take the sight of his ship being overun by these filthy baggages. He cringed as he caught sight of several grimy men making themselves at home upon his spotless deck. He slammed the door to his cabin shut behind him.

Krystos threw himself down upon the bed, rage and frustration churning his gut. Even though Leonado’s magic could not kill Krystos, without his ship Krystos was nothing. Leonado had control of her now.

Krystos didn’t know how long he lay there, but time must have passed, for he heard activity all around him; running feet, orders being given as the ship was readied for sail.

He didn’t know anyone had entered his room until he felt the touch of a gentle hand aganst his hair. He sprung up, startled to see Leonado standing beside the bed.

“I wish thou wouldst not sneak up on a man like that,” Krystos gritted out.

Leonado merely sat down beside him. “I thought ye might want to know that we’re under sail.”

“And where pray tell might we be going?”

“To get rich,” he replied simply.

“Through deciet and villany,” Krystos muttered.

Leonado shrugged his slender shoulders. “Through whatever means it takes.”

“I sailed an honest ship, Leonado, a fine ship.”

“And she’s still a fine ship. The best.” Suddenly he threw his hands up in frustration. “What in the Gods’ name dost thou want, Krystos?”

Krystos shook his head. “’Nothing thou canst give.”

“I’m wounded,” Leonado feigned hurt. “A wizard capable of breaking into an entire wing of a prison to free its inmantes without the guards so much as batting an eye, and ye accuse me of being unable to help ye!”

“Can ye undo the past? Bring back the dead?”

Leonado stared at him for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “Nay! I believe no mage can perform such feats.”

Krystos sighed, bowing his head, his long dark hair forming a curtain about his face. “I thought not.”

“Would a life of pirating with me be so terrible?” Leonado asked softly. Again his hand returned to Krystos’s hair, pushing it over his shoulder. A shiver pulsed down Krystos’s spine, and he glanced back at the slender mage. “Ye’re still the captain, Krystos. I haven’t taken that from you, even if ye think I’ve robbed you of yer vessel. When Dragonfire tires of pirating, I might even come with you to your homeland.”

“Have ye ever questioned what this being wants from you?” Krystos asked, turing his face so that Leonado’s fingers could brush his cheek.

“All the time. But let us not discuss him now. Let’s instead concentrate on one other, as we’ve been longing to do since we first laid eyes on each other.”

Krystos let the desire coursing through his veins take over. He had always had a weakness for slender youths. At many a port he’d taken his pleasure with young, fresh boys too confused and frightened to resist the power of his lust. He pushed Leonado back upon the bed, the young sorcerer as eager as himself to sate the passion flaring between them.

Alecsis continued to cradle Jenkano’s limp body in his arms long after the old man had heaved his last breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks, as he sobbed over the death of the only friend he had ever known.

The mage had taught him how to mix and stew his concoction of herbs long ago, and Alecsis had made him drink gallons and gallons of the evil tasting brew – but his hacking cough worsened, until the bed was awash with blood. It made them both look like they had been in a bitter war. For two days he sat with Jenkano, trying in vain to make him well again.

Accept it, Alecsis. Your friend is dead. Jenkano had not always been easy to get along with, often yelling at him for the slightest misdemeanor, but he’d taught Alecsis all he knew.

The young man might have learnt the rudiments of the language, but he knew nothing of Avion’s people, and felt like a newborn babe, innocent in the ways of the world. Jenkano had revealed little of their customs and beliefs. He had not taught him anything about magic either, saying his brother would complete his education. But Lorenso lived a hundred leagues away. According to Jenkano’s map, Alecsis would have to traverse half the continent to reach him.

Mageye’s howl split the still night air, yanking Alecsis out of his reverie. Windrider neighed, and the cows began to bellow mournfully. They know their master is dead, Alecsis thought. Lifting the old man’s head from his lap, he climbed off the bed and stumbled towards the door.

The cool night air was a welcoming relief from the stench of sickness in the cottage, and Alecsis took a deep, cleansing breath. He studied the star studded sky, wondering if Jenkano’s soul was already among them. Have you come to claim your own yet, mighty Makim? He deserves a place beside you. Treat him well.

His short prayer said, Alecsis turned to the wash-pail, rinsing the dried blood from his hands and face. Then he removed his tunic. He doubted the animals would react well to Jenkano’s blood on his clothes.

Alecsis found comfort of sorts with Mageye and Windrider. The three of them spent the remainder of the night huddled together on the hay in the horse’s stall. As dawn stretched its first tentative fingers across the barn’s roof, Alecsis rose, and prepared for the chore ahead.

The physical labour of digging Jenkano’s grave was no great hardship. What weighed him down was the great gaping hole in his heart. The big hound sat silent and mournful at the edge of the ever deepening crevice, his usually bright eyes dulled by sadness. Alecsis could at least give his friend and teacher the burial he deserved. The old wizard had feared nothing more than the prospect of vultures feasting on his flesh. Under the ground, he could lie in peace, his body becoming one with the earth.

Alecsis stopped often to wipe tears away. The deeper the hole became, the larger the chasm in his heart grew.

Around mid-morning he put his shovel down. Leaving the dog to stare with miserable eyes into the dark earth, he returned to the cottage. He dreaded the task ahead. His dragon-hide boots felt like lead weights pulling at his feet.

Jenkano lay exactly as he had left him, his face pale and lifeless. The scent of death clung tenaciously to the air. Wrapping the old man in a clean woollen blanket, Alecsis lifted him from the bed.

Mageye began barking as Alecsis brought his master out. Sniffing the air around the still form Alecsis carried, he whined piteously, then darted around to the other side of the grave to growl accusingly at him.

I’m sorry, Mageye, but your master was a very old man. He led a good life, but now we must lay him to rest. Do not fear. I will look after you.

His soothing thoughts calmed the dog somewhat, and he grew silent while Alecsis dropped to his knees, gently lowering Jenkano’s body into the grave.

“Goodbye my friend,” he said, straightening up. He failed to realise that he had spoken in his own language, and Mageye whined again.

Alecsis ignored the dog as he picked up the shovel and began closing the grave. The tears resumed their relentless journey down his cheeks, as the clumps of earth fell on the blanket-covered form lying so silent and still.

Alecsis was reluctant to leave, and wondered if he could live here by himself. Jenkano had done it, so why couldn’t he?

The answer came to him in the form of nightmares that left him trembling with fear. He dreamt of Jenkano’s dead face, his bloodstained clothes hanging off his scrawny body. He decayed a little more each night, flesh peeling away, maggots crawling out of his sightless eyes. During the day, the emptiness in his heart grew. Alecsis soon realised the loneliness would drive him mad. He didn’t have the stamina for isolated living.

He prepared for the journey south. Sticking the map into his belt pouch, he packed a few belongings; Jenkano’s sword and dagger, his cloak and satchel of healing herbs, purse of gold coins, as well as some dried meat and a water-flask.

The forest yielded nothing but berries, fruits and herbs. Alecsis still had not forgotten the days of yearning for something more substantial when he first made the trip along the coast.

Early the following morning he set the animals free, and shooed them into the dense undergrowth behind the barn. Then he saddled Windrider, and calling Mageye to his side, he set off.

For many days the scenery remained the same. The track leading from Jenkano’s isolated homestead had not been used in years, and Alecsis had to stop often to hack away thick vines and move rotting tree branches.

The only life forms Alecsis saw were scaly green and gold creatures that slithered on invisible legs. With Mageye darting straight for them, Alecsis often had to kill them, and then heal a bite or sting inflicted upon the dog with a soothing herb from Jenkano’s pouch.

Alecsis soon grew to loathe the jungle. Windrider’s white coat grew shabby from insect bites. Alecsis bathed him in herbal solution every night, but in the morning he was once again covered in scabs and seeping sores.

Almost convinced Avion consisted of nothing but festering forests, Alecsis breathed an audible sigh of relief when he finally came across his first open space. The trees thinned, and stretching out in front of him were rows of mature rice paddies.

Reining Windrider to a halt behind the treeline, he stared in wonderment at the scene before him. At least a dozen people worked ankle deep in the waterlogged fields. Most amazing to Alecsis was that many were women.

Even though he remembered nothing of his life before Avion, he knew the difference between the sexes. Somewhere in the dim distant past there must have been a woman who had cared for him. For the first time trying to remember of his childhood didn’t fill him with dread. Had she been his mother? A sister?

When nothing came he returned his attention to the women in the field. Their slender brown arms and legs were bare, and when one bent forward to pluck a plant from the water, he caught a glimpse of full, round breasts above the bodice of her gown.

Alecsis felt his face flush, and the heat surging to his lower body made him swell and strain against the fabric of his leggings. He was certain he had never experienced the like before, and quickly spurred Windrider away through the trees.

That night he found a clearing, where for the first time in days he could watch the moon and stars follow the curve of the sky. He lay awake a long time, pondering the oddness of his reaction.

Eventually he fell into a restless sleep. He had not dreamt of Jenkano’s decaying body since leaving the homestead, a sure sign he had made the right choice. Instead he dreamt of the woman in the field. He saw his pale hands reach for her slender waist, but when he thought he had her, she turned and ran from him, vanishing into the mist surrounding his dream.

He woke with a start, discovering his hand pressed against his manhood. He started to stroke himself, the hot pleasure sending his thoughts whirling.

At first he saw the woman, but then a sense of revulsion crept over him, and he drew his hand away. Was it wrong to tantalise oneself? Are you up there, Jenkano? Why does my body react like this? It feels strange, strange but pleasant. Is it normal?

Of course he received no answer, and decided to continue his journey despite the earliness of the hour. Alecsis knew he would get no more sleep that night.

He came across more rice paddies over the next few days, but none were ready for harvesting, and therefore devoid of people.

As the road improved, the forest thinned, and eventually gave way to stunted trees and tall swaying grasses. Even the cloying humidity eased. Although the sun scorched the dry earth, Alecsis welcomed the dry heat. He sat astride Windrider’s back, staring in relief at the undulating hills stretching into the distance.

According to his map, he had almost twenty leagues to travel before he reached the Minka River. He reasoned this journey would not take as long as his slow, tedious treck through the forest. His horse was as keen for a run as he was.

Spurring him into action, the stallion soon demonstrated his stamina, galloping at an incredible pace across the rolling hillsides. With the wind tugging Alecsis’s hair and rippling through Windrider’s mane, they covered many leagues that day. Although Mageye often fell behind, he always caught up. With his keen sense of smell and excellent eyesight, he had no trouble finding them at the end of the day.

At dusk they rode into their first village, a cluster of thatched mud-brick cottages hugging the dusty roadside. Children playing outside the humble dwellings scattered in the massive stallion’s wake, their shrieks of terror bringing mothers to doorways. The men, returning from working the fields, appeared at the bottom of the road.

A wave of hostility mingled with fear swept over Alecsis as he reined in Windrider. Brought to such an abrupt halt, the horse reared, coming up on his powerful hind legs. Mageye darted back and forth across the street, sniffing curiously at the retreating children, his magical eyes sparkling in the half light.

Even if he had ridden calmly into the village, the reception would have been the same. This was an isolated community that rarely saw travelers, and a tall, pale man thundering into their midst on a massive white horse must have come as something of a shock.

“I mean ye no harm,” he called out in the language Jenkano had taught him. “I am just passing through.”

Nobody answered. They stood gaping at him, their dark eyes wide with suspicion. Like those in the rice fields, these individuals were small in stature, with dark brown skin and straight dark hair kept cropped short. They wore simple clothes; the men drab smocks over roughly woven breeches, and the women lose fitting frocks in various shades of brown or gray. Alecsis, with his flowing yellow hair and bright dragon-hide boots stood out like a star burst in the night sky.

The safest thing to do would be to ride on. The men were armed with farming implements; shovels, picks and axes, formidable weapons if they so chose to use them. They also barred his way. Alecsis didn’t want to turn back and find another route south, but neither did he want to engage in battle with the men.

He called Mageye to his side, and reined Windrider around. The three of them left the village as quickly as they had entered it, and Alecsis spent another night alone with his tumbling thoughts and the strange new ache at the base of his belly. But he dared not respond to it again. He kept his hands tucked securely under his head as he stared up at the canopy of stars. Tonight they seemed to be taunting him, and he squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out their astral winking.