David Cook: Beyong the Moons

Teldin realized as he looked at the giff and the female that the crew had to be larger than these two. Ocean ships, he remembered, had crews of ten or more men. Teldin reluctantly pulled the damp cloak tight and headed back toward the crackling wreck. Although it was dangerous, perhaps even foolhardy, Teldin knew he had to search for more survivors, and that meant once more braving the flames.

He continued his circuit of the vessel. Although the hull planking was splintered or sprung all along the length to the stern, no safe opening presented itself. The few gaps that Teldin guessed he could wriggle through showed hellish flames leaping inside. That was more than enough to discourage any attempts to enter by those routes.

Near the stern, the way was blocked by the arch of the bizarre fin that stretched from the ship’s keel. Teldin could see that it was of a strange substance, almost flesh. The the enormous, bound prisoner and the slight corpse on the fin’s thick ribs quivered when he touched them, and the stench of roasted meat that rose from the charred membranes was nauseatingly heavy.

Skirting past the horrid appendage, Teldin climbed over the trunk of an uprooted tree and came around to the stern. He stood in the remains of the melon field, immature fruits, reduced to green pulp, squashed under his feet. As Teldin had suspected, the stern had a bay of windows marking a cabin. It was the same as the ships of Kalaman, and Teldin guessed that ships must be pretty much the same regardless of their ports of call.

The side of the stern angled downward, putting the cabin’s shattered windows just within reach. While smoke poured out from the top of each window, there was no sign of the hellish flames that consumed other parts of the ship. Teldin got his fingers on the sill, then pulled himself up to peer over the edge. The heat and smoke were noticeably greater even this small distance from the ground.

The farmer scanned the cabin through smoke-burned, watering eyes. Firelight from outside provided the only illumination, for no flames had yet found their way this far aft. Right beneath his nose was a narrow table, tipped on its side. A sea chest, flung loose in the crash, had broken one of the legs. Several other chests had been thrown with enough force to crack the fine wood paneling of the cabin’s walls. Strewn all around the floor were charts and logs, bent calipers, and instruments Teldin could not recognize. These might be valuable or useful, but, clinging to the sill, he could not reach them.

Oddly, there was an enormous chair, bulky and plain looking, sitting undisturbed in the center of the room.Just how it had survived, the farmer could not fathom, until he noticed that the heavy legs were bolted to the deck, a point that aroused his curiosity. The seat faced the bow, ignoring the view out the stern windows, and was hardly a position Teldin would have chosen.

Aglow around the edges of the cabin door heralded the blaze’s arrival. Almost immediately following the dim illumination, flames licked through the cracks of the jamb and tickled the cabin’s ceiling. The new fire lit the darker corners of the room. Huddled in one of these was a form, half- hidden under a welter of papers and junk.

“Are you all right? Can you move?” Teldin shouted, enthusiastically but mistakenly seeing the body as something alive. The expanding light quickly changed his hopes. The War of the Lance had given the farmer more than enough examples of death’s visage, and this was just another. The corpse was an old man’s, clearly human. Its pockmarked face was slack, but the fingers stiffly pointed with rigor mortis. The mouth hung open, the dead-blue tongue lolling out one side, and the clouded eyes stared to the ceiling. The corpse wore a long, dirty white robe of thin material, like a summer nightgown. On its feet were red velvet slippers, decorated with glass beads. A small pouch at the waist had spilled open, revealing little bundles of feathers, powders, small stones, prisms, dried leaves, and bits of bone. A wizard, Teldin guessed, probably one of the Order of White Robes, those whose moon was the silvery Solinari.

For a moment, while clinging to the window sill, Teldin debated climbing in and dragging the corpse out. The wizard deserved a proper burial. The crackling roar from the fire, however, quickly dissuaded him. The farmer saw a solid sheet of flame billow across the ceiling. Fingers of fire ran down the window frames. Fiery drops of pitch bubbled and oozed out of the wood and dropped to the floor. Dust from the melon field started to blow past as the growing fire sucked air into the room. A blast of heat assailed Teldin, and the wooden door panels split open. Smoke and fire roiled through the doorway.

“Paladine’s blood!” Teldin swore. He abandoned all thoughts of rescuing the corpse, then dropped back to the dirt. His move came not a moment too soon, for a gout of flame rushed through the shattered windows and played across the ship’s stern.

Teldin picked himself up and finished the little that remained of the circuit before returning to his camp. Along the way he found more bodies: men, apparently sailors, all dead. These dead were in no danger from the fire, soleldin hurried back to check on his prisoner.

The giff, or whatever it was, was still bound and apparently not conscious, but it stirred sluggishly. The burns and cuts on its face and hands did not seem too severe. There was a large lump on its temple, purplish green against the blue skin. Teldin guessed that a chunk of the exploding device had caused the bruise, laying the creature low.

“By all the gods, Teldin Moore! Are you alive, boy?” echoed Liam’s voice faintly over the rumble of the flames.

Teldin struggled to his feet, astonished to hear a friendly voice, any voice. “Liam! Over here!” he shouted through cupped hands. “Liam! By the creek!”

“Teldin,” Liam shouted back, “are you all right? What, by the gods, happened?” The skinny farmer scurried out of the darkness, pausing to climb over fallen timber. Panting he reached Teldin’s little camp. “Lords, you’re a mess!" Liam exclaimed between breaths. In the gloom of the trees the older man didn’t even notice the hog-tied giff or the dead female on the ground.

“Thank the gods you’re alive!” Liam rattled on, grabbing Teldin gratefully by the shoulders. “I thought for sure you’d been burned to cinders. The sky’s lit up clear on the other side of the ridge. When I saw it-well, that’s why I came. Are you all right, boy?”

“I’m fine, fine,” Teldin answered, almost breaking into laughter. Liam’s concern was touching, almost comical after the events of the night. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Liam!” Teldin burst out, grabbing his neighbor’s wiry arms.

Liam held Teldin’s shoulders as if he were afraid the young farmer would evaporate, then he sniffled back a tear of happiness. “What in all the Dark Queen’s Abyss happened-” Liam abruptly stopped, his eyes goggling at ground "-here?” he squeaked out at last. “And what, by the Queen herself, is that?” Liam stammered, pointing at Teldin’s hog-tied prisoner.

Teldin swallowed, his mouth parched. “That is a giff-I think. At least that’s what he said he was,” he answered hoarsely.

“A giff?” A dazed Liam mulled over the name, readily accepting Teldin’s answer. “But-but, what happened to your farm, boy?”

Teldin didn’t answer. He instead looked over Liam’s shoulder toward the blazing ruin that had been his cabin. Slowly he realized it was all gone-the cabin his grandfather had built, his father’s stone chimney, even the porch he’d built with his own hands.

“What’s going on here, Teldin? Draconians do this?” Liam asked in a gentler voice as he saw his young friend’s hollow stare.