Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

She soon calmed down, realizing he presented no danger to the children, herself, or what they owned. A nearly naked body couldn’t conceal anything, neither a weapon, nor stolen goods.

“I am Talena.” She placed her basket on the table. “I’m sorry I was unfriendly.”

He waved away her apology. “But of course. I quite understand.”

“He gave me money!” said Flira, handing the purse to her mother.

“That was for the fuel for the fire.” Rodario smiled at her. “Can you tell me how I get off this island? I have to go to Mifurdania.”

“If you go over the dunes and follow the path to the right you’ll get to Stillwater, a little fishing village. You’ll find someone there to take you.” Talena took the herbs out of her basket and rinsed them in a bowl of water. “Did you really enjoy my son’s story?”

“Very much,” Rodario confirmed, giving Ormardin a wink. “And I was quite serious about his talent. I know a few storytellers who might be glad to have a gifted pupil like him.”

“Oh please, mother. Flira will do the fishing when she grows up,” begged the boy.

“No, I shan’t,” came the answer, quick as a flash.

Talena turned round. “Quiet, you two. See what your father says.” She looked at Rodario. “You’d better get on your way now. Mendar will be taking his sloop over to Mifurdania around midday. He takes seliti-oysters over to the market. Tell Mendar I sent you and he won’t charge.”

“Talena, thank you.” He pulled his shirt down from the rack and put it on. “Perhaps we will meet again,” he said to Ormardin, crouching down in front of the young boy. “Have you got something to write with? I’ll give you the names of some famous storytellers.”

The boy nodded and went off to find a piece of slate and some chalk. Rodario wrote the names of two celebrated narrators and the kingdoms they lived in. “But you’ll have to ask around because they’re usually touring. You’ll find them all right.”

He ruffled the boy’s hair again. “Palandiell will help you, Ormardin.”

Talena gave him some bread and dried fish. “For the journey,” she said. In her eyes he could read that her son would never have the opportunity to leave the island. It was his lot in life to become a fisherman like his father, and his father and grandfather before him. “Elria be with you.”

She went with him to the door and pointed to the fog-bound dunes. He had only gone three paces before he heard the door close again.

The white veils of mist that enveloped him tasted sweetly of salt and sand. Rodario strode up the sand dunes and found the path Talena had described. On the way he ate some of the food she had given him; the fish had a fine aroma of smoke and salty herbs.

As the mist lifted, Rodario saw a flat, bare island with scarcely any trees, but plenty of small shrubs and grassland where sheep were grazing. The summer sun began to dry even his shoes.

He was taken with that saga of the island. What if it were true? Had that been how his barge had capsized? Or had the vessel run aground and then been dragged down, her back broken from the rocks?

At least, thanks to Ormardin, he had a possible explanation for the loss of the barge, even if the idea was worrying. A lost colony of alfar that could not be pursued. It could become a breeding ground for terrible dangers for Girdlegard.

Rodario found the village easily and the fisherman was soon located. He was told to squat in the bow with the extra sails, where a sailor sat mending holes in the canvas.

The craft set sail, cutting swiftly through the water toward the port.

Rodario dozed a little, then sat watching the sailors at work. His thoughts were wandering, and instead of the men on deck he saw Ormardin in his mind’s eye. How sad that this talented child would not enjoy a better life.

“What are you staring at me for?”

The unfriendly question dragged Rodario out of his reverie. “Forgive me. I was lost in thought.” He smiled. Maybe this man could tell him more about the mysterious island. “I was wondering if you had any ideas as to what caused the giant wave? Last night I…”

The sailor put down his needle and stared at him. “Are you mad?” He spat over the side of the boat and called Elria’s name quickly, three times. “You’ll call up Nightmare Island and kill us all.”

Rodario was astonished to find a grown man so in thrall to a myth. “So it’s true?”

“As true as the sun overhead,” the sailor spoke quietly in reply, his eyes on the waters that shone mirror-like in the light. “Keep quiet about it, right?”

Rodario did not think for a moment of keeping quiet. An idea occurred. “I’ve got to know whether anyone has ever stepped onto the island and survived.”

The sailor grabbed him by the collar and shook him hard. “If you don’t stop at once…”

The lake began to seethe around them. Bubbles rose to the surface and a bestial stink reached their noses, making Rodario cough and retch.

A bell clanged on deck, the crew scuttled to and fro to hoist full rig. They had to get out of the danger zone as fast as possible.

“You damned idiot,” screamed the sailor, hitting Rodario on the chin. “It’s your fault!” He clambered up, dragging the actor to his feet. “He did it!” he yelled, drawing back his arm to hit out again. “He talked it up!”

“What do you mean?” demanded Rodario, ducking the next blow and tripping over a folded sail; he stumbled against the railing and lost his balance.

Instead of helping him the sailor gave him a shove backwards, overboard. “Take him, Elria! Take him, you alfar!” he shouted after him. “Spare us. Only spare us!”

Rodario was submerged anew in Weyurn’s predominating element. The water was as cold as ever; he swallowed mouthfuls that this time tasted unpalatably bitter and smelt strongly of sulphur. Bubbles of varying shapes and sized floated up past him. Some were filled with greenish gas, some were bluish or yellow. Refracted sunlight piercing the water gave them a strange beauty and diverted attention from the peril they implied.

He bobbed round the gas bubbles and struggled back up to the surface. Spluttering, he gasped for air, but the fumes made him choke. Bursting bubbles made the lake look as if it were boiling, though luckily for him this was not the case.

The boat slipped past him; he had no chance of catching up. “You can’t do that!” he called out in horror. “I’m really not a good swimmer! Help me back on board!”

At that moment a rocky formation broke through the frothing surface and continued to rise inexorably, sharp rock following rock, as the waters heaved and sloshed.

The higher the rocks grew the broader they became until they had formed a massive unscaleable cliff. Water poured back off in great torrents.

The lapping of small waves had turned into the heaving mass of great rollers that rose and fell in a terrifying fashion.

The sloop provided a welcome victim. She spun round and round as her planks creaked and loosened, some falling on deck and some in the lake. She lost her mast, then listed badly to one side.

The mountain continued to rise from the depths, exuding hissing clouds of air and gas through cracks and crannies in the rock.

Rodario grabbed one of the wooden beams that had crashed down into the water from the stricken vessel; then, holding fast with all his might, he gave his attention once more to the horrifying spectacle before him. The sloop collided with the cliff face, shattering as the sharp rocks sliced through her wooden hull, splintering the planks. Her sails and rigging caught fast and were heaved upwards as the island rose. The boat broke up and her crew fell or jumped overboard.