The scream jolted Fogrolir from his sleep. Bolting upright, he realized he was still in the hold of the ship. The scream had not stopped, however, and his heart pounded in anticipation. He was unable to see what was going on topside, so he moved the bags of grain and pushed a barrel into place, and using the bags of food on the floor, he hopped onto the barrel to try to see what was going on.

  Reaching for the grating, he interlocked his fingers and pulled himself up. He stared between the squares of the grating and saw a few shipmen standing around a dwarf. As they moved apart, he realized it was the dwarf who had helped him the night before. He was in pain, and his arm looked funny. Fogrolir was uncertain as to what happened. He was repulsed by the appearance of the dwarf’s arm, and yet, he could not find it in himself to look away.

  Staring intently at the scene, he failed to notice his father as he walked up to the grating and looked down at his son.

  “Something finally has your attention, Fogrolir?” he asked.

  “Huh!” he gasped and let go of the grating. His body made a thud as his feet hit the barrel below, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor.

  He landed on the grain and the force of his fall caused the bag to pop open. Grain spewed forth, and he hopped to his feet to grab it and place it back in the bag before it got wet. The sound of the grating being lifted caused him to pause, and as he turned to look up, he found his father, with hand outstretched, waiting for him.

  “Come on lad. Let’s get you out of here.” Fogrolir took his father’s hand, and Gamut pulled him out of the hole and shut the grating.

  “You want to be curious and know what the screaming is all about, do you?” he pointed at the crewmember. “His arm has been broken. It has been broken by another dwarf on this ship, and it is your fault, lad.” He spoke in hushed tones to Fogrolir, placing the blame for the incident solely on his young sons’ shoulders.

  “He opened his mouth in defiance of my decision yesterday, and another took exception to it. Now he has a broken arm. This would not have happened if you were paying attention and doing your job. Do you understand now, Fogrolir? You have a job to do aboard the Bearded Quail, and if you do not do it, people get hurt.”

  Fogrolir nodded while trying to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. He felt horrible and just wanted to go back into the hold and protect his feelings from Gamut.

  “Do not listen to him, lad!” the crewman called out through his pain. “Whatever he tells you, do not listen to him!” he stood up and began to walk toward Fogrolir; his boots echoed on the wooden planks as he moved closer.

  “I know your father, Fogrolir.” He said as he got nearer. “I know him, and I know he will say whatever it takes to make you feel bad. If he told you this was your fault, it is a lie. You did not cause this.” He changed his gaze from Fogrolir and settled it upon the eyes of Gamut:

  “This is your fault, old man; it is yours and yours alone.” He pointed at one of the crewmen, “You whispered to that dwarf as you passed him by yesterday, telling him to take care of me. Always have to get someone else to do your dirty work, eh. Are you afraid of a real fight, Gamut?”

  He laughed at the captain, and Gamut became enraged. Pushing Fogrolir aside, he stepped in front of the man, lips trembling with rage, and unleashed a bloody tirade of words. The crewman just stood there, letting the captain go on until at last, he finished.

  “Are you done then?” the crewman asked. “If so, either do what you have wanted to do for so long or go on about your own business.”

  Gamut shifted about nervously from one foot to the other; finally, he turned from the dwarf and spoke to the crew:

  “We stop at the next patch of land we see. I do not care where it is, if the people are friendly with us, or if they be our enemies. We stop at the next sight of land, understood?”

  A chorus of “ayes” rang out amongst the men. Gamut stared at the dwarf for a moment longer:

  “When we stop, you are leaving my ship.” He said.

  “No! You cannot do that to him, father!” Fogrolir cried out. He stood up and stuck his chest out. Gamut laughed a hearty laugh at his young boy.

  “Have you learned nothing from your actions yesterday?” he said. “You get to your post and start swabbing the poop deck!” Gamut pointed toward the pail and brush, but Fogrolir refused to move.

  “I am not doing it.” He said. The crewman, incredulous, looked at Fogrolir and shook his head side-to-side.

  “Do what your father says, Foggy.” He said.

  “I will not!” he yelled.

  Gamut stared at his son, somewhat impressed by his sudden bravado, and yet still angered by the fact that his son wanted to be something other than a ship sailing dwarf.

  “Very well then, son,” he said, “When we make port, you will leave my ship as well. I will have no man on my boat that will not follow orders!”

  “First, you should have a real man on your boat to give orders!” Fogrolir shot back. The sudden brashness caught even his father off guard, though he recovered quickly. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short, and licked his bottom lip. He turned away for a moment before spinning back around with his palm out and smacking his son across the face, full force.

  “Consider that yer’ last lesson, lad.” He turned and walked off to his quarters. He was finished dealing with those who would not listen to his orders.

  3

  The Bearded Quail, after leaving Libiather just days ago, sailed north by northwest to ensure they passed the jetties off the coast of Libiather without incident. After clearing the docks, the ship charted a course eastwardly, heading for an island of dwarves that were in desperate need of fine metals.

  Gamut had no inkling as to why they needed the metals and he cared not, for money was all his heart desired. Between Libiather and the dwarven islands, however, sat a good-sized bit of land that no one stopped at for any reason. Though no one he ever met had ever spotted any living creature on the island, the rumors abounded that one-eyed beasts lived within the thick forestation of the land.

  Only the dragon riders ever stopped on the island, and they always stayed near the water. This perpetuated the mythos of these one-eyed creatures and their callous behavior, making any traveler very wary of stopping anywhere near the island. Three days after the incident with the crewman and his own son, the island in question came into view just over the horizon. The low end of the land could not yet be seen, but the dark green trees, which rose a couple hundred feet into the air, could already be seen.

  “There she is boys!” Gamut called out to his crew. He gave orders for the ship to alter its course and head to a shelf in the sea shallow enough to get rid of his now unwanted occupants.

  Fogrolir began to feel sick to his stomach. He knew his father was serious about putting him off the ship, and he knew he had no other family to live with. He was beginning to wish he had simply done his job and not been daydreaming about flying on the backsides of dragons.

  As the Bearded Quail drew nearer the island, Fogrolir noticed the absence of birds; and of noise in general. It was eerily quiet as they approached their target. Roughly fifty yards from the island, Gamut gave the order to lower the anchor. While he would have just assumed throw them overboard and keep moving, he wanted to deliver one last message, and it needed to be done properly.

  The bow of the ship settled as it pushed into a sandbar, bringing the ship to rest. The sails continued to flit momentarily, as the crew pulled the high beams, forcing the boom to turn the sails a different direction, keeping the wind from pulling the ship further into the sand.

  Gamut issued orders and moments later both his son and the crewman were standing at the edge of the ship, ready to walk down the gangplank. Fogrolir stepped onto the wooden walkway first, though he still did not want to do so. He refused to cry or beg to stay aboard the ship. He stepped off the gangplank, and his feet splashed into the water. His boots, made of leather with small circular rivets, did nothing to
stop the water from entering, and seconds after he was in the water he could feel the saltiness as it rubbed between his toes. Gamut tossed a bag filled with supplies over the side of the ship. Fogrolir caught the bag and fell backward into the water. He sputtered and stood up, now soaked to the bone, and none-to-happy about it.

  As the crewman began to walk down the gangplank, Gamut gave a signal, and the dwarf responsible for breaking his arm stopped him from leaving.

  “You challenged my authority,” he began, “you challenged my way of parenting, and your actions have led to my own son not wishing to stay onboard this ship with his father. Do you have anything you want to say before leaving this vessel for the last time?”

  The crewman looked him over and glanced into the water at Fogrolir, “You have no authority, you are not a proper parent, and your son wished to exit this vessel because even he realized what you still fail to admit Gamut; one must be a real man to lead a real crew.”

  Gamut had no time to respond as the dwarf next to the crewman pulled a knife from his belt loop and thrust it at the man. The dwarf moved out of the way of the knife and fell backward. His head hit the gangplank, and he went limp as his momentum rolled him down the plank and into the water.

  Fogrolir immediately dropped his sack of goods and ran to the dwarf’s side to check on him. He pulled his head from beneath the water and made sure to keep him upright so no water would go into this mouth or nose. He lowered his head toward the dwarf’s nose but could not feel him breathing.

  “He is not breathing!” he exclaimed.

  “Well then, I guess that leaves more food for you!” the dwarves all laughed - all but Gamut, who remained.

  “Did I tell you to engage a battle with him?” the captain asked. The dwarf turned around, he was no longer laughing and stared at the captain.

  “I…I just…” he stammered. “I just could not bear to listen to him mock my captain any longer! I am sorry, sir. Truly, I am!” he began to raise his arms, sure, that he would be the target of an attack.

  “Relax, Galaphet. I appreciate your tenacity in this situation. Just do not ever let it happen again, understand?” Gamut waited for the dwarf to nod his agreement. As he turned to walk back to his captains’ quarters, he stopped and looked back:

  “Then again,” he said, “the easiest way to ensure it never happens again is to ensure it cannot happen again.” Before Galaphet could figure out what he was implying, Gamut pulled a small flintlock pistol from his inside his coat and aimed it at the dwarf. Less than a second later, he pulled the trigger, and Galaphet fell into the water, his blood spreading like wildfire.

  “I suggest you two get out of the water before the real predators of the seas arrive.” He laughed once more, as did some of his men. Moments later orders were being shouted, and the ship's sails began to pull the large boat back into the sea.

  Fogrolir sat in the water for a moment, wondering what to do. He still held the dwarf’s head in his hands and was just about let him go when he felt a little movement. He was indeed alive, just knocked out for a bit and his body shocked from the impact of his head connecting with the gangplank. Fogrolir smiled; he would not be alone on this island after all.

  It had been almost a week since the two dwarves were left on a deserted island.

  The two managed to stay alive by using the few supplies dumped in the water by the Bearded Quail’s crew. Fogrolir learned his new friend was named Earmeth. Together, they stayed on the outskirts of the land, never entering the tree line, and always watching for anything that may come after them.

  “Do you think the rumors are true?” Fogrolir asked the dwarf. He always kept his back to the sea so he could keep an eye on the forests.

  “Nah, I doubt there is anything in them trees that we could not handle once my arm is better.”

  Earmeth, it turned out, was an excellent dwarf and much nicer to young Fogrolir than his own father had been. He spoke to the boy as an equal and not a slave to his own whims. Fogrolir enjoyed the company, and though he was still scared of being on an island with no other people around him, he was no longer anxious all the time.

  “Besides,” Earmeth began, “what if there are giant creatures in the woods? Are one-eyed creatures any different from two-eyed creatures? They are just giants with one eye, right. What is the harm in that?”

  Fogrolir thought about it for a moment and realized he agreed. ‘Yes, what is the harm in a giant having just one eye?’ he surmised there really was no differences as giants, though not always friendly, were very rarely violent toward himself or other dwarves he saw. It settled his mind a bit, and soon, the rumored one-eyed beasts were no longer a thought running through his mind.

  The afternoon passed without incident, and soon the sun was setting on the horizon in the south. The sky, ablaze with dark pink and purple colors, was just a preview to the gorgeous nighttime sky, full of stars that shone brilliant blues and purples, pulsating as though they were alive.

  It was no wonder at all why Fogrolir loved the sky and wanted to be a Storm Rider; he wanted to fly among the stars and see them more closely. His heart longed for the opportunity to join the brigade, though his mind plagued him with his father’s words of discouragement.

  He did his best to set aside all the negative, harsh words of his father and smiled as he watched the stars dance in the sky. Constellations turned and moved about, never straying too far from their resting spot in the heavens, but it always appeared as though every night a party began among the stars.

  Somewhere, a star had to start it all by moving, and soon, all the others joined in. Fogrolir fell asleep in the sand, his small blanket covering his body up to his chin; his last thoughts flitted about in his dreams, asking the questions he longed for answers to. Questions raised that indeed may never have a reply, for some inquiries are nothing more than the minds own riddles.

  Earmeth lay next to the young dwarf, watching over him as if he were his own son. He was protective of the dwarf for a good reason, for he lost his own son years before on a ship; Earmeth vowed he would never let another young lad be mistreated while under his watch, even if meant losing his place in a crew.

  Earmeth settled in, and seeing Fogrolir flinch a bit from the cold, he took his own blanket and laid it over the dwarf. He would survive without a blanket if he must, but he would ensure Fogrolir did not want for anything.

  4

  The sun rose yet again on its daily journey across the sky, and with it, so did the dwarves. Fogrolir sat up and realized he had two blankets instead of one. He thanked Earmeth for his kindness and made his way into the seawater to gather some for his canteen. Once back, he took out a small device made by some dwarf in Gornfurum, which pulled salt out of the water and began filtering the water into the instrument.

  “Perhaps you and I should make a new plan for today, Foggy,” Earmeth said. His good hand on his hips, he looked about the immediate area for a starting point.

  “What do you have in mind?” Fogrolir inquired. He continued filtering the seawater to make sure they had plenty to drink for the morning. The hotter it got outside, the longer it took the filter to do its job, and so he set about doing this task every morning to ensure there would be plenty to drink.

  “I think we should move about the island a bit. If we stay here, we will eventually have to enter the forests and forage for supplies and other necessities. However, we never know what we may find if we walk around the outskirts of this place. Perhaps we should explore a little and see what we can find.” He looked back at Fogrolir and smiled. He knew they needed supplies and that his arm was not well enough to do everything, and so Fogrolir would be required to do the heavier work for now.

  “We can do that. Sounds like fun!” Fogrolir finished filling their water supply and placed the contents back into his bag. “We should eat first, though.”

  Earmeth agreed, and so the two began preparing what bit of food they could make without a fire. It was not much – just grains and barley
, but it would suffice for now.

  Shortly after eating, they gathered their bags and began walking along the shoreline, all the while keeping an eye on the forest.

  “I know you said if there are any beasts in the woods they are probably not much different than giants,” Fogrolir stated, “but is it not odd that we have neither seen nor heard any birds or other fowl since we arrived?” The complete lack of sounds is what made Fogrolir uneasy, and though Earmeth refused to admit it aloud, it bothered him as well.

  “Maybe there are no birds on the island.” He replied. “Not every place has to have birds and such. Though it is a bit odd, I will agree to that.” He patted Fogrolir on the shoulder and the two continued along the water’s edge.

  As they walked along, Earmeth spotted a single tree at the water’s edge some fifty or so yards away. He pointed it out to Fogrolir, and they decided to stop and collect some wood from a few branches, just in case they needed it in the future. The tree did not look like the other trees, as it was much shorter and appeared to have layers of bark, making its trunk appear as though it were shingled.

  They reached the tree, and Earmeth handed a small blade to Fogrolir. It was not made for cutting wood, but it would have to do the job for now. Fogrolir began whittling away at the base, moving around the tree trunk in a circle, trying to keep as much of the wood in one piece as possible.

  He made his way around the trunk nearest the water, and as he came around to the opposite side, his toes caught onto a small piece of wiring. He stopped and looked down at it and yanked his foot upward, breaking the wire. There was a split second of quietness followed by the whizzing sounds of something flying through the air.