Maiden’s Saber
Chapter
One
Smoke on the Horizon
“We have something on the horizon, Captain!”
“What is it Master Pearson?”
“I’m not sure,” called the boy’s shrill voice.
Master Carson Pearson like most new mates was in the awkward age between boyhood and manhood. His voice cracked with every utterance and his face was a mass of white blotches, but his eyes were young and strong.
Oh how Captain Bernard Jeffson envied those eyes. Too many years staring out at the horizon had stripped him of his own visual acuity. He looked in the general direction that young Pearson was pointing. “Lieutenant Daniels take a spyglass up and see if you can ascertain what we are approaching. Everyone to your posts!”
His crew, a fairly seasoned lot, were already moving to their positions, but a good crew expected their captain to give sensible orders. As a career member of the Kingdom of Vallentino’s Sailing Guild Bernard was nothing if not sensible.
Unlike Vallentino’s Royal Navy whose ships travelled on rivers, lakes, and oceans. The Sailing Guild sailed their ships through the clouds in the unfiltered light of the sun and stars.
His current ship, the Maiden’s Saber, like all Cloud ships achieved this marvel by strumming a special harp constructed in the back of the ship. As the strings were plucked their vibrations activated the unique properties of the harmony lumber that the ship was constructed from. This wood repulsed gravity’s pull when exposed to vibrational frequencies granting the ship’s their ability to float. Although cloud ships, like many of their water bound cousins, still relied on wind and sails to propel them.
Daniels adjusted the lenses of his spyglass and called down, “It’s smoke Captain! Quite a bit of it! Looks to be old though! Whatever the cause it’s has been burning for a while.”
Bernard checked his mental map. The closest outpost was several more days out. The fire could have been caused by a lightning strike, but there hadn’t been any storms through here in weeks.
Bernard called up, “Is it by any landmarks?”
Daniels nodded. “Aye captain! It’s pretty close to the King’s road!”
“Raiders!” one of his crew, Anderson from the sound of it, said aloud the thought they all shared.
Bernard’s commanding voice boomed across the deck, “Set course for fifteen degrees to port! Drop full canvas! Prime the ballista! Ready your bows, fill your quivers, and harness in!”
They scrambled into action pulling on leather harnesses and cinching them to their chests, waist and thighs. Once secured they hooked the lengths of ropes on the harnesses to rings mounted to the masts, the three ballistae, or the right guard rail. Always the right, for tradition dictated that only officers used the left. Once done they checked each other’s securements, because every cloud sailor knew that the harness was the only lifeline to prevent a sailor from falling overboard to the ground far far below.
Bernard took the wheel from pot marked bright eyed youth. “Tend to the harp Master Jolovich.”
Isaac Jolovich smiled despite himself said with unfurled enthusiasm, “Aye Captain!” Jolovich loved working the ship’s harp and as Bernard had discovered had quite an aptitude for the instrument. On a larger crewed vessel that Bernard had worked on in the past, it might have been years before the young sailor would have a chance to discover his affinity for the skill, if at all. In this setting Bernard made sure he could cultivate the young man’s natural talent. It was one of the benefits to his current post.
Bernard looked back at the stout man who Jolovich took over the harp for. “Master Binns, if you will please join your station in the rigging crew.”
Binns saluted, “Aye Captain!”
Binns ran past a serene seemingly ageless man that stood before the main mast. Unlike Bernard and the rest of the crew, who wore uniforms of the Vallentino Sailing Guild, he was adorned robes of a somber gray and rich blue. He also refrained from wearing a harness which made his flowing robes resemble a broiling thunderstorm. He held an odd staff before with a spinning windfinder on its head.
“Windsinger Featherheart,” he called. “Any wind that you could increase in my sails would be most appreciated.”
Featherheart stared at him intently. Bernard felt as if the Windsinger’s his gaze could penetrate into a man’s very soul. When he spoke it was with a soft musical baritone voice, “I will sing to the Skymother and ask for her gentle favor. Whether or not she will bestow it?” He shrugged. “Our mother goddess exhales her breath wear she wills, but I will ask at your behest.”
Bernard nodded. “Thank you Windsinger.”
Asking request of the Windsinger was always a formal process. Featherheart was not actually a member of his crew, and therefore not really subject to his orders per say. Windsingers like all Elementalists of the Kingdom belonged to the Mystic Guild. The union between Mystic and Sailor Guilds was symbiotic, and convenient for both parties. Ship crews would get the benefit of fair winds from the Windsinger’s songs to the Skymother, and Windsingers get to enjoy free rides on the vessels that brought them closer to their Goddess’s realm. Their partnership worked well enough as long as the ship’s Captain did not try to dominate the mystics aboard, and mystic didn’t endanger the ship. In his tenure, Bernard had seen both happen to disastrous results.
As far as Featherheart was concern, Bernard had grown accustomed to the windsinger’s ethereal ways. Where he could not begin to understand the Windsinger’s craft he could respect the discipline that the mystic utilized to use it. Featherheart although aloof in his own way was also very kind and compassionate. He enjoyed the crew’s collective voice when they sang during work or rest around a meal. He would often dance alone or with others to their tunes. He too appreciated Jolovich’s skill with the harp. He was also not above using his magic to flow a breeze through a bed of wild flowers and back to them, so that the men could enjoy the sweet wild aroma.
Featherheart began to chant. As his voice gave way to song, Featherheart raised his staff and pointed it towards the forward bow. His lyrics were strange, otherworldly, and beautiful, like the flight of a butterfly given voice. They would flow to wisps of a gentle whisper punctuated by booming shouts. As his song grew in further complexity the spinner on his staff began to turn slowly. The sails billowed out as the wind grew fiercer. Bernard could feel the ship pick up speed beneath him. The windfinder was now spinning rapidly.
“Prepare the forward wheel for descent!” called Bernard.
He looked up to the forward deck at the stoutest members of his crew, Anderson immense heavily tattooed and Bromont a squat powerful man was nearly as wide as he was tall. The two readied themselves as they gripped a large wheel that adjusted the forward rudders, two long wing-like horizontal rudders that ran horizontal to the ship. They controlled the vertical pitch of the ship.
Anderson and Bromont answered together as they pulled the securing rope free of the wheel, “Readying the forward wheel!”
In response other members the crew synched and adjusted the sails on the top and bottom decks.
“On my mark turn to one hundred forty degrees steep!” shouted Bernard.
“One hundred forty degrees!” repeated the men.
“Ready to still the Harp’s forward bow and whisper pluck the timber of the aft!” shouted Bernard.
He could have just told Jolovich directly, but Bernard strongly believed his sailors had a right to know what their ship was about to do. An unaware crew member was one who usually ended up dangling by his harness over the side.
Jolovich shouted, “Aye Captain!”
“Ready . . . set . . . mark!”
“Mark!” Jolovich stilled the front half of the strings with an expert touch and lessened the second half with a feather touch of his fingertips. Bernard could feel the harmony lumber’s vibrations lessen beneath his boots.
“Ready . . . turn! Ready . . . turn! Ready . . . turn!” shouted Anderson and Bromont in unison as they stood on opposite sides cranking the wheel.
Sailors throughout the ship grabbed onto rails, mast, ballistae for support as their ship pitched forward. Bernard gripped the handles of his wheel hard as the Maiden’s Saber dropped steeply out of the sky. The wind whistled through their ears as the ground rushed toward them and the tree line grew crisper in their sights. Bernard took it all in with a steady hand and eye.
Only Windsinger Featherheart remained untethered by hand or harness as he stood on unwavering bare feet. He like many of predecessors possessed and uncanny balance no matter the pitch or roll of the ship. He remained motionless as he still sang his enhancements as they fell.
Bernard turned and nodded to Jolovich who started to pluck all the harp strings madly. He couldn’t just pluck the harp to full lift in the wake of such a rapid descent the ascent would be as bad as crashing into the ground itself. Jolovich plucked the strings swiftly, but with a gradual rise in pitch thus the falling ship slowed its descent. As they felt the steady hum of the resonance chamber groew beneath their feet Bromont and Anderson automatically started to turn the forward wheel to one hundred forty degrees with the rising of the forward bow. The ship pulled out of its dive and skimmed over the tree tops.
He turned the wheel to adjust the vertical rudder, a wing-like fin of durable wood that extended two meters above and below the height of the ship. The ship rolled with the turn towards the plume of smoke that grew ahead.
As they drew closer, he angled the Maiden slightly to port to avoid sailing directly into the rising smoke. As he feared, Bernard knew this place before he reached the clearing in the trees. It was the largest farm for leagues, and one of the landmarks that they used when they sailed out this way. This farmstead was owned by jovial man named Joseph McStead whose grown children and grandchildren helped him run the large stead. They were a kind-hearted people that offered hospitalities to all passers-by. It was one of his men’s favorite stops. During his time on the Maiden’s Saber, the McSteads had opened their homes and their food stores to them a number of times. How his men and the McStead feasted, danced, and sang on those happy occasions. He in turn offered the children and some of the adults including old man McStead himself short rides on the Maiden. The children would squeal in delight and old Joseph McStead just about skipped for joy.
Bernard regretfully shook the memory away as he focused on the sight before him. McStead’s fairly sizable home and main barn were now in smoldering ruins. Several of the outlying homes that webbed out from the main house were in various states of ruin. There weren’t any signs of life below.
“Jolovich.” called Bernard, “Master Jolovich.”
The boy snapped to attention as he visibly pulled his eyes from the farm. Once he held the young crewman’s eyes with his own Bernard ordered, “Master Jolovich please still all the propulsion harmonics, and hold steady here.”
Jolovich nodded slowly as he tried to wrap his mind on the task set before him.
Bernard turned from the boy as he set to work on the harp and secured his rudder wheel with three ropes. Once done he crisply stepped around it and called, “Windsinger Featherheart could you please call off the Skymother’s valuable wind at this time?”
Featherheart lowered his staff with a nod. “I shall do as you request good Captain.”
Beyond the mystic he looked out at his men. They were statuesque as they surveyed the ground below in silent horror. He took a deep breath and suppressed a shudder. A sailor could have their emotions frayed by such sights, but that would not do for a Captain of the guild.
“Restrain the canvas!” he boomed loudly.
They turned to face him nearly in unison. He stared back stern faced and iron willed. He did not repeat himself as he let his words sink in.
One of his men started to move to the closest set of ropes. His motion ignited a chain reaction among them all, and a moment later they were all working and shouting orders to one another.
Bernard nodded in approval. A captain had to provide direction especially when there was none to be had. Such was the burden of leadership.
“Lieutenant Daniels, would you come here please?” called Bernard.
Daniels his second in command a stocky man with a scarred face climbed down from the mast.
He stopped smartly before him. “Yes sir?”
Bernard spoke in undertone so that only he could hear. “Lieutenant, someone attacked the McSteads, and I want to know why. Choose some of the crew to go with you ground side and search that farm for any survivors, or at least any sign of those responsible for this tragedy.”
“Aye captain,” Daniels saluted. “You can count on me.”
The Maiden’s Saber: By Christopher Chancy Christopher@christopherchancy.com pg.