By late morning, they made their way down into the town of Silvyn, the sky was hazy: a milky, opalescent blue and the air felt heavy and thick, there was indeed a storm gathering.
They went down to see what passed silently in the looks cast from shaded doorways, to the furtive glances in the direction of the dragon rider: would something about him make them nervous? This was a port town and there would likely be, on any given day, strangers from all parts of the kingdom, walking the busy narrow streets, looking for an inn or on their way to the gem and garment markets or trading exotic wares from other shores. The people of Silvyn themselves, a mix of most cultures from around the kingdom. However, they knew their own, from their southern Aesorian dialect, their clothes and the way they addressed each other, even the subtleties in the way they walked and carried themselves was Silvynian. If the presence of foreigners made them wary, that in itself was a sign.
Magda could have passed for one of them and blended well when she wore her traveling cloak as was the fashion, pinned at the shoulder. The dragon rider covered the crescent moon scar at his throat, sweeping his own cloak over the shoulder as to cover it and keeping his broad, oddly planed face hidden in the recess of its hood. The presence of a dragon rider alone made them wary, but one that looked like a dryad was worse: a dragon rider was a sign that things were afoot and dryads were beings of folklore, faces carved into ancient ruins, dangerous, uncanny things..
They went down first to the fish market where things were spoken of freely in the coarse language of fishermen and sailors. They wove their way between stalls and buckets of glistening fish guts that fattened the local seagulls. The stench of brine, fish and charcoal smoke was dense, laced with the smell of tobacco.
“Thalman! My friend!” Samson called out as they came upon the old man sitting on an upturned bucket mending nets, his pipe clamped to the corner of his mouth. He had a brown, weathered face, hair graying at the temples, his eyes the blue-green of the ocean. Samson and the older man could almost have been distant kin.
The fisherman’s bright eyes creased with pleasure, “Samson! My dear friend. You’ve not graced these parts for many a turn”
“Ah yes, it is true. But Tenebris Glendor is now back from his voyage”
The fisherman nodded at this “Aye, and this time it hangs like a curse over the town”
“How so?” Asked Samson. “I thought the townsfolk eagerly awaited his return, if not for his wild stories then certainly for the magic trinkets he brings”
“It was so, but that strange ship of his has been sitting out in the harbor like a bad omen for two days now and not a soul has come ashore. It’s not right. Not that his men aren’t a strange lot anyways. And strange things have been coming ashore or become caught in our nets. Just the other day I caught something that looked like a black egg, never seen anything like it before, gave me a bad feeling it did. This big it was”. He said holding out his hands, then cursed and spat on the ground.
“Did you bring it ashore”
“Oh no, I wasn’t touching that thing, put it straight back so I did”.
“And what else have people been saying? Have others found these things caught in their nets?”
“That they have, yes. Sometimes monstrous, misshapen things that look nothing like a creature from our local seas, other times strange looking objects, almost like the ones Tenebris brings back with him. But they shouldn’t be here, not in this part of the world. So we think they are bad luck and we just put them back, hoping they go back to where they’re from, that’s all”.
Magda hung back, listening to the conversation and the old man’s accounts of his sightings, trying to fit them with what she knew.
“The fishermen, do they speak of it to the rest of the townspeople?” Asked Samson
“No, we tell each other, and we keep a log of the occurrences. Jim over there” he said nodding in the direction of a tall, wiry man with a spined lizard perched on his shoulder.
“He started keeping a record of every strange thing we fishermen and sailors see and come across out there. But we make no mention of it to anyone else in the town. They already feel something is brewing. We know, we have the ocean in our blood and we ken its tides, even the sour ones. Although some might tell their wives behind closed doors, I’m sure.”
“Would you mind if we took this record out to Tenebris when we see him?”
“Aye, if ye think it would help and if he can give us some answers, that would be a good thing indeed”.
Thalman looked up, white gulls wheeling against the darkening sky. “Best be gettin on then, get the lady somewhere warm”, he said.
The three of them sat out the storm in Thalman’s local tavern: The Raven, its sign creaking overhead in the strengthening wind, the lanterns had blown out and flapped erratically.
Once inside the rain started coming down in great gusts, battering the thick windows as they sat at a corner table away from curious ears. Thalman told them more stories of things that had occurred.
“I’ve heard from some folks that there strangers walking among us. I’ve not seen one myself, but I hear talk of it in this tavern”
The tavern raven swooped onto their table, eying them each with sharp, intelligent eyes.
“What can I get you” it said, “another round?”
“Yes, we’ll have another” said Thalman.
It then picked its way between the ale flagons, stopping in front of Magda, head cocked, one black eye beading up at her. “Will you keep that which is offered” it said cryptically then flew off towards the bar.
“It’ll tell you your fortune if you let it” said Thalman with a chuckle, breaking the strange tension the raven had left in the wake of its question.
After dark, as there was a lull in the rain, three hooded figures could be seen taking a small skiff out into the bay toward the drift pirate ship.
Thalman did not board with the other two, repelled by his superstitions, he drew a protective sign in the air in front of him. He looking up at the ship with unease.
Something silent passed between Samson and the ship’s crew when they encountered them, the way all preternatural beings recognize one another: like Samson, their eyes were slightly strange, none of them quite human. The eyes of these men also held a reflective quality: the light at the edge had changed them.
Tenebris Glendor was seated in a high backed chair, decorated with detailed carvings of marine creatures and sea oaks, in front of a large desk, polished to a high sheen, various instruments, maps and scrolls strewn about it. A large green eyed tabby cat curled around his shoulders: his sailor’s familiar. His long hair, white as bleached bone, pulled back off his face giving his features a harsh elfin cast: no one knew if his hair had always been that way or if it was the drift that caused it to turn white. He looked between the two of them, “I see,” he mused and gestured at the chairs on the other side of the desk.
Behind him, the central trunk of the juvenile sea oak: the middle and very heart of the ship, at least 12 feet across, its gnarled surface, worn smooth in places.
“The men at the harbor say you have not been ashore since your return. They also tell stories of strange things in their nets, things coming ashore. But first tell of your voyage” said Samson
“I have been awaiting your arrival, I wanted to seek your counsel before setting foot on shore, I know the locals are nervous, no need to upset them more”
“And your presence will upset them?” Magda asked “they are usually eager for your return”
Tenebris rested his forearms on the desk and leaned toward them “This voyage did not go well”, he said in a low voice “I lost three men. I also saw things and the things I brought back are not what they normally are”.
Samson passed the log book of the fishermen’s encounters across the desk,
“Anything like the things recorded in here” he asked quietly.
Tenebris took the book gently, randomly selecting pages and skimming through the entries.
“Yes” he said finally “but much worse”
“And I’m afraid that the objects I bring back will bring the people ill fortune”
“Did you bring them back on the ship?” Asked Magda.
“I brought some to show you, see what you make of them” he told Magda.
Tenebris then stood from his chair, the cat still clinging to his shoulder and took a leather pouch hanging from a hook in one of the beams. Then took out an object, placing it on the table. It wasn’t so different from the drift objects he had previously brought from the edge in many aspects, especially the way the light negotiated its surface in that odd way. But it was somehow wrong, Magda felt it instantly, a slight crackling repulsion. He took out another object from a different pouch, putting both side by side on the table. “Do you see?” he asked. Both objects looked the same, yet one seemed to take up negative space, the light bending inwards as though the surface was concave: one object was and the other just wasn’t.
“The rift in the light, it allows things in, things that wash up from shores of other worlds, that you know. But it allows in dark, corrupted things, it always has, this world, always caught in its eternal struggle between these furies. But now, something has tipped the balance, it is tearing at the light”.
“The dark fractures in the light have grown, I see it spreading from my cottage on the cliffs as I look towards the aurora at the horizon” said Magda.
“And what of the things the people here have encountered? Those things don’t often make it to shore, if they ever do, they usually dissipate and lose their power in the presence of the sea oaks” said Samson.
“Yes, Silvyn bay should be safe enough with their sea oaks, they’re the largest on these isles. And those things people have seen, they shouldn’t be able to harm anyone. But they shouldn’t even be here, they shouldn’t be coming through” said the white haired captain. “And the horrors we witnessed at the edge, I hope those things never make it as far as these shores. The men I lost didn’t just go overboard, they were taken.” He looked suddenly bleak. Samson hoped it was fear and not defeat.
“I must see what lies at the edge of the world. No dragons have yet flown that close, but Orion and I will join your next voyage.”
“Very well, then call your dragon, we seek his counsel on this also.”
Then: “ Magda, I sense some of your answers await you out there also” he said knowingly.
***
They stood on the deck, the storm had cleared, the stars near the darker zenith were out. The music had started up again across the bay. There was the sound of great wings, a dark shape cut out of the night sky as Samson called his dragon to the ship.