Weigh Anchor

[An Old Salt 33]

The old fisherman awoke with the dawn and slid on the old, blue wool coat. He fastened the tarnished brass buttons, stained from salt air and dirty hands. A folded bit of parchment jutted out from the front pocket. The final touch was the crumpled hat to cover his thinning, gray hair. He lit his corncob pipe and clenched it in his jaw as he headed out of his house.

The morning was cool with the scent of salt blowing in on the crisp, sea wind. It caused his hair to tangle about in wisps, mimicking the trail of pipe smoke drifting back toward the village. The Count had constructed this house specifically for him; a rustic cabin jutting out over the sea, where the waves crashed against the rocks far below. It was one of the first of few buildings back then,along with little more than two keeps and an old smithy shop. Now there was a winery, vast farmlands, multiple estates, a tavern, and a church. He had seen Westfall grow leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, the Count and the other citizens had departed for lands unknown.

Even in their absence, the old man continued his fishing and watched over the town as if it were left in his care. He fixed broken shutters and doors, replaced glass, fed the stable horses, and saw to the proper storage of the Count's wares. A few times visitors would pass through and ask why did he live in an abandoned place. He often answered with a grunt and a puff of his pipe before showing them back to the stables. They wouldn't understand. The Count had given him work and a place to stay, a chance to ply his trade, and supplies to build his own fishing ship. Many nights they had sat in the keep and shared tales over fine wines and liquors which were normally reserved only for noblemen. The Count enjoyed the old man's bounty from the sea, present at nearly every meal, at which he was invited to sit at the main table. On occasion, his lord would even visit the old man at home. They wouldn't understand.

His ship, the White Spray II, bobbed in the tide where it was anchored offshore. The memories had lasted long enough that the pipe was now cold. He tapped out the charred remnants and watched as they drifted away with the breeze. Sticking it in his pocket, he turned and headed up the path into the village. The keep seemed to tower over him, silent and ominous as it watched him climb the stone steps. His footsteps echoed through the gateway on his way to the main door. He pulled out the parchment from his pocket and tacked it to the frame with a flat, iron nail. Pulling the secret lever on his way out, the gate creaked shut behind him.

The old fisherman stood at the top of the steps for a few more moments and peered across the village before departing.

My Lord,

I have continued in my service even in your absence. The village is still standing, though the others have long departed. While my labors were not always fruitful, I did the best an old salt could do. Long I have awaited your return and longer I would wait still, but in my age I fear I cannot continue in this endeavor. In our conversations, you always spoke highly of Lord Artorus Elendil. He has been gracious enough to answer my correspondence and I depart for Ildon at his command. Should you return to find this missive, as long as I live, I will return to Alandros and make good my service. Wherever you may be, my Lord, I hope the wind is fair and the sea is calm.

Your friend and loyal servant,

Caddis Blayne

[An Old Salt 33]

The waves lapped softly against the tiny rowboat as Caddis made his way out to his small fishing ship. Only a few trips were required to pack away the pittance that were his belongings. He had always been a man of simple tastes and the bulk of his possessions were fishing related: baits, poles, netting, harpoons, and various tackle. It was a longer journey to Ildon by sea than by land, but a captain doesn't leave his ship behind. It was the one piece of the town which he could take with him. He would have to sail out around several larger islands and then through narrow shallows to get back in toward the city's dock.

As he hoisted the dingy to the deck and began to unload, he turned an eye out to sea and surveyed the weather. The wind swirled and shifted amongst a darkening horizon. The old salt exhaled a puff of smoke from the pipe and watched it be carried to the east. He grunted and continued strapping down the necessities in his tiny cabin. Prudence would dictate that he delay his trip until tomorrow, but he had already made his peace with departing the village he had called home. Many times in his life had the sea tried to bring him to the cold, dark depths and each time he had returned. No self respecting sailor feared harsh wind or high seas.

The chain rattled against the windlass as the anchor clattered into place and the wind billowed the open sails seaward. He felt at ease behind the helm, spinning the wheel into the brewing storm. The trip was much shorter than his typical fishing venture, so there was little need for concern over the weather. He would be back inland before nightfall and then the coves would offer ample protection from the wind and waves. He expected to dock in Ildon tomorrow by mid-day.

The White Spray II was the resurrection of his previously lost ship. She had been built to almost the same specifications as the original, except with a wider and shallower hull to make navigating inland seas easier. The ship lept from the water with each frothy wave like a fish being chased by a predator. In the distance, Caddis could see rain bands spreading in sheets across the open sea. It was going to be an ugly outing; he would need to pick up speed if he was to make it around the islands before the main storm hit. The sea whipped and roiled with the surge, sending the namesake foam splashing onto the deck. A smirk spread across the old man's face as he steered onward. Maybe it was the thrill of sailing into a terrible storm or maybe it was the relief of having his mind on other things than the thought of leaving the place he had grown to love, but something filled him with a sense of adventure and youthfulness. It was remeniscent of his days as a young deckhand on the large merchant ships. A splash of cold sea brought him out of the flooding memories.

The wind shifted and forced his sails deeper into the open sea, astray from his intended route. It stirred up mighty waves which crashed against the hull, causing the timbers to creak and groan with the strain. The old man held tight to the wheel and laughed as the sheets of rained reached him, soaking his clothing and beard. Still he spun the wheel and continued onward with the wind wherever it might take him. Lightening and thunder crackled and boomed all around. He turned to look aft as the landmass faded from sight, leaving him engulfed amidst the heart of the storm. Even if he had wanted to return to due course, there was no option now. All he could do was hold fast to the line and let the sea decide his path.

[SkyyoBee 249]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.