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Wayland ‘Yellow’ Dawson
‘The Corsair of Ducuril’
The Sinking Isles
Part II
-The Corsair of Ducuril-
Episodes A through C
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Episode A
-A trek over Suduril-
Virtix wrapped Wayland’s yellow scarf around her small torso, tied it at the front and then twirled it around to wear it like a breast cover, the two long tails touching her calves. Dawson mumbled still perturbed with the encounter and took a bite out of the weird fruit.
“Monkey’s arse!” he cursed and spat it right out. “What be dis ungainly flavor?”
“It’s not ripe enough,” the young Gish explained and walked towards her brother, still rubbing leaves on his skin.
Dawson grimaced unsure and took another bite out of it. More bitter than lemon like. “How does it look when it’s ripened?”
“Sort of rose,” Virtix replied.
“Like in color?”
“In taste.”
Great, he thought and smacked his lips.
“Helps disinfect wounds and cleans the bowels,” Virtix added.
“Rum will do that for ye lass,” Dawson informed her and eyed the small boy hiding something behind the rock.
“We don’t have that.”
“Whiskey?” Dawson chanced not liking what he was hearing.
Virtix narrowed her red-rimmed eyes, the core darker almost black.
“Any grog at all?” Dawson asked now worried.
“Grape juice.”
“Wine? Hah! Well, that’ll suffice I suppose,” Dawson said with a leer. “Hey… kid,” he asked the male Gish. “What do you have there?”
“Nothing,” Vitrix replied defensively. “Why do you wear only one boot?”
Huh? Why ye sneaky shit.
“I lost the other one,” Wayland replied with a snarl.
“Can’t you put both yer feet in it?” Vitrix asked seemingly interested on the matter.
Lad’s a buffoon, Dawson decided, but still... “What do you have hidden there?”
“Told you nothing.”
“I saw ye covering it with Eucalyptus leaves kid,” Dawson warned.
“Name’s Vitrix!”
“Answer me query!”
“Hey!” his sister protested and Dawson glared at her.
“Stay out of it lass!” he grunted and Virtix opened her eyes wide and burst into a wailing cry, fat tears running down her eyes.
“AEEHH!”
Horny tails ‘n broomsticks! Dawson thought shocked and stood back. Her brother jumped from the rock, sprinted on the sand and stabbed the pirate’s foot with his, bony heel nailing his hurt big toe.
“Hey!” Dawson grunted angry hopping on one leg. “Do that again an’ I’ll rip yer ballsack out!”
Vitrix paused, his scowl turning into a desperate grimace and he started wailing as well, joining his sister.
“EAAHHHM!”
“AEEEEHH!”
Hairy rat be sleepin’ in the rum barrel! Dawson cursed in horror taken aback by their joined outburst of distress.
“Stop it, allgods darnit!” He yelled at them, but they didn’t. “Let’s make a trade!” Wayland decided grinning manically. “LOOK! I’ll trade ye the boot!”
Vitrix stopped crying and stared at him. “Really?” he sniffled.
“Sure!” Dawson said and stared at the bawling girl creature. “We be friends! Hehe… right lads?”
“For what?” Vitrix asked.
Little shit has recovered pretty fast.
“What you got hidden under ‘em leaves,” Dawson retorted and pursed his lips. Reached in his pockets found a cotton hankie and wiped Virtix’s face with it a bit. Made to retrieve it but the now calmer Gish put a small hand on it and stopped him. Dawson let go of the hankie, she quickly hid in her nonexistent bosom.
“You sure?” her brother asked.
“Yep,” Dawson replied gruffly. The boy went to his spot, rummaged through his leaves pile and brought back the pirate captain’s missing boot. Wayland blinked not expecting it, puffed out a little exasperated and then said in a non-threatening voice. “Dis is me boot kid.”
“No it isn’t,” the little brat had the audacity to argue standing back.
Dawson sighed. “You can’t… the boots are too big for ye me lad,” he offered reasonably.
“My feet are as big as yours!” Vitrix blasted him affronted.
“What are you implying recently drowned mister?” his sister asked casually.
Dawson nodded with his head seeing where this was going. “Fine,” he decided. “Take the boots lad. But I want to head back to me ship now.”
“Haha!” Vitrix guffawed and waited eagerly for Dawson to remove his other boot. He then proceeded to wear them both on his small Gish feet. Took a step in them with difficulty, then a second. The third stride failed, the tip of the boot hitting the ground and he planted his face on the sand with a shriek.
Well, at the least the stupid part is real.
“Your ship is that way,” his sister informed a bemused Dawson. The pirate sighed deeper this time, his eyes on the boot wearing Gish that rolled on the ground, jumped up, tanned face covered in sand, afore he started coughing and spitting out what he’d just gulped down.
“I’ll just keep on the sand,” Dawson decided and started walking down the beach avoiding the rocky edges.
He was going to get that crab, but not with his toes out.
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The Corsair’s Gold was in one piece, but there was a three meter chasm on its port side. Near the stern side of its keel. It had slid on the sand for twenty meters drawn by its sails and now lay slanted on its starboard flank like a dead giant whale.
The image hurting his soul.
Byron Vail, the ship’s quartermaster for twenty years raised his head seeing Dawson approaching with the two young Gish siblings in tow. He rushed towards them, relief evident on his weather-beaten face and paused seeing the boy taking another spectacular tumble, his fourth in the five minutes they had strolled up the rocky beach, as the sand part was were Dawson had ended up. The waters much higher then, had dragged the pirate captain away.
“Wayland… captain, we thought the waves had taken ye,” Vail said hoarsely grabbing Dawson’s sleeved arm, his eyes on the two unassuming Gish. “Praise be Vile Abrakas.”
“Anyone… gotten any ideas?” Dawson asked eyeing the remnants of his crew.
“Not really,” Vail rustled. “Truth be talking ‘Yellow’, no one wants to step up considering the situation.”
“What of it?” Dawson grunted with a pained grimace his feet burning, which forced him to hop on the rough gravel every second word. “The ship is still in one piece ye rascals!” He bellowed and the crew slowly stood up hearing his voice.
A precious few cheered even.
“We’ll patch her up and be sailing back soon!” Dawson barked. “The Realm thinks we’re dead, but we got out of the worst of it right?”
This got a few more nods, mostly unenthusiastic.
“I’ll need a pair of boots…” Dawson started, but paused to glance at the pink-haired duo. “We got any… smaller sizes?”
“From the corpses… washed ashore, is yer meaning?” Vail asked eyeing the two Gish with a frown. Vitrix placed a large leaf on his forehead and kept it there with his hand, while his sister smiled innocently at the hardened pirate.
“Aye,” Dawson replied. “Ehm, these are siblings. Found them on the beach. They are local… Gish. Natives let’s say,” he said louder for the crew that had started gathering around them after they spotted the two aliens. “Now seeing as we be a friendly bunch,” he continued. “We’ll seek agreement wit ‘em natives and secure supplies to repair the ship.”
“Umm,” Roscoe said, a large cut on his forehead badly stitched.
“Aye,” Trifton agreed.
“Good luck getting supplies from ‘em kids,” Barnet scoffed.
“Don’t be an idiot and a pessimist,” Dawson admonished him. “Be one of the two, not both.”
“Here are the boots Captain, ‘Bad’ Penny said and gave him the soaked pair.
“Kid…” Dawson started turning to the brother.
“Vitrix,” his sister reminded him.
“Tricks she said?” someone wondered. “Brazen lassie. That’ll get ye blinded in Armium.”
With a hot iron was his meaning.
“Here is a better pair for you,” Dawson said louder to cover the murmurs of the crew. “Trade me the old pair for these.”
Vitrix thought about it crossing his thin arms on his chest, the leaf dropping from his forehead and floating to the ground. The moment it touched it, he nodded.
“I accept,” the male Gish said somberly.
Ye little critter.
“Much obliged,” Dawson retorted and gestured at a weirded out Vail that everything was fine.
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“So…” Dawson started ten minutes later, the sun almost at midpoint on the sky and the boots back on his feet, minus the left sock. Most of the crew gathered around the two Gish and examining them with curiosity. They had seen a Gish in Lord’s Burrow of course, but he was older and taller.
Not anywhere near tall for a person. A tall kid perhaps, or half a human.
“Ahm,” he paused again to gather his thoughts. “How many are we here then?”
“Vail, Barnet,” Trifton started looking about him. “Roscoe and Ashes. Tack and the Bills,” that would be Bill Jung and Bill Lurd, no relation. “Yerself, Clive and Penny. ‘Unfunny’ Zander and Sawyer.”
“Sawyer made it?” Dawson asked. He was the ship’s carpenter.
“He’s up on the ship,” Trifton elucidated.
“What about Adler?” Dawson probed remembering the young pirate.
“Killed I think,” Vail said.
“Was living last I saw him,” Dawson noticed.
“Eh, I don’t remember him on the ship boss,” Trifton replied.
“He was on the Brig!” Dawson growled. He breathed out slowly. “Anyone remembered to check on him?”
Nobody had given their guilty expressions.
He sighed and stared at his boots for a moment in pensive silence.
“Right then,” Dawson said and rubbed some of the dirt off his face. “Lass, is there a city at the near we can talk about supplies?”
Virtix stared at him perturbed.
“A town?” Dawson chanced. “Village will suffice.”
“We gather mostly over the other side of Surudil,” the small Gish said.
Hah, this backwards island has a name. Who would have thunk it?
“In a settlement?” Dawson probed looking to find common ground.
“Everyone has a place if he can make it,” she explained.
“That’s… well, I stand mildly befuddled and parts puzzled by yer response,” Dawson replied. “Am I to assume dis famed gathering of homesteads is at the near?”
“Over Surudil,” she replied and pointed with a dainty hand.
Dawson and the pirates guised at the mountain range extending to the south in thoughtful silence.
“Surudil is a mountain?” Dawson probed non-threateningly, despite being on the verge of yelling at her.
She nodded shyly.
Bless yer heart.
“Eh, we are in for a short walk it seems gents,” Dawson decided. “How far is the settlement?”
“Two nights. Three,” she corrected herself unsure.
A brief journey.
“Lad?” Dawson probed looking at the marching about in his new boots Vitrix. The boy raised his hand, five fingers extended. Paused, then added another two.
A casual expedition.
The pirate captain smacked his lips, stared at his crew and they stared at him, a couple of them grimacing, or furrowing their brows troubled.
“Vail,” Dawson said. “You stay with Sawyer and built us a camp here away from the water. Keep as many as you can to fix the ship with what we have available. I’ll take Trifton, Barnet and Zander and travel to this settlement. Chop some of those trees down on our way to pick up on the return,” he paused and glanced at the Gish watching them. “It’s a stupid query, but there are horses available on this rock yes?”
Virtix stared at her brother, who apparently while stupid knew stuff and he shrugged his small shoulders, skin turning a nasty red color from the sun, despite his efforts to ‘oil’ it.
“Like Garix’s donkeys,” he explained to her.
There ye go.
“Yes,” his sister replied.
“We shall buy horses and use them to carry—” Dawson continued turning to his crew, the brother interrupting him.
“You can’t.”
“Kid, of course I can. It’s how market works. I’ll pay for them,” Dawson explained.
“There are no horses,” Vitrix argued.
“Didn’t ye just say they are like…?” Dawson stopped, puffed out exasperated and stared at the sky for a moment. “No horses. But there are donkeys right?”
“Garix’s donkeys,” Vitrix agreed.
“We shall buy Garix’s donkeys and carry them here on the return,” Dawson finished at last worn out and at the end of his tether.
Episode B
-Garix’s donkeys-
Seven days –and nights- later Dawson, Trifton, Barnet and Zander came down the mountain path of Surudil Peaks along its flatten plateau-like rises and reached the other side of Ducuril Island. The name of the place they had landed. The journey started bad for the unaccustomed to marches pirates, but they found a rhythm a couple of days in and even came to appreciate some of the walking, especially the view and clean dry air. There were trees on the way and they cut some down the first day, but decided to focus on reaching civilization first and abandoned the practice. After four days on the road, the two Gish who were very energetic at the beginning had to be carried on the pirate shoulders, too exhausted and weak to continue. Trifton took the brother and Dawson carried Virtix on his shoulders, her reedy legs dangling on his chest.
They made one more stop per day, since they carried large haversacks, on top of the arms and smaller bags, but still managed good time. With all its oddness, the island and the lake-like water expanse beyond it was really pastoral in its beauty from up high. There were Eucalyptus trees and massive Kapok. Wild fruit trees starting lower in the valley and corn fields, with cabbage, cauliflowers and broccoli gardens in crude farms. There was also no town, but clusters of dwellings not always close to each other, but never too far apart either. They spread out near the water and the mountain’s base without any plan, or visible roads. Whatever planning was implemented though was clearly defined in a rustic way, with grass sprouting at the corners, or blocking alleys. Some houses made of stone, others out of wood, or even reeds. Goats roaming about and donkeys the Gish used to carry heavy stuff and produce.
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“How were ye going to return?” Dawson asked Virtix while taking a breather, the light female staying on his shoulders greatly weakened in the journey.
“Swim probably, around…” she replied playing with his greying hair. “I think your hair is falling here,” she added.
“I wear a hat,” Dawson griped.
“Where is it?”
“I lost… eh, twas a fine yellow hat,” he said and had some water, then gave some to the Gish. Several springs along the way with clear water coming out of the rocks had helped them refill their flasks, as what they had saved from the ship didn’t last. The crew had managed to get two large rum barrels out of the holds and one smaller with whiskey and Dawson had brought some of that with him along the water.
They all had.
“Yellow is not that great of a color,” Virtix murmured, still wearing his scarf.
“Looks good on ye young lady,” Dawson teased her and she chuckled, which made him smile as well.
The rest of the way they made it with ease, the day cooler on this side of the mountain.
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A Gish with her hair braided in an elaborate bun carrying a bucket with water, almost dropped it seeing them stroll in the rather expansive settlement. No walls guarding it, though some of the Gish were armed with bows and smaller blades.
They paused to stare at them walking by, some raising their hands in a strange salute, index and thumb extended pointing upwards, a couple of younger ones using the longer finger only in a less hospitable gesture.
The small group stopped near the fenced stable like structure that had several donkeys of various ages roaming about, after what was a couple of hours passing through the clusters of dwellings. The farm large enough to be considered an estate with none of Jelin’s garlands. The building itself made out of crudely cut limestone and crooked on its left side, a balcony with no rails having a barrel on it. An older looking Gish getting out of it and jumping from the three meter tall lip to greet them.
The aged Gish landed with a wince, thinning washed-out pink hair long and a girthy cock dangling between his legs. He stood there with his thighs parted, hands on his hips as if to dry everything with the soft breeze’s help, but seeing the strangers a little apprehensive to his immodesty whipped his head to the right and barked with a strong voice for his lungs.
The Gish’s head barely reached Dawson’s belly despite being on the chubby side.
“Larinx!”
“Aye!” A female barked from inside the house. “Fuck ye want?”
“Bring me a towel dear,” Garix -apparently- said with a reassuring smile in an understandable Common dialect. “We have visitors.”
“Did he say larynx?” Trifton asked behind Dawson’s back.
“What manner?” Larinx yelled in her croaky voice and came out of the large house towel in hands. Almost Garix’s size, also plump especially at the hips and looking much younger than him.
Thankfully wearing a hemp tunic.
“It’s my daughter’s daughter,” Garix explained taking the towel and using it to dry his body, rubbing thoroughly between his legs afore wearing it like a skirt. “Have her learning the ropes,” he added and cleared his throat, Larinx standing numb next to him, her mouth hanging open from utter shock. “Name’s Garix.”
“Arr,” Dawson started, himself thoroughly bewildered at the start of their meeting and after grimacing trying to appear friendly added. “We be… travelers from Jelin, stranded onto yer far shores.”
Garix raised a hand and used his index finger to scratch his nostrils. Larinx still standing with her mouth open and completely still next to him.
“It’s a continent really,” Dawson continued and checked at the setting sun. Damn, we be walking about for hours in this haphazardly constructed settlement, he thought. He pointed north towards the mountain range. “That way, beyond the sea.”
Garix nodded still cleaning his nostrils.
“We be looking for supplies and mounts to carry them. Help to get back to our home,” Dawson explained.
“Where’s that?” Garix asked.
“Just told ye.”
“You’re living on a continent?”
“An island near it,” Dawson hissed.
“Wow,” Larinx gasped. “They are humans! Damn. Are you going to eat the kids?”
“Of course not!” Dawson retorted not believing his ears.
“Oops, wrong species. Humans don’t that’s right,” Larinx grumbled blushing.
“Yep,” Garix agreed eyeing them. “At first I thought they weren’t humans out of shock, but now I gotten used to the height, I can see it.”
“What else could we have been?” Zander asked not amused.
“Imperials, not dwarfs obviously haha,” Garix smiled at that, his teeth on good condition. “We have all manner of stuff come out of the sea.”
“A giant came once on a whale,” Larinx added in her croaky voice.
“That was part of him dear, inside a whale-shark,” Garix corrected. “Bafix embellishes stuff.”
“Who’s that?” Dawson asked.
“An elder. Pfft, fifty years more don’t make a Gish wiser,” Garix retorted. “I’ve raised over ten thousand donkeys mister…”
“Dawson,” Wayland said.
“Dough was yer father?”
“No, it’s my surname. Me first name is Wayland,” Dawson grunted.
“Ah, well that’s even weirder,” Garix decided. “Still I’ve heard of the practice.”
“Rudix does it as well,” Larinx added. “The two names thing.”
“Who’s that?” Dawson snapped before he could control himself.
“The blacksmith on Grilix Isle,” Garix explained.
“We live there,” Virtix murmured. “For a couple of years now.”
“Alright,” Dawson decided that was enough. “Mister Garix,”
“Yes?” Garix interrupted him.
“We be looking to acquire some of yer donkeys,” Dawson continued through his teeth.
“Five cabbages for a week per animal,” Garix replied readily.
“Eh, is there nothing else we can offer?” The pirate captain grunted.
Garix looked at his kin. “Go bring me my rates scroll dear.”
“I want to watch the strangers!” She protested and Garix scowled at her, urging her with bushy eyebrows to get going without embarrassing him, afore turning to offer a merchant’s smile to the tired pirates.
“Out of the top my head,” he started. “It’s a sack of cornflower, two jugs of grape juice… ehm, let me check,” Garix grabbed the tattered leather vellum from Larinx and scrolled down quickly pursing his lips. “Mmm, ah yes… a bag of potatoes always per and for a week of usage, or a bucket of ripe lime fruit. None of that bitter stuff, I shit whilst walking for days if I eat it.”
“It’s good for you!” Virtix protested above his head.
“I give a silver, or four to buy one outright,” Dawson countered, not to let the conversation venture down smellier paths.
“A silver ingot?”
“Coin.”
“Haha, yeah we had some of those as well,” Garix nodded. “Some folk even gather it, ayup. But what do I… fine, you can have one donkey for the silver coins, but the rest you’ll have to trade in the standard rate.”
“I’m not a farmer mate.”
“True. But one donkey won’t be enough to fix your ship,” Garix replied. “You see I’ve seen some wrecks in my days and the Elders were there when the big fleet arrived. Those were some large boats I tell ye. How big is yours?”
Dawson grimaced. “I’ll see to get you the rest. I’ll be back for that donkey.”
“Good,” Garix said. “Nice talking to you human. You are like the twentieth I have conversed with, not counting the dead ones haha. We have some of those each year as well.”
Episode C
-Across Ilvilix-
“We should look for Derix,” Virtix offered whilst they camped near a farmhouse close to the lake. No hostels, or taverns in the traditional sense on Ducuril and while they got some offers to sleep in some of the houses, Dawson didn’t trust the stealing natives. Plus they were a large group with nothing of value to trade.
That is nothing of value willing to trade.
“Where is he?” Dawson rustled head resting on his haversack.
“Near Linx I suppose, or out hunting,” Virtix replied, the siblings gathered up between him and Trifton. “She probably follows Ubix though. He is considering joining a band and travel the isles.”
It might be a short tour.
Might even need a strong donkey to carry all the potatoes they’ll pay him at the fairs.
“How many siblings are there?” Dawson asked, hearing the sound of a flute from afar playing an exotic tune, but with familiar notes sprinkled in.
“Two more boys and a girl,” Virtix hummed the music of the song. “Two girls, but our bigger sister left years ago.”
“How did she leave?”
“With a human that lived here for years, my brother knows more,” she replied a sadness in her voice. “Near where your ship has crashed.”
“That why ye went there?” Dawson murmured.
“Rabix said he knew where it was, the route through the sea.”
Rabix be looking for plunder and fools to carry it more like.
“Is he around?”
“Rabix lives with his family east of the Suludir,” Virtix said. “Mostly. But visits here.”
“Let me venture a guess,” Dawson snarled. “He lied.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Eh, me lass. Ye better open yer eyes to the rascals of the realm.
“What about yer mother?”
“When the waters rise you need to get away from the small pond near the shores,” Virtix explained. “Sometimes tired Gish fall asleep, or are busy gathering food. Swimming. Abrakas creatures come in then and they take you.”
Dawson grimaced. “Where’s the father?”
“Gish mate when it is their time to procreate for it may not come again for years. Usually it does though for three or four years in a row,” Virtix said and Trifton cleared his throat apparently not sleeping. “So she didn’t know and they rarely come forward.”
I bet they are not.
“It happens…” Trifton added. “Mean to say it’s common on Jelin as well lass.”
“We get it ‘Lucky’,” Dawson admonished him.
“How old is your brother?” Zander asked, apparently not sleeping as well.
“Two and twenty,” Vitrix replied. “Ubix is a year younger. Linx is nineteen almost.”
“We’re fourteen,” Virtix added.
“Yer mother been havin’ a lot of bouts of fertility,” Barnet commented. Fuck’s sake. It seems no one is sleeping, Dawson thought frustrated.
“All right that’s enough,” he ordered gruffly to nip it in the bud. “Try to get some shuteye. What in Abrakas tail is that music? Do people not sleep here?”
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Linx was tall for her age. Face rounder and her hair caught loosely at the nape. A sass about her that belonged to an older woman, but the young Gish was on her way there. But for the nose-less face that made them all look a bit silly, Dawson would have called her very pretty, in a dollish way.
The skirt tunic she and the ‘more’ adventurous older females favored scandalously short, her simple leather string sandals riding high on her fit calves.
“What are you?” She taunted seeing them approach a hut she was staying in without a door, or windows. Linx had a fish in her hand and was cleaning it with a small blade.
“They are friends Linx!” Virtix cried happy and run to her bigger sister. “Look at my yellow scarf!” She made a twirl around to show her. Linx kept her large eyes on them.
“What did ye trade for it?” Linx asked.
“It was a gift,” Dawson grunted not liking her implication. “We watched them over the return from beyond Suludil.”
“What were they doing there?”
“I think ye know,” Dawson retorted.
Linx nodded. “Clean the fish miss Virtix, get your brother to help you,” she told her and gave her the knife. “I want this back, cleaned. Boots are yours?” She asked her brother next.
“Aye!” He snapped and marched to the hut.
“Help yer sister,” Linx said. “Or you’re not eating,” she then turned to them again. “If you didn’t bring your own food, you won’t eat as well.”
Wow.
“Well then,” Dawson decided, not wanting to get in a shouting match with a hormonal teenager, or the Gish equivalent. “Seeing as the family is reunited, we best be going lads. We got work ahead of us.”
“What work?” Linx asked and went to the nearby shore to clean her hands. Trifton pursing his mouth when she sat nimbly on her heels to do it.
“Our ship has crashed on your… ehm, island country,” Dawson replied glaring at his First Mate.
‘Dour’ Barnet shook his head. “Trouble came a-knocking,” he predicted.
“How big?” Linx asked sounding interested and stood up, using the excess water to clean her well-proportioned legs.
“It’s a… big ship, but not the biggest,” Trifton blurted out in a bout of honesty and Dawson all but smacked him once upside the head.
“Hmm,” Linx hummed and circled around them curious. Her eyes on their weapons and clothes. Pausing to stare at Zander’s large red hat, the leather belt on it covered with multicolored seashells. Zander took a step back, when she came into his personal space, walking much more feminine all of a sudden. “I like red,” Linx purred and Zander cleared his throat, Dawson sniffing the scent of a wet cat all of sudden.
“Listen… lass,” Dawson cut her off. “We need to be going now.”
“Where?” Linx asked.
“Back to Jelin.”
“Will you make it?” She probed casually and turned to look at him.
“Aye, I believe we will. Tis a good crew, with a better Captain,” Dawson said, bragging instinctively, but telling the truth.
“My sister is on Jelin… probably. Have you ever seen a Gish there?” She asked and approached him.
Dawson looked down in her comely face. “I have. A male. Heard of females as well, but that don’t mean yer sister made it. Sorry lass.”
He knew what she was thinking.
Linx touched a heavy necklace she wore under her tunic, small breasts perking up when she got it out. Long and it dangled loose between them. The pearls on it a white-golden color, big as grapes and worth a fortune.
“Shite,” Trifton blurted out, whether for the pearls or the hard nubs poking at the fabric Dawson didn’t know. He gulped down, his mouth dry.
“Where did ye get dis?” he asked her hoarsely.
“Jinx gathered them for us afore she left,” Linx replied hypnotically, a finger tracing the pearls one by one. “She is good at finding precious things.”
“How much has she gathered?”
“How much for a place in yer ship?” Linx countered.
Eh, damn it.
Dawson stood back and sighed. “You can’t come wit us lass.”
“Why?” Linx argued and it was ‘Unhappy’ Zander who answered pensively.
“Not a good life for a girl,” he said.
“We’re… buccaneers me lass,” Dawson explained with a grimace. “An unforgiving bunch.”
“Pirate lords,” Linx said thoughtfully.
“No lords amongst us I’m afraid,” Dawson admitted.
“Are you not a Captain?” Linx probed.
“Aye, still the answer is the same,” Dawson replied and glanced at the twins cleaning the fish carefully. “Best ye stay wit yer siblings and keep ‘em pearls hidden.”
“They are trinkets, not that valued here,” Linx replied with a cat’s grin. “And they are old enough to take care of themselves. Gish learn to swim, or die at a young age Captain.”
“Name’s Dawson,” Wayland replied sternly. “And me answer stands.”
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Two hours later and after walking some of the length of the massive lake, the pirates stopped near a cluster of huts to ask for produce to trade for the donkeys. A Gish accepted a silver for a cabbage, a scarf for two and a gold ring for a sack of potatoes. It was the worst trade Dawson had ever made and felt violated at the meagre returns.
“Welp, I say we take the one donkey and eat the potatoes,” Trifton offered, everyone hungry from all the walking of the past days and the little food they had. “We can drag a log behind it.”
“It’ll take us double the time to return,” Dawson grunted. “With the animals we will make it faster and use them to bring supplies.”
“We really don’t have what to trade to them, unless we start hunting water boars boss,” Trifton argued.
“I’m thinking on it mister Trifton!” Dawson barked and saw a Gish wearing boots approaching them. He blinked. It was the little brother.
“What is it little one?” Dawson asked the kid.
“Linx went over Ilvilix,” Vitrix said somberly.
“The lake? What’s on the other side of it?” Dawson asked curious.
“Terbville Isle,” he replied. “Where old Silix lives.”
“So?” Dawson queried not familiar with the name.
“That’s not the point,” the small Gish argued. “Someone said more pirate scum have landed across North Egg’s shores and she went to talk with them.”
Dawson snorted not believing a word out of his mouth.
“Where’s yer sister?”
“She went to get Derix. They probably left after her already,” he explained. “I thought of calling you.”
“Listen kid. There are no other pirates other than me crew…” Dawson paused midsentence and stared at his colleagues. Barnet sighed pensively feeling vindicated. “Ye don’t think?” the pirate captain started.
“It’s not out the realm of possibility Yellow,” Trifton said with a shrug.
“And it begins,” Barnet prophesized.
“What ye be implying?” Dawson growled and glared at his dour face.
“First it was the princess,” Barnet griped and Zander nodded, although he favored Anne more than anyone else other than Dawson. “Ye have a ‘damsel in distress’ syndrome Captain.”
“There’s no such thing!” Dawson blasted him. “Anne might get yer sister and family a place where she can grow the land, live like a normal person!”
“Helping Anne has us stranded in the arse end of nowhere, two thirds of the crew killed,” Barnet retorted with a scowl and Dawson backhanded him abruptly, his big gold ring splitting his lip. The pirate stumbled back with a groan, but stood upright slowly and spat down a blotch of blood. “The truth needs no arm twisting to be believed Yellow,” he added hoarsely.
Arggh!
Dawson grimaced furious, his eyes on the sun and then at the peaceful waters of the strange lake. Then he looked down at his knee and the expectant pirate-boot wearing little Gish.
Allgods darnit.
She’s gonna get herself killed, or worse.
“We need… there might be supplies on that Brig,” he grunted, face flustered and not liking the way Barnet was eyeing him. Knew the man for fifteen years, but comes a time where even good friendships sour. “So, perhaps we need to get over there and see we pay ‘em Bank motherfuckers a visit!”
Trifton nodded and stared at the large body of water thoughtfully.
“How are we going to do that Captain?” he asked and Dawson made to answer, but out of the reeds came a bountiful, pretty Gish and stopped him dead. Short skirt leaving fit tanned thighs bare, a tight top with wooden buttons covering the upper portion of her body. Tight because of the amount of flesh hidden of sorts underneath and not the absence of fabric.
Naossis swollen dairies! Dawson thought stunned ogling his eyes, the left gawking more than the right as the grimace had come instinctively and caught him unawares.
“That’s Minix,” the little Gish said reverently. “She’s a healer and Silix’s daughter.”
Apparently Silix was too silly to dodge his responsibilities.
Dawson blinked, the long haired minx paused unsure seeing the large pirates barring her way and then smiled. Her hair a striking hot-pink, not as common in the settlement. What she lacked in the nose department Minix had in abundance everywhere else.
Nothing mini about her where it mattered the most.
“Here we be falling in a faraway land,” a still bleeding Barnet started pensively. “Our stories lost to the—”
“Put a lid on yer mouth!” Dawson barked and immediately smiled at the surprised mature female. “Milady…” he started and she chuckled throatingly.
Trifton pursed his lips staring at her intently.
“Will you swim across?” She asked. “You can follow me. It’s a quick journey.”
“How quick?” Dawson croaked not really favoring swimming, but willing to give a try with her.
“A couple of nights, days… as you people say.”
“You know of us?” Dawson grunted.
She shrugged her shoulders, two large golden loops on her dainty ears, visible through her thick mane.
“My father saw the fleet come and he was there when most of them left,” Minix replied. “A race uprooted looking for a new home,” the eloquent pretty Gish continued and pointed a finger on Zander. An Issir. “I guess they made it there.”
She is talking of Lord Reinut, Dawson thought thoroughly befuddled, which was turning out to be common on the Isles.
“I can’t swim,” Zander said to get it out of the way interrupting his reverie. “And I’m reluctant to learn.”
“Take Velix’s raft across,” Minix offered and walked to get past them. She paused to check if they were following her a moment later and everyone was like automatons. Vitrix stumbling a couple of times, the smaller boots still too big for him, until Trifton picked him up easily and slotted him over his head. “You’ll need something to trade. Velix loves grape juice,” she revealed with a lewd wink. Might have been innocent even, but Dawson didn’t think it was and felt all warm up inside. He hadn’t felt like that since before ‘finding’ Corsair’s Gold.
“Will he have rum instead, or whiskey?” He asked in a hoarse manner.
Minix licked her plump lips unsure, so Wayland gave her his flask and she sipped at the black liquid, her throat moving in an alluring manner.
“This is?” she asked him a little flushed.
“Black whiskey,” Dawson rustled.
“Keep it, give him the other stuff,” she decided and with a pout she returned his metallic flask.
“You know of rum?” Trifton asked.
“My father had tasted it a couple of centuries it must be now,” Minix replied. “Knocked him out for a week, but it might have been a stronger sort than yours.”
“Trifton give me yer flask,” Dawson grunted.
“Oh, come on Yellow,” he protested. “Take Barnet’s, he’s already pissed at you.”
“Which is why I don’t,” Dawson explained. “Now hand me the darn rum flask!”
It turned out Velix’s raft was moored not a hundred meters back from where they had come from, hidden behind the tall reeds and a cloud of mosquitos. It had a crude wooden label stabbed on the muddy ground, too short and ineligibly written to be seen, or read from anyone.
The raft’s name equally unoriginal.
Across Ilvilix, the label said in common, which was also the name of Velix’s raft.
Far as searches go, it was the easiest of the whole ordeal.
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/