Sailing Ether Tides

Sailing Ether Tides

Ch: 11 Underdogs Can Bite Too

The mysterious trading post on the formerly uninhabited island did a brisk trade over the next few days. There was even more stuff than they had imagined, lurking in the muddy rubbish piles near the community waste pits, carved deep into the island’s volcanic stone. The top forty feet of the typical waste pit was lined with smooth stone and rings of iron spikes pointing inward and angled sharply down; effectively preventing anything larger than a good sized crab from climbing out.

A hefty stone lid rolled away at dawn every day and rolled back over each pit every night, for everyone’s peace of mind.

Untold generations of monsters worked inside the volcano to transform all the rotting food, scrap lumber and trash the islanders produced into… monster leavings.

Down in the lava tubes beneath the island, groundworms competed with a mind boggling profusion of beasts and monsters, to consume the island’s rubbish. They swarmed in the depths, devouring anything and everything they could, including each other. In the untamed free for all in the island’s stony bowels, anything and everything that could be eaten would be eaten. There were only a few things groundworms were unable to eat: bare stone, their own waste and woolcrabs.

The result of all that eating was the rich, silty soil of the island, tended and maintained by the huge herds of woolcrabs that roamed most uninhabited sections of the island. They nested in the lava tubes and were largely responsible for the distribution of the monster produced fertilizer, as their relentless, mindless burrowing and browsing spread the stuff far and wide.

Woolcrabs found the stuff delicious and were always near the filth choked lava tubes, doing what crustaceans do: eating and shitting.

On the frequent occasions when the woolcrabs dug too deep in the filth choked tunnels and encountered groundworms or something similar, horribly toxic crab flesh either killed or repelled the creatures back into the depths of the island. The giant, inedible crabs mined the depths all night, then wandered the rocky shores all day, in a disgusting and highly efficient ecosystem.

Organic waste and debris never re-emerged from the waste pits on the edges of town, but the crabs dragged metal objects to the entrances regularly.

The resulting heaps of junk had long since been scoured of anything useful, beyond the rusting remnants of ship fittings, broken housewares and abandoned scrap.

Local smiths had been salvaging odds and ends here and there since forever, but no smith was going to waste valuable, imported fuel to smelt junk into usable ingots. By the same logic, no merchant was going to haul that stuff to a foundry on the mainland for what would amount to a small sack of loose change, after expenses.

Rio and Wilf had no concerns for fuel costs, since their foundry ran on the unconscious magical output of their strange little family, tapped through the ubiquitous bronze ear cuffs they wore as they went about their business.

Scrap goods, green lumber, herbs and other foraged goods vanished into the ring of mangroves, while tools and housewares poured out into the eager hands of the residents of Westfall Township. With a few simple tools, some lumber and a few nails, the slum started shaping up almost visibly every day.

The number of picks, shovels, wheelbarrows and pile drivers the trading post bartered and sold seemed to even have an effect on the soil of Westfall island itself.

Drainage ditches and culverts started appearing all around, managed by otter, beaver and badger folks. Things became less moist and soggy underfoot and among the houses of the township, even as garden plots developed in formerly untended yards.

Since the strangers arrived, the local rubbish heaps were suddenly crawling with people, both human and beastkin. The poverty stricken are supposed to remain politely invisible; instead, they were pretty evident all around the town. Every few minutes a wheelbarrow, or a parade of young people, lugging bundles and baskets would march over the bridge, eager to sell their goods.

Beyond just scrap metal, foragers were doing a brisk trade in all manner of wild gathered stuff. Baskets of mushrooms, bark, leaves and roots, the rolled up hides and skins of swamp creatures, bones and stranger things began to stack up in Amy’s corner of the underground workspace.

Those faint signs of increasing prosperity and the sudden influx of goods into ‘beast town’ did not go unremarked in the market ward of the human town. Rumblings and grumblings aside, the level of general hostility in the market ward was palpable, whenever furry people were in view.

As a result, there was a lot of tooth grinding going on among the denizens of Centre Port proper.

“Kids, we need to get you out of town for a day or two… We’ll go hunting on the uplands, Tallum will pick up some contracts at the guild hall.” Ivy had announced on the third morning since the whole crew had landed in town.

“We are getting a little low on meat…” Amy grumbled with a hungry look in her eyes.

That was how they wound up camping on the uplands of the big island, during a summer storm.

#

“Don’t worry about us, we have a camp all set up… we’ll be back on schedule.” Ivy whispered into her earcuff and collar button, sending her voice to the matching artifacts in Becky’s possession, a few miles away.

“We’re almost out of range, Becks… see you tomorrow.”

She sat back in her tent, leaning on her enormous husband.

“She’s nervous, Tallums…” The blonde mage said softly after a moment.

“She has a lot of reasons to be worried. Gary’s not getting any better, the pantheon is still in a frenzy and only the threat of the empire invading is keeping the southern lords from going to war on each other…” The big smith rumbled softly. “We’re all nervous.”

Rain and wind shook the trees around the little camp on the highlands of Centre Port, below the boughs. A number of bright colored, round tents shared the meadow among the sheltering trees.

Wind gusts in the branches made a soft, moaning sound that was almost musical in the heavy, rain scented air at sundown. Franklin Knubbel smiled at the young couple standing in front of a bright blue dome tent made of bamboo rods and spidersilk, as the first fat, warm raindrops landed on his head.

“Tonight my friends, relax, listen to the rain on your tent and pity any poor fool that’s out in weather like this.”

#

“I dunno why we’re out in weather like this…” Someone whispered from a dark, floating shape on the rain spattered, stormy bay.

“Cause if we get seen, one of these fluff humpers will squeal to the castle.” Another indistinct form hissed. “We cut this bridge loose, it drifts over and causes trouble in the shipping lanes. Then the duchess will be forced to evict these stray animals… Now shut up and paddle… idiot.”

There were a few soft noises in the darkness on the pontoon bridge connecting the beastkin slum and the small island where the traders encamped. “Everyone back aboard?” The hoarse whisper rasped in the darkness, wind and fog.

The moons peeked out through the clouds and rain, as a wind gust slithered over the darkened waterways of Centre Port, revealing a long construct of empty barrels and bamboo decking, adrift in the harbor.

“Andy… I’m still on the bridge…” Someone called in a soft and desperate voice.

“Don’t say my name you arsehole!” ‘Andy’ whispered back fiercely. “Stay put, we’ll get you.” The sound of paddling and soft splashes followed the drifting bridge span for a moment, before the tremulous voice called out again, with a note of desperation.

“It’s shrinking, Andy! It’s shrinking!”

“Shut up you mooncalf!” Came the reply. “Shrinking indeed… Fool.” The moons parted the clouds again, revealing the bridge span, slowly headed for the harbor and the huddled form at the end, nearest the pursuing rowboat.

The floating structure did seem shorter than it had been… but that had to be a trick of the moonlight.

As ‘Andy’ watched, the huddled figure in a dark cloak was forced to edge back down the decking, as if the thing was being nibbled away at each end.

“Help!” He almost shouted as the process accelerated, making him retreat farther.

A few heartbeats later the drifting structure crossed some invisible threshold and simply vanished into a cloud of pleasant scented mist, dumping a man into the icy harbor with a soft splash.

“Well… Fuck.” ‘Andy’ snarled as the struggling man screamed out for help. Lights began appearing around the island trading post, as well as on a small, fast moving boat… headed their way with a bright searchlight at the bow.

#

Becky sat at the tiller of the skiff, while Dannyl worked the searchlight. Together they chased the hapless rowboat full of wet and miserable bigots all over the harbor; always just ‘failing’ to catch the desperately rowing and paddling dirtbags.

Having a little fun was all well and good, but with the kids away, no one could restore the conjured pontoon bridge between the slum and island. They watched the soggy trio of shitheads pull into a weedy mud slip and drag their boat silently out of sight, while playing the magical lantern spotlight across the far bank. They kept up the fake search for a little while longer, letting the schmucks slip away in the swamp.

“When we finally bring the hammer down on these chumps… I’m totally going to explain at length how we let them escape…” Dannyl grumbled, watching the chumps in question scurry through the reeds with his vision gift from Marduk, god of Knowledge. “Supernatural sight powers kick ass.”

“Always allow the truly stupid display their ignorance to its fullest extent, my child.” Becky intoned sagely, in her ‘I’m the High Priestess’ voice. “Let’s go home.”

#

Morning on the uplands arrived with loud noises and the sounds of a fierce battle. Rio and Amy swarmed over the open end of their little meadow, sparring ferociously with swords of split bamboo wrapped with leather. They displayed a strange, almost alien grace and elegance in their swordplay, as the battle raged on.

Amy’s point dipped low, then swept high, binding with Rio’s as they spun around each other in a smooth, controlled dance.

Subtle changes in blade angle, pressure, grip and tension were their only language. The poetry of movement, footwork and stance was spelled out in the grass and mud beneath their feet, elevating their battle to a higher plane…

In an instant it was over. Rio’s boot slid just a little on a patch of mud slicked gravel.

Amy slipped her blade free of his bind and struck three times, while he was still struggling to bring his point back into line. Her wooden rapier clacked against his elbow, hip and breastplate with three crisp taps.

Jeskin and Leafchaser cheered loudly for the victor, from the safety of the breakfast table. Facing an intimidating stack of buttered flapjacks in hand to hand combat was already more than they could manage.

“This is going to take teamwork, Jessie…” She whispered from behind the terrifying breakfast plate Wilford landed in front of her.

“Wilf, your new friends are probably not that hungry…” Ivy shouted to the huge, heavily muscled lad, whose spatula was still ringing out a soft, sweet note in the misty morning.

“Oh, yeah… sorry…” He mumbled. “I forget, sometimes.”

“The Wards are fine hosts and splendid Adventurers… But they will fatten you up, if you don’t watch out.” The petite blonde mage sang happily from the lap of her gigantic husband.

“You always say that, but I don’t see it.” The giant whispered in her ear fondly, while accepting a towering plate from the big kid at the griddle. He picked up a serving fork and dove in… Or perhaps it was a regular fork, specially sized for the soft spoken smith. He munched his way through enough syrup and butter drizzled pancakes to feed a family of five and sighed happily.

“We’ve got a pair of small ground dragons, just fifteen feet long… a giant crab and at least one trapdoor spider before we head home.” Ivy announced crisply, once breakfast was finished and the morning workouts were done. “Decide who’s tackling the spider among yourselves. We move out in a half hour.”

Groans and a little good natured complaining failed to move Ivy’s cold heart, she marched them along the narrow, rocky trail through the scrub, before the sun even finished burning away the fog. Two miles later, at the jagged edge of a rift in the volcanic cone that made up most of the island, Ivy called a halt.

“The spider is down there…” She said softly, pointing to a lava tube a few dozen yards down the sharp, jagged crevasse. Silvery threads glinted in the bright morning sunshine, revealing the beast’s location. “The stench will be thick down there, so be ready.” The veteran mage murmured. “You’ve handled plenty of these, go get it.”

Amy and Rio began free climbing down the sheer rock face, slipping from one precarious handhold to another with effortless grace.

Maya and Frankie followed, using ropes anchored for their descent by the older kids. Soon, all four lightly armored young people were gathered at the mouth of the cavern.

Amy looked up and waved silently, her wide, bright smile visible even in the dimness of the rift.

“We’re going in.” Her voice whispered in Ivy’s ear, and the ears of the rest of the group waiting nervously above.

#