A Sea Change
Part One
Quicksilver stared up at the glittering stalactites hanging over her head. Her grandmother Gullwing kept the little barque on course as the waves gently pulled them inside the cave. By the light of the lantern the rocks shimmered with hidden minerals. Menacing shadows rose in the corners of the cave.
“It’s amazing,” Quicksilver whispered.
“You can only come in through here during the evening low tide,” Gullwing explained in a hushed voice, as the close quarters of the tunnel magnified their voices. “During high tide this is all underwater. And during morning low the waves outside are too treacherous.”
Quicksilver let her hand trail in the cool water. Now the waves were nothing more than gentle laps against the side of the boat. Gullwing kept them on course as they drifted deeper inside Race Rock.
Goldcinder was waiting for them as reached the dock carved into the side of the cave wall. Gullwing tossed him the rope, and he threaded it through the heavy iron ring. He offered Quicksilver his arm as she hopped out of the barque. Her bare feet touched the stone steps – worn smooth as if they had been rockshaped. But she knew better. All the caves at Race Rock were made the hard way, through centuries of water courses and the toil of elf masons armed with chisels and hammers.
“Welcome to Race Rock,” Goldcinder said. “The training ground for the best pirates to sail out of Green Moon Bay."
Quicksilver grinned nervously. She was sixteen, and at last the secrets of her mother’s tribe would be revealed to her. At last she would sail on the Lady Mura.
Gullwing and Goldcinder showed her to her room. It was a tiny little chamber hollowed out of a larger cave tunnel. But she never failed to be astounded at the care that went into the craftsmanship. A window-like semi-circle had been chiselled in bas-relief against the wall, and there was a little lantern filled with oil waiting for her. A clay jug of drinking water sat on the ledge next to the light. Her bed was a raised platform piled with soft bedding, and bound in one side by a carved ship’s railing. A careful borehole allowed moonlight to fall in and cast a gentle glow into the room. A heavy canvas partition hung by the bed, ready to be drawn if Quicksilver wanted extra privacy beyond the wooden door that swung on oiled hinges.
“And I don’t want to see you smuggling that lovemate of yours in here,” Gullwing teased as Quicksilver set her leather sack on the bed. “You’re here to work.”
Goldcinder chuckled dryly. “Don’t worry, Gull. She won’t have time to miss her Suntop. We sail in less than a moon-dance, and this little pip’s got a lot to learn.”
Quicksilver grinned. “I won’t disappoint.”
“Of course you won’t,” Goldcinder smiled back. “You’re Savin’s pip. Now you get some sleep. The fleet goes out at dawn.”
Quicksilver nodded. Goldcinder cast one last glance up and down his niece and shook his head. “We have to get you some better clothes,” he sighed, indicated her tattered gray-blue leathers. “Honestly. You Wolfriders have no pride.”
Soon they were gone, and Quicksilver was left alone in the dark room. She fumbled with her little flint and steel and lit the lantern. A warm light filled her cave as she unpacked her few possessions. Her best dagger, her boots, and a change of leathers in case the weather turned foul. Her years as a Wolfrider had taught her to travel light.
But for the next six months she wouldn’t be a Wolfrider. She was going to be a pirate.
She blew out the lantern. She stripped off her leathers and crawled into bed. The warmth of the sheets felt good after the surprising coolness of the Race Rock caves.
She rolled over on her back and looked up at the ceiling of the cave. It felt strange to be sleeping encased in rock. She was used to the living walls of the Grandfather Tree, or the wooden shacks of the Bay village.
She closed her eyes. She thought of Suntop, back in the Palace as it slumbered in the deep waters off Shoal Point. She thought of the delicious golden silkiness of his hair, of the warm scent of his brown skin. She shivered and rolled over quickly, burying her face in her pillow and her limbs in the tangle of sheets.
Moons away from Suntop. She didn’t know how she could bear it. She cursed herself for her hesitance around him. They were going to become lovemates and lifemates sooner or later. Why couldn’t it be sooner? But she knew if they had crossed that line before she left, she would never find the strength to go.
Why did Suntop always leave it up to her? He was too sweet for his own good. Or her own good.
She reached out with her mind. She found his sending star without difficulty. He was fast asleep already in the Palace. She sensed the signature of his dreaming thoughts.
I am Khai, she almost sent.
No. She could wait. She could be patient and let him find her soulname himself.
The hell I can, Quicksilver thought miserably as she slowly fell asleep.
“OY! ‘Silver! Up!”
Quicksilver rolled over in a start and would have fallen off the bed had the railing not imbedding itself in her side. She looked up through a veil of hair and sheets to see her uncle Loosestrife standing in the doorway, hands on hips.
She dressed and limped out after her mother’s brother. The sun was not quite above the horizon when he took her outside to watch the fishers head out in their little outriggers to catch the morning schools of silversails.
“Why are we out here?” she asked.
“Your ignorance, pip,” Loosestrife rolled his eyes. “Watch the boats go out. Tell me what you see?”
Quicksilver shrugged. “They’re paddling out. Travelling in groups of two. I guess to cast their nets once they make it out.”
“And?”
“And... they’re paddling away so the waves don’t strike them against the rock. And...” she shrugged. “And they’re heading for the northern point of the island. Is the fishing good there?”
“Nope. They need to go west.”
“So why are they paddling north?”
“Watch.”
Quicksilver watched the little boats slowly bobbed on the waves away from Race Rock. She strained her eyesight as the sun rose in the east, casting a harsh glare over the water. “They can’t paddle straight west, because of the light off the water?” she guessed.
“You think that’s glare? That’s nothing. No. Keep watching.”
“I don’t know how much longer I’m supposed to just stand here,” Quicksilver began, her mother’s impatience surfacing. Then she realized what Loosestrife wanted her to see. As the first pair of the string of boats began to near the northern tip of the crescent-shaped island that hemmed in Green Moon Bay, they suddenly changed course, turning west. The boats picked up speed though the elves no longer paddled with previous vigour. Like a leaf in a stream, the outriggers were borne out to sea.
“The current,” Quicksilver said.
“A hell of a riptide off the North Hook there,” Loosestrife confirmed. “No one risks swimming out there, but the fishers use it to get them out to their fishing grounds.” He turned to his niece. “The sea isn’t a big lake. It’s a thousands rivers and streams pooled together. There’s the wind above the waves and the wind below. Know your currents. Or you’ll find yourself lost out at sea without a sail. That’s your first lesson.”
Quicksilver nodded. “What’s my second one?”
“Food. Come on. It’s past time for breakfast.”
For the next two moons Quicksilver spent her days hard at work in Green Moon Bay. Loosestrife and Goldcinder taught her every rope and rigging on the Lady Mura. “Think of it like your... wolf,” Loosestrife offered the comparison with a grimace. “You know every little twitch of Featherfur’s muscles, don’t you? Well, it’s the same with the Mura. Don’t you listen to that treeshaper of yours who says it’s nothing but dead wood.” He smiled up proudly at the three tall masts. “She’s got heart and soul as much as any living thing. She breathes. She groans. And she can race like the wind if you know how to coax her.”
Quicksilver paced over the decks, letting her hand run along the elegant railings, all hand-carved. The deck was made of flat boards nailed together with small metal spikes, just the way Islanders made walls to their huts out of wooden planks. The great rudder – which Quicksilver had only just glimpsed on a dive under the dock – was controlled by a large wheel that stood proudly near the stern of the ship.
“I still find it hard to believe,” Quicksilver confessed. “That elves could build such a thing with no magic, no tools beyond hammer, axe and saw. I understand small dugouts... even little rowboats. But the Mura...”
Loosestrife only smiled. “Hard work and even more hard work. And lessons learned over centuries. There’s your Islander heritage.”
“And our ancestors crossed the Vastdeep in things like this... back in the time of Huntress Skyfire?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about Huntress Skyfire. But we’ve built every ship after those first ones Mura led across the sea. Not as sophisticated as this. But strong and sturdy. Thirty-one days at sea, so the legend goes, from one land to the other. Oh, not as fast as your Palace,” he added with a hint of scorn.
“You don’t like the Palace, do you, Uncle?”
He shrugged. “Not really. It’s easy to sit inside a magic shell and fly to the stars and back. These ships... they might not sail into the night sky, but they’re ours. We made them. And our Lady Mura built the first one out of logs and branches and mud. No magic. No living stone. Just imagination. And skill. That’s more valuable than any of your Palace’s magic. Remember that.”
“You’ve looked better,” Suntop told her as they walked down Pip’s Beach together.
“I’m exhausted. ‘Strife is trying to kill me.” She looked down at her calloused hands. “If I ever complain that vines at the Holt are too rough, hit me, will you?”
Suntop smiled and casually slipped an arm over her shoulder. Quicksilver’s heart skipped a beat. She wrapped her arm about his waist in return and let her head rest on his shoulder.
**What’s wrong?** he sent.
**I’m going to miss you.**
**I’ll never be more than a sending away.**
“Not the same,” Quicksilver sighed glumly. “I can’t really... see you. Hear you. And... other things,” she added.
“Other things...” Suntop reached up to stroke her silver hair possessively. “It’ll be all right,” he told her. “We’ll see each other before long. It’s not like we haven’t been apart before.”
“But it’s different now,” Quicksilver whined, feeling peevish.
Slowly Suntop lifted his arm from about her shoulder. “It is?”
Quicksilver turned to face him. “No... I guess not. But... but it’s going to be different, soon. It’s...” she couldn’t find the words, and she cursed herself for it. She was always the level-headed one of the pair. Even as a child, she had kept Suntop’s cloud-head firmly on his shoulders. Now she was always pacing like a caged wolf. And it was Suntop who was steady. Suntop was never frustrated. She bit the inside of her lip, the first hint of resentment building inside her. He was always calm as still water.
**I am not!** his laughter rang in her head.
Quicksilver’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing too. Just when she thought she had managed to lock some her thoughts away from him, he surprised her. Either he had a magic in him that would shame the High Ones, or that Recognition was closer than she had ever imagined.
“Suntop...” she began nervously.
He gave her hand a little squeeze. Quicksilver looked away, suddenly bashful. Unconsciously, she licked her lips; they were chapped from the sea spray in the air. She felt Suntop’s hand on her chin, gently turning her back to face him. He bent his head down to hers and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. It was an impossibly soft kiss, the faintest brush of skin. But it left her breathless.
They parted, and Quicksilver gazed up into his eyes, as blue as the waters surrounding them. Again she felt that strange soundless whisper tugging at her consciousness. The faint echo of a richer melody.
M-Mal–
Her uncle’s sending startled her a moment before it seemed she was about to seize the name out of the air. ** ‘Silver! Come over to the tavern – you have to see this! Bring that lander of yours. He’ll get a good kick out of it.**
“Puckernuts,” Quicksilver moaned.
“What?” Suntop asked. He gave her a teasing smile. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
She swatted his shoulder lightly. “Loosestrife. Something he wants me to see. You too. Come on. We’ve got to go to the village.”
They followed the sandy coast around the northern shore, then hiked over the hill that lay between them and the settlement on the Bay. The Lady Mura was docked, as were the smaller fishing boats and the little sailboat a few of the pirates used to reach nearby Greywake. But there a new boat was just coming in to dock. It was a large canoe ornamented with strange carvings along the gunwales, and a completely alien sail system. Outrigger pontoons straddled the canoe on either side, steadying it in the water. Suntop and Quicksilver could barely make out the elves who sat in the canoe, paddling in the last distance into port as they lowered the sail.
“What are those things they’re wearing on their arms?” Suntop asked. “Those bracers...”
“Those aren’t bracers – they’re fins. They must be Cove Folk!” Quicksilver was delighted. She had only met a few of the reclusive shapechanged Cove Folk during her childhood at Green Moon Bay. Now an entire boat of them had arrived.
“Come on,” she said, pulling Suntop’s wrist. “Let’s go take a closer look.”
The canoe had docked by the time the two elves reached the settlement and joined the congregation in the sandy square outside the tavern. About a dozen spectators had abandoned their afternoon chores to loiter and watched their leader Evergreen meet with the Cove Folk; it was a rare occurrence for the “fin-wrists” to make the long journey from their islands far to the south.
They were tall for elves – not High Ones, certainly, but taller than Wolfriders or the Green Moon Bay pirates. And in contrast to the sun-kissed pirates, the Cove Folk were all very pale, as if they only saw the sun through the screen of salt water. There were several males, wearing loincloths that revealed the flesh-shaped fins on their legs. There was also a female whose entire costume seemed made of coral, pearls and seashells. But the leader of the party was a long-boned elf-woman wearing a coral headpiece and a long cape of kelp fronds that swept the sand at her feet.
Suntop and Quicksilver gaped openly at the alien female. Like her companions, she was heavily flesh-shaped. Her calves were decorated with fins, and as she gestured animatedly, they saw that her hands were webbed. Even her ears had been shaped, taking on strange ridges that seemed to imitate some alien sea-beast. Her hair was a dark brown, laced with seed pearls, and her eyes were watery-blue. Like the other Cove Folk, her skin had an odd pallor to it from spending so much time underwater.
“I’ve heard some of the Cove Folk can actually flesh-shape... like Timmain,” Quicksilver whispered. “They can grow tails in place of their legs and swim around under the sea like fishes. I wonder if any of these can.”
They drifted closer to the crowd, their eyes on the leader as she conversed with Evergreen. They were arguing over something, and the water-elf’s gestures grew even more extravagant.
“They’re fishing for a bigger share of the take,” Loosestrife said, appearing as if my magic at Quicksilver’s side. “Bloody fin-wrists,” he muttered. “They laze around in the Southern Coves wanting nothing to do with us or the humans... but they still expect us to make supply runs twice a year to keep them stocked in troll-gold and brightmetal. Bah. If they didn’t make the best rigging rope in the Islands, I’d let them get waterlogged.”
Suntop was mesmerized by the crowned elf-woman: her outlandish clothing and her bizarre flesh-shaped fins. His wide-eyed fascination did not go unnoticed, and Loosestrife gave him a nudge in the ribs. “She’s an eyeful, isn’t she, lander?”
“What... is that?” Suntop stammered, indicating her outlandish accessories.
“That, m’lad, is a Brill. You know I told you all fin-wrists are a bit bubbly in the head? Well that there is the biggest bubble of them all. Her uncle Surge is the Speaker of Jewel Cove – that’s... uh, chief to you. Little chief.”
“Because he speaks for Evergreen?”
“He likes to think he does, the crazy old gull. Salt water on the brain – almost as mad as a few of your Wolfriders. But Brill there... oh, she’s something else.”
“I understand the fins on the arms and legs... they’re to help you swim faster...”
“That’s the idea, anyway,” Loosestrife chuckled.
“But...” Suntop frowned. “Why the ears? And the hands? I’ve seen an elf flesh-shaped before... and much more heavily. But there was a purpose.”
Loosestrife shrugged. “Why pierce an ear? There’s no purpose. They’d say it’s no different to reshape your whole ear... or your hands... or... well, let’s just say if you saw Surge you wouldn’t take him for an elf at first. Bah. They’ve more magic than they know what to do with. Nearly one in ten is a healer, and they say up to one in five can learn how to shape themselves a tail. You see... there’s a lesson for you Wolfriders. Mate magic-users to magic-users... build up the power in the offspring – sounds like a great idea. But five generations later... bubbles!”
Brill and Evergreen continued to debate, and at length the other pirates grew bored watching the haggling. Loosestrife again leaned in close to his niece, but this time he locksent, to ensure no one could listen in. **Evergreen will put on a good show, then she’ll let Jewel Cove get another spool of gold wire out of the take. Act like it’s a great loss. Hmph. If the fin-wrists ever realized how little they’re really getting out of this deal... I swear...**
**You’re cheating them?**
Loosestrife shrugged. **We’re pirates, little pip.**
At length the negotiations were concluded, and Brill accept the grudging offer of an extra spool of gold wire as a great concession. She gestured to her attendants, who returned to the great outrigger to retrieve the promised lengths of rope.
“There’s only a third of your promised shipment,” she said. “The rest upon delivery of the troll goods.”
“Of course,” Evergreen gave a courteous nod. “That’s only reasonable.”
Loosestrife snorted under his breath, struggling to conceal his smirk.
Brill turned away from the pirate chieftain, and her gaze fell on Suntop, standing at the periphery of the gathering. Suntop flinched as he realized she was watching him.
Brill strode over to him, her eyes wide. “You’re a twin,” she breathed, and Suntop flinched again.
“How did you–”
“I could tell. Your soul... your ‘glow’... just like me.” She looked him over. “You are a strange one... are you a Bay pirate?”
Loosestrife laughed. “Him? Naw, you’ve just met your first Wolfrider, Brill. This is Suntop, son of the wolf-queen Swift.”
Suntop looked at him askance. **Wolf-queen?**
**It makes a good tale. Now hush up.** “And this little sprite is my niece, Quicksilver – Savin’s little girl. She’s come to take her first ride on the Lady Mura.”
Brill gave Quicksilver a passing nod, but her attention was entirely focused on Suntop. “Is your brother much like you?”
“Brother? No, I have a twin sister. Venka. And she’s... she’s either a lot like me or nothing like me, depending on whom you ask.”
“A sister. You can be a twin and have a sister? How strange. My twin is Krill, and she is my exact double – or she would be, if she would have herself shaped with fins.”
“If you ask me, Krill’s the only sensible one on your rock,” Loosestrife quipped.
“I didn’t ask you, pirate,” Brill cut him off, her voice suddenly sharp and imperious. But then she turned back to Suntop and her icy gaze melted. Before he could draw back, she seized his wrist and ran her hand up his forearm.
“Your skin... why did you have it turned so dark?”
“I... I didn’t. I was born this way.”
“You never told us Wuf-raidors were all so dark,” Brill turned on Loosestrife.
“Wolfriders,” Quicksilver corrected. But Brill was not listening to her.
“They’re not,” Suntop explained. “My mother is a Wolfrider. My father comes from a tribe called the Sun Folk. And they all have golden and brown skin – protection from the Daystar’s rays.”
“Can’t they take shelter from the sun?”
“No. They live in a desert.”
“Desert? What is a desert?”
“It’s...” Suntop smiled. “It’s the opposite of this. Rocks and sand and barely enough water to drink, let alone launch boats across. No trees for shade and no cool breezes. Just the sun and the rocks.”
“It sounds horrible. Your father is lucky he was rescued from such a place. Here...” she smiled invitingly, “everything is cool and refreshing.” Her hand lingered on Suntop’s arm. “Perhaps... you will come down to Jewel Cove. Its beauty is unrivalled in the Islands.”
Loosestrife snorted in derision.
“I... I was not planning–” Suntop began.
“We would love to have you.” She gazed at him coyly from behind veiled lashes. “I would show you all that the Cove Folk have to share.”
Quicksilver had had enough. She took Suntop’s hand firmly in hers. “No.”
Brill tilted her head to one side. “Are you his keeper, little one?” she asked gently.
“Yes.”
Brill smiled as she turned back to Suntop. “Is she your intended mate? What curious customs you Wuf-raidors have. But surely you know the joys of sharing, of simple delights taken freely.”
“I...” Suntop stammered, blushing in sheer mortification.
“It is such a strange way, to bind a young elf of such... liveliness to a mere child? But surely she will not come of age for many years–”
Loosestrife whistled low as he turned to see what his niece would do. He did not have to wait long. Quicksilver seized Brill’s wrist and pried her hand off Suntop’s arm. Quicksilver locked eyes with the Cove elf in the age-old rite of a wolf challenge and when she spoke her voice was razor sharp and deathly cold.
“Keep – your slimy paws – off my lifemate!”
She wrenched Brill’s arm away and left the elf-woman reeling. She stared at Suntop in disbelief, but he could only give her a wincing shrug of the shoulders as he turned back to Quicksilver. Loosestrife burst out laughing. Several of the other pirates assembled turned to see what the ruckus was. Brill clenched her hands tight at her sides and stalked away, muttering Islander curses under her breath.
Loosestrife continued to tease Quicksilver about it as they ate their evening meal in the caverns of Race Rock. “She should have seen her!” he told Goldcinder animatedly. “And that lad of hers just stood them, shifting on his feet, completely baffled by it all. Never seen a pup so well trained.”
“Just shut it, ‘Strife, will you?” Quicksilver moaned softly.
“You’ll have to get used to it. Pretty boy like him... Brill won’t be the only one after him. Am I right, ‘Cinder?”
Quicksilver kept her head bent down over her food. She wished she felt as victorious as her uncle. The elf-woman’s words still rankled.
Child.
Was that what other Islanders thought when they saw the couple – that Suntop was a vibrant youth oddly shackled to a girl too young to appreciate him?
Puckernuts, she was not so young! Elves younger than she had been initiated into the ways of joining. Newstar was already heavily pregnant with Kimo at her age. Just because Quicksilver was painfully short for her age and still somewhat under-developed beneath her bodice did not mean she was a milk-toothed cub. Not everyone could be as formidable as Nightfall at sixteen!
She was making excuses again. Because the truth was, she was still a child.
“You’re not hungry?” her grandmother Gullwing asked her.
“Not really.”
“Nerves,” Gullwing nodded. “I’d be nervous too, if my first sailing left in two days.”
“I’m going to miss you so much,” Quicksilver whispered to Suntop at the docks. The Lady Mura sailed with the early morning tide, and the sun was still sleeping as the two young elves made their farewells. Daughter Moon had already passed beyond the bay, but Mother Moon hung above, and the reflection of the half-moon in the waters was an eerie green-blue.
“I’ll come find you every night,” Suntop promised. “And by time you’ll be too busy to miss me.”
“My arms are still so sore – I don’t know how I’ll survive this.”
“You will. You’ll come back a pirate and you’ll look down your nose at everything Wolfrider.”
“Not everything Wolfrider.” She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him.
“Oy, ‘Silver!” Loosestrife called from on deck. “Shake it, will you?”
“Take care.” Suntop kissed her again. “Go on. Go show them what a sea-faring wolf can do.”
Quicksilver flashed him a cocky grin and bounded up the gangplank before her nerves failed her.
“All right!” Loosestrife barked to his crew. “Let’s get moving if we want to make the early morning tide.” He turned away and shouted out a flurry of commands. Quicksilver felt a little swaying underneath her feet, and suddenly the ship was underway. She leaned over the edge of the rails to watch as the ship slowly pulled away from the rickety docks. Woven tethers were pulled down to the docks, clear of the sides of the ship, and the wooden frame groaned as the light breeze filled the sails and the tide helped carry the vessel out into the bay.
They made for the current north of Race Rock, which would guide them out to sea. The fishers were already climbing in small outrigger canoes, ready to follow the ship’s wake out into the open waters. But Quicksilver saw none of it. Her eyes were glued to the tiny brown-and-gold figure on the dockside, quickly receding from view.
“Stop pining,” Loosestrife said, slapping her shoulder hard. “Come on. It’s time you get to know your ship.”
He led Quicksilver on a tour of the Mura. The ship’s belly was filled with three main rooms: a communal area and storage hold, a huge bedroom reserved for Loosestrife, and a third room where the rest of the crew slept. Small alcoves were built into the sides of the hull, and hammocks were strung for the senior-most members, while others bedded down on linens and blankets on the wooden floor.
“Now, since you’re Savin’s pip, you get a hammock,” Loosestrife told her. “This spot is yours.” He patted the slung piece of canvas. “You can keep your things stowed down in the box there.
“Thanks,” Quicksilver said, easing her leather sack into the storage box.
“Oh, don’t thank me. When the others see you get a hammock right away they’ll try to scalp you.”
After the tour below, Loosestrife led his niece back up on deck, introducing her to crewmembers along the way. She had met them all before, of course; they were familiar faces of her childhood. But now she was learning their functions on the ship. Her cousin Treefrog was the lookout, and could usually be seen up in the rigging, keeping a watch out for storms. Soft-eyed Derris was in charge of the ship’s stores, and prepared the meals for the crew morning and evening. Mimic led the fishers whenever supplies ran scarce. Goldcinder manned the wheel when he was not relaxing below deck. Yet most of the crew had no specific function and were assigned to tasks as the captain saw fit. For such a complex invention, the ship required a crew of no more than thirty, and of those thirty, ten could often be found relaxing above or below deck at any one time.
Around midday they were passing a lushly forested island. “Now... wait for it... ah!” Goldcinder handed her the spyglass and showed her to align it. “There’s Greywake right there.”
“It’s smaller than I remember,” Quicksilver said as she peered at the settlement through the spyglass. It was about half the size of Green Moon Bay, a collection of perhaps three-eights of houses, and several small docks. “When we sailed over in Mother’s boat... it seemed so much bigger.”
“You’re so much bigger now,” Loosestrife said, plucking the spyglass from her hands.
“Are we stopping?”
“Not now. We’ve got a meeting to keep with the humans on Crest Point. Here, could you give me a hand with the rigging?”
Quicksilver felt into step behind her uncle as he began to run rope through the round wooden pulleys. “You want your first task as a pirate?”
“I’m ready, Uncle.”
“’Course you are. Now here. Hold onto this rope tight – actually... better loop it around your waist. Don’t want to take any chances.”
Quicksilver obeyed, puzzled. She looked up at the rigging overhead. Was Loosestrife going to hoist her high up among the sails as she had once seen him do with Treefrog?
“Ready for a ride?”
“Ready.” She cinched the rope about her waist.
“I need you back up a bit.”
Quicksilver obeyed.
“No... a little more. Okay, keep looking up.”
Quicksilver stepped back further. “This good?”
“One more step.”
She stepped back, and walked right off the edge of the ship.
She dropped into the water like a stone. Almost immediately, she felt the rope about her waist snap tight, and it yanked her back above the water’s surface. Spitting and splashing, she looked up at her tormentor. She could hear his laughter even from beneath the waves. But now he was joined by the rest of the crew on deck, who were flocking to peer over the side at the unfortunate elf flailing in the water.
“Hey, ‘Silver, nice dive!” her cousin Skelter teased.
“You... you took the netting down!” Quicksilver managed to shout, but the effort cost her a mouthful of water. With each little wave, another splash of water crashed over her head. She tried to haul herself up the rope, but could not gain purchase.
“Damn you, haul me in!”
“All right, boys!” Loosestrife barked. “I think she’s had enough.”
They pulled her in, banging her against the side of the ship for her troubles. When Quicksilver was finally deposited on deck, she was shivering and aching all over. She shoved her wet hair out of her face and glared at Loosestrife, ready to knock him off the side of the ship.
But Loosestrife was grinning. “Let’s hear it for our new shipmate,” he commanded, and the crew burst into cheers. Suddenly Quicksilver was swarmed by pirate elves, thumping her behind the shoulder blades and shouting congratulations in her ear.
“Don’t feel bad,” Treefrog whispered when it was his turn to pat her on the back. “He makes every new sailor take a dunking.”
It was the middle of the afternoon when the ship pulled up alongside the coast. They threw the heavy anchor overboard in the shadow of a great seacliff. The ship bobbed in the light waves, and Quicksilver struggled to remain upright.
“What now?” She scanned the cliffs and saw only seabirds.
“Treefrog!” Loosestrife shouted up to a remarkably tall elf in the rigging. “Let ‘em know we’re here.”
The elf raised a large pink sea-snail’s shell to his lips and blew out three long blasts. Deep and resonant, like the bleating of a great bull shagback, the notes carried across the cover and into the forests beyond the cliffs.
Quicksilver watched as the pirates readied themselves for the raid. The younger elves sulked as they took up their places on deck, the skeleton crew left in charge of the ship under Goldcinder’s direction. The others fastened their swords and daggers about their waists and strung their bows.
“You ready?” Loosestrife asked.
“What do I do?”
“Just follow my lead and enjoy the ride.”
Treefrog blew another three notes on the great shell, and Loosestrife marshalled the pirates, brandishing his curved sword high. The crew climbed up into the riggings like an entire family of treewees, agile and swift. Quicksilver followed the band of pirates up the ropes.
Quicksilver saw the reason for mooring in the cove soon enough. The center mast of the ship was just tall enough to reach the top of the cliff, and the pirate-elves leapt the gap easily and landed on the mossy summit, ready for battle. The other side of the seawall was a gentle hill, rolling down into a clearing where the humans had pitched their village. An outer wall of logs protected the center square of the village and the three-eights of huts that housed an untold number ofhumans. Quicksilver saw a few tiny figures below racing from the white sand beach, towards the safety of the walls.
“Let’s go!” Loosestrife shouted. “Sound the charge, Treefrog.”
The elf blew one last blast of the shell, and the pirates charged down the hill, whooping and waving their weapons. They raced down the hill and onto the flat plains. A few strange plots of land – cultivated in a crude approximation of the Sun Folk fields – were carefully avoided by the pirates as they bore down on the village.
The only break in the wall was heavily barred with logs and thatch, but the elves easily scaled it and leapt into the village. Inside, the well-trodden square was deserted, save for a large pile of supplies heaped in the center.
“Thank you, generous hosts!” Loosestrife shouted at the top of his lungs. Quicksilver caught sight of a few young humans cowering in the doorway of their hut. At the sound of elfin laughter, they retreated.
“Some hunt this is,” Quicksilver murmured under her breath. “The prey has already surrendered.”
She joined Loosestrife in examining the pile of supplies. A woven mat of palm fibers... several crude wooden statues... a few garishly painted wooden staffs... a basket of shell necklaces... and a large clay jar sealed with a heavy lid – these were the treasures they had come to steal?
“Ladask?” Loosestrife examined the pot. “Oh, please, be ladask.” He struggled to lift the lid, which was carefully molded to seal the pot against all air. When he finally opened the jar, a smell so noxious it evoked instant nausea. It stank of decay and rot. An entire family of white-stripes had unleashed their spray then expired to a flesh-eating disease!
Loosestrife laughed, capping the jar quickly. “All right, you lazy dogs! Let’s get this loot out of here.”
The pirates all did their parts, hefting the assorted knickknacks on their shoulders. Quicksilver gamely lifted a grimacing wood carving that Loosestrife handed her. For the three broadest-shouldered Islanders, Loosestrife saved the burden of carrying the clay jar, and they handled it as if it were the most precious of cargo.
Just then Quicksilver heard a shout from the far side of the central square. Eight fierce human warriors, painted in yellow and red clay, their hips and knees decorated with grass skirts, their arms baring shields and spears, began an ugly chant in their native tongue.
“Oh, puckernuts!” Quicksilver reached for her dagger.
**Don’t be daft!** Loosestrife snapped. **You’ll ruin everything trying to teach them a new dance step.” He held his own sword up, as if intent on defending the entire party of twenty elves. Most had their hands full of booty, but those that had free hands did not draw their weapons.
The humans advanced. One step, two – chanting their garbled incantation, their seashell anklets tapping out an addictive rhythm. The pirates retreated – one step, two. Now more humans were entering the courtyard. Women and children clustered outside their huts, clapping their hands and chanting in time with the warriors. The humans retreated one pace, and the pirates advanced in turn. They advanced again, and the pirates obligingly retreated.
“Well... I’ll be...” Quicksilver murmured.
The warriors pushed the elves back to the blockaded front door. The pirates at the rear of the party began to climb up over the barrier, their precious cargo cradled under their arms. Loosestrife swung his sword in a wide arc, and the warriors stepped back, raising their shields to protect them as they performed a series of three shorts ritual bows.
Loosestrife glanced over his shoulder to see if all the elves were out, and the humans pressed the advantage, spears raised. Suddenly the dance seemed to have turned deadly. But Loosestrife only made an extravagantly feigned swooning motion, and the dancers yipped and hooting, waving their spears high in the air. The warriors had bested the pirate king.
Loosestrife sprang up from the ground in that motion of lowered defenses. He pounced atop the shield of the smallest warrior, and the line of dancers broke into chaos. The women and children broke out into laughter. As the hapless warrior trying to shake Loosestrife from his shield, the elf snatched the spear from his right hand. The human relinquished the spear – far too easily, it seemed to Quicksilver – and Loosestrife bounded back onto the barricade with his war prize in hand.
“Aleein orju!” Loosestrife called in their tongue, raising the spear high. The humans averted their eyes in ritualistic fashion, stamping their feet and clapping their hands. Loosestrife hustled his niece over the top of the barricade and down onto the ground.
“What was that?” Quicksilver shouted as they jogged back for the hill and the ship. “Suppose the human had wanted his spear back?”
“Why would he?” Loosestrife countered. “He’s the luckiest fool in the village. Chosen of the Spirits. Every unmated female will want to tumble him tonight. That’s how the young preeners show off for their maidens to attract a lifemate.”
“So it was all a dance?”
“Carefully planned and practised over human generations. If we stayed to watch, we’d see them throw themselves a great feast tonight.”
“But we won’t stay?” Quicksilver asked.
“This is only our first port,” Loosestrife said. “We’ve got a lot to do in the next few days. The trolls are waiting for us.”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts