* * * * *
The early morning on the seventh day of their voyage is clear, and the ocean surface spreads as far as the eye can see.
Atop the highest mast of the ship a crewman of Captain Kenard’s crew nestles in for a shift that he deems will become long.
Several hours past sunrise, a faint speck appears in the distant sea. The crewman in the roost leans forward, pulling a thin cone-shaped cylinder made of gray metal from a pocket in the small lookout, a spyglass. He rotates the large end of the magnifying lens while pressing the smaller end to his right eye. He sees a span of dark gray rock in the distance through the misty lens.
The seaman quickly puts down the spyglass and roughly calculates the appropriate course change. He then shouts down to the upper deck of the vessel, “Captain! Land twelve degrees to port!”
Kenard’s first mate is at the wheel; he turns to the captain behind him, anticipating the order.
As the words reach Kenard he turns to the log book on the small bench near the helm’s wheel. After finishing the notation, Kenard nods to his first mate saying, “Go ahead, Cadru.”
The ship nears the island in a few hours with slight turbulence. As they approach the island in the distance, pockets of air erupt beneath the ship, causing the vessel to rock from side to side.
In response to the choppy waters, Iltar and many of the other mages come topside. Iltar walks to the ship’s starboard rail, holding on tightly while gliding to the raised forecastle, with Hagen and Hex following closely;
Once at the Farling’s bow, the mages stare at the island in the distance. It is fairly large, and the southern tip, an area covered with black jagged rock, heralds a grand view. Just beyond the rocky landscape the land rises. The eastern side of the island is walled with trees which prevent any view beyond the shore. Further ahead of the woodlands tower grayish-white peaks.
“Incredible,” Hex remarks at the sight. He turns to Hagen, raising his brow in surprise.
“Iltar, now that we’re here are you going to tell us what is going on?” Hagen squeaks, looking up at the necromancer; the illusionist stands almost half a head shorter than Iltar.
A burst from beneath the ship jolts the three men, and Iltar waits for a calm to answer. “Not yet. When we get ashore.”
“The air around the island is unusually warm for the sea this far north,” Hex comments as the ship presses forward.
Hagen answers Hex’s speculation with his own, and Iltar pushes past them back along the starboard rail. He looks to the quarterdeck and shouts, “Captain, a word!”
The necromancer descends the stairs and enters the captain’s quarters; once inside, another burst from the choppy waters rocks the ships, causing Iltar to stumble. However, he braces himself against the wall and continues to the table.
“Yes?” Captain Kenard asks as he walks into his quarters and shuts the door, knowing Iltar would only come in here for a private conversation. He walks across the room with no trouble, and Iltar suppresses a surge of envy.
“Let me tell you more about this island, come closer.”
Once the captain reaches Iltar’s side, both men look down at another hand-drawn map under Iltar’s hands.
“In the literature that accompanied this map, it made a note that there was only one way on to the island.” Pointing halfway up the small island and to its right on the map, he continues, “There’s a stretch of beach, approximately two thousand phineals wide. The text I read said it was the only safe place to anchor a ship, and judging by these violent waters I expect it will worsen as we get closer to the island.” (Now a phineal is a little under a foot and a half, or seventeen inches or forty three centimeters.)
Joselin nods his head in affirmation, “Yes, its increased in frequency and intensity since we spotted the island. I wouldn’t be surprised if the forces beneath us tear the ship apart.”
“It makes me wonder, with this increased heat, if we are atop a underwater volcano, or at least above pockets of one,” Iltar reflects.
“I’m going to slow the ship, I’d hate for us to snap apart trying to reach the island, and I’ll inform my crew of the beach.”
Kenard steps away and carefully walks to the doorway of his cabin; however before he leaves Iltar calls out to him.
“I will be taking this with me,” Iltar says, grabbing the maps and wraps them into a roll. “I need to plan our trip ashore.”
Kenard nods still focused on keeping his balance.
For the next several hours, the Farling slowly follows the eastern coastline. The black rocks they’d seen cover the entire southern tip in the form of crags that spire from the surf all along the eastern shore.
Dusk approaches when the lookout finally sights the beach mentioned by the captain. It was just as Iltar had described: a sandy beach only two thousand phineals long. The paradisiacal surf is nestled into a bay, where the rising forest ridge and the rocky crags meet. As the Farling glides into the shallow bay the turbulence ceases.
Members of the crew and the expedition alike come on deck and gather on the port side of the vessel. The calmed water and warm air are a welcome sight from the week-long journey.
At the helm, Kenard guides the ship into a suitable spot and lowers the anchor into the crystal blue water. There is a certain peace about the scene, a serenity that echoes from the vista. All aboard seem to feel it.
“Captain,” one of the crewman calls from the port rail. “Mind if we take a few of us to the shore?”
“I’d counsel against it,” Cornar quickly interjects. “There’s no telling what inhabits this island, or whether that pretty picture ahead of us is dangerous.”
Within the crowd, Iltar fights a similar excitement but calls out to the crowd, “Cornar is right! With nightfall approaching fast there’s no telling what dangers we would incur by simply being there.” He thinks to himself, And any injuries would just draw more attention when we would arrive back at Soroth, whenever that will be.
Kenard hollers, “I agree, and I don’t want to lose anyone. We’re shorthanded as it is.”
Disappointed, the crewman and several others lean against the rail and gaze off into the tropical scene.
“Cor,” Iltar leans toward the warrior, “Let’s plan out the land excursion tonight so we can get underway in the morning. I don’t want to waste any time.”
“Very well,” Cornar answers and continues gazing at the awe-inspiring view. “I’ll be down to your quarters shortly. I assume that’s where you want to meet?”
“Yes.”