A Song of Grief and a Song of Creation by Larry Z. Daily

Author:Larry Z. Daily [Larry Z. Daily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Larry Z. Daily
Published: 2025-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

An hour later, Ryan, my father, and I followed the high king and Marwynn down to the water where the Black Marlin’s dinghy had been beached. Ryan had ensured that my guitar and other belongings had not gone astray after my capture, so I had my instrument strapped on my back and my pack over one shoulder. Endolsar hung in its scabbard on my right hip. I waded the slight distance out to the boat and handed my guitar over to one of the sailors.

“Have a care with that,” I said. “It’s fragile.”

“Aye, master minstrel,” he answered. “I’ve shipped with minstrels before.”

I waded back to shore and took Ryan’s guitar from him.

“I’ll carry that, Master,” I said.

“My thanks to you, Lauren,” he answered. Then, with my father’s assistance, he waded into the water. I watched them as they made their way to the dinghy; I had never seen my father behaving so solicitously toward anyone before. When they were aboard the dinghy, I waded out and handed Ryan’s guitar up to him and climbed aboard myself. I settled in on a seat in the stern next to Ryan and my father. The sailor who had taken my guitar from me returned it and took his place at the oars.

“Oars!” he called.

The sailors all placed their oars at the ready.

“Back astern starboard!”

The rowers on the right side of the boat began rowing backwards, which had the effect of turning us toward the open sea. The lead sailor kept watch over his shoulder and when the bow was pointed toward the Black Marlin he called out, “Right lads, give way together.”

He then fell into a rhythmic, sing-song chant that helped them keep time. I listened carefully, but there seemed to be no real words to the chant, just nonsense syllables that followed no pattern that I could discern. After a few moments, I gave that up in favor of looking around me. I had never been on a boat before.

The sea had calmed considerably since the morning turmoil. Sunlight glinted from the wavetops all around, tiny diamond pinpoints that winked into existence and then were gone. The west wind carried the scent of brine and whipped my hair across my face. The slop of the waves against the hull provided an erratic counterpoint to the sailors’ chant and I felt that for the first time I understood the sea songs that I had learned at Songhaven.

Soon, we were drawing alongside the Black Marlin. She was a gaff-rigged schooner, built for speed to compete in the annual Merchant’s Cup race carrying oranges, bananas, and other fruit from Cha Peraluda to Meren. Consistent with her name, the hull was black, with a green antifouling coating below the waterline. She looked fast, even at rest, and I wondered that she had yet to win the Cup.

Ryan and I handed up our instruments and then were helped aboard. My father followed with his own belongings and Ryan’s pack. The sailors began preparations to lift the dinghy out of the water.

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