Lampfish of Twill by Janet Taylor Lisle

Author:Janet Taylor Lisle [Lisle, Janet Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781453271810
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2012-12-13T23:21:00+00:00

10

DISTANCES ARE DECEPTIVE ALONG the coast of Twill. What appears on a clear day quite close across water may actually be several miles away. The ragged scoops and twists of coastline add miles for a person hiking between points, and thickets of thorny beach plum interrupt even these winding paths. Eric wasted no time going after Gullstone, but he arrived on the next point down to find the ledge cleared of birds, the sky empty. The crag where the fishcatcher had stood rose over his head. He climbed it at once and gazed up and down the coast.

The view was tremendous. To the south, the land swept away in open fields to Twickham, which looked minute against this backdrop, a cluster of elfin huts peeping timidly out at the sea. The north road was visible running inland, parallel to the coast. Not far along it, Eric saw the hunters from Dead Man’s Beach. They were making their way to town in a triumphant parade of bobbing harpoons and prods. At the procession’s end came the dead lampfish, hauled by many hands upon a float of trolleys. The sprawled body looked so pitiful, with its rosy scales gone purplish gray, that the horror of the kill cut through Eric again, and he wondered how he ever could have hunted before.

He turned his eyes north. Cantrip’s Point reared up in a bristle of ledges. Beyond, the land dropped off into the steep slope that ended at Strangle Point. Just there, at the crest, he spied the old man and his swirling, flapping crew. They were headed straight back to their shack. He was down the rock in an instant, speeding off to follow. The wind veered around and came up at his back, making it easy to run across the wide fields.

“Wait for me! Wait!” he cried toward the retreating forms. And then, suddenly, not only wind, but sea gulls were at his heels. They were overhead soaring past him and flapping at his shoulders. It was so exhilarating to feel this wing power near him that his strides lengthened. His feet lost the sense of the ground, and he seemed, incredibly, to fly with the birds.

He was at the crest in a matter of minutes. Below him, Zeke Cantrip descended the slope with an old man’s stiffness. Gulls flew at his elbows, supporting each lurching step. And there was Sir Gullstone, hovering gracefully among the others.

“Gully!”

The bird came at once and landed safely on Eric’s arm.

“You crazy sea gull. You shouldn’t be here. You never do a thing you’re supposed to do!” Eric tried to look severe but was distracted by a pair of nasty gouges on one of the gull’s ankles. “Oh, Gully! How could you!” He had pecked through his rope with a furious beak.

“Aha! Here you are!” cried the fishcatcher, just then turning around. Though Eric half expected lightning bolts to fly out of his hair, he appeared to be his most ordinary salty self, so much so that Eric wondered if his imagination hadn’t once again gone off the track.

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