Journey to Miranga Island

JOURNEY TO MIRANGA ISLAND

Part I: The Map

The breeze was lighter than Declan expected at the end of the world.  The Windy Biscuit, his beautiful ship, rocked gently in the calm sea as the sun sank in the west.  Before him lay the edge of the ocean and beyond that was the ethereal threshold; a wall of light and darkness that stood as a translucent barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead.  Looking through it, Declan could see land and trees and all manner of other things he might find in his own world.  But they were wrong somehow.  There was just enough light to make out shapes, but that’s all they were; shadows without substance, like an artist’s outline before filling in the paint.  No matter.  Twilight was approaching, and at any moment now the ferryman would arrive to take Declan and his manservant Balric across the threshold into that land.

“Twilight’s approachin,” Balric said as he neared his master on the forecastle deck.  “Ya think this fella’ll show?”

Declan exhaled and leaned on his knee, propped up by a box, as he looked out toward the horizon.  “He’ll show Balric.  This is the only part of the world where he would, if the legends are true.”

“Tha’s just it sir.  We’re only followin stories here.  S’pose they are true, an he shows up.  What then?  Will he really ferry us across that wall there?  If so, what’ll he want for it?  Will he bring us back?  If not, how do we get back?”  Balric’s speech was getting faster and faster as his mouth raced to ask all the questions that were popping into his mind.

“Peace Balric, please,” Declan said as he turned to his manservant.  “You’re thinking too far ahead my friend.  One step at a time, and our first step is getting to the bazaar across that threshold.  Once we’re there, our next task is to find the map to Miranga Island.  Simple, you see?”

“It’s just a question of HOW we do all those things sir.  Tha’s all I’m gettin at,” Balric said as he pulled a fresh scroll from the satchel slung at his side.  He broke its seal, took a pen from his pocket and began scribbling furiously.

“We simply DO them Balric.  That’s what it means to be a man of action.  Don’t think, just do.  That’s how I’ve lived my whole life and I’m too old to change now.”

“You’re naught more’n twenty-five master,” Balric said without taking his eyes off the parchment he was scribbling on.

“Yes, but an old twenty-five,” Declan said as he looked back toward the threshold and placed his hands on his hips.  “That’s what LaFoe did to me all those years ago.  When he stole my sister.  God only knows what he’s done to her, but to me?  He’s aged me before my time.  You almost have to respect him don’t you?”

“Who sir?”  Balric asked, with head still bowed to his work.  He had gotten exceptionally good at discerning when Declan had a reverie to share and in those times Balric knew the lad didn’t want to be interrupted.  “Better to let him talk through it,” he thought to himself.

“LaFoe!  It’s quite the masterstroke to hide the only map to your lair in the land of the dead.  To tell the truth, I expected less from the second deadliest pirate on the seas.  Over ten years we’ve been searching Balric!  To think, a lord’s son and his faithful servant steered to living on the high seas.  Learning the bitter taste of desperation with each new adventure, undertaken for even a rumor of LaFoe.  Driven by the actions of this man we’ve never met, yet sworn to kill.  And we are so close now.  Just on the cusp of tasting victory…and it looks delicious!”  Declan exclaimed as he puffed out his chest.

Scratch, scratch, scratch

“Are you still writing?” Declan asked with frustration.  Yet when he turned to face his manservant and saw the portly fellow’s wounded eyes, Declan immediately softened.  “If you’re that concerned, then you can stay here.  I’d think no less of you my friend.”

“Not a chance are you goin anywhere without me, master!”  Balric exclaimed.  “I volunteered to serve you to the end and  I won’t abandon you now.  As for this, well, it’s just a little doodle.  Drawin out this beautiful landscape here with a lovely X to mark the ship.  Pardon my head bobbin up an down sir, but I’m terrible at drawin from memory.  I need to keep my subject in sight, so to speak.  Anyway, I figured I’d put this doodle in a bottle and send it out toward that island we passed some days ago.  Tide’s headin that way.  I’ve written a little note too, explainin our situation.  I know the prospects of any help are slim, but no sense in not giving ourselves every chance,” Balric said while his gaze went from left to right and his pen moved like a conductor’s baton.

“Oh Balric, you’re always so worried.  You don’t live life in scribbles and drawings, you live it by…well, by DOING!”  Declan said enthusiastically with a smile.

“All due respect sir, but ya can’t DO without plannin first.  Otherwise nothin really gets done, as my Uncle Faustus used to say,” Balric replied as he turned his attention back on his doodle.

The sun approached the horizon and twilight was finally upon them.  Declan suddenly felt a chill and instinctively pulled his coat in.  Everything went quiet around him, including Balric’s scribbling.  This was it.  If the ferryman was going to show, it had to be now.

Scratch, scratch, scratch

“Balric, the hour is upon us!  How can you doodle at a time like this?”  Declan whispered heatedly.

“Beggin yer pardon sir, but that’s not me,” Balric whispered back.

Scratch, scratch, scratch

Declan walked over to the railing of the ship and put his hand on it as he slowly edged his head over the side.  His eyes first focused on the ethereal wall before him, taking in the shapes and shadows within.  Then he looked down towards the water, and smiled.  On the sea below was a small skiff piloted by a figure fully cloaked wearing a great hood so that no part of himself was exposed save for what appeared to be black hands holding a large oar.  

“Well, it’s about time boyo!”  the figure said with a booming voice that made Declan jump back from the railing.

Balric came up behind his master to catch him.  After exchanging a glance of surprise, the pair returned to the railing and looked over.

“I’ve been scratching here for damn near twenty minutes!”  the figure shouted angrily.  “One thing I canna abide is time wasters!  Have ya any idea how full my schedule is?!”

“Sorry!  So sorry.  We didn’t hear you until now.  My name is Declan Bruntfodder and this is Balric.  He’s my manservant,” Declan said with all the polite airs befitting a gentleman of his station.

“Well, isn’t that special for the two o’ya!  I don’t care about names lad.  Nor however much money ya have, nor how buxom yer daughters are.  Believe me, I’ve no trouble attractin ladies!  I don’t need yer help, understand?!”  the ferryman raged.

“O’course sir!  We didn’t mean to offend,” Balric chimed in quickly.

“Spare me, fatty!”  the ferryman barked.  “Let’s get right to it, as there’s very little time now.  Ya want to get to Saltana and ya need me to take ya.  Am I right?”  he asked sardonically.

“No no, good boatman!  We’re looking to get across the threshold there.  We want to go to the land of the dead, not this Saltana you mention,” Declan said as patiently and politely as he could when faced with such rudeness.

“Oh, I see.  The land o’the dead, o’course.  I don’t suppose such a land would need a name.  No, why would it?  I’m sure the spirits over there love referring to it as ‘the land o’the dead.’  They’ve no shortage o’time, after all.  O’course, in life all you mortals can’t help but name everything.  But yer right, I’m sure once ya die all those old habits just disappear.  Wanna give up smokin?  Well, that’s easy - just get yerself run over by a horse-drawn carriage!”  the ferryman said with such a venomous sarcasm that Declan wanted to draw his sword then and there.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Declan said with a forced smile and gritted teeth.  “I did not realize it had a name.  Yes, good fellow, we seek to cross into Saltana.”

“Right.  Fantastic.  What’ll ya give me as payment?”  the figure said as he stretched out his hand.

“Payment?”  Declan asked.

“Aye.  And I don’t accept promises o’lusty young maids.  I do fine on me own, believe you me!”  the ferryman shouted again.

“What is it ya do accept, sir?”  Balric jumped in.

“Why is it I need to have this conversation every time someone wants to cross?  Not just every couple’a times.  EVERY…SINGLE…TIME!  Do ya know how long I’ve lived lads?  I’ve been here since the beginning.  Since the first man was first born and e’er I shall remain til the last man is no more.  So can ya imagine how many times I’ve had to spell it out for every IDIOT that comes here…”

“Sorry sir!”  Balric said quickly as he saw his master was getting a bit red in the face from listening to this vitriol.  “We meant no offense, but we’ve never done this before.  We have to get to the bazaar on the other side o’the threshold.  Please.  It’s a matter o’life an death!”

“It’s ALWAYS a matter o’life an death!  But never mind.  To take ya past the threshold into Saltana, I’ll need a token from the world o’the livin,” the ferryman said.

“Any token?”  Balric asked quickly, his mind racing.  “It doesn’t have to be anythin specific, like gold or jewels or…”

“Gods help ya boyo, if ya say ‘three well-read daughters who are liberal-minded enough to be ok with marryin the same bloke.’  Believe me, I know a thing or two about seducin well-read young ladies!  Lotsa time to read on this job!”  the ferryman spat.

“I thought you said you had a full schedule before…” Declan began in retaliation.

“Sir!”  Balric shouted, cutting off his master.  “We wouldn’t insult ya by offering a handsome man like yourself anythin of the sort.  Truth be told, if you’ve some advice for me, haha.  But regarding this price to cross, would this do?”

Balric pulled out an old dagger he kept at his waist and presented it to the ferryman.  It was a very plain dagger; with a brown leather handle and notched in the blade from overuse.  “Still, if all he needs is a token from the world o’the livin then this should do as well as any other,” Balric thought.

“Well, well, well,” the ferryman chortled.  “The fat man has some brains in that bulbous head.  It must be hard fer ya to find hats, eh?  Aye boyo, the dagger’ll do fine.  Toss it here.”

Balric tossed him the dagger from atop the Windy Biscuit.  Then, he hurriedly grabbed the ship’s rope ladder and hitched it tight to the railing.  Declan went first, eager to begin the journey.  Balric followed after, and with a plop fell off the last rung into the skiff.

“Looks like yer slave’s found a way to get ya to Saltana quicker’n my boat.  Careful, fat man, or or you’ll turn us all over!”  the ferryman yelled.

“Manservant,” Balric started defiantly.  He caught himself and took a deep breath.  “Sorry sir, but speakin of Saltana, when we’re done there and ready to come back…well, I was wonderin how we summon you.”

“There’s no summonin me boyo!”  the ferryman bristled.  “Every evenin at twilight I patrol these waters on the border, and take across any as can pay my toll.  When I get there I take back anyone on the docks, so long as they can afford it.  But I can only bring back those who’ve been there for twenty-four hours or less.  Once ya pass a day in Saltana, ya become a part of it.”

“I don’t like the sound o’that,” Balric thought.  “I can tell time by the sun and stars easy enough.  But what if there are no sun and stars?  And my beautiful pocket watch needs fixin.  But never mind that,” Balric looked up at the ferryman as he remembered something the curmudgeonly fellow had just said.  “Pardon sir, but what did ya mean when ya said you bring those back as can afford it?”

“There’s no time Balric!”  Declan declared.  “The sun is sinking fast and we must be on our way.  Saltana awaits!  And from there, Miranga Island.  And from there, Martin LaFoe.  And from THERE, my dear sweet sister.  Forward ferryman!  Take us through the threshold, to the land of the dead.”