9: Bruce Enters Fissabent

Bruce took another deep breath of the sea air as he rode up to the gates of the town. It was certainly no Nuverandim, a wooden wall no more than nine feet high surrounded the village in a rough square, though one side was open to the sea. Rickety towers marked the corners, and two unkempt guards stood by the open gates regulating travelers. Despite such rough appearances, the town bustled with people, probably fisherman and travelers, Bruce thought. "Halt." the less-than-commanding voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked down to see one of the guards standing with a spear haphazardly point at him. "Who seeks passage into Fissabent?" The question sounded like it had been asked hundreds of times a day, which it probably was. "Sir Bruce of Wellington," Bruce replied, "Knight of Nuvanderim in the Desert of Dreams, subject of his honor King Horatio, bearer of the red--"
"Yeah, yeah." the guard cut him off, "carry on. Good day sir." Bruce nodded and rode forward, catching a slight whiff of rum on the man's breath. Many more pungent smells greeted him as he entered Fissabent; so much for the fresh sea air. Bruce glanced around for some sort of inn or tavern, anyplace he could find a hot meal and information about his quest. "You lad!" he called to a young boy, "where is the nearest place for a weary knight to find room and board?"
"Right down this street, and to your left, sir." the child replied, "Look for the Sea Serpent Inn, best clam chowder in the whole world!" Bruce flipped the boy a coin, "Thank you lad, I'll be sure to take you up on that."
The boy was true to his word, the Sea Serpent Inn showed many signs of wear and tear, but it had all that a traveler could ask for: friendly owners, soft pillows, and good food. Bruce was halfway through his bowl of chowder when, upon silently scanning the room's occupants, his ears perked up at the conversation of two grizzled old men. Bronze skin, rough stubble, smoking pipes, tattoos, and gold rings indicated their primary occupation: sailors. "Be that so?" one of them said, "well forget your tales of mind-stealing sea spirits. That be too many days in the sun and you knows it."
"Days in the sun?" the other man responded, "Methinks not, but they ain't no more gibberish than your claim to have seen the Golden Isle."
"'tis true," the first sailor responded, "I seed it with me own eye." He indicated his left eye. The other one had a patch over it.
"Excuse me good sirs." Bruce interjected before the second sailor could say anything, "but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
"Yer not from around here, are ye?" the sailor without the patch asked. "I most certainly am not!" Bruce responded, clattering as he sat down in his armor, "I am Sir Bruce of Wellington, Knight of Nuvanderim in the Desert of Dreams, subject of his honor King Horatio, bearer of the red--"
"Yeah, yeah," the man with one eye said, "I never put much in all them fancy titles. They calls me One-eyed Ralph, and that's me mate Dekel."
"A pleasure to meet both of you." Bruce put on his best smile. "So what can you, er, 'sea dogs' tell me of these sea spirits, and golden island?"
"Well, your knightship," Dekel said "the sea spirits, also called sirens, is magic beings, capable of invading yer mind."
"tain't true," Ralph responded flatly.
"I just be givin' the general opinion of folks here abouts." Ralph replied, "Whether ye believe such things is up to ye, but I've seen them, nay, felt them."
"Felt them?" Bruce asked.
"Aye, the spirits be invisible, save for the rare occasion when the light shines just right, but that don't matter. 'Tis said that if ye sail too far north in the Desert of Dreams, that the spirits will enter your ship, and either drive ye mad, or magically send ye back the way ye came. I was part of such a voyage. Thank heavens they only sent us back."
"Hmmm," Bruce murmured, "that would explain why there are no seaports where I come from."
"Aye, that it does." Dekel said, taking a puff on his pipe, "'Tis also said that these sea spirits are descended from or related to the landlubbing dream spirits."
"Dream spirits?" Bruce said, half question and half statement. He had heard the name before, years ago, in knight's training, there had been some lecture...He couldn't recall it, he had never been interested in such legends, but perhaps there was some truth to them. "Very well," he said, "now what of this golden island?"
"Haharr, now we're talking cold, hard, facts," Ralph exclaimed, "I was lucky enough to be sailin' with the only crew what's had the privilege of setting eyes on the Golden Isle." His eyes seemed to glaze over as he stared into open space, "beautiful she was, jutting out of the sea, majestic, proud, and the best part, pure gold, all of it! There for the taking by any man-jack brave and blessed enough to walk her shores."
"A golden island!" Bruce exclaimed, drawing the attention of several nearby diners. Here was something worthy of his quest! "I say men, let's be after it! Chart me a course and we'll see sail first thing tomorrow morn!"
"Ah haha, ye didn't let me finish mate." Ralph said, "That island will never see the foot of man."
"'Never' is a strong word," Bruce replied, "surely some man is destined to mine her riches, and, dare I say it, I am that man!" The two grizzled sailors glanced at each other with hardened expressions. "Perhaps ye are, but I doubt it." Ralph leaned back and took a puff on his pipe, "Ye see, Sir Bruce, there be two reasons why I don't believe any man will ever touch the gold of that island. One, she cannot be found. See, the vessel I sailed aboard was sailing a course far out to sea, a farther and more dangerous, but faster route than most captains are willing to risk. Well, one night we were caught in a terrible storm, one of the most fearsome displays I've seen in all me born days. We were driven far off course, and our ship badly damaged. We sailed aimlessly for days, no sight nor sound of anything natural, when I spied the Golden Isle on the horizon."
"Ah, then it is possible to find!"
"I suppose 'tis, but that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it mate? One lone spit of land amid leagues of saltwater?"
"Indeed it is, but it is a chance I am willing to take. All the more spoils, riches, glory, and recognition when I return to take Princess Edith's hand in marriage." Ralph remained skeptical. "There is one other thing. The Leviathan."
Bruce paused, "Leviathan?"
"Aye, a creature out of your worst nightmare. A monster of the deep." He leaned forward. There was raw terror in his eyes, "Picture this mate: a giant serpent, twice, nay, thrice, the width of me arm span and longer than two of our largest vessels. Scales the size of your shield, and twice as think I'll wager. A mouth that can consume ten men in a single bite and use a spear for a toothpick! It attacked and destroyed our ship, I was thrown into the wreckage and me eye gouged out. I floated around for days before Dekel here picked me up, half crazy himself about those sea spirits. 'Course, I count meself lucky. Every other good man aboard was lost, drowned, devoured."
"A likely story," Dekel interrupted. "Last time it could only eat five men." Ralph glared fiercely at him, "Five, ten, what does it matter when the beast can sink a ship with ease?" He shuddered as if trying to forget a bad dream, "'Tis a fool's errand, Bruce, only terror and death await ye at that island."
"All the better, then! I shall have the head of the most powerful creature on earth and riches beyond compare!" Bruce's response took both of the men totally off guard; it seemed that the more dangerous and impossible the story became, the more enthusiastic the knight became. "I don't know what's in that head o' yours," Ralph said, "but I'll be havin' no part of it. Come on Dekel, old mate, 'tis about time we was getting some shuteye. These old bones need more rest than they used to." He turned to Bruce, "Mark my words knight, ye'll find naught but death in the far reaches of the sea."

--Andrew C