The Reavers

They awoke in their makeshift camp at the island’s edge to a brilliant dawn reflecting off calm seas below. Shellah rolled over in her plaid, then sat straight up in surprise. The enormous aurochs bull stood nearby, alternately nibbling at the dry grass and staring at them.

“Alright, alright, we’re leaving,” she said quietly. She shook Jonas. “Let’s get going.”

It only took a moment to restuff their minimal gear in Shellah’s pack, lighter now that they had expended all the torches and eaten the food. Nessah still seemed tired but very eager to depart. Shellah refilled their canteens from a clear pool nearby, reciting the cantrip to ensure their water was clean. Soon they were ready to tackle the steep blocks down the vertiginous volcanic face of the island.

Shellah took a deep breath, a little dizzy at seeing the heights. “Knee, don’t fail me now!”

“Going down is harder than climbing up,” Jonas admitted. He took the sack from Shellah. Lloel was already halfway down below, Nessah not far behind. “This party’s not happening without you, Shel!”

“I can do this,” she answered, somewhat shakily. “At least the sun will make this trip down less slick than the journey up.”

To Shellah’s great relief, their canoe awaited them in Finnah’s Cave, safely tied where they had left it. After a moment of bailing some water from its bottom, they were ready to paddle out. Shellah took one last look at the black basalt cathedral interior, the morning yellow light reflecting off its shining walls, and the water radiating a brilliant blue below.

“What do you think, Jonas? Did you see any signs of the Reavers out there?”

“No, looks clear to me,” he replied.

“Let’s risk the sail then. If we make good time across the channel, we’ll still have calmer waters behind the sea stacks. We then can have a good long rest at Auchundy Mouth before approaching the chasm tomorrow.”

With the fresh morning breeze and slack seas, by early afternoon they arrived at the hidden respite of Auchundy Mouth. Nessah collapsed on the sand to nap as Shellah and Jonas unpacked the boat, laying out the tent and other gear to dry. Shellah inventoried their food.

“We’ve got enough supplies for a couple more days, if we do some clamming here and have a seafood dinner. But, let's rest a bit and figure out our plans?”

Nessah spread her assortment of magic tools onto the beach to absorb the sunlight, and returned to her prone position in the warm sand. She untied the neckline of her blouse to expose a sigil tattooed on her breastbone. “Let’s return to Dun Darlow, and figure out where the next runes might be. We can organize travel from there accordingly. I’m sure Lloel will have more ideas where to go.”

“There’s a loremaster in Boraeia who might know more about the next few locations, which do not sound to me that they’re in Corom or Larin,” said Lloel as he paced about the beach, picking up the occasional curious seashell.

“Boraeia?” Jonas asked. “The Ice Peoples? Aren’t they nomads?”

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“I’ve been there once or twice, their seaside camp, anyway,” said Shellah. “If you saw anything made of wood in Dun Darlow, that’s all made from logs from trade with the Ice Peoples. They also make tree sugar. Occasionally they’ll have amber and resin incense, too. But typically they come down to Northport or the Shielings as opposed to the merchant fleet heading up there.”

“So there’s a chance a Boraeian vessel might be in Dun Darlow?” asked Nessah. “Would be good to keep moving.”

Once the tent was dry, Jonas and Shellah pitched camp. Lloel, with more than a small amount of glee, fished for clams and mussels in the shallow waters of the cove. Shellah gathered some brush for a small cook fire. It had been an exhausting few days, and they decided it was safe enough to risk some smoke and flame, just enough to steam their dinner. Nessah still lay on the beach, and was slow to get up, even when food was ready. She lethargically collected her various runestones and replaced them in her pouch.

“How are you feeling?” asked Shellah. Lloel had to help Nessah open her clams as her hands were shaking. “And why do you put your tools out in the sun?”

“Sorcery can take a lot of energy out of you,” she responded. “I’ll be better after a decent night of sleep. The light of the sun warms and cleans the loci. Seeing each tool gleam in the sun’s light refreshes its specific purpose in my mind, as does feeling the heat. But that was a major effort last night. Took every last bit of power I had in my loci.”

“I’ve never seen the like!” exclaimed Lloel. “That was incredible!”

“It’s incredible that mound didn’t come down on top of you all,” said Jonas. “Could very well have been your own barrow, too.”

Shellah kept silent, as she also marveled that they all made it out of the barrows and off Mundy Head alive. “Well, let’s get some rest and hope the weather cooperates tomorrow.”

The next morning they awoke early to a sound Shellah did not like at all, the howling wind. Whatever had not been secured in their camp was blown about the small cove. Shellah found her spare plaid entangled in a shrub in the cliff wall almost out of reach. Their canoe was overturned in the sand. Waves crashed through the small tunnel of Auchundy Mouth.

“What does this do to our timing?” asked Jonas. “Those sea stacks are no joke.”

“We either stay here until the wind dies down entirely, or, if we get a quiet moment at slack tide, we can make it out the tunnel, then head out straight beyond the stacks, get the sail up, and hope nobody’s there waiting for us out there by Craddoch. If it’s too windy the chasm will be impassable and we’ll have to head down the east side of Craddoch towards Dun Darlow.”

“This time of year does get stormy,” confirmed Lloel. “If this beach gets flooded we’ve got nowhere to go. Trapped. I’d vote for getting out at slack tide if we can.” Jonas and Nessah nodded in agreement.

They hurriedly gathered all their gear, and Shellah packed their little boat for maximum stability. As soon as they saw a few moments of calm in the tunnel they were paddling. Swells pushed them high towards the roof of the tunnel but soon popped them through. They rowed madly. The wind gusted between the sea stacks and the cliff, whipping the water into a blinding froth. Once they passed the confused seas by the rocks, the swells rounded into slow watery hills. Shellah pulled up the sail and steered them south in the stiff but steady breeze.

They made good speed past the sea stacks, the barely seen entrance to the chasm, then rounded the winding east coast of Craddock Island that afternoon.

“Folks, we’ll need to keep an eye out for company,” Shellah warned. “The small islands, coastal inlets and the beach here are all popular with the Reavers. So, keep quiet.”

They sailed on into the early evening. It was time to scout a location within Craddoch’s many coves for a safe spot to camp. They dropped the sail and started to paddle as the sun started to sink below the horizon. As they passed a series of marshy sand bars, coarse singing erupted from within the reeds and cattails. The exposed, broad expanse of Craddoch beach stretched before them. A shrill whistle sounded from behind, followed by the swift rush of approaching oars. There was no place to hide.