"Taaaaiiiillllfiiiinnn!"

"What? Where?"

"There! Right... bloody... there!"

"Aah, you mean tail... fin! Not Tailfin."

"What? What's the difference?"

"Well, one of them rules Renryre Island through forcefully exercising his self-appointed lordship over powerless civilians – criminal or otherwise. The other is found at the rear end of the infamously aggressive tailshark, the sighting of which is commonly a precursor to panicked shouting and frenzied swimming with the futile intention of escaping certain death."

"Yes... that's why I was shouting!"

"Aah. Yes. Yes, that makes sense now."

"Swim, you fool!"

The two hapless men below began their frenzied swimming accompanied by the anticipated panicked shouting. But it was, of course, far too late.

*    *    *

A pool of blood washed up on the shore in the waves, dyeing the beach sand a soft pink.

"Why does anyone ever go swimming here?" asked Gerylde.

Abbikson took a long drag on his pipe, the smoke from dry tobacco caught in his throat and he stifled a cough.

"Don't ask me," he grunted.

The two old men sat in silence as they watched the waves lapping up on the beach, washing away the bloodstain as quickly as it had arrived. There was no sign of the swimmers.

Gerylde glanced at Abbikson. 'The old man of the desert,' they called him. His skin was rough as leather, darkened by countless years in the sun. The corners of his eyes were wrinkled, but not from smiling. The man had led a hard life, unlike Gerylde who'd spent his years in Rordynne Forest.

"What are we doing here?" asked the hermit, pulling on his own pipe, and watching the smoke drift in the late afternoon light.

"Hah! I wish I could tell you, old friend. The tides have taken us far. It seems barely days ago we sailed together, yet here we are – aged, spent. And now somehow we've been hauled back into our quest from all those years ago."

"What? I... no, I mean, why are we sitting on this beach?"

Abbikson sighed as he gazed out over the sea. He was quiet for a moment, pulling on his pipe.

"Do you remember what we were talking about a few moments ago?" he asked.

"What? About the sharks?"

"Yes," he chuckled, a rare smile gracing his aged lips. "That's right. We were talking about the sharks."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What are we doing here?"

"I'm taking you home, Gerylde," said Abbikson, though he failed to hide a bitter tone. "I wish I could take you with me, I really do. But your place is in the forest."

Gerylde knew he was a little... older. But he didn't need anybody babying him.

"I can find my own way home," he insisted.

"Where are we, Gerylde?"

He glanced around him and noted a distinct lack of trees. There appeared to be some to the south, though whether or not that was Rordynne Forest, he was unsure.

"We're on the beach."

"Indeed," laughed Abbikson.

"Look, I don't need anybody patronising me—"

"Alright, alright," said Abbikson, raising his hands... patronisingly. "Gerylde, I need to go through the forest to get to my home. Are you really prepared to let me go there alone? I wouldn't last a day, would I?"

"No, I suppose not."

"So it would make sense for us to travel together, and once I've safely reached the pass, you can return to your hut in the forest."

Gerylde eyed Abbikson suspiciously. He'd noticed him talking at length to Ryleine.

"No tricks? You're not taking me to Ryleine's cabin to tether me to the front door on a thirty yard leash?"

"What? What would give you that idea?"

"I have my eyes on you."

Abbikson suppressed his unnatural smile as he stood up. He cast his eyes around in thought, while Gerylde watched in distrustful silence.

"Well, I suppose we should make for Lerinton," suggested Abbikson. "We can stay in the inn for the night, then continue to Rordynne Forest tomorrow. What do you think?"

"I suppose I could have one more mug of ale before going home."

*    *    *

"How is he?" asked Deklow.

Gerylde sneered at the innkeeper.

"He's doing just fine," said Abbikson.

Gerylde sneered at Abbikson.

"Good. Good to hear," said Deklow with that knowing nod.

"I'm right bloody here," barked Gerylde. "I didn't sail the seas for twenty years in search of the mainland... for you two to talk about me like some forgetful old fool who can't take care of himself."

Both of them stared at him in surprise. As if he couldn't talk. As if they were expecting him to dribble and complain while they helped him into a chair.

"Er, I just meant, do you want some ale?"

"Of course I want ale. And stew. Why else would I be here?"

"Coming right up, gentlemen. Why don't you two take a seat and I'll bring it over to you."

Gerylde gestured for Abbikson to follow, and walked outside to find a quiet table. He sat down on the bench with his back to the table, and gazed at the restless stars as Abbikson took a seat next to him.

They watched in silence as the stars wandered around above. Enduring their eternal dance, perhaps, or maybe just trying to find their way home. A lonely life, it seemed to Gerylde. Isolated, lost.

"What are we doing here, Abbikson?"

"I'm taking you home Gerylde. We're just staying here for the night."

"No, I don't mean here. I mean, why are we still wasting what's left of our lives on this fools' quest? The mainland is gone, Abbikson. We've both lost so much. I lost my own daughter in this futile pursuit. I was happy, you know, in the forest."

"I know," sighed Abbikson. "So was I."

A cold silence fell upon them. Full of pain. Full of history.

"I loved her," said Abbikson. "Did you know that?"

"Who?"

"Your daughter."

Gerylde pulled his eyes down from the stars and studied Abbikson, who didn't meet his gaze. There were a couple of empty mugs and two half-finished ales on the table behind them, along with two partially eaten bowls of cold stew. A pipe was burning in his hand.

"She was married."

"I know."

"She had a child."

"I know."

Gerylde pulled on his pipe, sat back in thought, his eyes finding their way back to the stars.

"Did you ever find someone? Someone else?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Well, there was someone. She... well, she gave everything up for me. Everything. But, my heart was already taken."

Abbikson's voice had grown soft, the hard years in the desert drowned in a welling of pain. Gerylde left him to his moment of weakness.

"I was there that night, Gerylde. I saw her being swept overboard. I watched as the sea claimed her."

"I try to forget."

"I know."

Gerylde's pipe was spent, and he turned to collect his ale, noting that there were now three pairs of empty mugs beside it.

"Will it change anything?" he asked, sipping the ale. "Will finding the mainland make any difference? Will it... honour her?"

"I don't know, Gerylde."

"Last round, gentlemen," said Deklow from behind. "I'm closing up now. And you should get a good night's sleep, if it's not too late for that already."

"Thank you, Deklow," said Abbikson. "We'll just finish this one and then call it a night."

The innkeeper wandered back inside, and Gerylde noticed that they were the last two people sitting outside The Forest Gate. He looked up at the stars again, watched as they continued their endless wandering, trying – not for the first time – to make sense of it.

"So, these seven coins can really be used to find the mainland?"

"That's what they say."

"And it's got something to do with the stars?"

Gerylde caught Abbikson's shrug in the corner of his eye.

"But we're still missing something."

He didn't bother to answer.

"And what does this... goddess have to do with anything?"

"Deklow says we need all the help we can get. She might be persuaded to join our cause."

Gerylde glanced down at the half empty mug of ale in his hands. He took another sip, licked the foam from his lips. He glanced down again at the half empty mug of ale in his hands, looked up at the stars, down at the cut grass beneath his feet, at the wooden table he was sitting at, at the old man resting beside him.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

The old man looked at him with a pained smile.

"I'm taking you home, Gerylde."

Gerylde's Tale continues in What Are We Doing Here? part 2 >>>