The sea slapped the little Coble as bird-like she dipped and drove her way towards the shoreline, her sails, wings ruffling in a rhythmic regular beat. Billowing they skimmed the waves as she slid down one and onto the next. The orange sun briefly showed dipping toward feldgrau waters, a spear of fire reaching across the surf field below ironclad clouds smothering the sky.
A spume of spray spewed across the exposed cheeks of the motionless sailor and dripped down his beard onto the gunwales of the Coble. Steely eyed, they matched the sea, his cold and distant stare did not acknowledge the dripping water. Slouched down in the seat well and casually grasping the tiller he scanned the shoreline.
The hood of his Tweel overcoat shrugged the cold, salty drips away. The sleek coats of the two hounds hunkered down in the bow did likewise. As the coastline slid past a sandy flume speckled beach came into view, reached level with the boat and had almost jolted past when, with a practised flick, the sailor gybed, shifting with the roll, swiftly tying off the jib sheet moving over to port, hanging out over the sea holding the mainsheet whilst the little Coble pulled on a close reach to the beach. Minutes ticked to the slap-slap chop of the waves, with each wave more detail appeared; tussocks of grass, ripples of sand and a mixture of detritus along the high tide line.
After the static balance of the reach there was motion, the little bird boat turned into the wind but ploughed onwards with the waves. As the sails started to flap he flicked the dagger-board, shouted to the dogs, loosed the halyards and nimbly leapt ashore to drag the bow up the beach. The hounds had leapt into the water and swam ashore before shaking themselves dry alongside their master.
"Oii you buggers, garn wiv yuh!"
He grumbled as he pulled out a rope, with a harness on one end, and belayed it onto a starboard cleat. His lips produced a short whistle
"Tshmil" the smaller of the two hounds, brindle coloured with rippling muscles showing speed and strength patiently waited as the harness was placed on her.
"Telemon" and a two note whistle led to her black and tan double coated mate being attached to the port cleat. The man took the anchor rope, shouted at the dogs and the three of them hauled the Coble above the high tide line. The anchor was driven into a strong tussock and the dogs removed from their harness'. Glad to be on land they sprinted & barked around the shoreline whilst a duffel pack was fetched & shouldered from under the gunwales.
As he headed up the beach the another call brought dogs to his side, Telemon to his left, Tshmil to his right sniffing the ozone air of this new place. The walk took them from the beach and up onto a grassy headland, the wind and cloud had conspired to chase any insects into cover, the dogs chased the birds away. Scrambling up the final edge another bright gleam pierced the grey, the sun setting on the horizon. A single shard of light escaped the sea and clouds striking quartz, blinding his eyes from the edge of a large circular mound. Quartz made a bezel round the lush verdelite of the mound.
Circling the mound deosil thrice he reviewed the quartz, inspecting its inner glow for flaws and seemingly satisfied led the dogs to an out of the wind dip and with a curt "Stay" they lay down.
Skin pimpling in the cold air he stripped his overcoat, belt, Seax knife and Francesca axe, coinbag and all metallic objects leaving his breeches unbelted and on the floor. Standing in his white linen shirt, the indigo edging flapping exposing his loincloth, a quick shiver ran up his back. He circled the quartz crossing the citrine barrier framed by the setting sun behind and bare-footed onto the mound to stride straight to the eastern side. Standing stone like with upright body and arms raised, palms together before maintaining the tension and circling his hands downwards bringing their palms together at the bottom. The wind masked the tonal hum of his voice.
A pipe was pulled from the pack and placed carefully by his feet. This process was repeated to the south, where a crackling torch was lit that smothered the hill in fragrant smoke, at the west a battered Stentinello pot was carefully filled with ale and to the north a well-used and chipped obsidian dirk was struck into the ground.
Returning to the pipe sitting down he picked it up, legs crossed with the pipe resting atop his naked thighs. The sun edged below the horizon.
As his breathing settled Vann felt the tugs at the edge of his consciousness, the ritual had gone well and his mind's eye could see the shimmering of the quarter gates, he maintained focus on his breathing to control the tension in his heart. As darkness crept from the East he pulled the pipe to his lips and started on the tune, a fast paced tune with a rustic heart long forgotten now. It had taken Vann weeks to perfect, with the first note the gates opened, by the end of the tune the shimmering behind the gates had solidified and where night had previously crept a warm dawn strode over the land. The seashore had receded and the headland was a hurst, a wooded hillock, that stood proud of the grassland around it. Vann's body glowed golden with the depth of his meditation and the world was warm around him.
Out of the sun striding towards him was an aged man, bald of head and round of stomach with a thin unkempt beard wearing dark tanned breeks , a woollen tunic in a red and white hounds tooth pattern and cloak of shimmering feathers around him. His staff, the same red as the hounds tooth, had silver bells that rang harmoniously as he moved. The setting sun sparkled off the silver and his shadow reached far behind him. As he swiftly marched onto the mound he glared at Vann and his shadow reared up behind him
"Who is this piper, a piper round whom lie my ancient splendourful possessions?” the carbuncular eyes in his shadow glared.
“Who sits here brazenly after playing my Piccolo?” as rubicund fangs thrust from shade’s mouth
“According to what I see, a Seaxman. Of nothing is the arrangement of his great beard.” And talons ignited from his hands.
“In the grove of tranquillity is this man, a contentious man?” The shade lurched forward leering over Vann, fangs slathering flames as the cankerous claws reached forward
“I never heard the secret of the Seaxman, never heard a Seaxman with ready knowledge. A mistake! Who takes Névee's seat?” enveloped and hidden in the black cloud of his shadow the slashed redness of his fangs mouthed the words in a hiss
Vann replied “Last of the Leod Sceatha, the harmers of men, a man without a Lord, a pilgrim without a God, a moss-less rock, an earth stepper and watcher on the shore” he paused
"Ah ancient one, O my senior, every sage is a corrective sage. You are the reproach of every ignorant person. Before I know wrath against me ye should see what sap is in the tree. I welcome the piercing sense of wisdom. Reproach is the blemish of a young man, unless his possessions be rightly found. Chief there is another way when those who own badly are badly owned. Yieldest to me the food of your learning and I will have drained the mug of a man goodly & treasurous."
Névee answered, the shade retreated as eldritch fire flickered along his staff and the bells rang discordantly
"My mug contains these: Angriness of fire, fire of speech, noise of knowledge, well of hurt, sword of song, all straight-arts with the bitterness of fire. What does your mug contain?"
Vann answered
"That's easy" although he blushed with the effort
"Piercing flesh, fostering poetry, searching for wyrd, encouraging science, a beacon of light that diffuses knowledge & tossing away fearfulness. What are your needs?"
And Névee replied
"The Inquiry of science, the weft of art, the casket of poetry and abundance from the sea. A question, O instructing lad, what needs drive you?"
"Hunting for support, establishing peace, arranging a troop, tribulations of a young man, celebrating art"
"And what news do you bring?"
"Mortality with famine, strophes without profit, the great without good men, extinction of championship, failure on cornfields, perjurers and judgments with anger."
And Vann threw himself at Névee's feet saying
"I know my superior creative, the wisest of prophets, my hazel of poetry, my mighty fire. I know that Névee is a great poet and sage."
The eldritch blue receded to a golden glow and the bells pealed softly
"Stay Vann, thou great mage of wit, in science, O son of Derer! Mayst thou be magnified and glorified!"
"Three fathers I have read of: a father in age, a fleshly father, a father of teaching. My fleshly father remains not. My father of teaching is not in presence. You are my father in age. I acknowledge thee Névee. Mayst you be he?"
"Granted Vann Derer macNévee, now explain how you came to have my possessions."
"That o father in age is a series of long tales...."
The dogs were getting restless in the dark, their Master had been sat in the circle for hours. They noticed him move and stretch clicking his neck side to side, rolling his shoulders, slowly orienting himself. Their otherwordly sense had prickled earlier but not enough to raise their hackles, they were hungry now and the moon was well risen in the sky. Widdershins Vann clapped his hands at each compass point and returned the possessions to his pack all the while chanting a galder-song. Now shivering violently he returned to the dogs and hastily re-dressed himself.
"Tshmil, Telemon you good dogs" he fed them each a treat of dried venison "time for dinner back at the boat"
Ruffling their shiny coats Vann walked his dogs back to the beach a satisfied and hopeful gleam in his grey eyes.
