To The Far Reaches Read online

  TO THE FAR REACHES

  SCOTT RAYNER

  Copyright © 2019 Scott Rayner

  All rights reserved

  Book cover design by Melissa Williams Design

  By Scott Rayner, in reading order:

  Escape from Dantriné

  To The Far Reaches

  For my father, Michael

  Contents

  Into the fire

  Separate ways

  Starting games

  A lesser wizard of the current age

  The unprincely prince

  To Dorphet

  Hunting and following

  The Piper

  Salvin

  Prudence

  At sea

  The red ribbon

  A second ship

  Glynbirr the Red

  The formative years of a dread pirate

  The Bone Ship

  Up and down

  The Ferryman

  Glynbirr’s treasure

  The night before

  Being brave

  Under the well

  Left alone

  On the desert fringes

  Down the river

  Krote

  Into the fire

  The hut held four sisters and their mother. Three sisters sobbed while the fourth scowled past a curtain of jet black hair into the dying embers of the fire. Their mother lay curled up on the floor muttering, while the rest of the village decided what was to become of them.

  In a much larger hut in the centre of the village a chill wind whipped at the hut’s smoke hole, fluttering the fire. This prompted Bendl, the village chief, to feed it another log. He picked it up casually in one hand and placed it in the middle of the flames. The fire stalled for a moment then came back stronger. The village elders looked up at Bendl in silence, waiting for him to raise the matter for which they had gathered.

  ‘Lura,’ he said finally. ‘What is to become of her?’

  ‘Canoe,’ an elder called immediately. He sat in the inner circle and his name was Hundt. ‘It has been a year since that bear struck Dorrin down and still she wails.’ The elders glanced solemnly at the bear’s pelt, hanging on the wall of the hut. ‘She makes no pots. Her daughters beg at my hut for food.’

  ‘And mine,’ added another.

  ‘She makes no pots?’ Bendl asked.

  ‘None,’ the elder said. ‘Her mud pit has gone hard.’

  ‘Who has spoken to her?’ Bendl probed, with a faintly accusatory tone that said; Why has it come to this?

  An old woman with black hair overrun with grey raised her hand.

  ‘I told her she would find herself in a canoe, but her mind is away. She is mad.’

  Another woman raised her hand. She sat in the middle circle, and Bendl nodded at her, indicating she could speak.

  ‘What of Dorrin’s ghost?’ she asked.

  ‘He will not bother us,’ said Hundt. ‘Lura is no longer the woman he married. She mourns too much, and he would be embarrassed for it. He would want us to cut out the rot.’

  ‘The raiders will come soon,’ another elder of the inner circle said. ‘We need to be looking out to the tree lines, not in at ourselves.’

  Bendl looked to the elders and read nods and held gazes as unspoken support for Hundt’s proposal. Others stared at the dirt in front of them, indicating their disapproval. Bendl groaned inwardly. No decisions came before him that were not difficult. He imagined the whole village as a new-born cub in his hands, and Lura as a tick, sickening its blood. The decision stood out clearly in his mind.

  ‘Canoe for Lura,’ he said, and his proclamation was met with strong nods from the elders of the inner circle. Any murmurs of disapproval died down quickly. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘What of the daughters?’

  Hundt immediately raised his hand.

  ‘I will take Merna,’ he said, referring to Lura and Dorrin’s eldest daughter. ‘Dorrin’s blood runs strongly through her and she will be a good match for Maru.’

  Merna was tall and broad of hip, and Maru, Bendl’s middle son, was only a few years away from marriage. Bendl nodded his head, endorsing the proposal.

  ‘Brea?’ he said, naming Dorrin and Lura’s second eldest daughter. Brea was strong and hard-working and there was no shortage of hands raised to claim her. Bendl pointed to an elder and the matter was settled.

  ‘Sofin?’ asked Bendl, and grim laughter rippled through the hut.

  ‘She eats too much,’ an elder said of the third daughter, echoing the thoughts of others.

  ‘Anyone for Sofin?’ Bendl asked again. A woman in the middle circle raised her hand and Bendl nodded at her to talk.

  ‘She is good with the needle,’ the woman said. ‘I will take her.’

  Bendl nodded his head and the matter was done. He then let out a small sigh under his breath.

  ‘Dell?’ he asked. Dell was Dorrin and Lura’s youngest daughter. The hut fell into silence. Not a hand was raised.

  ‘Who will take her?’

  Still no-one called. A woman elder broke the silence.

  ‘She is dark trouble that one,’ she said, and there were several nods of agreement.

  ‘Too wild,’ said another.

  ‘She fights. She steals. Never does a thing she is told,’ added another.

  ‘Efan?’ Bendl asked, looking at a much respected elder sitting close to him. ‘You could bring her good. She is only seven.’

  ‘No,’ Efan said flatly. ‘She is too much like an animal. Dorrin’s blood runs through her too, like Merna, but perhaps too much. She has suffered too much in the absence of her father. It is too late for her.’

  Bendl looked at his elders seriously, pointing a finger at them.

  ‘If no-one claims her she will join her mother in the canoe,’ he cautioned. Despite the warning no-one called for the girl. Bendl was about to resign Dell to her fate when someone called from the outer circle. The others turned to the source.

  ‘I will take her,’ a tribesman called Kerr said. He had not waited for Bendl’s permission to speak but Bendl tolerated the digression. Kerr was an outsider, as much as was tolerated in Marr, but he fought bravely during every incursion and was respected enough.

  ‘Is that a good idea Kerr?’ Bendl asked. ‘You have three sons and no wife.’

  ‘She is not for marriage, but there is a fire in her. I will raise her as a boy. She can learn to fight and hunt.’

  ‘She will be trouble,’ Hundt warned, shaking his head. ‘I say she joins Lura in the canoe.’

  Bendl measured the thoughts that sat behind the eyes of his tribe.

  ‘She will stay with Kerr,’ he said, and some eyes widened in surprise, but not a word was said. ‘Hundt,’ he added. ‘You make the canoe for Lura.’

  Hundt had been expecting the command and gave a short snort of reply.

  Two nights later the village gathered ankle-deep in snow at the water’s edge, lit by a row of torches. The sisters sat in front of their new families and stared solemnly as the canoe bobbed in the water, making a small lapping sound like the quietest of protests. The canoe was roughly hewn; Hundt had expended the minimum of effort in crafting it.

  The crowd parted and six elders walked past bearing Lura on their shoulders, wrapped in the pelt of the bear that had taken her husband a year before. She was writhing vigorously, her arms bound to her sides. Her screams and shouts were muffled by a torn section of the pelt that had been stuffed in her mouth. The elders placed her into the canoe with little ceremony, as if she was already dead. Lura’s three eldest daughters, Merna, Brea and Sofin, endured the spectacle in silence, screaming inside but smoothing the path for their new lives, but the youngest, Dell, had to be restrained and glowered through the part in her black hair. Kerr’s hand
was clasped tightly over her mouth, and when Hundt kicked the canoe out into the still, icy water, Dell started to convulse and Kerr clasped his hand tighter still, pulling her tight to him with the other. Her eyes watered, dissolving the image of the canoe as it floated away.

  The villagers started to disperse almost immediately, the sisters stealing quick glances at each other as they were moved to disparate corners of the village, but Kerr remained with his three sons and his new charge, forcing her to gaze at her mother’s canoe as it disappeared into the mist. When it was gone he took his hand away from Dell’s mouth. She immediately spun around and shouted at Kerr, who responded by striking her hard, drops of blood from her nose staining the snow. She cried in protest and was struck again. Kerr raised his hand once more but Dell reluctantly shook her head, indicating the lesson had been learned. Kerr started to his hut in the village’s outer circle, and the smirking forms of Kerr’s three sons: Benjer, Dunn and Samus, followed. Dell fell in line behind them, no less seething but silent in the least.

  Kerr’s hut was like all others in the village. Large and round, the walls lined with pelts, a large fire in the middle with a smoke hole above it. Dell’s eyes were immediately drawn to the array of weapons adorning the walls: short swords and long swords, bows, spears and shields. Kerr saw her looking.

  ‘Touch those and I will have your hands.’

  It was said without threat, simply an acknowledgement of one action that would follow another. Dell nodded that she understood. Kerr took a small pelt off the wall for her to sleep on and threw it on a piece of floor far from the fire. She sat on it while Benjer, the youngest son, served supper. His mouth was a hard straight line, but Dell sensed a flicker of warmth in his eyes, much more than in Dunn’s or Samus’. Supper was a hot stew of salmon and potatoes. It was the best thing Dell had eaten in almost a year and when she had finished her small tummy bulged with the unfamiliar sensation of satiation. Dell’s new brothers then rose and Dell followed their lead. They washed their bowls and spoons in silence, Dell attracting glowers from Dunn and Samus whenever their paths crossed. Dunn then passed around cups and returned with a jug of strong and very dark ale, filling everyone’s cups, including Dell’s own. The drink was almost black. Dell’s mother and father had not even permitted Merna to drink ale, but in Kerr’s hut even Benjer, who was no older than herself, was taking deep pulls and wiping the resultant foam on his sleeve. Dell buried her nose deep into her cup. She found the smell comforting, like moist earth. She took a sip and it was cold and sour but it soon built a warmth in her belly that she could feel push out to her fingers and toes. After a while Dunn came around and offered a second cup. Dell nodded her head and struggled a little to keep her cup steady under the stream of dark liquid. She drank it quicker than the first, and her cheeks blazed with warmth. Her eyes started to pull down tight, like two bears were sitting upon the lids, but she made sure to wobble to her feet and wash her cup before stumbling back to her pelt. After checking that Kerr was facing away she stared at the swords on the wall, which dazzled in the firelight. She was soon taken by a deep sleep, her head swimming with the faces of her old sisters and new brothers. Unsurprisingly, she dreamt of a canoe, floating down a river.

  The next morning Dell was woken by Kerr, standing over her with a knife. She startled, but there was no anger in his eyes. He pointed to a chair by the fire. She sat in it and he cut away her long hair in four or five swift movements and threw the strands in the fire. He then told her to take off her dress. She did so as her new brothers stared at her blankly. Kerr threw the dress in the fire and gave her trousers and a shirt to wear, the same as the boys. They felt rough against the skin. Kerr looked at his four sons and nodded.

  ‘Training,’ he said.

  Benjer, Dunn and Samus ran and formed a line at the other end of the hut and Dell joined them. The training was long and difficult but Dell did not dislike it. If she did not do as she was told Kerr whipped her across the back with a cane, but did not if she was obedient. She disliked the burning pain of the cane, but found the consistency with which it was applied to be comforting; to know exactly the point at which you would get hurt. Her new brothers had expected her to crumble under the regime, but she thrived. Words were spoken, clean and simple, and adherence to them rewarded and disregard punished. No threats, just punishment. Immediate and painful.

  The movements in the training felt good. They warmed her joints and stretched her muscles and unwound the knot that seemed to form so easily in her stomach. They stretched on the ground like an animal stalking its prey, leapt through the air with arms and legs spread wide. Lurched forward on elbow and knee. Struck the fallen with a clenched fist.

  Whenever Dell was struck with the cane the welts burned like fire but honed her mind to a sharp point and helped her concentrate. Everything melted away on the strike of the cane. Her father being dragged back to the village in two pieces. Gone. Her mad mother floating away in a canoe. Gone. Her sisters. Gone. Once the cane came down there was only two thoughts: more cane or no more cane. Hear the instruction and abide. More cane or the burn of muscle and the stretch of sinew.

  Sweat dripped down Dell’s nose and onto the floor. She gave her new brothers a grim smile, enjoying their disbelief. Kerr suddenly stopped giving instruction and the session was over. They wobbled to their feet, ate breakfast and then did chores. They were then turned out of the hut and told to find food.

  Kerr gave her a twine and hook to fish, but no instruction. He left and returned to the hut. Dell had never fished herself, but had watched her father enough times. She dug up some fat worms deep beneath the snow and found a perch where the water was deep below. She crouched down and speared a worm with the hook, then slowly ran the line out past her finger and into the icy water. Like the training, Dell liked the simplicity of this activity. All the anger and frustration were melting away. Kerr’s first strike, when she had yelled at him after her mother’s canoe had floated away, had spoken clearly to her. She knew she couldn’t return to the hut without fish. He was mean and she was starting to hate him, but for the first time in a year she was not without direction. Kerr was unswerving like no other person in her life. The bitter cold was to be endured; the ache in her legs was to be endured. Her life now was a hook with a worm wrapped around it. Dell couldn’t tell how long it was before she spotted the fish circling the worm. It could have been moments or hours. She jiggled the line as she had seen her father do. The moment she felt a tug she whisked the line out of the water in a fluid movement and the fish landed next to her with a soft crunch on the snow. Once she had caught another three she started walking back to the hut. Benjer saw her approaching and ran towards her, shaking his head.

  ‘You need to gut them,’ he told her in a whisper, then showed her how with a sharp shard of rock. When Dell went to take the gutted fish back to the hut, Benjer again shook his head. He took two of the fish and buried them in the snow against a tree.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dell asked.

  ‘There will be days where you cannot catch a fish, no matter how hard you try. Use those fish then.’

  Benjer took her back to the hut and taught her how to make fish stew, this time with carrots. They ate, then Kerr told a bloody story about a bear and a small boy while they drank ale. Then it was sleep around the fire with aching bodies.

  The days started to fall into a familiar routine of training, meals and chores. All days ended the same; a bloody story by Kerr while they drank ale. Dell was not unhappy with her new life. Kerr did not act cruelly unless he was disobeyed, and she was tolerated at least by Benjer. She started to feel different, her constantly bubbling anger replaced by exhaustion and aching muscles.

  What made life difficult was Dunn and Samus, Kerr’s two eldest boys. Dunn was a couple of years older than Benjer and Samus a few years older still. Unlike Benjer, Dunn and Samus showed Dell no quarter. Every opportunity to pinch, kick or punch sight unseen from Kerr was taken. Samus was particularly fond of grab
bing her undeveloped breast and twisting it until it burnt like fire. Dell did not retaliate. She stored the anger, not in the pit of her stomach but in her head, in the space right between her eyes, to be unleashed during training. This infuriated Dunn and Samus. They would spit in her meals when Kerr was not looking, and Dell would just rub her tummy and lick her lips as she piled the spit-enlivened stew into her mouth.

  One morning, after Dell had been there a number of weeks, Kerr changed the training routine. They started playing a game. It hurt, but it was a game all the same. Dell played against Benjer while Dunn played against Samus. The first to three points won and there were four ways to get points. Pinning your opponent’s shoulders to the floor was a point. Each player had a red rag tied around their ankle; getting that was a point. Making your opponent cry out was a point. Kicking your opponent on or above the shoulder was a point. The three points had to be obtained at least two different ways and you could not obtain more than one point in a single attack.

  Kerr did not give the game a name but Benjer called it Seasons after the four different ways to score points. Dunn and Samus thought this stupid and renamed it Hurt Seasons, because it did indeed hurt to play, and the name stuck among the boys. Dell just called it training.

  The winner only got a nod of approval from Kerr and the loser a withering look, but these were high stakes for Dunn and Samus and they played viciously, with Samus always the victor. Benjer and Dell had an agreement to more easily spread the spoils. It was unspoken but written in the slight ease of a grip or a blank stare as the tips of their noses touched in battle. Their strategy was to allow most matches to creep to two points each, and then play the last point with no restraint, to ease any suspicion from Kerr.

  One morning, after they had been playing Hurt Seasons for a month, Dell had defeated Benjer, and Dunn had given an easier than normal victory to Samus. Kerr noticed Dunn’s lack of fight and struck him with the cane across the thigh. After the punishment they broke away for breakfast, but Kerr remained where he was.