Andaid clutched the railing harder with every pounding blast of wind from the storm’s surge. He was nervous, for this was his first expedition with the prestigious band of Sailors. This expedition was important because the Sailors were under attack from the nomadic Vikings. The Sailors wished to seek an alliance with the Pirates, whose ships were moored on the South coast of the islands.
A faint call from the deck below caused Andaid to jump. All he had heard for the past hour was the roaring of the wind and the crashing of the waves on the bow of the ship. Shimmying down the sail’s rope and nearly losing a finger in his plight, Andaid finally reached his reliever, a burly sea man with a salty look about him.
“All right ther, Son?” the man shouted over the storm. “No Vikings in their danky litter canoes?” the man laughed.
“No, sir. None at all,” Andaid replied, before scurrying away below deck.
That night Andaid lay awake, sea sick from the tumultuous tossing and rolling of the vessel. He was glad when the ship’s captain, Jonas Saghib, ordered an immediate mooring along the coast. There, they would ride out the storm, and all the crew members could remain below decks. Then the fear of pneumonia would be lessened.
“How’s the lad look?” asked a hoarse voice.
Groggily, Andaid opened his eyes. If someone was sick, he might as well get up now, to do all the extra duties that were now his. Staring into his face was the smooth, black face of a Viking soldier. The soldier laughed a coarse laugh and smoothed back his greasy hair. Andaid bolted upright and attempted to strangle the soldier with his bed sheets. The Viking was too quick, and Andaid found himself bound and gagged with his own grimy quilt.
The man with the coarse laugh and greasy hair carried Andaid off the ship. After a strained swim to the Viking war steamer, Andaid was thrown into the bow of the ship, accompanied by Jonas Saghib and the little boy who mended the Sailors’ clothes and blankets. Many other Sailors had been thrown into cells too, but Andaid hadn’t been on board long enough to get to know them very well.
Andaid and the younger boy, whom he had christened Mucus because of the long tendril of boogies that hung from his nose, had taken to marking the time that had passed by putting a notch in a piece of drift wood every time the cook came down with a thin porridge for them to choke down.
“Mucus, do you miss your family?” asked Andaid.
“Huh? Oh. No. I never met my family. I mean, I knew my sister, we were in a home together, but she died when she was only a few months old. I was just a wee one, too. Alas, I was apprenticed to the sail-maker in Yoshcurola, you know, a Warrior town to the north. After a few months Burgh, my teacher, sent me to work with this ship’s crew, and I fell in love with the Vengeance”.
Mucus paused for a breath, and Andaid cut in.
“How long have you been on the Vengeance?” Mucus snuffled.
A man with long sideburns and an oily mane of hair snatched Mucus before he could reply.
“Well, Sonny, seems like you have a tale to spin.”
Three more cronies gathered behind the old geezer and laughed menacingly.
“This is your lucky day, because we don’t tolerate young ‘uns talkin’ on Masta Black-boot’s ship.”
Masta Black-boot slipped a knife from his pocket and held it up to Mucus’ throat.
“Nooo!” screamed Andaid, but it was too late.
In a short while, Mucus was dead.
That night, Andaid cried himself to sleep. Mucus had been his only true friend on the slave ship, even if it had only been for a matter of minutes. Andaid woke early, and as he leaned against the moldy wall of the ship’s bow, he hummed the folk song he had heard his caretaker sing to his baby sister.
Good night, my sweet, sweet child
The darkness will not harm you.
Go to the sleeping world
And let your dreams come true.
A young boy with ebony skin awakened the captives not too long after Andaid had risen. The boy put panpipes to his lips and played a halting, harsh melody. The older, saltier Sailors covered their ears and rolled over, but the younger Sailors bolted and stood at attention.
A cannon blast sent all the captives rushing for cover, but there was seldom in the confines of the bow. The boy with the ebony skin scurried up the ladder to the main decks. The Sailors were without a guard.
The Sailors rushed like water over a dam to the trap door. Above them, fighting was waged. The Knights and Warriors had banded together for a common cause. This was a story to tell the generations!
Jonas Saghib wrenched spare metal from the ceiling of the bow and he handed it to the Sailors. He then led the charge to fight the Vikings. Andaid used his metal as a club, brandishing it wildly. Andaid had never been taught to wield a sword.
When a Viking was defeated, another was there to take his place. It was a never ending wave, and Andaid soon grew tired.
The fighting drew on long into the night. The allies were under immense pressure for the odds were nearly three to one. A clap of thunder caused all the rivals to cease fire. In the distance on the shore, there stood a band of the fearsome Trojans.
Andaid and the other Sailors drew a breath. This was even worse. If the Trojans banded with the Vikings, there was surely to be a great massacre. All was silent while the Trojan chief spoke.
“Why do you fight these Knights, Warriors and Sailors? You surely outnumber them greatly. If this fighting does not come to a stand still with diplomatic means, my people and I will have to intervene. In result, the Vikings would face their greatest foe,” boomed the chief.
The Vikings clattered about, bumping into each other and trying to escape. The Sailors, Knights and Warriors calmly marched down the gang plankin between two dumbstruck guards. As all the allies marched off, the chief Trojan lit a match.
That night, Andaid did not cry himself to sleep because of his own agony, but because of the heartache of the wives and children whose husbands and fathers had perished in an act of thoughtlessness the Trojans had inflicted upon them.
Abby Schaefer, 12, a sixth-grader at Immaculate Conception, was the winner of Cedar Valley Athlete magazine’s first short story writing contest. Eligible students were in grades sixth through ninth. The only requirements were to incorporate a minimum of five area team mascots into the story line, in a maximum of 1,200 words. Abby received a Cedar Valley Athlete water bottle. Congratulations, Abby.
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