Final Written Elderin

Elderin

Part 1: Hoenir

Chapter One:

Hoenir pulled at the ropes with all his might, the muscles in his arms bulging. He clenched his teeth and heaved, gasping, until the sails rose and billowed out in the wind. He fell to the hard floor, panting and wiping sweat off his face.

“Wimp!” a slithery voice said from a dark corner, and out emerged Eyrieth, thin and lanky. His face was twisted in a nasty sneer, and his eyes shone black and there were bags of dark circles under them. Hoenir had lived with his brother all his life, but had always shuddered at his appearance.

“Takes all of your strength to raise a sail, does it, little weakling?” he spit in Hoenir’s face and shot off down the cabin door.

Hoenir jumped to his feet and ran toward the railing, gripping it with his fists and scowling, staring at the crashing waves. The sun’s rays made the water glitter like millions of polished diamonds. But the ship was huge, deathly black, and covered in slime and mold. The sailors were swearing as they raised the sails or pulleys. The ship was a lodge where cursing and hatred knew no bounds. Swindles, lies, curses, sneers, were all Hoenir had ever known. His father was the captain, much worse than his sons. Out he emerged from the cellar doors, his wicked teeth showing in sharp points as he flashed an arrogant smile. He was so thin, like a walking skeleton. He always walked with a limp and a hunch in his back. His eyes were dark and deep, his face wrinkled in thick bags on his cheeks and around his eyes. His voice was always unclear, always sneaky, like a snake whispering. His sword’s blade was of the finest, sharpest steel, the pommel was a glittering ruby resembling a rose. It always seemed to have been soaked in blood, it was used so often, and was completely naked. It was always hanging at his waist, swinging back and forth as he hobbled along. Hoenir always wondered where he had found that sword; he knew it was too fine a craftsmanship for them to create. It was stolen; he was for sure, but from whom?

“There you are, lad, aren’t ye suppose to be on the lookout, eh?” he hissed.

“Yes, sir, I was just raising the sails.”

“Is everythin’ all ready, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, ya little mite, git up there!” he screamed.

Hoenir scrambled up the rope ladder, higher and higher. He hurled himself into the small, cramped space of the lookout bucket. It was hardly wider than him, but reached all the way to his waist. His curly dark brown hair whooshed back in the strong wind. The tattered flags whipped back and forth. He squinted in the bright rays of sunlight. The sea was a shimmering color of gold, the water as clear blue as deep, dark glass. The waves were foaming and roaring, louder than the gusts of wind. Hoenir sat with his back against the mast and closed his eyes.

“Hey, wimp, asleep on the job?” came a shrill voice from the deck.

Hoenir gazed down far, straining his eyes to see in the pitch darkness. He saw a thin, slinky form. “Eyrieth,” he muttered to himself with disgust.

He looked around. The waves were black and the moonlight shone lonely and pale on the water. They were no longer anchored on land, but in the middle of the vast sea. It was freezing cold. The harbor was nowhere to be seen. They had sailed a good distance. The wind seemed to cut and bite at his skin. He wrapped his arms around himself, shouting down, “When’s the last lookout supposed to come up here?”

Eyrieth spit up at him and slunk out of sight.

Hoenir scowled. Suddenly a loud, piercing boom jolted him upright. He looked around in all directions. Against the moonlight south on the water skimmed a large ship with flapping white sails and was rowed by men in the gallows, shooting them fast along the water.

Then he realized what had jolted the ship so violently. “Canons!” he screamed, scrambling down the rope ladder. He was so far above the deck it made him dizzy. “Canons! They have canons! Get the men up here!” he shrieked.