More Elderin!

Then he realized what had jolted the ship so violently. “Canons, they have canons!” he shrieked, scrambling down the rope ladder. He was so high above the ground it made him dizzy. “Get everyone up here! A ship! They’re attacking!”

The deck was empty and silent.

Hoenir heard a slight hiss from a dark corner. Two big eyes bulged out of the darkness. “Afraid of a little surprise, are you?” whispered Eyrieth.

Hoenir couldn’t bear it. He lunged forward into the darkness, screaming in rage, jumping on top of Eyrieth. He squealed and coughed, his breath coming out in wheezes, as the bones in his chest cracked.

“You, knock it off, you little worm!” shrieked Hoenir. He threw Eyrieth against the railing and spat out, “You! If I hear you speak one more word to me you’ll know what will happen!”

There were just a few rasps coming from his mouth as he curled up on the floor. “The little leech,” Hoenir muttered to himself.

He ran down the cabin stairs, into the darkness of his father’s room. A thin shape was curved over in a corner, and a thin, slithery voice sounded, “What is it, boy? Lost your way?”

“No, father, you have to gather everyone on the deck. A ship is attacking us! They have canons! You have to come now!”

The captain hobbled over to Hoenir. His bony hand gripped his shoulder like an icy claw. “Get up there, boy, now!” he whispered.

Hoenir suddenly shrunk back, afraid. His father’s eyes were narrowed and dark, fixing on him like a serpent’s. He wrinkled his face in disgust and climbed back up the rickety stairs.

He ran around, shrieking all over the ship, “Attack! Attack! Get your weapons, hurry!”

All the sailors reluctantly appeared, cursing and shouting out protests, some half drunk.

The captain was hobbling about, wheezing out orders, “Get to work! Fetch the cannon balls! I’ll kill you myself for them if you don’t get movin’!”

Hoenir raced across the deck. He dragged the huge, heavy canon over the wooden panels, the wheels on the platform screeching on the surface. He lugged enormous, heavy metal balls, the weight seeming to pull down on his arms.

“Ready, aim, set, fire!” screamed his father, as the head sailor lit the cannon and the force threw the ship backwards. Hoenir was hurled back against the ship’s sides, his back slamming against the railing. His stomach turned and bile rose to his throat. He began coughing up waste; it seemed to never end; by the end he was sobbing.

“Boy, git up!” His father hissed, “No son o’ mine can’t survive a little attack. Git to yer feet, I tell ya! Now!”

Hoenir stumbled on his legs. They shook uncontrollably.

“Clean out the cannon! We’re shooting another one!”

Hoenir grabbed a long handle cleaner and stroked it in and out of the metal tube. He managed to lug the huge ball into the cannon; his arm sockets seemed ready to rip off. The lead sailor launched the missile; the noise broke the air and clutched at Hoenir’s chest. He fell to the floor, trying not to scream. The deck was weighed down with the sailors, who seemed to flood from the cabins. The ship was looming closer. Torches were glowing on the deck. The sides were long and smooth; the masts were built of strong oak.

“Fire, they’re going to light the ship on fire! Quickly, light anything you find that we can carry. We’ll be ready for them!”