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         +-+--+-+--+-+     VOLUME EIGHT                NUMBER THREE
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         |           |      BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
      ___|___________|___  X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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                                CONTENTS
            X-Editorial                          'Orny' Liscomb
           *Consummate Love                       Jim Owens
           *Legend in the Making                 'Orny' Liscomb

          Date: 080587                               Dist: 393
          An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
          All original materials  copyrighted by the author(s)
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                              X-Editorial
    Well, I suppose  it is appropriate that a  Dargon story containing
a  wedding would  appear directly  after  my own  marriage. This  past
Saturday (August  first), we  gathered our close  friends at  a nearby
YMCA  camp on  Lake  Maranacook.  The weather  was  beautiful and  the
ceremony  went  perfectly.  The reception  featured  steak,  barbecued
ribs, and  corn on the cob,  and was held outdoors.  An excellent time
was  had by  all, and  I might  venture to  state that  the bride  and
groom  are very  happy together.  My thanks  to everyone  who attended
and to those well-wishers on the network.
    Plans for Pennsic  are coming along very quickly now,  and I shall
expect  to see  people there.  We shall  be trying  to get  the Dargon
project authors together  on Thursday if possible.  The newlyweds will
be there  all week, and may  be found at the  Endewearde campsite. Our
banner is a blue  field with a silver tower and  wreath in the center.
Alternating black  and gold rays eminate  from the tower. We  shall be
the  only  Endewearde  representitives  attending, so  once  you  have
found our  site we should be  the only tents there.  Anyone at Pennsic
is welcome to come looking for us.
    So that is  the news. As for this issue,  we have an extra-special
treat  for you.  The first  story is  the continuation  of Jim  Owens'
story begun in  "Ornate Love", and provides a  fitting conclusion. The
second story is my  own "Legend in the Making", which  has been in the
works for over 6 months. I hope you find great pleasure in it.
    My regards...
                    -'Orny' Liscomb  <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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                            Consummate Love
    Levy trembled as  he poled the raft closer into  shore. The cedars
towering  above his  head  shaded  what little  sun  the early  winter
provided,  bringing a  chill to  Levy's  body. The  water soaking  his
pant cuffs  was cold,  as was the  air. It wasn't  the cold,  so much,
that  was  making  Levy  shiver, however,  but  nervousness.  Finally,
after almost five months, he was going to see Sarah again.
    Levy still  recalled that day  in early  summer when he  had stood
on the dam at  the end of the lake. He could  still remember the shock
he had  felt when the  wave swept  him over the  face of the  dam, and
the look on  Sarah's face as she  watched him being swept  away by the
flood waters.  The months had  dragged by,  at first, as  he recovered
from  the wild  ride down  river. Then,  as he  worked to  earn enough
money to make  his way back north to where  Sarah lived, time suddenly
seemed to speed  up. It has only  a few weeks ago that  the trader had
showed him  the utensils, ornately carved  like the ones Sarah  had in
her house. Once  he tracked them to  the town, it was only  a few days
searching  before  he  once  more   found  the  artificial  lake  that
surrounded the island Sarah lived on.
    Levy guided the  raft up to the  dock. He tied it  to the mooring,
then climbed  onto the  dock and  ran to  shore. He  ran up  the steep
path towards the house. As he ran he called.
    "Sarah!" Levy  watched the slatted  windows in the house  above as
he ran. "Sarah!"
    He reached  the house  and ran  to the door.  He found  it heavily
latched and  tied. He ran  down to the  workshop where Sarah  made her
crafts. It  too was locked. He  stood there, his heart  sinking to his
feet. Now  he knew  why there had  been no smoke,  even on  those cold
days while he was  building the raft. Now he realized  that he had not
seen her boat below at the dock. Sarah was gone.
    Levy searched  the whole island.  Finding nothing, he  returned to
the house.  Cutting the cords that  tied the door shut,  he entered. A
search showed  that Sarah had  taken all of  her clothes, and  all the
household goods.  The food was all  taken as well. Levy  re-sealed the
house, and with a heavy heart, returned to the raft.
    Levy poled the  raft back to his shoreline camp.  It was dark when
he got  there. He started the  fire again, and fetched  his stuff from
the tree  where he  had stashed  it. He  ate a  cold supper,  and then
went to sleep.
    The next  day Levy broke camp.  He loaded up his  horse, and began
to lead  it around the  lake. He reasoned that  Sarah had to  hide the
boat somewhere, as she  could not leave it out in  the open, nor could
she take it  with her. Therefore, somewhere along the  lake there were
marks where  a large  object was  pulled from the  water. He  had gone
about a  mile when  he spotted  the trail.  It led  right up  the clay
bank,  and to  a small  clump of  trees. There,  hidden under  a large
pile of  dead branches, was  the boat. Levy quickly  found hoofprints,
and the chase was on.
    For  days Levy  followed the  tracks, cold  and wind  his constant
companions. Finally  the tracks turned onto  a small path. At  the end
of the  path Levy found  a small house. When  he reached it,  he found
it  too boarded  up. A  larger  path led  south from  the house.  Levy
followed it  down into  a small  village. One  simple question  to the
local innkeeper told  him what he wanted to know.  One week ago, Abel,
the owner of  the small house, had  shown up in town  with his sister,
Sarah.  He had  asked  the  innkeeper, an  old  friend,  to watch  his
house. The  two had  purchased traveling goods,  and had  ridden west.
Levy thanked the man, and started off.
    Levy  rode hard  for a  week. He  stopped in  the towns  along the
way,  asking questions  and buying  supplies.  In each  town he  found
people  who remembered  a  man  and a  woman  traveling together,  and
through these  references he managed  to close  to within two  days of
them.  By that  time  they  had changed  directions,  and were  headed
south. By that time also, however, snow had started to fall.
    As Levy started  into his second week of trailing  Sarah and Abel,
he ran  into a blizzard. He  rode for a day  and a night solid  to get
to the next  town. By the time  he got there he was  almost frozen. He
spent two  days in the  inn, waiting for the  snow to slow  enough for
him to  travel. He used the  opportunity to earn some  money repairing
the old town clock.  By the time the snow let up,  Levy was itching to
be off. He thanked the innkeeper, and started riding.
    Levy's luck  turned bad after  that. Halfway  to the next  town he
reached  a fork  in the  road. He  chose the  southern fork,  assuming
Sarah  and Abel  would  have  also. When  he  reached  the next  town,
however, no  one remembered  two recent travelers.  Levy then  rode to
the  next town,  hoping that  the town's  people just  didn't remember
them, only to  find no trace of them there,  either. Heavy with worry,
Levy  turned back.  One day  out of  town another  storm hit,  forcing
Levy  back to  the safety  of the  inn. It  was three  days before  it
lifted, and  by then Levy had  caught cold, and couldn't  travel. When
he overcame  that, he headed back  up the trail. The  snow made travel
hard, and it  was a week and a  half before he made the  fork again. A
day later he rode into the first town along that road.
    Levy rode up to  the inn. He tied up outside,  and strode into the
main hall. He found the innkeeper tending fire.
    "Good Sir!  Might I have a  word with you?" Levy  was slightly out
of breath.
    "Of  a  certainty, young  man.  What  might  I  do for  you?"  The
innkeeper stood up straight, wiping his hands on his apron.
    "Have  two travelers  passed  this  way recently,  a  man and  his
sister? It might have been some days now."
    "Any  reason in  particular  you'd like  to  know?" The  innkeeper
eyed Levy  carefully. Levy was  used to such reactions,  having gotten
such from other innkeepers.
    "I must  speak to the lady  of very personal matters.  I've trying
to find her  for six months now, and  I lost them back at  the fork in
the road. Have you seen anyone like what I'm looking for?"
    "I'm sorry, young man,  but of a truth, I've not  seen any man and
woman traveling  together for  almost six months.  I believe  you mean
them no harm,  and I'd like to help  you, but I can not.  If they came
this way at  all, they must have  ridden right on through,  as I'm the
only innkeeper in town." The look on his face was one of sincerity.
    "Thank you.  Thank you very  much." Levy's whole body  drooped. He
was  exhausted, cold,  and  no closer  to finding  Sarah  than he  was
before. "Might  I spend the night?  It'll be dark after  a while; I've
no stomach for riding further today."
    "But of course!  Take your horse to the stable,  while I make room
for you." The innkeeper walked off.
    Levy  ploddingly  unloaded  his  horse and  released  him  to  the
stable.  He carried  his  gear to  his  room, and  sank  into a  deep,
sorrowful sleep.

    From then  on life held  little joy for  Levy. Town after  town he
stopped at, but no  one had seen or heard of  two travelers like Sarah
and Abel. The winter  grew deep, and the snow with  it. He wondered if
he shouldn't  backtrack, in hopes of  finding the trail again,  but he
just couldn't  stir himself  to turn  back. Weeks  plodded by  as Levy
worked his way further southwest.
    It was  a grey afternoon when  Levy sighted the bloodmarks  in the
snow.  The road  was well  trampled, but  lonely. Levy  hadn't seen  a
traveler  since morning.  When he  saw the  crimson drops,  he stopped
immediately. They  lay on the side  of the road, in  unmarked snow. He
looked  around carefully.  Seeing no  one, he  dismounted quietly  and
examined  the marks.  They were  drops, as  if someone  had cut  their
hand, and  then shaken the  blood off onto  the ground. There  were no
other  marks  around, however,  so  Levy  remounted  and rode  on.  He
hadn't gone far when  he saw the tracks leading off  the road into the
woods. He dismounted,  and examined them. It was no  great surprise to
him to find copious bloodmarks in and around the tracks.
    Levy  sat there,  torn. It  would just  be asking  for trouble  to
follow the  tracks into the trees,  away from the public  road. On the
other  hand,  a known  danger  can  be dealt  with.  It  was naive  to
believe  that someone  who struck  once would  not strike  again. Levy
thought for long  moments on the question. Finally it  was the thought
that perhaps he  could help someone that prodded him  off the road and
along the trail.
    Levy  carefully  stalked  along  the  trail.  For  the  first  few
hundred feet, the  trail appeared normal, except for  the small traces
of red.  Once the road  faded from view, however,  normality vanished.
Levy was  horrified to see a  large blotch of blood  spread across the
snow. Levy quietly  pulled his sword from his saddle.  He looked at it
for  a long  moment.  Levy had  used  a sword  before,  but had  never
killed  a man.  Dozens of  stories ran  through his  mind, stories  of
fights,  stories of  battles.  He hesitated,  then  carefully slid  it
back  into its  sheath.  He bent  his  head for  a  moment, in  silent
prayer, then continued.  He didn't have far to go.  A few hundred feet
further in  he found a body,  sprawled across the snow,  a sword wound
across  its  head.  It  had   been  stripped  of  everything  but  its
blood-soaked clothes.  There was  no horse,  although from  the tracks
leading away from the body the man had been mounted.
    Levy  stood  there, shaking.  He  didn't  recognize the  man,  but
death  is a  frightening thing  even in  anonymity. Finally,  Levy got
himself  moving again.  He looked  around,  to be  sure the  attackers
were  long  gone, then  began  digging  a  grave.  As the  winter  was
already deep,  he finally  found a  good use  for his  sword: breaking
through the frozen top  layer of sod to get to  the softer soil below.
Once  the body  was interred,  Levy started  following the  tracks. He
reasoned that the  last thing he wanted was to  be wondering where the
murderers were.
    Levy  tracked the  murderers  for the  rest of  the  day, and  the
morning of the next  day. Just after noon the trail  came to a stream.
Levy followed  the tracks  down the  stream. Soon  Levy could  see the
stream was  coming up  to a small  pond. Leaving his  horse tied  to a
tree, he  crept up to  within sight of the  pool. Around the  pool was
gathered four bandits.  They were speaking in a dialect  so thick Levy
couldn't understand  half of  what they  said. They  had a  small fire
going, and  they were  roasting some  small game.  One of  the bandits
got up  and walked to the  road, to check for  travelers. Levy quietly
drew back into the trees.
    Levy quietly returned  to where his horse was tied.  He untied it,
and started  leading it westward  through the  trees. After a  bit, he
turned north  again. Levy led  his horse  quietly to the  roadside. He
wanted to give  the thieves as wide  a berth as possible.  He came out
onto  the path  about  fifty  yards west  of  where  the pool  formed.
Cautiously he poked his  head out of the trees. The  path bent, and he
was  only able  to see  the  pool area.  There, by  the water's  edge,
stood a  lone figure. Levy's  heart almost  stopped. It had  been many
months, but he still recognized the figure at the pool. It was Sarah.
    Levy's  mind and  heart started  to race.  He snatched  his sword,
scabbard and  all, from where it  was stuck into his  pack. He started
running back  towards the  pool, along the  path. Sarah,  oblivious to
him,  walked out  of sight  along the  pool's edge.  Levy doubled  his
already  pounding pace.  As he  neared the  pool, he  caught sight  of
Sarah again,  alone still. She looked  up in surprise, and  then broke
out in an astonished and delighted smile.
    "Levy!"  Sarah  started to  run  toward  Levy.  The two  met,  and
caught each  other. Sarah started crying,  but Levy had no  time for a
tearful reunion.
    "Keep quiet!  Don't make  any noise!"  Levy whispered  loudly into
Sarah's ear. "Let's get out of here!"
    The  two  turned  to  leave,  but  Levy  found  the  way  suddenly
blocked. Two  bandits stood there,  grinning. Levy started to  turn to
run back into the woods, when something hit him, and he blacked out.
    He came to on  the ground. He started to sit  up, and caught sight
of Sarah struggling  in a bandit's arms. He started  to get up faster,
and  was rudely  yanked to  his feet  by strong  arms. He  was whirled
around by two more bandits to face the fourth.
    "Well, what  have we here?"  The man  grinned a dirty  smile. Levy
never found out  what the man considered  him to be, for  there came a
hoarse  yell from  behind him.  The bandits  all turned  to look,  and
Levy  twisted around  as  well.  There stood  Sarah,  watching as  her
previous  captor struggled  in the  grip of  a newcomer.  The man  was
short, and  dressed in  black leather.  His short,  dark hair  was the
picture  of perfection.  He took  the burly  bandit by  the shoulders,
and shook him  savagely. Then, faster than Levy could  follow, the man
in black  lifted the  bandit straight  up, and then  threw him  in the
pool, where the bandit floated lifelessly.
    One of  the bandits holding Levy  let go, and stepped  towards the
newcomer. The  other, finding  himself alone  to handle  Levy, smashed
Levy in  the face with a  forearm, knocking Levy to  the ground before
moving  himself to  take on  the  stranger. The  forth bandit  stepped
over Levy as well.
    Levy, cradling his  aching head, watched as the  first bandit drew
his  blade and  slashed  at the  man  with one  stroke.  The blow  was
clean, aimed  right for  the man's midsection.  The only  problem was,
when the  blade reached the man,  the man wasn't there  any more. With
a  blurringly fast  move, the  stranger ducked  UNDER the  blade, then
threw himself  at its  wielder. The  two crashed  back into  the third
bandit, who fell.  The swordsman steadied himself,  then tried another
swing. This  the man merely  blocked, grabbing the sword  arm, pulling
and  twisting it.  The bandit  stumbled forward,  doubled over.  There
was  a loud  crack as  the  newcomer delivered  a savage  kick to  the
thief's throat. The stranger let go as the murderer fell in a heap.
    The bandit  who had  fallen got  to his  feet. The  black-clad man
approached him.  The thug stabbed  at the other's midsection,  but the
other  twisted away,  grabbing  the base  of the  blade  in his  bare,
right hand.  The stranger pulled  on the blade, dragging  the murderer
forward.  The stranger  then twisted  the blade  around, dragging  the
arm  with  it, and  plunged  the  sword  into  its owner's  back.  The
newcomer released his grip as the body fell.
    The last  bandit had watched  the whole affair from  several steps
back.  He now  drew a  small dagger.  He drew  back his  arm, and  was
felled by a  blow to the head  from Levy, who swung  his sword without
even taking  it out  of its sheath.  Levy stepped back  as the  man in
black  stepped up  to retrieve  the  dropped dagger.  Levy watched  in
shock as the man calmly slid the blade between the criminal's ribs.
    Levy  just  stood  there,  as  Sarah  ran  up,  and  embraced  the
stranger. Levy  looked around at the  four bodies. Rarely had  he ever
seen  so much  death in  such  a short  time. His  stomach started  to
churn, but  with an effort  he pushed it  down. Levy stepped  over the
inert  forms  to  where  Sarah  was  hugging  the  man.  The  stranger
extended his  right hand. Levy  took it,  noticing that there  were no
cuts on it at all.
    "Thank you. You saved my life, and Sarah's. I'm ..."
    "Levy. Levy Barel. I know. I'm Abel."
    Levy reeled.  He had expected Abel  to be a farmer,  not a vicious
fighter.  Still, Sarah  was  showing no  discomfort  around him.  Abel
released Sarah  and turned to  the horses. "Let us  go. This is  not a
good place to be, anymore." Levy followed, not having any argument.
    They mounted  up and started to  ride. Sarah leaned over  and gave
Levy a hug. "I've found you! You don't know how I worried!"
    Levy returned her  embrace awkwardly, afraid he was  going to pull
her from her horse.  "I was looking for you, too.  I...kind of left in
a hurry."  Why do  I feel so  awkward all of  a sudden?  thought Levy.
All  this time  I've been  looking for  her, here  she is,  and now  I
don't know what to do! "You were looking for me then?"
    "Yes. After  you got  washed away,  I couldn't  rest until  I knew
what happened, so I packed up and went to my brother for help."
    "How did I get ahead of you? I know we didn't pass on the road..."
    "We  stopped at  a  friend's house  just after  the  big fork.  We
spent over a month there before moving on."
    "Well, I'm glad we found each other. We...need to talk."
    The  three of  them eventually  camped for  the night.  Levy found
himself sleepless, however.  All he could think of was  actions in the
fight. Finally  he sat up,  running his  fingers through his  hair. He
put  on his  shoes and  squatted by  the fire.  He turned  at a  sound
behind him,  only to find  Sarah stepping  up beside him.  She kneeled
down beside him.
    "What's wrong?  Couldn't sleep?"  She herself  had that  soft look
that told Levy he had awoken her.
    "No. Something is  bothering me. Something I did  today." He poked
the fire with a thin branch.
    "If you  mean that fight  at the pool,  there was nothing  else to
do.  Even Abel  was  fighting.  Normally Abel  wouldn't  hurt a  fly."
Sarah rubbed Levy's shoulder.
    "That's  fine  for   Abel.  But  what  about   me?"  Levy  paused,
gathering  his   thoughts.  "I  first   found  signs  of   that  group
yesterday. There was  blood on the road, and a  trail leading into the
trees. I  followed the  trail, thinking  it was  the best  action. The
blood got heavier,  and I drew my sword. Then  I started thinking. Who
am I?  What was  I going  to do  with that  sword?" Levy  huddled down
closer  to the  ground, and  Sarah put  her arm  around him.  "Could I
rely on myself  to fight off someone?  And what gives me  the right to
decide that  my life is  more important  than someone else's?  I could
only come up  with one answer: I  put the sword back. And  yet, when I
saw  you  standing  there,  by  the pond,  with  those  murderers  all
around, the first thing I did was grab my blade."
    "You wanted to protect me. Anyone would have grabbed a weapon."
    "Yes, but  what had changed?  I was still  the same man,  I hadn't
changed. No  one had appointed me  as judge over those  men. What good
are  all my  fine truths  if I  only use  them when  it's convenient?"
Levy looked at Sarah. "And yet...I couldn't have let them hurt you..."
    Seeing the  expression on his face,  Sarah spoke. "We all  do what
we think  best at  the time.  Sometimes we regret  it later,  but it's
done. We just  must live with it,  and go on." She  stood, and started
to go.
    "Wait."  Levy took  Sarah's arm  and  eased her  back down  "We're
alone now, probably the  last chance we'll get for a  while. I want to
talk to you."  Sarah remained silent, so Levy continued.  "After I was
washed down  the river, I spent  a long time recovering.  Not only did
I  have to  get well,  but I  had to  pay off  my debts  to those  who
nursed  me, and  earn enough  money  to buy  a horse  and some  stuff.
Then, the first  thing I did was  go down to Dargon, to  an old friend
of mine."
    Levy paused.  He felt so unsure  of himself, he didn't  quite know
what to  say next. Sarah  just sat  there with questioning  eyes. Levy
stood up, and  stepped over to where  his pack stood. From  it he took
a roll  of leather. Sarah  stepped up beside him  and put her  hand to
his side, as if to stabilize him. Levy led her back to the light.
    "I asked  him if I  could go through  the old records.  He allowed
me, and  so I looked  all through the old  records, and I  found this.
It's the family crest that we had before we got our present one."
    Levy unrolled the  leather. On it was inscribed  a colorful image,
a family crest. Sarah gasped.
    "...but that's...that's MY family crest!"
    She looked at  him, suddenly expectant. Levy  stood, feeling panic
coming on. He  knew what he had  planned to say, but now  he wasn't so
sure he wanted what he had planned to ask for.
    "What's so interesting  that it must be discussed  at night? Night
is  for   sleeping,  not  talking."   The  two  turned  to   see  Abel
approaching.  He   too  looked   like  he   had  been   awakened  from
comfortable sleep. He squatted by the fire, warming his hands.
    "Levy couldn't  sleep. He  was thinking  about that  fight today."
Sarah laid her hand around Levy's shoulder.
    "I know how  he feels. If I  hadn't been told what to  do, I would
feel the same way."
    Levy looked down at Abel. "What do you mean?"
    "I saw, in  a dream, a man  telling me I would  meet bandits along
the way today." Abel's  voice lowered. "He said that I  was not to let
them  live. I  have no  authority  to take  life," Abel  paused for  a
moment, "but the one I serve does. I only kill for him."
    The three sat  in silence for a moment, than  Levy returned to his
bedroll,  his thoughts  only on  what  Abel had  said. Sarah  followed
him, silent. Abel was still by the fire when Levy fell asleep.
    The  next  day the  three  saddled  up, and  continued  southwest.
Travel  was safer,  but  the  weather got  worse.  The  trio had  only
gotten  a few  days down  the road  when another  heavy storm  stopped
them. Once more Levy took the opportunity to repair the town clock.
    Levy stood  inside the  old town hall,  staring at  the mechanism.
It  was a  water-powered clock,  and over  a hundred  years old.  Like
many  of  the  time pieces  in  the  area,  it  had been  built  by  a
wandering group  of clockmakers. Few  people knew  how to set  it, and
no one knew  how to fix it.  Levy had studied clocks under  one of the
best clock  makers in Dargon, but  even so the workings  of the device
appeared intricate  and mysterious. Sarah  had accompanied him  to the
hall, and she now sat near one of the many lanterns, watching him.
    Levy hefted  a broken  cogwheel. "This  has to  be the  key. Every
other cogwheel is in place. But where does it go?"
    "Look for  an empty  spot." Sarah hugged  a blanket  closer around
her damp shoulders.
    "I have...there aren't any. Maybe this is a spare or something."
    "Then it wouldn't go anywhere. Maybe something else is wrong."
    "Clock makers  don't leave  spare parts.  Everything has  a place,
so therefore  this has a  place. But where?"  He set the  broken wheel
down, and  picked up a replacement  he had cut in  the village smithy.
He started walking around the device, examining the mess.
    "Well,  I'm sure  you'll find  where it  goes." Sarah's  voice was
quietly  confident. "Levy,  what was  it you  were going  to tell  me,
that night, after that fight by the pond?"
    Levy  stopped  for   a  moment,  without  looking   at  her,  then
continued his  search. "I  wanted to  show you that  I had  found your
family crest, and that we are actually related."
    Sarah  got up,  and  started  to follow  Levy  as  he circled  the
clock. "For  some reason  that doesn't  surprise me.  You remind  me a
lot of my father."
    Levy stopped and looked at her. "I do?"
    "Yes. You're  both so  confident, so good  at making  things work,
making things  happen. When  I'm with  you, I  think of  him." Sarah's
voice softened at the mention of her deceased father.
    Levy looked  up at  the mechanism as  Sarah looked  away. Suddenly
his eyes  widened. "Ahah!" He ran  around the clock, grabbed  a stool,
and  then  ran  back.  He  placed  it on  the  floor  in  front  of  a
particularly  large gear,  and  climbed onto  it.  He stared  intently
upwards for a  moment, then sagged. "No, there's already  a gear under
there." He climbed back down.
    Sarah looked at  Levy for a moment. "Do they  put gears underneath
other gears?"
     Levy turned and looked at her.  "Yes, they do.  Why?"
    Sarah  led  Levy around  to  the  other  side  of the  clock,  and
pointed  upward.  Levy followed  her  finger.  There, high  above  the
floor,  was a  large gear.  Sarah grabbed  one of  the lamps  from the
floor, and  shone its  light upward. There,  just visible  between the
gear's teeth, was a stout rod.
    Levy seized  the ladder, and climbed  up. He took the  gear he had
made, and  carefully levered the larger  gear out a bit,  exposing the
rod.  He then  carefully  slid his  gear onto  the  post, meshing  its
teeth with  the larger gear's  second, inner set  of teeth. He  had to
tug on another,  large, spoked gear to  make the new gear  fit, but it
did,  dropping  cleanly  into  place.   Levy  then  jumped  down,  and
released the  power shaft brake.  Slowly, imperceptibly at  first, the
clock moved back  into motion. Levy grabbed Sarah in  a big hug, which
she returned.
    "It  works!" Levy  held Sarah  at arm's  length, looking  into her
eyes. "However did you see that?"
    "I was  studying the movement too,  when you asked for  that light
before,  and I  just saw  it. I  was wondering  what it  was for,  but
didn't know until you told me about that other, hidden gear."
    Levy looked  at her for a  moment. "Sit with me,  please." The two
sat of  the cold  wood floor.  Levy took Sarah's  hands in  his. "Were
you ever betrothed to anyone?"
    Sarah looked confused. "What does it mean to be betrothed?"
    Levy  swallowed,  his  arms  starting to  tremble.  "We  you  ever
promised to anyone in marriage?"
    Sarah's eyes sparkled. "No..."
    "Will you marry me?"
    Sarah only paused a moment. "Yes."
    The two sat there for a moment, then fell into each others arms.

    It  was a  sunny  spring  day when  the  three  finally rode  into
Levy's village.  The first place  they stopped was at  Levy's father's
house.  There  he  presented  his bride-to-be  to  his  parents,  thus
completing the  first step of  the ritual  of marriage. The  next step
was to ask the  village Elder to marry them. As  Levy's father was the
village Elder, they didn't have far to go.
    With  the  first  round  of   formalities  out  of  the  way,  the
festivities  could start.  It wasn't  often the  son of  an Elder  got
married, and  especially not one  as well  known as Levy.  Elders were
rich,  and could  throw  good  celebrations, and  Levy  had many  rich
friends,  who could  also  throw good  parties.  Further, everyone  in
town  liked  Levy,  and  they  all  contributed  to  the  festivities.
Finally,  after word  got south,  to Sarah's  relatives, many  of them
came  north, and  they were  rich,  and they  brought a  lot of  food,
drink, and  gifts. By tradition, the  couple had to wait  a two months
between  announcing  their  engagement, and  actually  marrying.  Most
couples hated that time,  for it seemed to drag on  so. Levy and Sarah
never even  noticed it. By the  time all the gatherings  were over, it
was time to prepare for the actual ceremony.
    The morning of  the wedding found Levy walking up  the path to his
father's house. He  was dressed in his formal, tribal  dress, dark red
wool with brightly  colored bands of needlework.  Tradition had mostly
spared  him, as  the  groom,  from any  wedding  day  rituals. He  was
grateful for that,  having spent the morning  alone, preparing himself
mentally. As he  neared the house, however, joyful  squealing told him
Sarah  might  not be  so  solitary.  He walked  up  to  the door,  and
knocked.  His  mother  opened  it,  but did  not  come  out,  standing
instead in the entrance.
    "What do you  want, Levy?" She was  in a good mood,  but seemed to
be restraining herself.
    "I'd like to speak  to Sarah, if I can." He  tried to peer inside,
but  his mother  held the  door even  closer shut,  only allowing  her
head to show.
    "Levy!" Levy could  hear Sarah calling from within.  Her voice was
followed  immediately by  intense giggling,  and then  by a  delighted
shriek. The  window beside the  door exploded  with a shower  of warm,
soapy water. Levy stepped back, barely avoiding getting wet.
    "I'm  sorry, you  can't see  her until  the wedding.  We're giving
her  a bath  right  now." From  inside the  house  came more  giggles,
followed  by splashing,  laughter, and  the sound  of someone  getting
slapped, somewhere.
    "Uh,  OK. Tell  her I  love  her." Levy  tried once  more to  peer
inside, in vain.
    "We  will. Now  scoot." His  mother  pulled her  head inside,  and
closed the  door, leaving  Levy to  head off for  the barn,  where the
wedding was to take place.
    Levy  found  his  father  talking with  the  village  fathers.  He
greeted them all, and  they all wished Levy well, and  then he and his
father took a walk, to talk.
    "Are you  ready, Levy?" Eli  was also wearing his  formal clothes,
which in his case were rather bulky.
    "No. Were you?"
    Eli laughed.  "No. I  don't think  you can  be. Sometimes  I think
only  married  people  should  get  married. I  mean,  it's  the  most
important thing in the world, and we leave it to total novices."
    Levy  laughed. "I  suppose. Well,  this is  it. As  long as  I can
remember I've looked  towards this day, and now it's  here. And I'm so
nervous I'm  shaking." He held  out a  quivering hand, and  his father
laughed at  the sight. Levy  dropped the arm  back to his  side. "It's
silly. After  all, Sarah's just a  woman. She isn't going  to hurt me;
she loves me. Why else would she marry me?"
    "Right. Just  remember to treat  her like  that. You have  to live
the rest of your life with her...start it right."
    They arrived back  at the barn, having walked a  big circle around
the yard. By  this time the guests had started  arriving. Levy and his
father,  as per  tradition,  greeted them  at the  door.  As the  barn
started to fill,  noon crept up, and soon Levy  was sweating under his
wool clothes. It wasn't all the heat, however.
    Soon it was  time for Levy to  move to the front of  the barn with
his  father. Mattan,  Levy's  younger brother  continued greeting  the
guests. With nothing  else to occupy his time, Levy  started to shiver
in earnest. He  stood in one spot, not moving,  rehearsing what was to
follow in his mind.  His feet almost left the floor  when he heard the
shout from outside.
    "Here comes the bride!"
    Levy turned  to face  the open  door. People  crowded in  the way,
but they  soon parted.  There, leading the  wedding party,  was Sarah.
She  was clad  in her  clan colors,  also red,  but a  brighter shade.
Tradition was kind to  her, allowing her a muff to  hide her hands in.
Levy's felt as if  they were going to fall off,  they were so awkward.
Sarah was  smiling, a nervous,  but beautiful, smile. Seeing  her, all
alone  in front  of her  party, facing  so many  people, many  of whom
were strangers, Levy felt for her, and, finally, stopped shaking.
    She joined  him at the  front of the crowd.  He took her,  and for
the first  time, publicly kissed  her. The crowd started  chanting the
word  'Amonta', an  ancient word  meaning 'lovers'.  As the  tempo and
volume  increased,  they  parted,  and   then  Levy  leaped  onto  the
platform with  his father.  He reached  down, and  helped Sarah  up as
well. They  turned and  faced the chanting  but expectant  crowd. Levy
raised both arms and shouted.
    "Listen all you  people!" The words rang out above  the chant. The
people, expecting  this, immediately  stopped. "This  day I  take this
woman, with  her permission, as  my bride!  If there be  any challenge
to this, speak now!"
    There  was no  answer. Levy  hadn't  expected one,  but had  there
been one,  he felt ready  to accept  it. "Then she  is mine, and  I am
hers, forever!"
    Eli stepped  forward and  joined their  hands. "Inasmuch  as there
is  no challenge,  I  now pronounce  you  man and  wife."  As the  two
embraced and kissed,  the roof rang with the massed  shout of 'Issi!",
another ancient word that meant 'two, yet one'.
    Eli  turned to  step off  the  platform, when  something hard  and
heavy  brushed up  against him,  almost knocking  him over.  He looked
up, to  see a  short stout  man standing between  him and  the kissing
couple.  The   man  was   wearing  shiny,   black  leather,   and  had
immaculate, short hair.
    "Listen to me, now, all you people!"
    Levy  and  Sarah looked  up  startled.  This  wasn't part  of  the
ritual. Sarah gasped in shock.
    "Abel! What are you..."
    She stopped in  amazement. Abel's eyes were  shining brightly from
within. Levy stared at him as well, as a silence fell over the crowd.
    "Mark this  day well!  Mark it for  many years! For  I tell  you a
great  thing!" Dead  silence  reigned in  the  building. Abel's  words
echoed  off the  walls.  "Of this  union  shall come  a  child, a  man
child, and  he shall do  many marvelous things!  He shall be  of great
renown, and  shall be a blessing  to many people!" Abel  blinked then.
Instantly his  eyes were a  normal, dark brown.  He looked out  at the
assembled crowd, who  were all staring at him.  He paused, momentarily
overwhelmed. The  brief inspiration that  had led him to  the platform
was finished, and now  it was just him. Then he  opened his mouth, and
yelled what seemed to be the right thing to say. "So let's celebrate!"
    The  celebration   continued  well  into  the   night,  and  would
continue  for  weeks to  come.  A  delegation  had arrived  from  Lord
Dargon himself, bringing  enough food to feed the mass  of people well
for a  dozen days. The newlyweds,  however, as most newlyweds  do, had
other, more pressing business, and left shortly after dark.
    Levy and  Sarah arrived at  their new  home just as  the fireflies
started  to come  out.  There they  found a  fire  burning, their  bed
neatly made, and  the traditional nightfruit resting on  a bare table.
Together they  sat on  the bed,  and, as  per tradition,  together bit
into the  red fruit. They then  broke into soft laughter  as the juice
ran down  their chins, something  that, if it wasn't  traditional, was
at least common.
    Levy  leaned  forward  and  licked the  juice  off  Sarah's  chin,
ending  with a  kiss.  She  reciprocated. They  ate  the  rest of  the
fruit, and kissed again.
    "It's finally over. We're married." Levy embraced Sarah firmly.
    "At last." She ran her hands over his back.
    "You don't know how long I've waited for this."
    Sarah chuckled sultrily. "Oh, yes I do."
    Just then  came a knock  at the door.  Levy frowned, then  got up.
He walked  over to the door,  and opened it. There  stood the Ariel's,
neighbors from a mile away.
    "We  wanted to  congratulate  you!" Abe  Ariel  shook Levy's  hand
vigorously, and  his wife  gave Sarah  a hug.  "We're going  home now.
See you tomorrow!"
    They  then walked  off into  the dark.  Levy and  Sarah looked  at
each other,  and then  laughed. Levy  shut the  door, and  they walked
back to  the bed.  Levy grabbed Sarah  and pulled her  down on  top of
him. She squealed  happily, and then started kissing  him. Levy kicked
his shoes  off, and with  his feet pulled hers  off as well.  She slid
down beside  him, and they  embraced tightly. Then there  came another
knock at the door.
    Levy got up.  I hope this doesn't  get to be a  habit, he thought.
At the door there stood John, a fellow apprentice at the smithy.
    "Just wanted to congratulate you! And you too, Sarah!"
    "Thank  you, John.  Have a  good night."  Levy watched  while John
disappeared into the dark, then shut the door.
    A few  minutes later  two more  people walked up  to the  door. It
was two more  neighbors, from across the next creek.  It was a harried
Levy  that opened  the  door,  and a  rumpled  Sarah  that accepted  a
hurried embrace.  The neighbors  didn't seem  to notice,  however, and
left cheerily.  A few minutes  after, when yet another  family stopped
by to give their congratulations, it was an empty house they found.
    Levy held Sarah's  hand as he led  her down the path  to the quiet
brookside.  There they  found a  small  meadow, far  from any  houses.
There they spread the still-warm blanket, and there they lay down.
    After they kissed,  Sarah whispered to her new  husband. "You're a
wonderful, wise man, Levy."
    "You're  a  wonderful, beautiful  woman,  Sarah."  He kissed  her.
"What do you think your brother meant by what he said?"
    "I don't know."  She kissed him, carressing the back  of his head.
She lay back,  on the blanket. "He  said we're going to  have at least
one child."
    Levy leaned across her. "At least one."
    Sarah put  her arms  around his  neck. "How  many children  do you
want, Levy Barel?"
    "A thousand!" He started kissing her neck.
    "Well," she answered, smiling broadly, "we'd better get started!"
                        -Jim Owens  <J1O@PSUVM>

        <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>

                          Legend in the Making
    Victor Kent  quietly admired  the schooner  Victory Chimes  as she
rested at  dockside. She  wasn't really an  attractive ship,  with her
gaff  and boom  rigging, but  she was  a ship  that had  filled Kent's
childhood dreams.  In fact, she  was a ship  who filled the  dreams of
many,  both children  and young  sailors  alike. For  many years,  the
stories of  Captain Smith and the  mysterious VC had been  told by the
men  of Dargon  to their  children, and  Kent was  one of  those young
lads  whose heads  had  been  turned by  the  call  of adventure.  His
father had  been a  merchant, and  had often  returned from  work with
tales he had  heard from the docks,  and more often than  not the hero
of the  story was the derring  Captain Smith of the  Victory Chimes, a
swift three-masted  schooner. When he  was seventeen, Kent  had signed
onto  a packet  ship as  a galley  hand, and  got his  first taste  of
reality on  the high seas. But  now he was a  man, and a year  ago, at
the  young age  of twenty-three  he had  been given  the command  of a
merchant bark  owned by the  Fifth I  merchant shipping firm.  Yet now
he was  about to  give up his  first command to  become first  mate on
the Victory  Chimes. It  had hardly  been a  fortnight since  the word
had gone out - the VC was putting to sea!
    Despite  the legendary  accomplishments attributed  to the  vessel
and its  captain, the  Victory Chimes had  performed little  more than
routine merchant  liner shipping within  the rather limited  memory of
most people.  But the  word was  out that Captain  Smith was  going to
take her  on an exploration mission,  and that he needed  crewmen. The
tales of  the captain's  bravery and wisdom  echoed through  every bar
in  the port  section, spreading  through  the town  of Dargon  proper
even to  Dargon Keep and  to the  villages surrounding the  port city.
As quickly  as the news  could spread, men came  from far and  near to
become  crewmembers for  the trip.  Kent had  listened to  the rumors,
and had  decided to talk  to Smith about taking  him on as  first mate
for the voyage. This was, indeed, a dream come true.
    He carefully set his foot on the gangway, and stepped aboard.

    Captain  Gordon Smith  stood  majestically on  the  castle as  the
Victory Chimes  was let from  her moorings.  He was dressed  in attire
befitting a captain  of a merchant vessel, and his  white hair drifted
casually in  the salt-tanged  breeze. In  the port,  there was  a very
large  crowd gathered  to  watch their  departure  for unknown  lands.
Smith noticed  that it  was no  longer only children  who came  to see
the VC  off, as it  used to be.  Today there were  sailors, merchants,
some  warriors, and  even a  few dignitaries,  their eyes  all focused
upon his  figure and his  ship. The harbor  was filled with  craft not
only from Dargon,  but from many other nearby ports.  As the VC slowly
glided by,  the onlookers excitedly  waved their  caps at the  crew, a
few  of whom  returned the  gesture.  Standing tall  and aloof,  Smith
tried  to give  them the  best  show he  could, but  his heart  really
wasn't in  it. He  thought to  himself perhaps  he should  have coaled
his white hair earlier, but it was too late now.
    Soon  enough they  would be  out to  sea, and  the few  straggling
craft that followed  the Victory Chimes would turn  back towards port,
and he  would be able to  relax. The crowd's fascination  with him had
set him  in a dark mood,  and he mused  silently to himself as  he let
the mate, a  young man named Kent, guide the  schooner from the harbor
into open sea.

    The first two  weeks of travel went very well  aboard the VC, Kent
thought to  himself. He had  been given  complete command of  the ship
by  captain Smith,  and he  had revelled  in commanding  the legendary
black  ship.  The  weather  had  been  sunny  and  the  winds  equally
favorable,  and  they had  made  good  headway, steering  consistently
west by  northwest. However,  Kent noticed the  beginnings of  a storm
coming up from  the southwest. Shortly after midday he  had one of the
crew notify the  captain in his cabin, and he  returned with the order
to maintain  their course if possible,  and to come about  high to the
windward should the winds come from the southwest.
    Within the  hour the storm  was upon  them. Kent set  the westerly
course and  lashed the  wheel down.  He stayed  above deck  with three
other  crewmen to  take any  necessary  actions. Due  to the  westerly
bearing, the swells  broke over the port bows, setting  the deck awash
with foam  and freezing spray,  and Kent was  forced to luff  the ship
and ease  off the  sheets to  keep her from  capsizing. Kent  tried to
gauge  their  course, and  felt  sure  that  they were  being  pounded
leeward, far to the north of their original position.
    By late  evening the  storm had subsided,  although the  seas were
still heavy  and the  wind drove consistently  from the  southwest. As
the night wore  on, Kent maintained his course, although  he was aware
that  the  ship  was  still  being driven  far  north  of  where  they
intended to  be. When morning  arrived the  seas had calmed,  yet Kent
could  feel a  distinct  chill in  the  air. In  fact,  as day  broke,
several large  ice formations  could be seen  floating some  ways off.
They  had, indeed,  been  blown  far off  course,  and  were now  much
farther north  than the port  they had set out  from. Kent was  in the
process of  trying to  chart their  position when a  cry rang  up from
the crew: land had been sighted!
    The conning  mate, Lees, had  sighted a mountainous  island rising
from the  sea several leagues  to the north,  yet he insisted  that it
showed no  signs of snow.  As the captain  came on deck,  Kent climbed
the rigging  up to the halyards  and looked. The island  was small but
it rose from  the water directly into a large,  forested mountain, and
the slopes  were lush with  vegetation. The  sky about the  island was
tainted a strange silvery color.
    When he  returned to the deck,  Kent reported to the  captain. The
sun had  warmed the chill  from the  air, and the  captain immediately
set sail for  the island. However, as they approached  the island, the
air  grew distinctly  warmer, until  Kent  wondered how  such a  place
could exist within the cold climate so far north of Dargon.
    The island appeared  to be the cap of a  vast underwater mountain,
rising  abruptly  from  the  sea.  The steep  slopes  rose  in  jagged
cliffs, making  it very  difficult to imagine  that anyone  could live
there,  though occasional  lush  valleys ran  towards the  mountainous
center of the  island. However, the most bizarre aspect  of the island
was  the vegetation.  Kent  could  identify many  plants  he had  seen
growing only  in tropical areas in  Baranur, far south of  Dargon, and
yet all  the plants and trees  had leaves which had  an almost-visible
quicksilver  sheen  to them.  The  captain  decided  to search  for  a
suitable place to anchor and proceed to explore the island.
    They hadn't  followed the coastline  for more than  twenty minutes
when they  came upon  a suitable  harbor. However,  as the  VC entered
the  lagoon, around  the  edge of  the woods  there  appeared a  small
collection  of  primitive  huts.  There  were  people  living  on  the
island!  In  fact,  not  long  after  the  huts  came  into  view,  an
indecipherable holler  went up in  the woods  as the ship  was noticed
by the  inhabitants. Within  minutes a handful  of dugout  canoes were
on  their way  across the  lagoon and  towards the  ship, the  natives
bellowing their  greetings and  gesticulating comically.  Kent laughed
as he saw one  man run into the shallow water  and leap awkwardly into
a  canoe, dumping  himself and  the  two previous  occupants into  the
drink. The  captain ordered  the anchor  dropped, as  the VC  was soon
surrounded by smaller  craft, her deck overrun by  curious and anxious
natives. Oddly, Kent  noted that their skin, very little  of which was
covered in  most instances, was slightly  dark, and that it  also bore
a  strong sheen  of  that unnameable  hue. In  fact,  he noticed  that
their  eyes all  were strongly  shaded with  the odd  coloration. Kent
watched as  perhaps fifty  islanders ran  from one  item to  the next,
not  doing much  damage. He  watched as  one man  examined a  capstan,
then  kicked it,  then moved  on  to the  anchor ropes,  then went  to
examine a doorknob.  Kent laughed heartily at  the native's expression
when Lees, the  lookout, opened the door and emerged  from the galley,
much to the islanders' fascination and surprise.
    Each  of the  crewmembers was  soon surrounded  by several  native
men and women.  The ones around Kent rubbed their  fingers through his
dark hair  (which seemed  to be  their method  of greeting),  and then
proceeded to talk  at him in their language and  pinch and investigate
his skin  and eyes. He  patiently let  them have their  insistent way,
and imagined  that his skin color  somehow must be as  strange to them
as theirs was to him.
    As evening  finally fell,  the crew  could see  that a  large fire
pit had been  arranged by the beach, and that  preparations for a huge
feast  were being  made. The  captain had  the crew  gathered on  deck
and, upon the  urging of the natives, launched a  boat for the island.
Those crewmen who  could not fit in the dingy  were gladly accepted as
honored  passengers in  tribal  canoes.  Despite Victor's  opposition,
the captain did not  order any of the crewmen to  stand guard over the
ship,  reasoning that  the ship  was within  sight, and  nothing could
happen on  it without their knowledge.  Besides, who would want  to be
left out of the evening's proceedings?
    The  trip to  shore  was  chaotic, but  uneventful.  The crew  was
finally assembled by the  fire pit and guided to a  large mat, made of
fragrant, freshly-cut  grasses. There  they were  seated, each  with a
native  upon either  hand, while  the women  brought exotic  foods for
their men  and their guests. Standing  at the head of  the 'table' was
a large wooden  depiction of what appeared to be  a bear. Stained with
various colors, the  massive saurian watched silently  over the feast.
However, a cold  shiver ran down Kent's neck when  he noticed that the
bear's  eyes  had been  painted  with  a  stain of  that  ever-present
quicksilver glow he had seen in the plants of the island.
    The  feast went  on, with  each  course outdoing  the previous  in
strangeness. One of  the drinks the crew was introduced  to was mildly
intoxicating, and  many had  drunk far  too much  of it.  Several left
the area  at the coaxing  of buxom native  women, but Kent  spent most
of his  time trying to  talk with one of  the natives. He  had learned
that  the man  was named  'Zut',  but that  you had  to accompany  the
sound  with  an rise  in  tone  and  shrugging  of the  shoulders.  It
appeared that  the natives used  the same words for  several different
ideas,  and accompanying  gestures  often made  clear  which word  was
correct.  Just watching  the natives  talking to  one another  had set
many of  the crew  into gales  of uproarious  laughter. Many  had made
comic imitations  of the  speaker, who  then addressed  the individual
again, apparently  to correct  the pronunciation  or gestures  made by
the crewman.
    Kent had tried  to communicate with Zut, but  hadn't achieved very
much. He had  tried to ask the  native about their chief,  but Zut had
emphatically  pointed  at  the   bear  statue,  saying  "Tsiti!"  Kent
figured  that the  native had  interpreted the  concept of  'chief' as
'god', and  had shown him the  totem of Tsiti, their  animal-deity. He
spent some time  trying to get the  native to learn some  words in his
tongue, but only  was successful in teaching  him 'Victor', 'victory',
and 'skin'.

    The  following morning,  most  of the  crew  were again  assembled
upon the  mat and  fed. Kent  was somewhat troubled  by the  fact that
Zut was not at  the meal, and tried to ask another  native why Zut was
not present. The native looked at him and babbled.
    "Zut! na'hai  Tsiti!" While speaking  this, he managed  to somehow
shrug  his shoulders,  make motions  like  waves with  his hands,  and
then close  his eyes. Apparently Zut  had something to do  with Tsiti.
Kent  wondered.  Perhaps  Zut  was  a priest,  though  he  carried  no
markings or  demeanor that differed  from the  other men. He  tried to
tell the native to bring him to Zut.
    "Bal'oa nia  tsapful," replied  the native.  Somehow Kent  got the
impression that  the conversation was  ended, though he really  had no
idea why.
    After  breakfast the  native urged  Kent to  follow him  away from
the  village and  into  the  island. Kent  talked  Captain Smith  into
coming along,  on the basis that  they would be exploring  the island.
Most of  the crew had  all gone in  separate directions, but  would be
back by nightfall.  With that, they were off into  the mountainous and
overgrown island interior.
    They  followed  a  worn  footpath   through  the  woods,  but  the
existence of  a path  didn't make  the going  much easier.  The trails
had been made for  bare feet, and were too soft  and spongy for boots,
which Kent and  Captain Smith soon removed. The guide  had led them on
a trail  which led high  into the interior  area of the  mountain, and
the going was  very steep and very  warm. It was some  time after noon
when the guide excitedly beckoned them towards a rise in the trail.
    As Kent  climbed up  the rise,  what he  saw was  one of  the most
beautiful  and  most  bizarre  scenes  he had  ever  seen.  They  were
standing at the  top of a huge cliff which  fell away several hundreds
of feet to  the sea. The view  looked down upon the  northern shore of
the island, which  the VC had not scouted. The  view was breathtaking,
but  even more  startling was  the view  to the  north of  the island.
Several leagues  distant was another  island, yet this one  was nearly
flat, and  about it there  was a strong,  visible aura of  the strange
color they had seen  only in shades in the plants  and animals of this
island.  There  was no  question  that  the  northern island  was  the
source of the unnatural hue.
    "What in hell is it?" came  the captain's exclamation from  behind
Kent.
    The native, seeming to understand, simply replied "Tsiti."
    Kent tried to  describe his thoughts to  the captain. "Apparently,
Tsiti is the bear  figure we saw at the village.  They seem to worship
this being, and  that island is somehow linked with  him. It's obvious
that they must think it's sacred. But that's about all I know."
    The captain  pondered silently  for a  moment. "Damn.  Well, we're
supposed to be  exploring and adventuring. I guess we  can't very well
turn away  from something like  this, can we?  Let's head back  to the
village  and round  up  the  crew." With  that,  he  turned and  began
carefully picking his  way back down the path. Kent  gave the native a
reassuring look and followed.

    The  afternoon was  cooling off,  and the  early twilight  shadows
were  beginning to  lengthen as  the  group plodded  down towards  the
village. Captain  Smith immediately had  all the crew gathered  by the
beach, and  described what  they had seen  that afternoon.  He planned
to have the  crew spend that night  on board ship, and  in the morning
set sail northward to explore the other island.
    The crew  had enjoyed  their stay  on the  island, and  weren't at
all  pleased about  returning  to the  Victory  Chimes; however,  they
decided to  endure it after  having convinced several native  women to
accompany them.  The night passed  quietly, and the  following morning
the natives  were asked  to leave the  ship, and the  VC set  out from
the  harbor. They  skirted the  coastline fairly  closely for  most of
the way, and  so it was not  until near midday that they  began to see
the strange  color appear  pronouncedly in the  sky to  the northward.
Finally  they came  around a  headland  and saw  the northern  island.
Many of the  crew turned away from the bizarre  vision, yet many stood
gaping at  the unnatural  sight. The flatness  and lack  of vegetation
on the island  made it seem even more alien  than the rugged mountains
of  the  southern island,  and  even  Kent  stood dumbfounded  by  the
potency with which  the abnormal coloration had  contaminated the area
surrounding the lifeless, featureless island.
    Kent could  sense the tenseness of  the crew as the  ship left the
coastline and  headed across the stretch  of open sea between  the two
islands. As  the noontime sun  beat down  steadily, Kent began  to see
heat waves  rising from the water.  His vision became more  blurry and
he thought  he had  become sick,  until one of  the crew  staggered to
him,  complaining of  the same  symptoms. After  asking several  other
men, he concluded  that the color was somehow  effecting their vision.
He stumbled aft towards Captain Smith.
    "Sir,  the  crew  can't  function...   the  waves,  the  color  is
blinding them!"
    Smith stood immobile  and replied, "We'll make  an anchorage soon,
Kent, and go ashore. I won't flee from a little sea-blindness!"
    Kent made his  way to the rail and watched  the island through his
blurred  vision  as  they  approached.  It  was  broad  and  flat  and
lifeless. He couldn't  make out either the southern island  or the sun
clearly, as  his eyes began  to burn and  redden. Soon they  dared not
approach the  island any closer,  so Smith ordered the  anchor dropped
a suitable distance offshore.
    Captain Smith had  the crew gathered abaft and  addressed them. "I
have decided  to send a  party of men  ashore to explore  this island,
and find  the cause for  these weird lights. I  shall be in  charge of
this party,  and the rest  will stay behind at  the ship. Now,  who is
willing to  venture ashore?" At  this, the  men began to  mutter lowly
between themselves. At length, a voice spoke up.
    "Captain!"  One of  the crew,  a  man named  Jason Black,  stepped
forward. "Most  of the crew don't  want any part of  this island. It's
not  something honest  men  should go  poking at.  If  you go  messing
around in  things like this,"  he nodded towards the  island, "there's
nothing but harm going to come of it."
    The crew  seemed to  be in  consensus, and  Kent began  to suspect
that a mutiny  was brewing, but another voice spoke  up, that of Lees,
the  lookout. "Jason,  when  you and  the others  signed  up for  this
voyage you were  all set for adventure and exploring.  The captain has
seen more  than his  share of  the world,  and if  he's not  scared of
this, then neither am  I. I'll go with Captain Smith,  even if I'm the
only one!"  With that he joined  Kent and Smith before  the group, who
continued to favor Jason's opinion. No one else stepped forward.
    "Very well,  then. I shall  go and  explore this island  with Kent
and Lees."  Then, looking at  Black, "I shall  deal with your  lack of
enthusiasm later. Now, prepare to lower the boat."

    Soon  thereafter  Lees was  rowing  the  ship's boat  towards  the
island.  The haze  of the  midday sun  bore down  upon them,  and Kent
found  it difficult  to make  out the  shore. The  captain sat  in the
dory,  cursing  the crew  and  the  island  beneath his  breath.  They
arrived  at the  shoreline and  stepped  out onto  warm, black  sands.
They  pulled the  boat  high  out of  the  water,  and headed  inland,
occasionally  stumbling on  unseen rocks.  Kent's vision  became worse
and  worse, and  their progress  slowed and  became more  arduous with
each  step.  The heat  waves  blurred  his vision  almost  completely,
making  it difficult  to see  the  terrain in  front of  him. As  they
plodded  forward the  blinding  alien color  became  stronger, and  it
became more  and more  difficult to  continue. Kent  had to  fight the
need to rest.  He began to wonder  why he had ever signed  on with the
insane captain  Smith. His feet seemed  leaden, and his very  soul was
dead tired.  At length  the captain  ordered a  halt and  collapsed to
the ground.
    After a moment,  captain Smith asked Lees to go  forward a bit, to
see  if  anything could  be  seen,  but not  to  go  far. The  lookout
continued on,  and was  gone from sight  almost immediately.  Kent sat
down near  Smith and  rubbed his  burning eyes  in vain.  They weren't
having any luck  in finding an explanation for the  bizarre color, and
he was  about to suggest  that they return to  the ship when  he heard
Lees cry  out in fear.  He forced himself to  his feet and  joined the
captain in stumbling towards the sounds.
    Kent outpaced the  older captain, who continued  to stumble behind
him as  Lees' yells  turned to  pain-maddened screams.  Kent continued
to rush  forward, and suddenly came  upon a scene of  sheerest terror.
Before him  stood a huge monster,  which had attacked the  seaman. The
beast  stood  half   again  as  tall  as  Kent,   and  looked  vaguely
bear-like. However,  it was covered  with thick black scales,  and its
eyes were  faceted like  those of  an insect. In  those eyes  burned a
searing flame  of that  color which  Kent knew  was from  hell itself.
The beast had  ripped off Lees' right  arm, and held him  by his left.
Kent tried to  master the screaming fear which was  building up inside
him, but he knew that Lees was already beyond rescue.
    Suddenly, from  Kent's left,  captain Smith staggered  forward and
into the  beast, which turned  and sent a  powerful taloned fist  in a
wide arc towards  the old man's head. Kent leaped  forward and tackled
Smith, taking  him backwards  and out  of the  range of  the monster's
blow.  On  the  ground,  the   captain  immediately  turned  and  ran,
crouching  low to  the ground.  Kent followed,  trying to  keep within
sight of his superior.
    After several  minutes of  blindly stumbling  away, they  began to
slow  their retreat,  but  suddenly  the beast  came  down from  above
them. As he  rolled to his left,  Kent thought he caught  a glimpse of
leathery wings  behind the beast. Again  the two ran in  the direction
they guessed the ship lie, although now they did not slow their pace.
    Kent was  never sure how long  they stumbled around the  island in
their color-  and fear-blinded  madness. Finally,  they came  upon the
black sands  of the beach,  and followed it  until they came  upon the
Victory  Chimes' boat,  which they  quickly launched  and returned  to
ship. There Jason Black stood on the deck, waiting.
    "Where is your friend Lees, captain?"
    Smith didn't  even answer  him, but began  giving orders  to weigh
anchor  and unfurl  the  sails. Kent  looked at  the  seaman and  said
"Lees  is  dead."  Apparently  the sailor  saw  something  strange  in
Kent's eyes,  for he  turned and  began making  ready to  sail without
further inquisition.
    Despite the onset  of darkness, the VC made its  way away from the
island and  set a southwesterly  course. The captain retreated  to his
cabin  and left  Kent standing  orders  to continue  on their  present
course  until they  reached the  islands of  Bichu. Through  the night
Kent reflected  on the event, and  thanked Mitra that no  one else had
been killed by the hell-spawned monster.

    The  westward voyage  had been  a tiring  one for  Kent. They  had
spent forty five  days sailing southwest from the  arctic islands, and
Kent had  begun to understand why  so few ships had  made the crossing
to Bichu.  He had  not imagined there  could be so  much empty  sea in
the  entire world.  The captain  had remained  isolated in  his cabin,
leaving  the command  of the  Victory Chimes  to young  Kent, who  was
somewhat  angered  that  Smith  hadn't  turned out  to  be  the  brave
adventurer he  had been  portrayed as  in the  now distant  stories of
his youth in Dargon.
    He  gazed westward  towards their  destination, the  mystical land
known as  Bichu. Nothing broke  the endless horizon,  which completely
encircled  them, blue  upon blue.  He had  known of  men who  had gone
insane upon long  voyages. They had stared at  that unchanging horizon
so long that they  were convinced that it was not  the horizon at all,
but a  tapestry hung to  deceive them, and that  it was closing  in on
them. His thoughts  were interrupted as Jason Black climbed  up to the
poop to speak with him.
    "Any idea when we'll see land, Victor?"
    "Not yet. Maybe a week or so. Can't be much more."
    The  seaman looked  down nervously  for a  moment, then  faced the
mate  straight on.  "Kent... you're  a good  mate. You  know that  the
skipper isn't fit to  command a ship. All he's done  on this voyage is
sit  in his  cabin and  drink.  He had  us  bring him  another keg  of
brandy this morning.  And when he  hasn't been drunk, he's led us into
trouble."
    "Oh?"  Kent knew  that  Black  didn't trust  the  captain, but  to
speak  this way,  he must  have  friends who  felt the  same way.  The
crewman read his expression perfectly.
    "Most of the crew  are with me. They saw what  happened to men who
trust the captain -  men like Lees, rest his soul.  Now we know you're
an  able commander,  and  we aren't  going to  die  for the  captain's
mistakes. You obviously should be in charge of the ship."
    Kent's thoughts  raced. The captain  obviously was not  capable of
command under  these circumstances, but  Black was asking him  to lead
an  outright mutiny  against the  captain who  was the  hero of  every
seafaring story in  Dargon! "Look, Jason. I don't want  you boys doing
anything. Let it be  for now - the captain isn't doing  us any harm so
long as  he's in  his cabin.  I want to  talk to  him myself.  Can you
keep the crew from doing anything?"
    "That I  can do, at least  for a while." With  that, Black elbowed
Kent in  the stomach and  stepped down  towards the bows,  leaving the
mate wondering if it had been a gesture of friendship or of warning.

    Kent stood  at the door to  captain Smith's cabin. He  had thought
out what  he was going  to say  to the aging  captain, and all  he had
left to  do was to gather  his nerves and  say his piece. After  a few
moments of  silently wishing  that the  problem would  resolve itself,
he  rapped upon  the wooden  door. From  within a  response came,  and
Victor Kent opened the door and stepped inside.
    Smith's cabin was  a mess. Of course, Kent had  seen it before and
wondered at it,  but as he thought about it,  he realized that captain
Smith  had lived  in  the  same room  for  probably  more than  twenty
years.  Spending that  much  time in  one place,  one  could expect  a
man's  home to  be cluttered.  Smith sat  in an  upholstered chair,  a
goblet of brandy close  by, idly gazing at a huge  chart upon the port
bulkhead. The chart  showed the explored lands, and Kent  had spent as
much  time as  possible examining  it,  using the  excuse of  plotting
their  course.  Smith  looked  up  at Kent  and  motioned  to  another
similar chair which stood back to the wall with the chart.
    Kent  sat down,  dreading  what  must come.  At  length he  began.
"Captain  Smith, the  crew has  asked me  to come  talk with  you." At
this, Smith's  attention became focused.  "They feel that  you haven't
properly commanded  this voyage, and  that you've spent too  much time
in your cabin.  They think  you made some  bad decisions back at those
islands."
    "And they've  asked you to  mention this to me?"  Smith countered.
"And what do you think?"
    Kent  hadn't considered  his own  feelings,  but he  tried to  put
them  into words.  "Well, you're  not the  leader I  thought you'd  be
when I  signed on in  Dargon. You certainly  haven't lived up  to your
reputation for wisdom."
    Smith  leapt up  angrily  and  paced back  and  forth through  the
room, thrashing  the air  with his  arms. "Damn it!  I left  Dargon to
get  away from  those asinine  rumors! Can't  you people  just let  me
be?" The  captain, recovering  from this violent  emotional explosion,
sat  back down  again. "Well,  I suppose  you're right.  I was  hoping
when we set  out that it would  be different, but I  guess it's true."
The  captain paused,  and Kent  wanted to  speak, but  he hardly  knew
what to  say. Eventually Smith  went on. "Let me  tell you a  story. I
have  never told  this  to anyone,  but  I suspect  that  it would  be
appropriate to tell  you now." The captain looked old  and tired as he
drained his  goblet and motioned for  Kent to fill it  from a decanter
on the table.
    "Many years ago, I  got my first command. I had  been working as a
scribe  before  that,  but  I  knew a  friend  in  the  harbormaster's
office, and I asked  him to see if he could get me  a ship to command,
despite my  lack of experience  or training. He finally  came through,
and I was offered  a position as captain of a  patrol sloop called the
Victory Chimes.  It wasn't  this ship,  mind you,  it was  smaller and
older. So I went about my duties of stopping  suspicious  vessels, and
so forth.
    "It  was during  the annual  summer Festival  that it  happened. A
pirate  who called  himself Soloman  Banshee stole  the Bard's  Crown,
which had  been given to the  winner of the minstrelry  tournament for
the  past, oh,  fifty years."  Kent knew  the object,  for it  was the
centerpiece of  one of the most  important events of the  Festival. He
also  recognized the  story as  the one  where Smith  had rescued  the
crown.  However,  he  did  not  interrupt Smith,  as  it  might  cause
another  outburst, and  Victor  was intrigued  at  the possibility  of
hearing the tale in the captain's words.
    "At the time  I was at sea, patrolling the  northern coastline. My
mate saw  Banshee's ship  sailing northwards.  They apparently  saw us
at  the same  time,  for they  abruptly changed  their  course to  put
plenty  of space  between us  and them.  My mate,  a strong  lad named
Larson, urged me  to attack Banshee's ship, telling me  that no pirate
would run  from such a  small craft  unless he had  something precious
and illegal on board,  but I was afraid, and I gave  the order to hold
our course, despite  the oath I took as a  patrol commander." This was
something Kent hadn't  heard in the folk tales. Indeed,  the truth was
not quite the same as the myth.
    "That afternoon  a storm blew  up, and that  night was a  long and
difficult one.  Early in the  morning the ship  ran hard aground  on a
rocky headland that  had gone unseen. In the morning,  she lay hard on
her side  during low  tide. I  ordered the  ship abandoned  and struck
out southward, hoping to come to a village.
    "Near noontime,  Larson came  back from scouting  ahead. He  had a
sword wound on his  left arm, but his face was  sheer ecstasy. He told
us  that he  had come  across Soloman  Banshee's camp,  and dispatched
the only  sentry there. Then he  slowly drew forth from  his cloak the
silver Bard's Crown.
    "We all  wondered what to  do, for  surely Banshee would  be back,
and would  miss the  crown. Despite  other advice,  I decided  to take
the camp  and wait for the  pirates, and either destroy  them or bring
them to  justice. We  set up  our camp  in the  middle of  theirs, but
failed to  notice their  arrival that  evening. I  was sitting  by the
fire, watching Larson  pick over the food at the  pirates' table, when
Banshee  slashed  his back  open  from  behind.  I grabbed  the  pouch
beside me, which  contained the Bard's Crown, and ran  like mad, while
my crewmen were cut down behind me."
    Captain  Smith paused,  his  hollow eyes  staring  blankly at  the
floor.  Kent   sensed  that   Smith's  reputation   wasn't  completely
deserved,  and  it appeared  that  the  very  event which  caused  his
notoriety had  not been one of  bravery, but of cowardice.  Smith took
a long draught of brandy and continued.
    "I finally reached  a village and bought a horse.  When I returned
to  Dargon, the  Festival was  still going,  and I  was received  as a
hero. I  was granted  honorary barddom  by the  College of  Bards, and
Lord  Dargon himself  insisted  that  he build  me  a beautiful  ship,
which is this ship, the VC that everyone knows.
    "And so I was  a hero to the people of Dargon.  The tale grew more
and more  preposterous each month.  The Victory Chimes was  built, and
I sailed  ordinary voyages,  but the legend  couldn't be  stopped. The
following year I overheard  a story in a bar that I  had come across a
chase between a  pirate drumond and a merchant galley.  The person had
mistaken  my name  for that  of  Simon Salamagundi,  who had  actually
done  that."  Kent   started,  and  Smith  noticed   it.  "Yes,  Simon
Salamagundi  the  stew  vendor.  He  was  one  fine  captain.  Do  you
remember  the  story about  a  captain  tricking  a pirate  king  into
forming an alliance with Dargon?"
    Kent nodded.  The story he  had heard  said that that  captain had
been Gordon Smith.
    The old  man frowned.  "No, that was  Salamagundi, too.  My legend
is a myth.  It doesn't exist. I  have never been a brave  or wise man,
I fear."
    "Then why did you undertake this exploration voyage?"
    The captain  sat silently  for a  moment before  answering. "Well,
at first I  thought that after all these years,  maybe I could command
men and  a ship, and  maybe do something  good. Maybe after  all these
years, I  could do something  to deserve  that reputation. Now  I know
better. But, I had another reason, as well."
    Kent looked puzzled.
    "I can't live  in Dargon forever. I  am a folk legend,  not a man,
and legends  do not  go out  quietly. When  we dock  in Bichu,  I will
stay there, and  live out my days there quietly  and in peace, without
young men looking at me as if I was a god."
    "And what  of the ship?  And what of the  crew? We want  to return
to Dargon!"
    "And so you  shall, Kent. When I  leave you in Bichu,  I will turn
over the  command and ownership of  the Victory Chimes to  you. You've
commanded her  well on this  voyage, and  she deserves a  better owner
than I."  Kent could hardly believe  his ears. Here was  his childhood
hero, saying  openly that  he wasn't a  hero at all,  and now  the old
man suggested that  he would be given  the ship of his  dreams as soon
as they made  port! Kent tried to  find words to say,  but realized he
wasn't  even sure  what  he was  feeling. "But...  what  will we  tell
people when we return to Dargon?"
    Smith smiled  slightly. "Just  tell them that  I stayed  behind in
Bichu.  They will  find  a  fitting ending  to  the  story of  Captain
Gordon Smith  themselves, no matter  what you  tell them. He  will die
as a lord in Bichu, or lost in some foreign land."
    Kent spent a long moment in thought.
    "I'm sorry,  Captain Smith.  I understand now.  I'll let  you know
when we make landfall."
    With that,  he struggled  to the  door and  left Captain  Smith, a
man broken by his own legend.

    The Victory  Chimes lay up  next to a large  pier on the  shore of
Bichu, a  mythical land with  ways very  unlike those of  Dargon. They
had been  there almost a  week, and the crew  had enjoyed the  time on
land, but Kent  knew that they would soon be  restless to return home.
They  had been  told that  Smith was  to remain  in Bichu,  which drew
some odd looks, but no one had protested.
    Gordon Smith  stood upon the  wooden pier with the  young captain,
Victor Kent. Smith  noticed that Kent had matured since  the time when
he had  stepped aboard  the VC  to talk with  Smith about  being first
mate  for the  voyage, and  he was  satisfied that  Kent would  make a
fine  captain.  They said  respectful  farewells,  and the  young  man
boarded the ship and cast off.
    Smith stood  upon the pier,  watching the  ship he had  never felt
he  deserved move  effortlessly from  the port  and towards  her home,
and  he  felt good.  Perhaps  he  had finally  accomplished  something
right,  something worthy  of a  legend. With  a deep  sigh, he  turned
away from  the slowly receding Victory  Chimes and from the  legend of
Captain Gordon Smith, and walked quietly away.
                     -'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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