The Vanishing Isle

The Vanishing Isle

Bromm VIII

"It's not on any of our charts," said Bromm. He brushed a hand through his thick black hair and sighed. Turning to the ship's port side, he cast his gaze out over the clear blue waters to the golden shore some two hundred yards distant. The green-shrouded isle that rose out of the early morning fog had his crew baffled. In the middle of the night, they had seen boulders in the water and quickly dropped anchor lest they run aground, but only with the rising sun had they truly seen land. Yet despite scouring all their maps and charts, then taking another sighting of the stars, they had not reconciled the island with anything recorded. He turned his attention back to the charts and his four officers, all good friends from past voyages.

"The sea is mysterious," opined Pyet, youngest of Bromm's officers, as he leaned over the rail and scrutinized the dark green mass in the fog. "Would an island appearing where there was once nothing be the strangest thing that happened?"

"Mysterious and dangerous," grumbled Sahat, the eldest of Bromm's friends. He rubbed his shaven head and frowned at the map. "If it's uncharted, it's uncharted for a reason."

"Aye, it means no one has plundered it yet!" the five of them turned to see Urgan, a grizzled and salty dwarf who had claimed his spot as first mate, clamber up to the quarterdeck. His pale blonde beard spread across his chest, and he had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. With wild eyes he swept a hand over the maps and charts arrayed on the deck, then smiled.

"We should go ashore immediately," he rumbled.

"We should go ashore cautiously, if at all," said Tahavi, Bromm's quartermaster. "The charted islands of the sea are choked with reefs and worse, so I expect that the uncharted ones will be even more so. The water's clear, so it shouldn't take long."

"Well then, let's get a boat in the water! What are we waiting for?"

Bromm frowned. Something about the island was unsettling to him. Nevertheless, he allowed Urgan to put a longboat in the water and plot a way to shore. The

White Shepherd's

other longboat had headed out to sea, for Bromm was concerned that they had accidentally sailed into a nest of reefs and might run aground on their way back out to sea. But Apliss had favored him, and the brig lay anchored at the edge of the reefs that surrounded the island. Their way out was clear.

Urgan climbed aboard from the boat and beamed to his waiting clique.

"It's just waiting for us!" the men cheered, and Bromm had to accede to their demands to go ashore. They piled into the longboats, leaving Sahat in charge of the ship with a reduced crew. Hefting axes, boarding pikes, and firelocks, fifty eager sailors rowed across the open water as silvery fish swirled around them in schools. Pyet dashed a hand into the water to seize one but came up empty. Some of the other sailors laughed.

"Careful, boy, you'll tip the boat over before you catch one," Urgan called from the prow of the other boat. Pyet scowled and took his seat again. Bromm paid them little mind. He crouched at the head of his longboat with a flintlock in hand, narrowed eyes searching the isle's shores.

An expanse of golden sand stretched perhaps a hundred yards from the water to the treeline, where the island was covered by thick green undergrowth and shaded by the canopies of towering trees whose branches were draped with vines. Here and there, Bromm spied brightly colored birds flitting through the branches, and from far off he heard the calls of strange beasts.

"I hope none of them are dangerous," he muttered to himself.

"What was that, captain?" asked Imre. His friend leaned closer, cradling a matchlock musket under his own arm.

"Nothing, just thinking aloud," Bromm replied. Imre nodded and sat back again. They were nearing the shore, and Bromm stood up as the sandy bottom of the sea floor grew nearer. As the longboat's keel brushed sand, he hopped from the boat with a splash and guided the vessel ashore by its prow. The others piled excitedly from the boat and hauled them out of the water. Bromm looked back to the

White Shepherd,

anchored in the open water with her gunports open and sails reefed. Sahat was on the quarterdeck with a spyglass, and Bromm gave him a confident wave which he returned.

He turned inland and felt his feigned confidence waver. The forest ahead of them was dark and foreboding, and the rising sun was doing little to illuminate it. He clutched his flintlock closer and touched a hand to the saber on his hip.

Behind him, the crew was unloading the boats before they returned to the

White Shepherd

for more supplies. The more diligent of them piled their provisions onto the beach while others set off toward the treeline with weapons in hand. Their spirits were high, and they spoke of the treasures they might find in the island's depths more than of any dangers that awaited.

Urgan stepped up to him, flanked by his lieutenant Nyvald and his lover Heyne. The former was a red-headed bear of a man, standing a hand taller than Bromm and with a wild beard to match Urgan's own. The latter was a slender youth not yet in his twentieth year, with a soft face and warm green eyes. Nyvald carried a hooked axe and a matchlock musket, while Heyne laid a blunderbuss over his shoulder and hung a straight sword from his hip. Urgan was armed with a pair of throwing axes and a heavy falchion, while a shirt of fine dwarven mail glittered on his chest.

"We should split up," the dwarf barked to Bromm, "we'll cover more ground that way."

"We'll be eaten faster that way," Imre retorted. The young man was carrying a boarding axe and a bundled tent. Two pistols were thrust through his belt. "We should stick together until we know what's in this forest."

"I'm the first mate here, boy," Urgan snapped.

"Aye, and I'm the captain," Bromm cut in. "We'll establish a base camp first, then we'll move into the interior in groups. We must be cautious."

"Bah!" Urgan roared, and stalked off. Nyvald gave Bromm a look and a shrug, then he and Heyne went off after the dwarf, whose grumbling could still be heard as he stalked down the beach.

"He wants to split up so you don't know what treasure he finds," Imre said quietly.

"Aye," Bromm replied. "I'm more wary of the island's dangers than being cheated."

Pyet approached them with a brace of pistols, which he handed to Bromm with a smile.

"Ready when you are, captain." Bromm thrust the pistols through his belt, next to his own ornate ivory-handled pistol and a companion engraved in dwarven runes. He ran a hand through his black beard and looked up the beach. The strip of golden sand stretched two miles east to a rocky cape, and three miles south until it curved away out of sight. As far as he could see, there was only empty beach.

"We should look inland for a base camp site," he said at last.

"Aye, Lukodo has our things set out," Pyet said. He indicated the landing spot, where the stout, dark-skinned Lukodo was supervising five sailors in the gathering of camping material. They hefted tents, timber, axes, and other tools onto their shoulders and Lukodo turned to Bromm.

"Lead the way, captain," he said, hefting a bundle of lumber onto his broad shoulders.

Bromm turned back to the treeline and pointed to a stand of trees that rose taller than the others.

"There. These trees are all the same type, so those taller ones must be on a hillock or a rise of some kind. We'll make for it and set up camp. Pyet, tell the boats to relay this to Sahat."

Bromm gathered his men at the treeline, where some had already ventured into the forest and need to be called back. With the eager Urgan at the head and Bromm bringing up the rear, they began their march through the forest to the hillock.

Overhead, strange birds wheeled through the trees, followed by hopping rodents with lustrous fur. Bromm thought that, if he could only catch a few, he could sell their furs for a fine price. But they darted expertly through the high branches far out of sight. The forest floor was an abundant place as well, for he saw many ferns and even flowers growing there. The ground rose slowly but steadily, and he found himself moving slowly to avoid tripping over the many roots that broke from the dark earth. The procession of sailors wound its way around a thicket and reach the base of the hillock where the ground climbed higher faster. With some effort, they reached the top and spread out.

"I want a defensive ring set up, and lookouts to go with it," Bromm ordered. Then he laid his weapons at the base of a tall tree and began to climb. The lower trunk was thick and its bark coarse, so he had Imre heft him up to a branch. The bark was rough on his hands, but Bromm was an experienced climber of both trees and rigging and went up undeterred. He hauled himself up onto a branch wide enough to walk up and paused to take stock of his camp.

His crew had begun to emplace sharpened stakes around the edge of the hillock, linked by thick rope as a further impediment to attackers. In the middle of the camp, Lukodo was excavating a firepit while Urgan and his crew dragged together branches for a shelter. Bromm smiled. His crew

From there, he pulled himself up through successive layers of the tree's limbs until he broke out through the green leaves of the top and could see unobstructed.

The view was magnificent. He first looked to the sea, where his beloved

White Shepherd

lay at anchor where he had left her. Beyond his ship was only the open expanse of the wide blue sea. Further inland, he could see tall crags rise from the tree cover, and the sun glinted off what looked to be a lake nestled within them. At the foot of the crags, he saw what looked to be a ruined stone structure of some kind. Above the crags, a small flock of birds wheeled overhead.

Bromm shaded his eyes as he looked east, into the morning sun. The sun's harsh rays nearly blinded him, but through the shade of his fingers he could make out the island's shape. It broadened like an arrowhead stabbing into the sea, covered completely by tree cover except for the thin fringe of golden sand along the water. Soon enough, he could stand to look into the sun no longer and turned his attention back to the central crags.

As he blinked away the sunspots in his eyes, he could make out what looked to be another ruin beyond the crags. It was built of gray stone, though much of it had tumbled down into piles at the base and the roof had caved in. Yet enough of the structure looked intact that he thought they might find treasure there. But as Bromm looked over the island, he could find no signs of habitation, not any indication of other buildings. Had people truly come to this island just to build these stone buildings and nothing else?

The question burning in his mind, he climbed down from the tree and hopped lightly to the grassy crown of the hillock. Urgan and Pyet approached.

"Well, what do you see?" Urgan demanded. "We've been waiting long enough, it's time to get moving and find something of worth on this island."

"There's a ruin of some kind to the southwest. It doesn't look like much, but there could be treasure. Beyond that, there's a lake where we might find fresh water and another ruin beyond it."

Urgan snorted. "We've plenty of water, I want treasure. We should make for this ruin immediately!"

He marched off to where he and his men had laid down their things and began to gather them up. Bromm sighed and turned to Lukodo.

"I need someone reliable to hold this camp. Keep in contact with the

Shepherd

and wait for us to return."

"I can do that. How long will you be?"

"It shouldn't take us more than the day to get there and back. But be careful. We still don't know much of anything about this place. It could be crawling with basilisks or trolls."

"Or just people," Lukodo replied. "But aye, I'll keep an eye out. Do the same for yourself. Whatever lives here know the island better than we do, and will know all the spots for an ambush."

"Don't you worry. Nobody is going to get the drop on me."

Lukodo looked about to say something but then closed his mouth and nodded. He moved off and Bromm selected his party from the other sailors. He wanted to leave Urgan behind, but the dwarf would never have agreed, so Bromm resigned himself to putting up with him. Leaving behind twenty men to defend the camp, Bromm set off at the head of the rest, making for the first ruin he had seen from the treetops.

He forged a path through increasingly thick undergrowth and across a clear-flowing stream where his men stopped to refill their waterskins. The ground grew softer and soon enough they found themselves at the edge of a small swamp. Bromm raised his flintlock.

"It can't be that big," Imre said, looking out over the swamp. It was choked with reeds and ferns on the near side and grew clearer as it stretched away from them, into the trees. "We must be able to find a way around it."

"Unless you were thinking of going through it," Urgan growled, appearing at Bromm's side. "Then I'd wager the snakes and other beasts in it would be having a fine feast."

"Not through it," Bromm replied, his mind elsewhere as he scanned the far treeline. Swamps were places of peril, and he had boasted to Lukodo that he would not be taken off-guard. "We'll find a way around, but keep your guard up. There's no telling what could be hiding in there."

"Whatever it is," boasted Nyvald from the gaggle of men behind them, "It won't be able to stand up to my axe."

"If you see it coming," Bromm retorted. The Wildman scowled at him and slapped he flat of his axe against his chest.

"Nothing sneaks up on me. The Wilds of Cimbra raise strong men who are not easily taken unawares."

Bromm said nothing in response. He picked a direction and began leading the column of sailors along the edge of the swamp, always keeping an eye on its murky waters. He could not shake the feeling that something was watching him. His men were chattering away behind him, so he shushed them with a cold look and a finger toward the swamp. Somewhat sullenly, they fell silent.

The swamp stretched across their path for a great distance, and the ground around it was rough to traverse. Bromm felt their pace slowing, but stoically he continued the march in silence until the ground grew harder under their feet and the swamp faded away. Bromm then turned inland and headed toward the ruin again.

They emerged suddenly into a bowl-shaped hollow in the trees. The ground fell gently away from them to a small pond in the middle, and on the far side was a formerly grand house that now lay in ruins. Bromm paused as his crew fanned out behind him.

"Strange," Pyet muttered. He held an unlit matchlock before him, his eyes roaming around the edge of the hollow.

"Keep your eyes open," Urgan urged. He directly Heynes to cover the group's left and Nyvald to cover their right. To Bromm's great satisfaction, Imre was guarding their rear without needing to be asked.

Bromm surveyed the forest and then the house, finding nothing of concern. "Follow me," he said at last, and started forward around the edge of the hollow. His crew obeyed cautiously, their weapons at the ready as they crept forward. Bromm brought them to the front of the house and stopped. He laid his flintlock aside and drew his saber.

"Urgan, stay outside and watch, Imre, Pyet, with me." The dwarf glowered at being left behind, but did as he was told. Bromm reached toward the old door with his free hand and pushed it open. Far from creaking on ancient hinges, the door simply toppled over with a great crash. Bromm jumped, as did Imre behind him. Urgan laughed.

"Afraid of a door?" Bromm ignored him and stepped through the doorway. There was little point in stealth now. The foyer was grand but old and worn. Cobwebs crisscrossed a painted ceiling that, once garish, had now faded with age and dust. Bromm stepped onto a wooden floor that creaked under his weight. Suspiciously, he checked its integrity and was satisfied that he would not plummet through it. With Imre following close behind, Bromm advanced into the foyer.

Threadbare tapestries covered the walls in places, some old enough that he could see the stone wall behind them through their weave. Strangely, they did not depict people or animals, but merely strange patterns. Bromm stared at them, trying to decipher any message hidden within them, but it only made his head hurt. The others began to filter into the foyer, weapons at the ready.

"There must be something valuable in here," Urgan muttered. Nyvald stepped close to a tapestry.

"They are often woven with golden thread," he said softly, "but this is just cloth, damn it all."

Imre moved past them into the next room and Bromm followed. They found themselves in a salon. The furniture was covered with white sheets and the floors coated with dust. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, though its sconces were empty.

"Who lived here?" Imre muttered as he paced the edge of the room. "It's too grand a house to not be surrounded by gardens or a village of some kind."

"This is a strange place," Bromm agreed. "I don't know if we'll find any answers, but we might at least make off with something to sell."

"How about this?" Imre asked. He swept a sheet off a table, revealing a gilded tea set beneath. Bromm whistled in appreciation and stepped closer. Hidden beneath the sheet, they were free of the dust and wear that plagued the house, and glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He picked up the kettle, half expecting it to crumble in his hands, and found it cold to the touch.

"There's more in here!" Urgan called from another room. Bromm followed his voice through a parlor, similarly covered to the salon, and found Heyne and the dwarf lowering a gilded mirror from the wall. The silvery surface of the mirror was flatter and smoother than any mirror Bromm had seen before. He could clearly see his own reflection, a tall, broad-shouldered man with shoulder-length black hair and a thick beard. He struck a pose, admiring himself as the mirror came down.

"This," Urgan said with a thud as the mirror touched the floor, "will adorn some pirate lord's palace, but not before he pays me a pretty sum."

"Aye, it'll sell," Imre agreed. "What else does this house hold?"

They searched the place high and low, prying open a door to the dusty cellar and scouring the house's attic in search of treasure, which they found in abundance. They piled together their spoils outside the front door. When they were finished, they gathered to admire the haul.

"That will buy us some pretty girls when we're back in port," one man exclaimed, and they all cheered.

"We should head back to camp," Pyet said, "before anything in this forest comes after us."

"Bah," Urgan snorted, "This was just one house, imagine what else is on this island! I'll not leave a single copper behind!"

"Half our number will go back," decided Bromm. "Return this plunder to Lukodo at camp. The rest of us will make for the lake. If all goes well, we will back to camp before nightfall."

"One more look before we leave," Urgan urged. "There must still be something of value in there."

"Alright," Bromm sighed, though in truth Urgan's search had already been exhaustive. "One more, then we leave."

The men nodded their assent, but Nyvald stepped up to pull Bromm aside. At his elbow was another of Urgan's cohorts, a sea rat named Geitan.

"Tell him, Geitan," urged Nyvald. The sea rat nodded, his weak chin bobbing.

"Aye, captain, there's something in these woods. I've seen the trees moving. Someone is watching us."