Free Slow Turns The World by Andy Sparrow Page A

of the turning paddle driven by some unseen power.  They ate greedily and with mouths half full told the story of how they came upon the sea.  Then Torrin asked a question of Trabbir.
    “Have you served long upon the ship?”
    “I have belonged to the ship for most of my life since I was full-grown, but I was of Nejital.”
    Torrin looked at Valhad, who shrugged and shook his head.
    “We do not know of that tribe,” he said.
    “You do not know of Nejital?”  Trabbir laughed at them.  “Where does your tribe live, the dark side of the world?”
    “No,” said Torrin, “but on the edge of darkness, in the sunset lands.”
    “Then let me tell you,” said Trabbir, “that Nejital is not a tribe but an empire with many great cities; V'rena, Iranthrir, Hityil, Dh'lass…  I grew up in V'rena, which now lies on the dark side of the world.  When V'rena passed to darkness, as it must while the world still turns, our people crossed the sea in many ships, from one side of the world to the other, from sunset to dawn, to Iranthrir.  You could not guess how great and fair that city was, every gilded tower glinting under the newly risen sun.”  He grew silent for a moment, his dark brown eyes lost in some sad memory, then sighed, shook his head, and continued.  
     “We lived there but ten seasons, for then it was carried into the burning lands where the sun shines down from high, where no man can live, and so we sailed east to Hityil which was coming from the heat into the cooler margin of the world.   But, there are often disputes when families come from one city to the next and find others in their houses; disputes that run from one generation to another.   That is how I came to kill another man, why I was sold into slavery, and came upon this ship, like many that belong to her.”
     
    They slept long after eating and then were taken up to the stern of the ship.  The deck rose in tiers to a broad high platform where the ship's wheel was mounted, and also, suspended in gimballed frames, was a compass and an hourglass.   The Captain's skin was as wrinkled as old leather, his white beard long, but his body looked lean and strong, as if salt and spray had dried his skin and bleached his hair, rather than the passing of his time.  He stood taking a bearing upon the angle of the sun with a finely made instrument of gleaming metal.  Then he turned and spoke to another sailor who was studying a chart laid out before him.
    “What says the compass?”
    “Still true north north west, Captain.”
    “Then we are here, as we should be.” The Captain turned and pointed to a spot on the chart.
    “And our course?” asked the sailor.
    “As we are, and then around the Point of Gradala.  Then due east.”
    “East?  Into the darkness?”
    “If that is where our good Lord would go, and pay for, so it shall be.”
    The Captain looked at Torrin and Valhad.
    “So these are the two who should be in the belly of the serpent?   Luck shines upon you, and luck will always find a home with us.  Your lives belong to the ship, serve her well and she shall serve you.”
    “Sir,” said Torrin, “we shall repay the debt we owe you, but our lives are our own.  We would leave the ship when land is met and find our way back to our tribe.”
    “You will repay the debt first,” said the Captain,  “and debts come no greater.  The crew of this ship come from many ports, most as slaves or prisoners saved from dungeons without hope, or the executioner’s blade.  Every man pays his debt to the ship.  Most come in manacles and by good service earn small rewards; first to walk without chains and then to go ashore when land is met.   Serve well and hard and there will be payment for you and even freedom may come.  If you will not take these terms there is another way; see there…”
    They followed the Captain’s pointed finger and saw a crewman scrubbing the lower deck, chains manacled to his ankles.
    “The ship gives