Read Online The Fathomless Fire by Thomas Wharton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas Wharton
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How he wished Shade was here with him now.
A friend will fall.
He shook his head, banishing terrible thoughts.
“So the message didn’t say where they were or when they’d be back?” he asked Edweth.
“It didn’t say,” the housekeeper said with a frown as she set a tray loaded with cheese, bread and various kinds of cakes on the table. “That was too much caution, to my mind. I’ve never told anyone anything that wasn’t their business, as he well knows. But tale be told, Will, you’re back in Fable and at least you’re safe and sound.”
She shook her head, as if amazed that he was actually here.
“They’ve talked so much about you since you left,” she said, gazing at him with teary eyes, though whether the look was one of admiration or concern, Will could not tell. Neither choice appealed to him.
“Who’s been talking about me?”
“Everyone. The tale of how you defeated that horrible Angel of Malabron and saved Rowen is one of the favourites around the fire at the Golden Goose and every other tavern in town. When I go to market I sometimes see the little urchins playing your adventures with the fetches and the dragon and—”
“My
adventures
?”
“I’m sure they have it all scrambled and blown up into something far worse than it was. At least I hope so. I don’t need more to worry about.”
“But how did the story get out, Edweth? Who would have told it?”
Edweth shook her head.
“This
is
the City of Stories, after all. All I know is, Rowen’s young friends in the Errantry have kept the story alive. They come here regularly to see if Rowen is back and all they can talk about is you. They’ve been hoping for your return, too. And now at last here you are.”
“
At last
,” Will echoed, and took a deep breath. “Balor Gruff says I’ve been gone a year.”
“That’s about right. That’s how your story’s had time to grow while you’ve been away. They’re calling you a great … now what was the word again?”
Will sighed.
“Pathfinder,” he said. But if it was true, he thought now, then maybe there was a chance he could find his friends before it was too late.
…I hear the voices of the fisherfolk calling
singing of the long-lost sea…
– The Kantar
N EAR THE EAVES OF the Forest of Eldark, just inside the Bourne, lies the little village of Molly’s Arm. It looks much the same as any other village in the Bourne, except that on closer inspection it doesn’t. For the cottages and bungalows of Molly’s Arm are all shaped like boats. Some have gangplanks instead of steps leading up to the front doors. A few even have masts, not for sails but for hanging the family washing. Despite the fact that there is no sea anywhere nearby, nor even a good-sized lake, a first-time visitor to Molly’s Arm could be forgiven for thinking a giant wave had just swept through the area and tossed an entire fishing fleet onto dry land.
The village sits perched on a high ridge overlooking a vast sweep of the forest. On gusty days the rush of the wind across the miles of the treetops resembles the waves of a great restless body of water, and that is happiness to the people of Molly’s Arm. Long ago they were proud and hardy fisherfolk who lived far away on the shore of a cold, misty sea. In those days the fat gleaming fish filled their nets to the brim, and all was well. But then the fat gleaming fish became thinner, and fewer, and harder to catch, until at last the nets were coming up empty out of the icy, indifferent waves. So the people turned from the sea and packed up their belongings and went in search of another ocean. After many long years of wandering they came to the Perilous Realm, and at last to the quiet woods and fields of the Bourne. They camped one night at the top of a bare ridge pointed like a ship’s prow at the deep dark forest, and when they heard the roar of the wind over the trees like a mighty surf, their weary hearts were filled once more with
A friend will fall.
He shook his head, banishing terrible thoughts.
“So the message didn’t say where they were or when they’d be back?” he asked Edweth.
“It didn’t say,” the housekeeper said with a frown as she set a tray loaded with cheese, bread and various kinds of cakes on the table. “That was too much caution, to my mind. I’ve never told anyone anything that wasn’t their business, as he well knows. But tale be told, Will, you’re back in Fable and at least you’re safe and sound.”
She shook her head, as if amazed that he was actually here.
“They’ve talked so much about you since you left,” she said, gazing at him with teary eyes, though whether the look was one of admiration or concern, Will could not tell. Neither choice appealed to him.
“Who’s been talking about me?”
“Everyone. The tale of how you defeated that horrible Angel of Malabron and saved Rowen is one of the favourites around the fire at the Golden Goose and every other tavern in town. When I go to market I sometimes see the little urchins playing your adventures with the fetches and the dragon and—”
“My
adventures
?”
“I’m sure they have it all scrambled and blown up into something far worse than it was. At least I hope so. I don’t need more to worry about.”
“But how did the story get out, Edweth? Who would have told it?”
Edweth shook her head.
“This
is
the City of Stories, after all. All I know is, Rowen’s young friends in the Errantry have kept the story alive. They come here regularly to see if Rowen is back and all they can talk about is you. They’ve been hoping for your return, too. And now at last here you are.”
“
At last
,” Will echoed, and took a deep breath. “Balor Gruff says I’ve been gone a year.”
“That’s about right. That’s how your story’s had time to grow while you’ve been away. They’re calling you a great … now what was the word again?”
Will sighed.
“Pathfinder,” he said. But if it was true, he thought now, then maybe there was a chance he could find his friends before it was too late.
…I hear the voices of the fisherfolk calling
singing of the long-lost sea…
– The Kantar
N EAR THE EAVES OF the Forest of Eldark, just inside the Bourne, lies the little village of Molly’s Arm. It looks much the same as any other village in the Bourne, except that on closer inspection it doesn’t. For the cottages and bungalows of Molly’s Arm are all shaped like boats. Some have gangplanks instead of steps leading up to the front doors. A few even have masts, not for sails but for hanging the family washing. Despite the fact that there is no sea anywhere nearby, nor even a good-sized lake, a first-time visitor to Molly’s Arm could be forgiven for thinking a giant wave had just swept through the area and tossed an entire fishing fleet onto dry land.
The village sits perched on a high ridge overlooking a vast sweep of the forest. On gusty days the rush of the wind across the miles of the treetops resembles the waves of a great restless body of water, and that is happiness to the people of Molly’s Arm. Long ago they were proud and hardy fisherfolk who lived far away on the shore of a cold, misty sea. In those days the fat gleaming fish filled their nets to the brim, and all was well. But then the fat gleaming fish became thinner, and fewer, and harder to catch, until at last the nets were coming up empty out of the icy, indifferent waves. So the people turned from the sea and packed up their belongings and went in search of another ocean. After many long years of wandering they came to the Perilous Realm, and at last to the quiet woods and fields of the Bourne. They camped one night at the top of a bare ridge pointed like a ship’s prow at the deep dark forest, and when they heard the roar of the wind over the trees like a mighty surf, their weary hearts were filled once more with
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