Oh come with me now children to a land not so far away, where a kingdom of old dwells amongst the seas frothy spray. The islands of Oseania, nestled by the sea, are but a page away, make haste now, and turn there with me.
So It Begins –
The night was black and the seas were churning as Henry Von Denton struggled to escape the pounding surf. To and fro the waves battered him, threatening to take him into their depths. Henry’s strength was quickly failing him. He knew that he had to reach the shore or else death would soon come. As he was about to give up hope, Henry suddenly felt earth beneath his feet. Adrenaline coursed through his body, he was going to make it. From the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach, Henry knew that the shoreline couldn’t be far off. He pressed on until he finally collapsed from exhaustion on the beach.
The storm ended sometime the next day but Henry did not awake. Two more days passed and yet he did not stir. Henry Von Denton was not dead, however, but lost in a fevered dream. Time no longer had meaning.
– – –
The voice that called to him sounded familiar. The light warm winds that blew against his face reminded him of another time and place.
“Henry, are you okay?”
Henry opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the glaring sun. Above him stood a man that looked a lot like him. Built like a Viking of old, Eric Von Denton, his father, looked at him with some concern.
“That was some hit to the head you just took. You alright?”
Henry slowly reached for his head and winced over the lump he felt on his right temple. He could feel his heart beat within it.
“Well, you just got smacked in the head with a falling sail.”
What had happened to the rough sea and the slave ship, Henry thought. Hadn’t he just made the swim of his life? Henry stood up and instantly felt the ship’s sway beneath him. Of course, he was on his father’s ship The Ottoman.
Eric continued to look at his son with great concern, ”You sure you’re okay? You seem a bit out of sorts.”
Henry decided in this moment to just embrace whatever was going on. The nightmare of his time in the mines on Breakwater and his subsequent escape from the slave ship were experiences he was glad to let go.
“Yes father, I’m fine.”
“Well good,” Eric said not believing. “Why don’t you go below and lay down. Captain Tiberius and I have things under control.”
Henry smiled reassuringly and headed below deck. Perhaps his year of living in a nightmare was but a dream? Settling into his hammock, he was soon lulled to sleep by the ships gentle rocking.
– – –
When Henry awoke, he no longer felt the ship moving. Instead he felt cold, wet, and feverish. His nightmare had been real.
“Please, do not move,” a deep voice said out of the darkness.
Startled, Henry opened his salt encrusted eyes and found that he was lying upon a hard surface. The room was dimly lit, and he could barely make out the figure of the man who had just spoken.
“Give me just one moment to get this fire going.”
The Stranger’s voice echoed off the walls. Where ever Henry was, the place was cavernous.
“Where am I?”
The Stranger cursed, ”Stupid matches… ah yes, you are… give me just a moment and the light will answer your questions.”
An unnatural fire suddenly sprang to life in what was a very large fire place. The sparse room was now illuminated in dark blues and sparks of orange. The Stranger moved across the room and placed his hand upon Henry’s forehead.
“You are burning up.”
Henry began to shiver violently as if on cue. The Stranger skillfully helped him remove his wet clothing and wrapped him in a blanket. Sitting now by the fire, dry, Henry asked once again, “Where am I? The last thing I remember was being on my father’s ship.”
“Henry Von Denton, where you are is not important. What is important is where you are going from here.”
“What does that mean and how do you know my name,” Henry asked questioningly. As warmth from the blanket and fireplace enveloped his body, he began to stare at the Stranger, “Who are you?”
“So many questions…so many questions… my name is Christopherson, I am a monk and the last of the Order of Aletheia.”
Henry looked at him in disbelief, “You’re a monk? You look so young.”
Christopherson chuckled, “I thank you for your compliment but assure you I am quite old.”
The crackle of the fire and the smell of pine permeated the room. The monastery was silent, seemingly empty.
“Where are we?”
“The island of Grace.”
– – –
Author’s Note: Didn’t write as much today as I would have liked (about 889 words). But I do think I am off to a good start. Drop me a comment and give me some feedback. Thanks.