Ian Uh Birds

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Yasmin was in a funk because her older sister was getting married. So Ian resolved to bring her something special back from this run to Crete, but the market had nothing to impress, because what luxury merchant would stop in a backwater like Candia when the prices were so much better in Venice?

Which led to Ian Huntley walking the sere uplands above Candia, looking for a way down the steep cliffs to collect eggs from petrels and shearwaters. Yasmin’s collection of bird eggs was her pride and joy, and there being no cliffs near Alexandria, he knew she had neither. The edge was a daunting drop, three hundred feet or more to a rocky surf, and leaning out gave him a touch of vertigo. Maybe that purple scarf would be enough? But he was here, and might as well look.

Spotting the rope seemed a stroke of luck. Any sailor worth his salt judges a rope at a glance, and this was new, high quality line, anchored around a knob of stone with a seaman-like knot he could only approve of. He tested it, leaned out to look down, and found a steep, but not vertical slope, with a series of ledges below. It was perfect. He wrapped the rope around his shoulders and began the descent to the first ledge.

It was wider than it looked from above, contouring around the cliff face, and he followed west, looking up for nests, finding several candidates, all out of reach. Following the ledge around an outcrop, he was surprised to come upon the black crevice of a cave, a crack in the rock two spans wide and twice as tall.

That’s where it all began.

He could see four men in the dimness, two large men in peasant dress holding a much smaller man, dressed in rags, by his arms. Facing them was a dark haired man dressed in noble finery, wearing a red head wrap and brandishing a long dagger.

“You tell me where it is now, or I start taking fingers off!” the noble shouted. The small man only muttered something, looking down. “Look at me, you heathen bastard, or I’ll gut you!” Red Scarf threatened.

Life at sea isn’t easy, but it teaches one to size up the situation and act without hesitation. The cave contained a pallet, a small Christian shrine, and a few cooking utensils. Red Scarf and his goons were robbing a hermit, which offended Ian greatly, and he decided to stop it. Sometimes lives and empires pivot on such impulsive decisions.

“Stop this!” he demanded in Greek, using a voice used to giving orders on storm tossed decks. “Release that man, and leave now, or you’ll regret it!”

There was a stunned silence before the hermit began muttering again. Red Scarf looked at him with narrowed eyes, turning to brandish his knife at the newcomer.

“Fuck off, or I’ll kill you!” he said, taking a threatening step.

It was going to shit fast, and really didn’t need to.

“Put the knife down, sir. There’s no call for violence,” Ian said with a placating gesture. “You can’t rob a holy man. You need to leave.”

“Holy man? Him? You don’t know shit. Leave, or my boys will toss you,” Red Scarf menaced, moving towards him. “Tako, Steff, see him off!” he commanded with a gesture towards Ian, but the goons remained in place, holding the hermit.

Red Scarf glanced behind him at his men, standing unnaturally still. The hermit was looking up, a smile showing through his wispy beard.

“Oh shit. Let them go, you bastard!” the man screamed, whirling to wave his knife at the hermit. “Let them go, or I’ll gut you where you stand!” Forgotten, Ian edged forward.

The hermit shrugged off the men holding him, stepping back, and said something incomprehensible to the noble.

“It won’t work, I’m shielded. Now let them go or die!” There was a long silence as Red Scarf prepared for violence. When he rushed at the hermit, Ian darted forward, seizing his knife arm with both hands and swinging him round to crash into the cookpots. Quick as a flash, the hermit seized an iron pot and bashed the fallen man on the head, again and again until there was no chance he would rise.

The little man dropped the bloody kettle and turned to glare at his rescuer.

“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?” he demanded in Greek with a heavy Egyptian accent, his air anything but friendly. He was darked skinned, with closely cropped gray hair and a wrinkled, weatherbeaten face that didn’t have the habit of smiling.

“Ian, uh, birds…” Ian stuttered, surprised at this reception.

The little man rummaged among the cookpots and withdrew a short staff, which he pointed with an air of menace. “Who sent you, Ian Uh Birds?”

“No one sent me!”

“Why the hell are you here?” The hermit made a complex gesture with his left hand while pointing the staff at Ian, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him, even as his gorge rose.

“I came looking for bird eggs,” his mouth said in a toneless voice, before he was aware of speaking. What was happening?

“And who sent you?”

“No one sent me,” said the same flat voice.

“Why did you interfere?”

“They were robbing you.”

“Why did you interfere,” this time with more force.

“It was wrong.”

The hermit gave an amused snort. “Little fool! Wait there while I finish this, they won’t hold forever.”

Ian felt his limbs go leaden, and panic washed over him when he realized he couldn’t move.

The hermit bent over the ruined noble, fumbling at his throat until he stood with a cry of triumph, brandishing a leather thong that dangled a pendant. The wizened man studied his prize for a long moment.

“Damn, it would have worked. This is potent work.” He gave Ian a considering look, and turned to the two peasants, still standing motionless as statues.

“Pick him up,” he gestured at them, and the men shuffled to Red Scarf, each taking an arm and a leg, hoisting the man.

“Throw him over,” the hermit said, gesturing toward the ledge in front of the cave. The men lumbered awkwardly to the edge, and clumsily dropped the corpse over the precipice.

“Follow him,” the little man gestured, and suddenly Ian was alone with him.

“Do you know who I am?” the sorcerer asked, for surely he was a sorcerer.

“No.” Once again, his mouth answered involuntarily. He must be under some sort of enchantment. But magic was just superstition, this was the Age of Reason!

“Where do you stand in the Great Fight?”

“I am loyal to Bora’s Claw.”

“Bora? No, in the Great Fight?”

“What are you talking about?.”

“Are you adept?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about the arcane world?”

“No.”

The hermit began to laugh, a raspy rattling sound. “You idiot, you have no idea what you did, do you?”

“No.”

“I have to kill you, wipe your memories, or gift you. What’s it to be?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“So be it. Do you want to remember this day?”

Ian squirmed, his guts churning, not understanding what was happening. The man was interrogating him, but it wasn’t him answering, or at least not his normal waking self.

“Yes,” eventually came out.

The wizard gave an annoyed sigh. “A gift then. What do you want, Ian Uh Birds?”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Do you want gold?”

“I have gold.” The voyage had been prosperous beyond expectations. This little man was starting to piss him off, and he could feel a struggle, deep inside, somehow feeling his will rising against a fuzzy gray cloud that kept insisting he didn’t care about any of it.

“What do you do, Ian Uh Birds?”

“I captain the galley Bora’s Claw.” Then, suddenly piercing the gray cloud, he was able to speak of his own accord, “And who are you?”

“Aah. So you are perhaps not so pitiful. I am Menes of Luxor. And you have, against all odds and common sense, saved my life.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t need payment. I just want to leave.”

“That’s not how it works. I won’t be in your debt. Choose a favor.”

“I want to leave.”

“And you will, when we’re settled. What do you want?”

“From you? Nothing!”

“I ask again, what do you want?” This time Menes gestured with his staff, and Ian felt the gray cloud wash over him, blurring his vision and giving him a lurch of vertigo. The gray cloud was trying to force him to say things he didn’t wish to, was sworn to keep secret. He fought against it.

“I want to be a great captain,” he managed.,

“Better, I can work with that,” Menes mused to himself. “Dukar would have killed me if you hadn’t been here. His thugs were useless after they touched me, but the charm he wore stopped me. And he was armed, and I was not. So it has to be something worthwhile, not a trivial thing. Ah, I have it!” The little man’s face lit up with a smile that made him look almost pleasant. Then he turned inward, beginning muttering.

Ian tried to roll his shoulders, and felt them twitch the tiniest bit, so he leaned in, pushing hard against the gray fog, feeling them move. Menes gave a grunt that might have been surprise, but continued his muttering for long minutes while Ian freed his arms and torso. His legs were still frozen when Menes stopped his chanting and approached.

“This might sting,” the wizard said, tapping him on the forehead with his wand.

Lightning filled Ian’s vision, and his world roared with searing pain. When he was aware of his surroundings again, he was on his knees, retching up his breakfast, his vision covered with black spots. He heaved until there was nothing left, panting, the grit on the cave floor digging into his hands, the spots fading slowly. He gingerly made it to his feet, turning to face a grinning Menes through a throbbing headache.

“What did you do?”

“I gave you a sailor’s gift.”

“What did you do?”

“You’ll figure it out. But if Dukar can find me here, others will follow. I have to leave. You coming?”

Ian took a few shaky steps. “I can’t climb a rope right now.”

The old man’s cackle made him sound a little mad. “Follow me.”