Chapter 4: Book 1: Chapter 4 (A Bumpy Ride)

Chapter 4

            As they drove south down Fin Island, Vince found it a challenge to pinpoint the exact spot Port Harrington began. It came to mind as Bayla repeatedly asked if they were there yet. They clearly started outside of the city proper, though the unbroken old growth pine forest began to thin out as they passed through the old logging camps. The acres of wheat that were turned into the overpriced Fin Island’s Best Pancake Mix were closer to civilization, but they were not there yet. The road went from dirt to paved, even if the pothole-riddle asphalt was a few years past its replacement date. Bayla complained about the shaking car, so Vince slowed their pace.

            “So, besides the bumps, how are you liking the land so far?”

            Bayla shrugged, another gesture that came to her naturally. “It feels strange to be tethered to the ground. If we were in the kelp forest, we could swim to the tops of the trees, or down to the bottom. This is a very restricted view. How do you deal with it?”

            “We don’t really have a choice,” said Vince. “I never thought of it that way.”

            “We will see if the novelty makes up for it. I have thought about what I want to see once we get to Port Harrington,” said Bayla as she began counting off on her fingers. “I want to have a Landman meal, see what you do for music, and take in a fight.”

            Vince raised his eyebrow, though his eyes never left the road. “A fight?”

            “I’ve heard of the entertainment you have,” she said. “Rooster fights, dog fights, maybe even a bear baiting. Those sound exciting!”

            “We, uh, don’t go for that around here.”

            Bayla’s shocked eyes went wide in the mirror. “Whyever not? Fights are a wonderful diversion.”

            “We don’t make animals fight for us. We could probably see a joust come the Ren Faire. There’s also boxing matches on TV, but nothing in person.”

            “Bah,” she said, folding her arms under chest and pouting. “What do you do for amusement, then?”

            “There’s the movie theater, the shopping district, the art shows, and you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

            “None at all,” she said, sounding awfully confident for having her ignorance exposed. Her nose wrinkled. “What in the seas is happening right now?”

            Vince glanced around, not seeing anything amiss. A quick sniff explained it all. “We’re passing a dairy. It’s where we get milk from cows.”

            “No, not that,” she said, pinching her nose shut. “Something is happening to my blowhole, like a taste in the air, and it’s awful!”

            “Oh!” Vince smirked at her. “I guess you don’t usually have a sense of smell, do you?”

            “Is that what that is? How disgusting! Smell is for sharks, God’s compensation because they can’t echolocate,” she declared in a haughty tone. “Higher lifeforms like me have no need of it.”

            “It’s just a little cow manure,” he said, switching the AC to internal air. “We’ll add that to the to-do list: find you a smell you like.”

            She squeezed her eyes shut, sticking out her tongue. “I doubt you will succeed.”

            “I accept your challenge.” Vince sniffed the air, catching a whiff of something besides the passing farm. “Speaking of smell, we could both use a shower.”

            She cracked one eye open. “Shower? Like a rain shower?”

            “Like that, but indoors, and piping hot,” he explained. “I promise, you’ll love them.”

            “If you say so,” said Bayla, sounding less sure.

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            Most of the hikers had fled home after the downpour that presaged Bayla’s arrival at the beach. If any had ventured out to Greene Point, they would have seen a young woman clad in white and gold flying down the beach, riding side-saddle on a gnarled staff the same color as her garb. Perhaps most impressive of all, her pointed white hat stayed on despite the constant bluster of the ocean breeze. That was one of the first spells they taught new witch inductees, for obvious reasons.

She traced a path along the coast, weaving back and forth several times before landing at the scene of Bayla’s transformation.

“This ocean weather is awfully chilly,” she said, stifling a sneeze. Drawing her white half-cape around her shoulders, she chanted a spell in an alien tongue. A red glow surrounded her, returning the warmth to limbs. “Much better!”

Now that she was in no danger of freezing, the witch turned her attention back to her task. The white-garbed figure frowned, checking her instrument again. The bent wire of the dowsing rod vibrated as it passed over a section of the creek bed, but it stopped before she could take two paces towards the surf.

            There’s no mistaking it: the blackfish was here. Where is she now? Clearly not hiding, and there isn’t a track down to the sea. By all rights, she should still be here!

            The only comfort was that if somebody had butchered the blackfish, there’d be some trace of so much blood and gore. That meant there was still time to find her first, if she was diligent.

The tracker hunkered down, looking for some hint in the magically charged mud. The lazy current of the creek had obliterated most of the mundane traces, but he saw a set of shoeprints moving up one side of the bank and down the other, far from the fingers of water tracing their way back to the Puget Sound.

Her eyes fell upon the hilt of Vince’s hunting knife. She lifted it, flicking off the sand clinging to it. The brand from Schneider’s Fantastic Weaponry was unmistakable; the blacksmith advertised everywhere he could on Fin Island.

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            “Local help? Her pod has no allies here; besides, who could possibly move a creature that large without a trace?” The tracker signed in frustration. “Not that I had much of a plan, but I doubt they are much better off in these lands.”

            A theory crossed the tracker’s mind, recalling the talent of orca mages for taking on a form that could cross the land. As memory served, the spell could not be used too often due to strain on the body. The blackfish would still be in a humanoid form, which meant that the search area was literally anywhere on Fin Island.

            Easier than searching the whole Puget Sound, I suppose. Thank the Creator for small favors.

The witch contemplated calling for support, but reconsidered. No help would be coming this far from home base, and it could only expose how her mission had gone awry. She had too much pride to admit that… just yet. This was all still salvageable.

“So much for this being a simple task.” The tracker sighed, clutching pensively at her wooden staff. A confident nod dispelled those worries. “Fret later! If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing!”

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Bayla sighed in relief as Vincemeyer… Vince Meyer declared they were close to his home.

She wished she had paid more attention to the diplomats’ tales of the Landman realms. Everything Vince had described was completely foreign to her. She knew milk, but not what a cow was. She had heard of wagons, but she thought they had to be drawn by a large animal. Maybe a cow? Was there more than one animal the humans used?

            After passing by the ‘dairy’ that had assaulted her blowhole, they had passed more stands of trees and Landman dwellings. There was a wide disparity; some towered into the sky, while others were not much larger than Vince’s car. Did some of them have wheels? There were so many of them gathered together. Why would a home need wheels?

At least she could read the signs. Welcome to Port Harrington, the Jewel of the Puget Sound.

            Puget Sound? She must have gone further off course than she thought; she had never even heard of the place.

She focused on the scenery and geography, because the important questions were more terrifying. How would she change back to her true form? She felt so helpless, and not simply because she was trapped inside of a stuffy box, hurtling among other cars faster than she’d ever swum before.

Every motion felt foreign, even if she was getting better with practice. She had finally gotten her damned hair out of her eyes, but she was embarrassed by how many tries it had taken. I’m as helpless as a ship caught in the current. If she had been just a bit taller, if Vince did not tower over her, she might have felt surer of herself. She had bested him in a fight before, but was that because she was stronger, or had she only caught him by surprise? The porpoise can slay the Great White while he sleeps, as they say.

She had never seen a Landmaiden before, since the fishermen she had met were all men. It was surreal that she was the first female of the race she had ever encountered. Perhaps her diminutive height was normal? I am not sure how tall Vince is, either. Is he a giant, or normal? Everything feels the wrong size.

Vince apologized as they hit another ‘pothole’ in the road, and Bayla used her hands to stop her new breasts from bouncing. Again.

She clicked in annoyance. Did all Landmaidens have so much useless flesh in the front? Her normal form was so sleek and efficient, able to cut through the water like her teeth through the flesh of an unlucky seal. Now she had to contend with this extra weight. The problem had not emerged while walking, but the violent shaking of this lobster-trap he called a car was wearing on her nerves. I can’t imagine swimming like this, and if I can’t swim, what good am I?

She did see Vince watching her steady her chest, and his freckled face reddened again as he glanced away. He must not have been lying about me being a beauty; he seems befuddled half the time, and that’s when I’m wearing skins.

“We’ll uh, we’ll look into getting you some underwear,” he said.

Bayla cocked her head at him, letting out a curious squeal, inviting him to continue. The inhuman noise seemed to disquiet Vince, so she switched to his language. “Under-ware? Would it stop the jostling? Is that how Landmaidens get by?”

“It is.” He scratched at his cheek, turning yet redder. “You’re a bit more, ah, blessed than most, so we might not be able to stop it completely.”

So she was special. Irritation turned to a swell of pride. She’d had her share of suitors from the neighboring pods, and it seemed that her new form would be no different.

She blinked twice before frowning. Well, that is a disquieting thought. The idea of coupling with a Landman seemed unnatural; they were clever animals, but not on the level of her kind.

She caught Vince sneaking another look at her. Poor delusional Landman; he was so taken with her, it was almost embarrassing. Vince would be a good ally and perhaps even a friend, but nothing more. Not that he was not bad looking, with his broad shoulders, eyes like kelp in the sunlight, and hair the same color as a Sunrise Mackerel’s tail.

Bayla felt a strange warmth on her own face as she studied her benefactor. What is this? I hope I’m not ill. Clearly it is not the same reaction he has to me.

She averted her eyes in time to catch another sign. Cedar Hill Condominiums. “Is this your dwelling?” She could not help but sound impressed; the structure was the tallest they had passed, and it gleamed in the setting sun like a polished abalone shell.

“It is,” said Vince as he pulled into a lined space and shut off the thrumming engine.

“You must be a prince to have a palace like this!” Before Vince could respond, Bayla let out an annoyed click. “Why did you choose this spot? It’s the furthest from the building! We have already walked entirely too much today.” She went to open the door, but found the mechanism was different than the outside.

“It’s my assigned spot,” said Vince with an awkward chuckle. “I do alright for myself, but I’m no prince. I rent a room on the third floor.”

“Oh.” She tried the door again. Perhaps I push instead of pull it? No, now it is not moving at all.

“Do you need help?” asked Vince as he exited the car.

“I-I heard it was proper manners for Landmen to open the door for Landmaidens,” she said, abandoning her struggles with the latch. She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed under her chest. “It is only proper to follow the local customs.”

The poor fool fell for it as he circled the car and held the door. He must have enjoyed having a ravishing beauty like her give him orders, since he bore a smirk on his face. Being a Landmaiden isn’t so hard after all. You simply need good servants.

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