Thank you very much for the kind and uplifting review. I’ve just begun shopping this book around to agents and got my first rejection letter yesterday and so was kind of bummed, so I was very glad to read your kind comments. Indeed, a compliment of my ‘voice’ is most welcome as I was very afraid it was too out there and academic like. Also, saying that I was capable of literature was more then I could have ever hoped for.
Writing a fantasy book about pirates (as this one is) can make you feel a little cheesy and cheap, but you helped to remind me why I took on the task in the first place: in hopes of telling a grand, epic, and adventurous story which still allows for the display of human relationships and emotions.
Anyway, thanks again and the best of luck to you in all your writing.
-Cheers
Novel Treatments / The Libertine
First 10 Pages-
Chapter 1- Oliver of Salomé
I dream of something greater. Of something beyond these shores of Andora. Of heroes, creatures, gods, faeries, magic, wonder, and fantasy. I dream and I linger always on it, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid it’s all gone now, lost to a time too long ago to be anything more than myth. But still I dream. And my dreams are growing bold. Where will these questions take me? Where shall these scribbled hopes lead? Away with this bottle to those forgotten worlds is all I’ve left to dream. -The Boy of the Vine
These were the words scribbled in spidery writing onto the parchment page of a little brown book. A book with no print, no title, and no story. Only a thousand notes long since ripped out. A thousand thoughts spilled onto that page. A thousand memories drifted off down the Puckery River as it flowed slowly in this autumn of Andora.
An old, gnarl limbed oak tree clung with tortured roots to the north bank of that Puckery River, casting its long limbs and an even longer shadow over the water as the sun sailed down into the west horizon. The yellowing leaves above sang pattering songs spurred on by a slow east wind. And in the crooked roots below there sat a boy.
A boy they called Oliver Tribly.
His black pants were rolled up to his knees, revealing rather skinny legs, while the rolled up sleeves of his shirt gave way to even skinnier arms. Indeed, he was a rather skinny boy all around, but, never having been otherwise, he did not much notice.
Worn black boots dangled just above the water’s surface; long brown hair hid him from the setting sun; and brown eyes, with other colors to be found by those who searched, stared down in contemplation at the book set in his lap.
‘Should I care so much for answers? For worlds I don’t even know?’ He thought as his gaze shifted from the spidery words to the east horizon. ‘Should it make any difference in the end?’
Ripping out the parchment page of his little brown book, Oliver jumped to his feet, slipped the note into a bottle, and cast it as far down river as he could manage. A light splash 20 fathoms off marked the bottles departure; a fathom being the length of a mans arms around the one he loves; and back into the oaks knotted roots he settled himself.
Across the river tall poplars dropped golden leaves into the river below, under a nearby chestnut tree squirrels collected nuts for their winter stores, and in the branches of the gnarled oak a pair of magpies gazed down at Oliver as he scribbled out another note: I have a question, a question I don’t even know how to ask, but I know it’s there. And answers, they’re somewhere as well. Not here, not now, but somewhere . . . out there. –The Boy of the Vine
Instantly he grabbed another bottle, stuffed the note inside, jumped to his feet, aimed up river, and again cast the bottle as far as his skinny arms would allow. As he turned to sit, however, he heard not the small splash that should have accompanied the bottles departure, but a dull thud and quickly Oliver spun back to the west.
Narrowing his eyes, he tried to pierce the orange shades the setting sun had spilled atop the water’s surface. Dark eyebrows hovered above his brown eyes with a small nose set below. Thin lips ran about a small mouth, sharp cheek bones were made sharper by the afternoon shadows, and a delicate voice shouted up stream, “Hello?”
Just a canal boat he supposed, they were common enough during the autumn, or a raft, perhaps a log, a rock.
“Anyone there,” he called again, but there was no reply and so Oliver quickly pulled off his boots, slipped from his shirt, and dove into the shallow depths of the Puckery River.
Surfacing 4 fathoms from the old oak tree, he looked again to the distance and could now make out some large object floating atop the water. Still nothing definite, but definitely something, and so he slipped again underwater, swimming harder this time, scraping against the smooth rocks at the rivers bottom, and surfacing right next to a shabbily made raft attended to by only a swarm of flies.
Quickly he pulled himself up onto the raft, but then instantly threw himself back into the river shouting, “Shit!”
His hands still held the wooden planks, but he kept himself as far back as possible. His breaths had gone shallow, but his heart beat deep. And slowly the curiosity that always seemed to surge inside him began to overwhelm and so back to the raft he moved, again pulling himself up onto the edge, and looked upon the decay it held.
Splayed across the sun bleached wood was a man, or what may once have been called a man. His hands and feet were each tied to a corner of the raft; ribs were starting to show through the rotted skin; and, as the sun continued to set in the west, strange shadows were cast across the sunken flesh.
Yet through the shadows and dark recesses of this decay there came a glint of orange light; a flash amidst the festering organs within; and Oliver reached delicately into the rotting body, grasped that glint of light, and drew out a small knife. A switch blade, to be exact, with the blade tucked into the handle and a small release lever.
The knife was nothing any one would call grand, especially with blood and guts spilled upon it, but as Oliver cleaned it off in the river he found it was not entirely without value. The handle was made of a pitch black substance and carved with a few swirling sea waves now nearly worn away. The blade, as he pressed the small lever and watched it pop out from the handle, still gleamed despite its dullness. Most of the knifes intrigue, however, was due to the place of its discovery.
‘Who was this man and why had he been tied to this raft? Moreover, who could desecrate a corpse like this, leaving it to wander lost, carried along by the river currents, strapped down so all of nature could have their taste of flesh.’
“Have you heard of the Davésa business?” Came a distant voice from up stream, turning Oliver’s attention from the raft.
“No, I don’t think I have.”
Quickly Oliver slipped the dead man’s knife into his pocket, dropped back into the water, and pulled the raft over to the north bank. Dragging it on to the shore, he managed to hide it amongst a large collection of reeds and bushes and, as he looked back up river and spotted a canal boat emerging through the glare, he too hid amongst the reeds, listening as the men spoke on.
“Something about a nearby forest. Not quite sure what it’s all about, but we should reach the town by tomorrow, perhaps they’ll have news of it.”
“Just the country folk and their tales I suppose,” the other replied as the canal boat moved passed the old, gnarl limbed oak tree clinging to the river’s north bank. “Such ludicrous notions.”
“Aye. And have you heard their tales of those drac creatures?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“It’s some monster they say once lived on Andora. Ugly beasts that would steal new mothers or some such nonsense . . .”
Slowly the two men’s voices faded down the river and still Oliver hid, his eyes glued to the men as long as they could be spotted, breath bated, heart racing, and a small grin come to his lips. He couldn’t say why, but he was excited, terribly excited, and it was not until a voice called out his name that he finally turned from the river to the field of wild poppies that ran along the river’s bank.
“Oliver,” the voice called again. The voice of a boy moving through the red flowers with a fishing pole in hand. And Oliver rose slowly from the reeds.
“I’m here Henri.”
“Oh . . . Oliver . . . what are you doing down there?”
“Well . . . I’ve found something on the river.”
“Really,” Henri said, moving swiftly down the bank, “is it another row boat? Perhaps we can try sailing down to Deniger again. It really was just bad luck about hitting that rock last time — SHIT!” He shouted as he caught sight of the corpse, jumped back, tripped through the reeds, threw up his fishing pole, and nearly fell into the river.
“Easy there,” Oliver said, laughing as he helped Henri back up. “It can’t hurt you, it’s already dead.”
“Indeed . . . but . . . what is it?”
“A dead man.”
“Yes, I mean . . . where’d it come from?”
“Up river I imagine. It was floating mid stream, I had to swim out to get it.”
“Well . . . why’d you pull it over to the bank?” Henri asked, keeping his eyes on Oliver who took a long moment to consider the question.
“I don’t know.”
“Right . . . and . . . was it . . . was it already dead when you found it . . . I mean you didn’t . . .”
“Didn’t what?”
“That man . . . was he—“
“I didn’t kill him Henri.”
“No, of course not,” Henri said straight away and, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced, Oliver said nothing of it. Instead, he simply turned back to the corpse and took to studying the decay again.
“But who would do this?”
“Well, criminals . . . don’t you reckon?”
“Yes, but what sort of criminals?”
“Does it matter?” Henri asked, keeping a safe distance from the corpse. “Look, perhaps we should just leave it be. I mean, being friends with a corpse can’t be good . . . can it?”
“No, I suppose not . . . it’s getting late anyway. I should be off for home.”
“Right, me as well,” Henri said, quickly collecting his fishing pole and tackle.
“Do you think he was dead before he floated off or after though?” Oliver asked, looking back to the dead man once more as he climbed up the bank.
“Well . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Right, I’ll see you later than.”
“Wait,” Henri shouted after Oliver. “Are you just going to leave it here.”
“Yes, but don’t tell anyone about it.”
Through the fields of waist high poppies and onto a poplar lined road called the Puck Road he ran. Passed freshly cut hay stacks dotting the nearby fields, small stone houses with kitchen gardens smelling of fennel and jasmine, and west toward a small cluster of buildings nestled in against the river. Just as he caught sight of this village of Salomé, however, Oliver turned onto a smaller road. A drive way of golden gravel which climbed quickly to an old windmill perched atop the peak of a valley.
The wooden blades creaked gently in the heavy autumn wind and dangled torn bits of canvas. Winding vines were beginning to consume the wood. And the structure sat rather lopsided, one side leaning over as the base rotted. But still the windmill stood, like an old sentinel guarding the valley beyond.
And down into that valley Oliver ran, passing by rows of grape vine on his left, a small grove of plum trees on his right, and a stone and thatch pressing house in the valley’s base. Farm hands with wine bottles in hand called greetings to him as he dashed passed the pressing house and continued on to a building constructed of sun baked stone and a red tiled roof, the home of Oliver Tribly.
The house was no palace, especially on the island of Andora, but still boasted a considerable grandeur. The west facing façade bore the brunt of the setting sun and would have shone in such a light, but was covered with green vine winding its way over the stone. Just in front of the house, however, a set of wide, stone steps did shine magnificently in the setting sun. And up these steps Oliver jumped, onto a patio, and on through a set of heavy wooden doors. Through the foyer, through the hallway decorated with landscape paintings and framed maps; and out onto a terrace overlooking the back gardens. A terrace roofed with vine and lattice under which there sat a large stone table, several dishes of food, and a lone man of forty two. A man called Percival Tribly.
“Oliver, glad you could make it,” Percival said with a smile as he reached for a nearby cane.
“Oh, please don’t bother yourself father.”
“No, no.” Percival said as he brought his cane around and struggled to his feet. “A father should be allowed to stand for his son.”
His hair was not as long as Oliver’s and far more neatly kept, but was beginning to show the gray of age. As well, he was quite a bit shorter, only nine and a half leefs to Oliver’s ten, a leef being about half the height of a wine bottle. Add to that the hunched form his body took with the use of the cane and he became quite a small fellow.
“And how was your day Oliver. Any exciting adventures?” Percival asked as he and Oliver settled into their seats.
“Nothing terribly grand. Me and Henri just went fishing—” Oliver started, but was stopped as a second, much older man stepped out onto the terrace, carrying a plate of roast duck in his hand and setting it amidst the other dishes.
“Ah, thank you Marshall.”
“Anything else Mr. Tribly?” The old man, Marshall, asked, his hair tied back behind his head and his hands gloved.
“Umm . . . perhaps a bottle of wine. Sixteen thirty I should think.”
“Excellent sir.” Marshall said and, with a small bow, disappeared back into the house.
“So fishing ehh. You know I used to be quite the fisherman in my day as well. Of course back then we could also catch kappas and water dragons.” Percival said to which Oliver could only grin skeptically and shortly Marshall returned with the wine. “Ah, thank you. And would you be so kind as to join us for some dinner?”
“I’m sorry sir, but I’m afraid I’m due in the city for dinner shortly. I hope it’s alright if I leave a little early this evening.”
“Oh yes, of course. You may go now if you like. Thank you Marshall.” Percival said and Marshall stepped out.
“And give her our best,” Percival shouted after him before turning back to Oliver with a large grin. “I dare say our Marshall’s got himself a girlfriend. Third time he’s gone to dinner in ten days. You know he is not a bad looking fellow when you consider it. Never spends his money either, I bet he has a fortune saved up. It’s right time for him to find love. But you were telling me about your day. Please continue.”
“Oh . . . well there wasn’t much more, nothing exciting anyway.”
“Oh come then my boy. I do not get out much so you must entertain me with your tales of the world. Even if they aren’t exciting.”
“Well . . .” Oliver began, pondering his days adventures. It was hardly the stuff of dinner conversation but, as he looked to his father who returned the look with eager eyes, he decided neither could bear to put it off. “I was down at the river today, by the big oak tree, when I discovered a man. Well a raft really, with a man on it, a dead man.”
“Oh my . . . a dead man you say. Well that is odd isn’t it.” His father said, quickly stuffing an olive into his mouth before continuing. “You know . . . I’ve heard tales of creatures who disguise themselves as rafts on the river. They say if you touch the raft the creature grabs you, turns back into its true form, and dives down into the water, taking you with it.”
“Indeed,” Oliver said, finding himself turned from his own tale. “And what is its true form?”
“Well no one knows do they? They’ve all drown. Of course some say they don’t drown, but are forced to live in the depths of the river as a slave, servant, or sometimes a husband. Risky bit of business any way you look at it. It could be that’s what happened to your man, dragged under and drown when he touched the raft. Then floated back up to the surface awaiting a new victim” then, looking to his son and speaking suddenly quite serious, he added, “You didn’t touch the raft did you?”
“Well . . . yes, but nothing like that happened.”
“Oh, well of course not. Not too many creatures like that in Andora these days are there.” His father said, jolly again as he buttered a slice of bread. “But I am sorry, you were telling a story. Please go on.”
“Well, it was just a shabby little raft with this dead man on it. His hands and feet were tied to the corners so his body was stretched out across the wood. Most of his flesh had already been eaten away and the rest seemed as if it would not last any great amount of time. I guess I just thought it was curious. Rather a harsh way to treat a dead man or to kill a man. I figured he had to be a slave or criminal or something for such treatment . . .”
“I don’t think any slave owner would give up his property so easily. The taxes on them are murder, even in death, forgive the pun.” Percival said as he took to carving the roast duck. “Could be a criminal condemned I suppose. Some new sort of death sentence. But floating down the river?”
“There was a canal boat that came just after it,” Oliver suggested, “I don’t think it had anything to do with the man though.”
“And how far along was the decay?”
“Well . . . his ribs were showing through, how long before that happens?”
“Quite a while normally, but on the water, in the sun, with this many flies, and its been terribly hot lately. I suppose we could say five days. What’s five days up river?”
“Umm . . .” Oliver began, trying to envision a map of Andora in his head, but his father was quicker to it.
“Avilo’s maybe two and a half . . . Lebel and Trudion . . . three days, three and a half . . . anything in the Racine Mountains . . . Simpagne I suppose. That must be about four days. Could’ve got caught up somewhere I suppose, stuck on the bank for a few days . . . unless . . .” and Percival shoved a bit of duck into his mouth while his thoughts worked themselves out. “Unless it floated in from the sea.”
“From the sea?”
“Near Lebel. It could have flowed straight into the river there.”
“What do you mean? I mean who at sea would do this?”
“I don’t know . . . perhaps we have a book on the matter.” His father said, taking up his glass of wine, “but perhaps not.”
Oliver found his hand unconsciously moved to his pocket, grasping the dead man’s knife, but it only took a moment’s fingering of the smooth handle before he decided not to tell that bit of the tale. Stealing a man’s possession, even a dead man’s, was not the sort of story you told your father and so he stuffed it deeper into his pocket before reaching for a piece of bread.
“Dracs!” Percival shouted out suddenly. “That’s what they’re called. A sort of water creature, often take the form of a raft to entice nursing women who are bathing in the river. They need the new mothers milk to nurse their children I believe. If the dracs nurse them themselves they turn out all ugly and deformed, but with a humans milk they grow up proper. Used to live on Andora in fact, even on the Puckery. Of course they’re all died out or moved on by now, but I have an uncle or cousin of some sort who said he saw one on Decatur. Claimed to have seen a creature called a selkie as well. Man was an old drunk though so who knows what he really saw . . .”
Synopsis-
The Libertine is the fantastical tale of Oliver Tribly. A boy who has spent the eighteen years of his life dreaming idly of the world beyond his island of Andora. That is until, while sitting on the bank of the nearby Puckery River, he discovers the corpse of a murdered man and, within that corpse, a small black handled knife which he pockets. This strange discovery, however, is only the first of several increasingly odd events.
A strange old man called Lartius becomes a guest at the Tribly’s vineyard. A black carriage arrives in the middle of the night with a man searching for Lartius, only to find he’s already fled. And Lartius leaves behind a small, lead coin with a note for Oliver saying it is an amulet which will protect any who carries it.
Lartius also leaves behind an order for five cases of wine which Oliver is to deliver, his path taking him to the shores of the Nausicaa Ocean which he has often dreamt of, but yet to glimpse. As Oliver sets out on his journey, however, the odd events only continue. There is talk on the road of some white ‘god of the vine’ who inhabits the vine filled forests nearby and, as Oliver sleeps within the forest that evening, he awakes to find a white figure in the near distance.
Curiosity raises him from his bed, but, as he pursues, the figure flees and he looses sight of it at the river. A moment later he finds a message in a bottle floating down the river, one of the many he himself has sent down steam over the years, but with words added below his own hand: We are here and you our bearer. To sea, to land, to any place you need, we shall come to aide. Just call us.
Returning to the road, he makes his way to the sea. Just after his first glimpse of the ocean, however, he discovers a man hanging in a tree. He quickly cuts him down with his black handled knife and the man, named Willow, offers to take him to sea in gratitude. Oliver refuses, but does accept Willow’s offer of finding them a place to camp for the night.
As they sip upon wine that evening Willow confesses he is a pirate and tells many tales including the reasoning for his hanging which involves an old mate, an even older journal, and a treasure which the journal offers direction to.
The next morning Oliver sets out alone, but finds Lartius home burned to the ground. As he investigates the ruin he comes across a group of men who chase and shoot him in the ankle before their leader, Conway Blyther, carts him off to the nearby port city of Deniger and imprisons him for ‘conspiring against the crown’. His cell mate in prison happens to be a gypsy who helps mend Oliver’s wound and explains his charge means only that they don’t want to tell him the real reason for his imprisonment. Despondency sets into Oliver, but shortly he sees Willow running through the halls of the prison and, though Willow was searching for another, he frees Oliver and the gypsy, along with his own mate Phinigan, and all flee the prison with guards in hot pursuit.
In hopes of discovering something of the plot which landed them in prison, Willow leads the quartet to an underground tunnel in which the Deniger underworld seems to flourish. The gypsy leaves them there, but tells Oliver to leave Andora saying Blyther, the man who imprisoned them all and hung Willow, will chase after them still.
In the underground Oliver finds a canvas bag he had during his travels and, as it contains most of his possessions including the amulet, he picks it up, but is almost immediately spotted and taken captive by Blyther and his men who were also in the underground. Oliver is able to escape and recover his bag with the help of Willow and Phinigan, but is then chased into an underground whore house by one of Blyther’s men. Just before being caught, however, Oliver finds a pale skinned woman who leads him out of the whore house and away from his enemies before leaving him without explanation.
He soon joins Willow and Phinigan and the three of them dash off to an inn where Willow explains Blyther is the old mate who has the journal which leads to a lost treasure. Moreover, he explains that Blyther is now working as a privateer for the Konstantine, ruler of Andora and many of the surrounding seas, and, though Willow is hesitant, he agrees to take Oliver to sea to escape Blyther.
The next morning they board a passenger ship called The Ocean Mistress and Willow, to gain passage for Oliver, tells the ship master his name is Galiver and that he is a skilled navigator. Oliver is bewildered, but follows along. On board, however, he finds the ship captain asking him for navigational advice which he vaguely offers. Willow soon informs him that they mean to take the ship as soon as they get near the anchorage of their own pirate ship, The Inglámor.
Shortly after this Blyther, in a new privateer ship, comes along side The Ocean Mistress and asks after Oliver and Phinigan, but as both used false names when boarding neither is found out. Oliver is rather worried, but is distracted as he has agreed to help Willow in taking The Ocean Mistress, using his navigational privileges to guide the ship towards the waiting pirates and distracting the officers with drink on the evening the ship is taken. As the ship is being plundered, however, he decides to join the pirates as they may offer some protection against Blyther. Indeed, they mean to face him in hopes of obtaining the treasure of Gaultier and Oliver believes he can not return to Andora until Blyther is dead.
That evening Oliver meets many of the crew amidst their drunken celebration and is generally welcomed. The next morning, however, he awakes to cannon fire and is immediately thrown into a battle with Blyther and his privateers. But the pirates fight well and Blyther is forced to run while The Inglámor sails on for the Port of Eisley, a once grand, but now deteriorating and lawless city. Along the voyage Oliver is introduced to more of the crew including a dark fellow named Elliot who seems to share Oliver’s growing suspicions that something very odd is going on in the world. When Oliver shares these thoughts with Willow, however, he gives them no credence.
When they reach Eisley, Oliver joins several of the crew going to their favorite whore house, but decides at the last moment to explore the city with Phinigan instead. Oliver voices his growing suspicions as they walk and Phinigan agrees something odd and quite large seems to be going on and, though he doesn’t know why Blyther would chase Oliver, he does confess that he himself is being chased because Blyther is after something he had a long time ago, but has now lost. Drinking ensues and Oliver’s memory goes blank.
He awakes the next morning sleeping on a rock surrounded by the Clovis Sea’s rising tide. He is soon discovered by a girl who thinks he may be some sea creature called a neck. Oliver has to say he is not, but the two wander off down the beach talking of various faeries and creatures. Returning to the city, the girl, Ambellina, takes Oliver to a book shop she frequents and they share a few more tales about creatures such as selkies, sea spirits in the skin of seals, and perytons, winged deer. There happens to be a peryton carved into the amulet Lartius gave Oliver, along with several other symbols, but he discovers little from it and so sets the notion aside.
Oliver spends the next several days with Ambellina who has to sneak out because of her slightly deranged father. Together they, with her young brother Thomas, go to Eisley’s market where Oliver is introduced to much more of this foreign world. Thomas explains much of this to him and Oliver, in thanks, gives him the amulet which he now thinks no more then a trinket.
Over the next several days Oliver and Ambellina’s relationship only furthers with trips to a washed up fishing boat which severs as Ambellina’s escape from the world. They are soon torn apart, however, as her father catches sight of them wandering through a nearby grove of oak trees. Deciding to part ways for a few days, Oliver returns to his ship and spends his time with Willow.
As they walk together, they come upon a mass of sea weed which Willow explains is the corpse of a certain species of mermaid which invokes intense loathing in all creatures near it. As this one is dead, the feeling is dim, but it compels Oliver to ask Willow about scouts; a profession of people who make it their job to discover everything about the happenings of the world and then sell it to those who can use it. Willow brushes it off, but Oliver, thinking they may enlighten him as to Blyther’s purpose, persists. Willow gives in none, however, and after a short squabble the discussion is dropped.
The thought of scouts stays with Oliver as the winter comes and with it the winter rains, twenty eight days worth of downpour in which the residents of Eisley find shelter indoors, but celebrate all throughout. Oliver goes alone into this festival, but quickly finds friends, drinks, and drugs which send him into a dizzying forgetfulness. Awakening in a sewer eight days later, he finds he has befriended a whore whom he spends the next day with.
As they continue their drinking, Oliver discovers Willow floating through the flooded streets in a life boat, passed out from a drug called salomé. He and the whore, Maddy, place him in her room, but as she gets caught up with customers, Oliver ends up talking to the Madame of the whore house, Mother Mary.
Their discussion turns shortly to the reason for Oliver’s piracy and his still unknown crime. Mother Mary happens to know one of the scouts and gives Oliver an address which he soon seeks out. Discovering the man amidst a catacomb of underground tunnels and sewers known as the Rat Hole, Oliver presses the him for information which he finally gives, saying that Oliver is being chased because he has something called the Libertine. He also confesses that, though Blyther is technically working for the Konstantine, it is known that there is someone else he works for more directly, someone who seems to behind much of the oddity now going on in the world. Oliver asks more, but the scout sends him away with a letter for the pirate captain, Pomadoró.
Returning to The Inglámor, Oliver delivers the letter to Pomadoró and asks him if he knows anything of this Libertine, but with no more luck. As he continues talking with the captain, an old mate comes to inform him that Blyther is in port with a new ship. Oliver and this new man, Galiver, return to the city to collect the pirates. As they do, however, Oliver discovers Ambellina sleeping outside, having fled from her deranged father with Thomas, but unable to find a way into the locked building’s of Eisley. Oliver takes them into Mother Mary’s, but then must leave again straight away. Before he goes, however, he takes back the amulet from Thomas, believing it may be important and may, in fact, be the Libertine the scout spoke of.
Most of the city has fallen asleep, a fortnight of constant partying having taken its toll, and, though Oliver tries to wake Willow from his drugged sleep, he has no success. He and Galiver, however, do manage to find and wake many of the pirates, but are forced to fight and flee Blyther’s privateers as they do. Oliver himself finds two of Blyther’s men on his heels as he’s fleeing the city and kills one with his single-shot pistol. Shortly after the second is also shot by the same pale skinned, beautiful woman who saved him in Deniger’s underground whore house, again appearing out of no where, but again saying nothing before she disappears, and Oliver returns to the ship where he and the half crew that could be assembled set sail.
Just out of the bay they encounter Blyther’s new ship and a short sea battle ensues, but the pirates again manage to win and sail off, running north west in hopes of hiding in the Sonata Sea. After a fretful nights sleep, Oliver awakes and dines with a few of the other crew who have already taken to exchanging rumors about Blyther, his privateers, and the treasure which all now know of. Amidst this conversation Oliver hears the tale of Baglio, who first captured the treasure, and Gaultier, the mate who stole it from him. As well, Oliver hears about Baglio’s obsession with a selkie (seal sea faerie) who he spent much of his life pursuing. When Galiver joins the conversation Oliver excuses himself and, while lying in his hammock, studies the amulet anew, thinking more then ever that perhaps this small lead coin is the reason they now flee.
As The Inglámor sails onward, more and more rumors are circulated and Oliver finds himself wholly committed to investigating the importance of the Libertine. Elliot helps him discover how the amulet’s symbols are related to the gods, but this offers very little insight. He presses Phinigan for help as well, but finds him overcome with melancholy, always standing alone at the bow and staring down at the sea. Tension, mystery, and fear grow as The Inglámor sails further from Eisley, but all of this is suddenly ripped apart as Blyther’s ship comes upon them in the night. The battle is short, however, for the seas are rough and Oliver finds himself thrown from the ship, knocked out, and sinking into the dark waters.
When he awakes the next evening on a sea surrounded rock he hears the whispers of a woman saying she will protect him, him ‘the bearer’. By the time his exhausted body awakens properly, however, the speaker is gone and he is left alone, forced to attempt swimming the leagues distance to a nearby island.
Halfway through his journey he’s attacked by giant turtle. He eventually frees himself, but is too weak to carry on and is dragged below, feeling a set of arms grasp him as he goes, but thinking nothing of it.
He awakes the next day amidst an all female tribe of women, known as Emperas, who believe the moon goddess Mallory has sent him to them to act as the man amongst the tribe, but Oliver refuses their offer and sets off himself to the other side of the island where he encounters a mangled and mumbling creature called Claudius. Though Oliver is quite repulsed by this beast, he becomes friends with him the next day when Claudius stops a peryton (winged deer) who tried to attack Oliver.
That evening Claudius takes Oliver to watch the Emperas as they lose their selves in a ritual madness meant to honor the gods. As Oliver watches, however, Claudius disappears with a ghostly white figure. Oliver follows straight away, but looses sight of them both.
He wakes the next morning to find Blyther’s ship sailing just off the island and Claudius, in hopes of helping get Oliver off the island, calls back the giant turtles. Oliver is initially very hesitant, but Claudius explains they were trying to help him get to shore before and will now take him to another island where the pirates are. Just as Oliver is leaving, however, Claudius lets slip that Blyther is after the Treasure of Gaultier which is hidden on a nearby island.
Crossing the Sonata Sea, the turtles drop Oliver on another foreign shore where he discovers The Inglámor and is reunited with Willow who, with several of the other crew left behind in Eisley, has sailed to the Sonata Sea and rejoined the other pirates. Many of the crew, however, are rather hesitant about Oliver’s reappearance, believing him a ghost, but he is eventually welcomed back, in large part because he informs them of the treasure’s location.
The next day the pirates set sail for the island of Devliáge, where the Emperas and Claudius reside. As the pirates search the island for Blyther, however, they discover Claudius’ mangled corpse, the corpse of a privateer as killed by the peryton, and the corpse of another killed by a spear. Soon after they find themselves under attack from the battle crazed Emperas, but Oliver quickly calms both sides and the Emperas inform him that they engaged Blyther in battle, but that he fled to the neighboring isle where the treasure lays hidden.
Sailing quickly for the neighboring island, they find Blyther’s ship anchored, but as they approach for battle the ship stays still. Not until they come along side does any one appear, and even then only one man who says if they’ll hand over Phinigan and Oliver they shall have no fray. Captain Pomadoró refuses and a battle instantly erupts. Quickly, however, their battle is joined by the sea weed covered mermaids who attack the pirate’s ship, claw their way on board, and begin battling the crew. Phinigan is lost overboard, Oliver’s black knife is lost as well, and the pirates find themselves overwhelmed.
Suddenly, however, Phinigan reappears on the main deck and says the selkies are fighting for them. Looking over the ships side, they find a hundred of the large gray seals battling the mermaids and, with the selkies help, the pirates are able to return to fighting Blyther, boarding his ship, overpowering his men, and killing all.
As the pirates take to looting the ship and mending their wounds, Oliver sees the same pale skinned woman who had saved him in both the Rat Hole and underground whore house throw herself on deck with the skin of a seal in hand. Moving to Phinigan, the woman greets him as a lover and says she is sorry she had to leave him. As she is leaving him, then, she stops in front of Oliver, gives him back the black handled knife, and says it is the Libertine which originally freed the selkies from their seal skin. Always they will follow the one who bears it and if he ever needs their help he must only call them by sticking the blade in the water. Afterward, Phinigan explains he had the selkies skin which bound her to him (and which Blyther was after), but had long since set her free; he also explains more background story of the Libertine.
The next day the pirates claim their treasure, but find half of it is missing. Captain Pomadoró then discovers a note which explains Blyther was working for a man named Mortimer Wrath (the same who visited the Tribly’s home in search of Lartius) who had taken half the treasure, but left the second half for Blyther and his men in payment for having attained the Libertine as well as killing and collecting the heart of the mangled creature Claudius, a heart which they discovered on Blyther’s ship. As well, Wrath had provided instructions to attaining another three treasures, all of which serve as payment for various tasks.
The Inglámor soon sets sail with most of the crew signing up to stay onboard, even Oliver though his reason for leaving Andora (Blyther) is now dead. Indeed, he does not even give up the life for Ambellina, thinking he has far too much adventure yet to live, too much of the world to see, and so on he sails, questions still unanswered, but the search under way.
-Cheers
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in this piece i enjoyed the word choice. Great imagery.
“An old, gnarl limbed oak tree clung with tortured roots to the north bank of that Puckery River…”
”...scraping against the smooth rocks at the rivers bottom, and surfacing right next to a shabbily made raft attended to by only a swarm of flies.”
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I really liked this. Besides, who can turn down a good story filled with this many elements, not to mention PIRATES. I give you a 10.
Like the character’s name.
The writing is excellent. Paragraphs like:
“Yet through the shadows and dark recesses of this decay there came a glint of orange light; a flash amidst the festering organs within; and Oliver reached delicately into the rotting body, grasped that glint of light, and drew out a small knife.”
I do wonder why it would be a switchblade. It’s awful hard to critique 10 pages plus a synopsis. Will be excited to read more, though. It sounds great!
You write beautifully and you have a great rhythm.
That being said, there was one place I got a little tripped up. When Oliver is cutting the body off the raft, your style seems to change a little, like you inserted that paragraph later. Specifically, this sentence: “The knife was nothing any one would call grand, especially with blood and guts spilled upon it, but as Oliver cleaned it off in the river he found it was not entirely without value.”
You might also want to consider cutting down on dialogue. Your descriptions of Oliver’s actions are much stronger, and there is no reason to re-describe the dead man in dialogue. The only reason to do this would be if the character is lying or greatly exaggerating, or something new that the dialogue can add to the story, rather than just repeating.
Really, though, I want to emphasize that you are a beautiful writer and you obviously have a great imagination.
Congratulations- This is the first piece I’ve encountered that doesn’t scream out for editorial triage and a ‘back to the drawing board’ recommendation.
By the end of the piece, I have no real idea of when this story is taking place or a real sense of where, other than I know it takes place on an immense island (it must be if a 5 day raft trip on the same river is possible). Fuzzy orientation usually drives me nuts, I find that I don’t really care in your piece, I’m content to sit back and let you take me where you will, in whatever manner you will.
I attribute this to the graceful welcome of your writing “voice”. As a reader, I urge you not to let this gift be overshadowed by other agendas that will surely be foisted upon you, sooner or later. I would urge you to always find this ‘space’ in yourself when you write fiction because whatever personal or artistic conditions resulted in this piece works for this reader. Keep going, you’re not only capable of writing, but of literature.
I apologize that I haven’t read the synopsis and I have no intention of doing so. As a reader, I don’t really care about your ‘synopsis’ voice…... I care only about the voice that lovingly carries me through each ‘story moment’.
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