Gareth couldn’t go down there, especially with the dog that was now roaming the beach, sniffing and going from man to man as if looking for its master. He could make his way in the shelter of the dunes, a longer but safer route to the rendezvous location. He eased back from the top of the dune and crouched, moving in a hunched position until he retreated far enough so that there was no chance of the survivors spotting him from down on the beach.
He tried to run again and gave up after a few steps. The soft sand tugged at each footfall and within a dozen steps his thighs burned, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He slowed, but moved steadily, taking long steps. Twice he climbed back to the top of the dunes where he could see the water and made sure he was going in the right direction, and that no pursuit had been organized, yet. Time passed, and sweat oozed in the hot sun. He needed a drink, but from the looks of the dry sand and sparse vegetation, it may not have rained for months.
He tripped from a misplaced step and sand filled his mouth. He spat, and considered remaining where he lay, but after a short rest managed to climb to his knees and finally to his feet. Trudging on again, he fell, thinking of the cool nights in Dun Mare, and sharing a steaming bowl of pottage beside the fire in the massive fireplace at the inn with Faring, or some of the old men. He washed it down with a tall mug of cold steam water. Wish I was there instead of dying here.
His eyes closed. He slept in the late afternoon sun.
Wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill, he woke with a start. Stars filled the sky, and in the dim light, he saw the staggered line of his footprints in the soft sand. Anyone who climbed to the top of the sand dunes could easily follow him, even in the starlight. The sounds of waves breaking were on his right, where it should be. He stood again. He walked to the edge of the dunes to observe the shoreline and make sure he hadn’t traveled past the finger of land that was their rendezvous point.
Shivering, Gareth sat and watched for movement or for the flicker of a distant fire on the beach. Just thinking of a warm fire made him colder. A quick glance around the dunes showed darker areas against the white sand. The vines that somehow survived in the soft sand grew in tangled patches. Pale green leaves larger than his hand stuck out every few inches from the center stem of the vine. He reached for the nearest and found it easily pulled free of shallow roots. The rope-like center stem remained intact. More than twenty huge leaves clung to it on a length twice as long as he was tall. He pulled more vines free. Soon he had vines and leaves coiled in a mass, a pile almost knee high. He pulled another stem and piled it on top of the others. Enough of these to crawl under and I might have something to keep me warm.
Now that he had a goal in mind, he quickly pulled more plants. Then he knelt and pulled as many as possible over the top of himself. He was busy burrowing deeper when a voice broke the silence.
“Might have known you’d find a way to make do with what you found handy, son.”
“Tom!”
“Keep your voice down, or are you tryin’ to tell everybody on that beach down there my name?” The old man standing in the darkness flashed his toothy grin. He pointed away from the ocean. “Over that way’s a warm fire and some stream water fit to drink, if’n’ you’re interested.”
“I thought you drowned.” Gareth staggered to his feet and nearly fell from weakness. The thought of water made his mouth pucker, almost demanding moisture. Speaking was difficult with the dry mouth.
Tom slipped an arm around Gareth’s shoulders and helped him take the first steps. “Been around the ocean all my life and always figured I’d drown someday. But this is not the day.”
“How far to the fire?”
“Take us a while, but you’ll make it. I see you kept our egg safe.”
Gareth stumbled and nearly fell, again. Our egg. “I should never have started this whole thing. Your boat’s sunk, and this egg might not buy us anything if we don’t find the right buyer.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But we can always curse ourselves tomorrow. Right now we need to keep walking, and you can lean on me as much as you have to.”
The old man smelled of sweat, fish, and salt. The combination made Gareth feel safe and comfortable, although it was new to Gareth only a day earlier. He still felt cold, but a certain warmth seemed to emanate from Tom, an unfamiliar feeling to a homeless boy with no family, but one he liked. The footing firmed as they moved further from the beach, and the time passed quickly. They entered a forest under a canopy of high branches and followed a narrow, winding path that gently climbed before abruptly dropping down into a small, dim canyon. A stream fought its way to the sea along the middle of the jagged canyon, and under a stone ledge, the glow of coals in a fire pit welcomed them.
Tom gently lowered Gareth beside the remains of the fire. “Got some dry wood already gathered. I’ll build it back up.”
“They won’t see it?”
“Those men from the white ship are still on the beach, sleeping. I had checked on them before I rounded you up.”
Gareth watched him toss several smaller sticks and a few larger ones on the dull coals. How had Tom found this place, built a fire, and returned to rescue him? Gareth could barely move, yet Tom never slowed. He never hurried, either. Then Gareth closed his eyes. Dreams of pirates, teachers in long green robes, and dragons filled the night. Thankfully, the night whispers never came.
He felt a hand shake him. “Huh?”
“Best be wakin’ up, son. Time we leave.”
Gareth sat and rubbed his eyes. The events of the day before filled his mind. He spun, searching for danger. The sun stood high above, and half the day was gone. He shook his head to help focus and looked at Tom, the memories rushing back like the waves pounding the sand.
“They’re comin’ for us, son. Comin’ fast.”
CHAPTER TEN
At the news of “they’re comin’ for us,” Gareth tried to leap to his feet and failed. He looked down at his legs as if they betrayed him by turning into logs, and tried again. He finally stood on weak legs as stiff as if they were starched, and fought to clear his mind while thinking new thoughts. All the trudging in the soft sand the day before had turned his legs to mush and this morning both legs protested the slightest movement. Everything in his mind had also turned to mush except for the understanding that the men from the white boat were after them. He turned to Tom, who was busy gathering their few items and looked ready to travel from this place to the far end of the world.
“You went back to the beach and spied on them?” Gareth asked.
“Course I did. Went early this morning and watched them get their selves ready to catch up with us. They were smart. They had a few gather what supplies they could recover from the wreckage washed up on the beach while two others scouted until they found our prints.”
“They found our trail?”
“Dogs.” Tom knelt and slurped water from the stream. “Better get yourself a good drink. No idea when you’ll get the next one.”
“What do you mean, dogs?”
“They have two hounds sniffin’ us out. Five men.”
“Why are there dogs?”
“Boat like that is always smugglin’ or chasin’ after somebody. Probably carries a fair amount of coin and weapons on board, too.”