The Azure Bottle: Prologue and Chapter 1

The Azure Bottle

A Novella

By: Abigail

Prologue

   Erik clung for dear life to the wheel of his ship. The sea beat against the galleon’s timbers from every side and the sky raged above, pelting him and his sailors with torrents of rain. The cove was near, he doubted he and his sailors could make it. His sailors clung to the sides of the deck for fear of falling overboard and being swallowed by the sea. Erik directed the ship toward the cove, fighting the sea and wrenching his bleeding arms in the effort. 

   “We’ll make it!” he cried aloud for joy as his shoulder length, raven black hair, wet with the sky’s tears, stuck to his face. His bright blue eyes peered longingly through the rain to the refuge that awaited him. A sudden streak of lightning illuminated a dark form, he’d thought was a rock. 

That was no rock. Fear seized his heart and in rapid motion he turned his ship from the cove with a jerking thrust on the wheel. The dismayed cries of the sailors were deafening. 

   “What are you doing,” his second in command cried, “The sea is going to sink us, and yet you turn from safety!” The man’s eyes were wild with fear and his close cut beard dripped blood and water. 

   “There’s a creature in that cove! Something bigger than this ship! If we go there, we’ll never go back!” Erik bellowed above the sound of the tempest. 

   “You’ve lost your mind and you’ll get us all killed, because of it!” Erik’s second ran at him and tried to push him away from the wheel.

   “No, Arne! Please, I promise it isn’t worth it!” 

   Desperate with a terror that controlled him Arne gave a sure strike to Erik’s cheek. Erik crumpled to the ground as Arne grabbed the wheel and steered the ship toward the cove. The man's eyes danced, looking constantly to the foaming sea. They drew close and Erik considered throwing himself overboard, but it was too late. Another streak of lightning lit up the sky and all saw it. The beast prowled ever closer to the ship. Arne shrieked and released his grip on the wheel. He pointed a shaking finger at the maw of the cove.

   “Sea monster!” he wailed.

   Erik dived to seize control of his ship before he was killed from following that stupid map! What a fool he’d been to leave home and sail the sea on an uncharted course. His crew was going to die beside him all in hopes of reaching the end map!Their endeavor to follow the king’s quest had failed. The cove, the place they had been searching for for months, could never be entered. 

   The creature moved closer and monstrous tentacles wrapped around the sides of the ship and began to pull it down. Unsheathing his sword, Erik lunged forward and stabbed the nearest tentacle. If he was to die today, he would at least go down fighting.

   A wave the size of a mountain smashed against the side of the ship. Erik was thrown into the ladder that led to the crow's nest. Desperately, he clung on. The beast, now enraged, shattered the mast. The wood shattered as it fell to the deck below. Erik narrowly avoided taking the wooden beam full on to the head. The cloth of the mast plummeted into the ocean and was quickly washed away by the angry, gnashing teeth of the green water. Erik pulled the map from inside his coat, and rushing to grab something to keep it safe, his hand fell on a blue-glass beer bottle that had been thrown out from below deck. Stuffing the paper inside, he corked it tight. Then, in a sure swift motion, he threw the stain glass bottle over the edge and into the frothing sea. 

   Arne screamed as the beast made a final lunge and broke the wooden timbers of the faithful ship to splinters. 

. . . . .

Chapter 1

Thyra stood at the edge of the city wall that gave a perfect view of the sea. The clank of stone against stone and the scrape of cement being layered onto the bricks was her only companion. The wall was being built up again, due to last night's attack. Pirates off the east shore were threatening the borders. It wasn’t uncommon nowadays. Word of the map gifted to her father had somehow gotten out. Images of infinite gold or precious gems filled everyone’s minds. 

     The pirates weren’t the only ones who’d begun to cause trouble over the paper. Even from within, the gangs and robbers were pressing their advantage. Most of the soldiers were away fighting in the west, so there was almost no one to bother with the criminals. Thyra groaned. Her father was a wealthy and trusted captain. He’d left almost two months ago to hunt down the treasure at the end of the map. He’d come back any day now. 

   She could remember the day he’d left. So calm and confident. He’d held her in his arms, his rough, close-shaved beard had brushed her cheek. Father had promised with a valiant proclamation that he would return with all he set out for. His deep, happy smile had been filled with bravado and adventure. Dimples had revealed themselves at the corners of his mouth.

Thyra sighed and started to head for the stairway that led down the city wall when a distant shape caught her eye: a ship. Her father had left with five ships, so it couldn’t be him. Still, a foreign visitor could be interesting. She rushed down the steps and made for the city gate. In quick choppy sentences she recounted what she’d seen to the city guards. They let her through and one left to find guards that could search the ship. No one outside the city, even inside now, could wisely be trusted. Not for the first time, Thyra was grateful for her father’s fame. As he worked directly for the king, she was never questioned, and received immunity from such tedious things.

   Thyra’s bare feet pattered on the smooth rocks as she sprinted to the port. She reached the edge of the cliff and began to make her way down the steep stairs to the rocky beach below. Her deep blue dress swished around her ankles as she ran and wisps of her blonde hair began to fall loose from her poorly done braid. Her hands barely touched the railings as she ran, growing more eager by the moment. 

   The image on the ship's flag was of a hawk soaring through a black sky. Her family’s symbol, and the one her father used for his ships. But there was only one ship. Where were the other four? Was it one of her father’s merchants coming with spices? No, it wasn’t a merchant ship. Merchant ships had only two levels and two sails. This ship had five levels at least and four sails. Four? Thyra shook her head and counted again. Only four? The ships her father had left with had six at least. And the ship he’d been sailing had eight. 

    Well, Thyra thought, at least that means it’s not his. And he hasn’t lost four out of the five ships in his traveling fleet. Still, she’d never heard of a ship with four sails and five levels. That would be a very slow ship. Not enough space for the wind to blow and push the ship forward, at least for a ship of that size. But what other ship in her father’s fleet…

   Thyra quickened her pace and was waiting at the dock before the ship had even entered the cove. Sailors bustled around, loading and unloading the many ships’ cargo. Others were sitting on barrels with beer bottles in hand, taking what they would call a well deserved break. The smell of body odor and fish filled the port. Well dressed merchants made their way from their large ships and tiptoed around the dock in a vain attempt to keep their fine slippers clean. Thyra paid them little mind. 

   As the ship grew closer, she grew more nervous. It was a wreck. And the question of the four masts was answered. One had broken off, its stem was half as tall as it should have been and the crash site from where the other half had landed had made a large web of cracks that ran along the whole right side of the ship. Thyra bit her lip. 

   “Please don’t be my father’s, please don’t be my father’s,” she muttered to herself. 

   Other sailors soon joined her in watching the ship come to dock. A line was thrown over the edge of the vessel. The sailors below caught it and began to pull the wrecked ship the rest of the way to the dock. Thyra stepped back as a ramp was leaned against the side of the boat. Ten ragged sailors stepped down as their comrades peppered them with questions. 

   Then Arne, her father’s second, stepped down the ramp and into the growing throng. Thrya’s heart sank. This was her fathers ship. Thyra met his gaze, pleading in fear for where her father might be. He shook his head, grief welling up in his eyes. 

   “No, no, he can’t be…” Thyra’s eyes welled up with tears and she didn’t try to stop their fall. 

   Her father couldn’t be dead! She stole away from the group and bolted. She could hear Arne calling her name but she didn’t turn. It wasn’t true! Thyra’s legs moved faster than they ever had, taking her far away from the port.  She had no idea where she was going or what she was doing. She soon found a gentle slope on the shore and scaled it quickly. Her blonde hair flew in a tangled mass behind her as she ran into the woods. 

   Thyra tripped on a root and stumbled to the ground, ignoring her scraped elbow she forced herself back to her feet and pushed forward. Twigs snapped under her feet and tree branches slapped against her face. Emotions raged inside her. Grief pummeled her like a blow to the gut. Tears blinded her and devastation clawed its way up her throat. 

   At last she slowed. Bramble scraps spiderwebbed her legs and she was gasping for breaths. Thrya slumped against a young tree as sobs took her. Even the bird's song overhead sounded mournful, like a ballad sung at a funeral. She rocked back and forth sick with grief and pain. Could it really be true? Was her father dead? That one look from Arne was answer enough. She knew it was true, her father had fallen at sea. She hugged her knees and cried all the harder. Her eyes were red from sobbing and her throat ached, but she couldn’t stop. 

   Then she felt two strong arms wrap around her and she knew immediately it was Arne. His close cut beard and strong arms were so like her father’s. He stroked her hair tenderly and held her close. Thrya leaned deeper into his embrace. Relief flooded her as she was allowed to rest. She tried to stifle her tears. It took a while but at last she succeeded and, hiccuping, drew away from Arne’s embrace. He looked just as grieved as she felt and his short red hair was wind blown and matted. His cheek was cut and oozing blood. He looked as if the sea itself had dragged him home. 

   “Is he really…” Thyra began, her voice faded away as she convulsed back into her sobs. Arne nodded and leaned against the young tree. He was a stocky man, but not very tall, and his tanned skin rippled with muscles. A tattoo was etched into his lower arm. He’d told Thyra that the picture was that of a siren when she was little. Her father had been there, laughing at his friend’s retelling of fictional events. 

  Father. He was gone, forever gone. What would become of her, her mother, and her older sister? Would the king give them aid? He was after all the one to send her father on that ridiculous mission in the first place. Tears spilled down Thyra's chin and dripped onto the neckline of her dress. 

   “We need to go talk with your mother,” Arne said, rising to his feet. 

   He held out his hand to her and she accepted it. He wrapped his arm around her and the two headed toward the city. Arne had always been like a second father to Thyra or an uncle. Unmarried and without children, he’d basically become a part of Thyra's family. He was an only child, the same as her father had been. When they were boys the two had by all accounts adopted one another. 

   The two walked in silence through the stony valley. The trees here were twisted and sickly. Some had grown very tall, but they were thin and scrawny. The moss that had sprung up on the rocks was a mattress on the grieved travelers’ feet. They soon reached the gate house and the guards let them in without question. Four guards were leaving, heading for the docks. Neither the sailor nor the heartbroken young girl paid them any mind. 

   They went ever deeper into the city, through the busy streets. Merchants and businessmen sat in large booths with flying streamers, pedaling their many goods. Thyra and Arne soon reached the steps to Thyra’s home. The mansion loomed over them. The elaborate golden trim on the door and bronze handle shone in the sun's light. Statues of angels holding marble basins that dribbled water into the pool beneath sat in the flower beds. It wasn’t a comfort to either of them. To Thyra, it seemed like a home that was to be ever vacant of her father’s presence. To Arne, it was a prison he had no choice but to walk into. One where he’d have to explain to Erik’s wife that her husband had died. The grief had settled on him some time before and he was mostly recovered, although he suspected that he’d never fully be able to shake the grief. 

    Nervously, Arne wrapped on the solid wood doors, which were quickly opened by a tall maid. She bustled the two inside and didn’t ask questions. Instead, she strode away to fetch Thyra’s mother, Maria. The grief-stricken young girl and weather beaten sailor waited in the foyer. Thyra was half hidden under Arne’s cloak, and, although it smelled of sweat and fish, it felt strangely comforting. Like pulling a blanket over your head when you're scared. Thyra thought. 

   Soon a slender middle aged woman, with bright blue eyes and soft blonde curls, descended the set of stairs to her waiting company. Arne smiled weakly. Thyra didn’t even try to seem anything except devastated. There wasn’t a point in play acting, her mother was about to hear one way or another that father had died. 

   And how many more? Thyra thought, a pit forming in her stomach, how many had died on this mission? This mission that the king himself had taken enough interest in to orchestrate. All those souls, buried beneath the lapping waves of the water with only remains of sunken ships to mark their place of rest. 

   Thyra felt sick and ran to her mother, throwing both arms around her shoulders and resting her head on her chest. She felt her mother’s graceful arms wrap around her torso. Thyra dreaded telling her beautiful yet delicate mother of the calamity that had befallen their family. She was so fragile and she feared what the grief could do to her. She was so sweet and quiet. The parallel opposite of her father. Her father. The thought brought on another wave of tears. 

   “Maria,” Arne said to her mother, his eyes resting on the floor, “Can you call for your other daughter? She needs to hear this, too.” 

   Thyra’s mother seemed more than a little confused and who could blame her? Arne, her husband’s second, was standing in the doorway without her husband and yet he’d left with him two months ago. And her second daughter, usually the tougher and wilder of her two children, was holding her tightly and sobbing like she was little more than an infant. There was no mistaking the fear on her face as she sent a maid to retrieve Tove, Thyra’s sister. 

   Timidly, Maria led her sobbing daughter by the hand with Arne close at their heels into the library. Two sofas faced each other, a small coffee table in between them. Books both cluttered the shelves and the floors. Arne seated himself opposite Maria and the wailing girl. Tove soon entered. When she saw her sister in a pool of tears she was worried and instantly was at her younger sister’s side. 

   “What’s happened, Arne? Where is my father?” Toves’s voice was shaky and she was holding on to her mother’s hand almost as tightly as her younger sister was holding onto her waist. The sailor played with his fingers, then looked to Thyra. She didn’t look back. 

   With a sigh and eyes filled with tears, he told the bitter news. 

   “Maria, Trove, and Thyra, the map led to more trouble than we could handle. The king’s quest was a failure. Four of your husband’s ships were sunk and the one that remains is in bad shape. Erik… fell overboard during an attack in a storm. He… drowned.” 

   Arne couldn’t hold back the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Maria’s two daughters were in sobs. The widow’s face went ashen. Her posture went rigid, then she fell forward, nearly bashing her head on the coffee table, as she clutched her heart. The grief was like she’d been physically stabbed with a knife. Arne dived to her and caught her. She was cold and still. Maria, the beautiful, yet delicate wife of the great captain Erik Clide, had died of grief and shock.

. . . . .

    Wooooooo, it's here at last! My first series! I hope you enjoyed the Prologue and Chapter 1 of The Azure Bottle. I post every Saturday. If you would like to know what happens to Thyra next then check back then. I would like to give a shout out to my wonderful Alpha readers: Renna and Sara, and, of course, to my terrific Beta readers: Adalaid, Heaven, and Cora. You guys have been so incredibly helpful, and I'm so thankful for all the aid you gave to this, originally, very messy story. 

    If you liked this snippet of my new series even a little then please, comment down below and subscribe to my blog.  If you would like to join my email list and receive weekly emails on story progress and blog posts, then again subscribe to my blog, and I'll add you as soon as I can. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and for supporting me on this writing journey.