Tales of an Equestrian Mare

by Durandal

Chapter 14

On the fifth day, the ice was coating their flesh, and everything was more cold and miserable than anyone had ever imagined possible. Finally, even Tofa, son of Tobba, son of Porbjorg the Horned, could take no more, and threw down his oar.

“Audir the Brave!”

“What is it, Tofa?”

“We will all die from cold at this rate!” Tofa shouted, to be heard over the crashing waves against the hull, and the winds roaring at the sail, “and no strength of oar or clever sailing will save us if we continue on our course!”

Audir was silent for a long time, for now, even she could see that it was true; if the storm did not let up, and let them rest, all would be lost. The crew muttered and murmured amongst themselves, and mostly they found that they agreed with Tofa, and Skirlaug, and Osk. They were tired, and Green Wind was tired, and battling the storm was hopeless.

“What would you have me do, Tofa? Or any of you? I am Audir the Brave! I am not afraid to fight this storm to the last breath! If I am to die, I will do it with a tiller beneath my hoof, and the winds in my sail!”

At that, the crew fell silent, and looked at their hooves. All except for Tofa, who did not look away from his captain.

“You are well named, Audir! Every cow here knows you do not fear death.”

“Every cow knows it,” Audir confirmed, thumping a hoof on the deck. “What of it?”

“I say we dare to trust to luck. Our skill has brought us this far, but this storm is not natural, and we will not survive much longer if we keep fighting it as we are. We should strike off on a new heading. Ahead, it is many days to any safe harbor, and behind us we are weeks from home. We should leave our course, and pray to find a sheltered cove to wait out this storm.”

“Ridiculous! That is not luck, or bravery!” Osk shouted, throwing down her own oar in anger. “To head off into the unknown, in the hope of finding land? I’ve never heard such a stupid suggestion.”

“Wait, Osk,” Audir cautioned. “What makes you think there is any land to be found, on either side of us, Tofa?”

“My grandfather, Porbjorg the Horned, sailed these waters longer than any other cow in living memory. He spoke of a storm such as this, and of his rudder breaking with the strain of fighting to keep his heading. His ship was thrown all around, but somehow did not roll, despite the wind and the waves, and that by some luck of tide and current, he wound up on the shore of a tiny island. He said that, after the storm cleared and the rudder was repaired, he explored, and found many such islands.”

“I say Porbjorg the Horned headbutted a few too many sea monsters for his own good!” someone called, but despite one or two weak laughs, there were many cows nodding thoughtfully. Porbjorg had been a bit strange in his later years, but...

“The decision is yours, Audir the Brave, but I ask you: does it require more courage to hold your course, on a path that leads to a certain, familiar death; or to set course for fate unknown, and gamble everything on the chance that death can be cheated, at least for a while?”

Audir the Brave was silent for a while, as the ship pitched and rocked, hoof mindlessly guiding the tiller to find the best path through the waves, searching the dark waters for an answer. Her crew watched, with baited breath, as she reached a decision.

“Hearthfire! Keep your eyes peeled for land, child, and shout like you’ve never shouted before if you see so much as a scrap! Hard to port, my sons and daughters! Bring that sail round, and be ready to bail her out!”

Her gaze swept her crew, alighting on each one as she gave instructions, and in her eyes, renewed purpose burned. Green Wind came about, no longer chased by the waves with the wind at her back; instead, Audir helmed her like a mad beast, racing against the slopes and daring them to topple her. Every cow aboard agreed that it should not have been possible, that Green Wind should have rolled a dozen times, and then a hundred, and a thousand more, but somehow she kept her keel below her, and her sail above, and the rigging did not tear, and the mast did not snap, and the rudder did not shear clean from the tiller.

And then there it was, a dark splotch on the horizon, that did not move up and down with the waves, or blow back and forth like a cloud in the wind. Hearthfire did not turn, unwilling to look away for fear of losing sight of it, but she roared at the top of her lungs, and pointed, clinging to the prow to stop herself being hurled into the waves. The crew took up the cry, and Audir the Brave turned the helm once more, driving for the island that they prayed would be their salvation.

* * *

Green Wind was a floating wreck, lolling in the waters of the sheltered cove. Outside on the open waters, the waves still crashed on the cliffs of the island, and the wind still drove them ever higher, but in here the hull was simply rose and fell on an endless swell.

Despite the crew’s efforts, the hull had struck against hidden rocks as they approached, and water was leaking slowly in. The sail had finally given in a mile from the island, and hung in tatters from the mast. Four oars had been splintered as the crew fought to keep Green Wind clear of the treacherous coastline.

But they were alive, and safe from the storm, for now.

“We all owe you a debt, Tofa,” Audir the Brave admitted, as they lowered the anchor and shipped their oars. “If not for you, we would have stayed our course, and likely have been wrecked in the storm.”

Tofa bowed his head at the praise.

“That debt is owed to those who came before me, and taught me. My father, and my grandfather.”

“Haha! Nonsense!” Osk the Wistful laughed, leaping from her bench to throw an arm around the younger cow, “No one else on this ship had the insight to see a way out of the storm! If we all had listened to a few more of Porbjorg’s tales, instead of treating them as a sick old cow’s ramblings, we all could have made the same choice as you... but we didn’t. I’m sorry I doubted you, boy.”

There was much good cheer aboard the Green Wind after that, as the realisation that they had made it to safety began to sink in. Pouches of the cow’s horribly fermented seaweed drink were passed from hoof to hoof, and songs were sung and tales told of other ships and other crews who cheated death in days gone by. Hearthfire joined them for a while, but the spirits burned her throat raw after a few swigs, and the cows were becoming more and more rowdy as their inebriation grew.

She retreated to the stern, where Audir and Skirlaug were in quiet discussion, subtly removed from the celebration.

“We owe your eyes a debt, too, child,” Audir noted, as Hearthfire called a greeting and approached. “It was good spotting to find this place between the waves.”

“Thanks. I’m just glad that we’re still in one piece.”

“So am I, but we still are not completely safe. Green Wind is in bad shape, there is no hope to take her back out to sea in this condition. We will have to wait here, until the storm abates, and then search around the shore of this island to find somewhere we can beach. I just hope that Tofa’s luck holds, and there are materials on this island we can use to repair what needs repairing.”

“What do we need?”

“Timber, mostly,” Skirlaug supplied. “Fresh oars to bring our benches back to full strength. Planks to patch the cracks in the hull. Thread to wind new ropes from, for I don’t doubt that many have frayed and need replacing. We may be on this island for some time.”

No wonder you’re not celebrating with the rest of the crew, Hearthfire realised. Their situation was stable, just, but if the island did not contain the resources they needed, they might as well have foundered at sea for all the chance they would have of finishing their voyage, or returning home.

Save for a few hoof-picked cows, tasked with taking the first watch and bailing out the leaking vessel, the crew eventually slept. After weeks in open waters, sleeping in the sheltered cove, with only the gentle rocking of the swell to move the boat and no waves to soak through furs, was a luxury. They lit a small fire from their sparse kindling supply, and its cheerful light and weak warmth were the most glorious things in the world, allowing all aboard to sleep soundly for hours on end, only waking to relieve watches.

* * *

Comments

[KeePony]

Think someones been getting ideas from the Icelandic sagas :) Bulls and cows as the norse men. well norse cattle :)

[Durandal]

1100699

Definitely :D The notes for this section in my plot outline basically go, "NORSE COWS SO AMAZING THIS IS THE BEST IDEA EVER". I really liked The Saga of Erik the Viking as a kid, that was probably my single biggest influence here. By which I mean, I am working so hard right now to not just straight up steal stuff from it...

I really appreciate knowing that people are still reading this