The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

17-2: A Scribe's Tale [continued]

Tailfin was quiet for a long moment.

"Yes, it is pretty big," he agreed. "Any idea how we are going to get the coin out of it?"

The Scribe lay down on his back, gazing up at the stars as they travelled restlessly through the night skies. He wondered if they were looking back at him, watching them as they travelled to the Godstone. He wondered what they would say, if only he could hear them.

"Good night, Tailfin. The tale will unfold itself tomorrow."

*    *    *

A long day's walk had The Scribe and Tailfin following the trail that led across the rocky peninsula. The Hook was an impressive feat of nature, and The Scribe drank in every detail. If ever there was geological evidence of the gods, the Hook was it.

They came to the rope bridge that separated Renryre Island from Littleren, the island of the gods, and little brother to Renryre. The rocks below were subjected to an unrelenting attack from the sea, the Whalebreaker current forcing its way through the tumult.

As they crossed onto Littleren, The Scribe could see the Godstone up ahead, jutting out of the land, so imposing as to threaten those who dared to approach it. He could also see an old man wearing tattered clothes wandering around, shouting into the wind.

"Ryleine!" called the man. "Ryleine!"

"Excuse me, sir," said The Scribe as they came near to the him. "Are you okay?"

"What do you want?" he queried sharply.

Tailfin glanced at The Scribe with a wry grin.

"Are you lost?" asked Tailfin.

"I'm not lost, I know exactly where I am."

"Right. Where are you?"

The old man glanced around nervously, fumbling in his pocket as he did so.

"Rordynne Forest," he insisted.

"The forest is back that way," said The Scribe.

The old man glanced suspiciously back down the peninsula, then searched around himself, apparently becoming aware of the distinct lack of trees.

"Well, I might have become a little turned around," he said, and promptly began walking away towards Renryre Island.

"Wait," called Tailfin. "Who are you looking for? You were calling for a Ryleine?"

"What? Yes, that's right. My granddaughter. She should be around here somewhere."

"Out here?"

"Well, yes. She went to Helen's Bay. She and that odd young man. I have something for them."

"Helen's Bay? You are going the wrong way, old man."

"Why don't you come with us?" suggested The Scribe. "We will be taking a ship there soon."

"What?" said Tailfin. "With us?"

"I know a girl that works for Arynlock named Ryleine. Dresses like a... like she grew up in the forest."

The old man's eyes lit up as he described her.

"That would make you Gerylde? I couldn't have written it better myself," acknowledged The Scribe.

That was when he realised: he couldn't have. Gerylde had one of the coins, and he just happened to be there. He pushed the thought away as he gestured for them to continue.

"We just need to collect something from the Godstone first," he added.

The old man reluctantly followed as they continued towards the Godstone, walking in silence as they neared it, surrounding it as they reached it.