Tales From Orin Nodd

By J.C. Witman

A tale from the Western Iles

Brant journeyed on the small ship throughout the northern seas and now peered out at the lone island before him. It had not been an easy trip. He longed to return home. The sun beat down from overhead and the smell of the warm sea air reached his nostrils. He fought back against the seasickness that had plagued him the past two years as he searched for his father.

Promising news of his whereabouts came when a group of sea sprites told him there was a ship that went down not far from this very island. Their description matched that of his father’s vessel. So, he now stood looking out at what he hoped would be his final destination.

When the captain gave the all-clear, he got into a small boat and the crew lowered him into the water. With some rowing, he and the others made their way to the island. After jumping into the shallow wake, Brant walked up onto the sandy shore. His eyes scanned the coast for any debris. There was the suffocating, all-too-familiar smell of dead fish. Seagulls flapped their wings as they flew in the clear blue sky, while smaller white birds with short beaks foraged for food in the sand. He was immediately downtrodden. Brant saw no sign of his father or the shipwreck. His thoughts wandered to the deceptive little creatures. It was not unheard of for sea sprites to play tricks. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an object glistening in the tree line of the lush jungle.

“Did you see that!” he cried out. “Over there! It’s a sea sprite!”

Brant, to the surprise of his comrades, rushed off into the jungle. Swatting away mosquitoes and other large insects, he made his way through brush until he came to a hut.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no answer.

Convinced the sea sprite had gone inside, Brant inched closer to the small building. It was circular with a singular opening. Green leaves served as its roof and the structure was constructed from the native trees of the island. His disappointment only grew at the sight of the desolate building. Determined to not give up, he decided to look for clues to its former occupants.

As he went inside, the world around him suddenly changed. The bright sunny sky of the land from which he came was still behind him, but he found himself also in a cavern with a flowing pool. Taking a step, he heard the sound of jingling beneath his feet. He looked down to see the floor was covered in coins. There was gold and silver currency from every land he could think of. The discovery was a surprise, but his greed and desire to take advantage of the find were tempered by the realization that the treasure might be a trap.

Glancing around, he spotted chests, which he could only imagine were filled with valuable goods such as rubies and pearl necklaces. Statues made of ivory stood around the room, giving Brant a chill from their ghostly appearance. He had almost forgotten about his father when he noticed a stone statue, differing from the others in that it shared his father’s likeness.

Brant was at a loss for words. He was both relieved and grief-stricken.

“Seems I have a visitor.”

Startled from his thoughts, he turned to see the speaker. It was a man dressed head to toe in gold armor with a large gold broadsword in his hand.

“Why have you come?” the man asked.

Brant did not answer.

“You are in the home of the lady of the storm. The treasure around you was collected from those who have offended her and I am its guardian.”

Brant took a moment to assess the situation. He did not want to be mistaken for a trespasser who was only after the gold.

“What happened to this man?” He asked, diverting his attention to the statue.

“After my lady spared this man’s life when she did not spare his ship, he came to this island with his heart full of greed. This man is now part of the lady of the storm’s collection.”

He is indeed my father. Brant thought as he stared up into the familiar face.

“How did he become like this?” He did his best to keep his voice calm.

“The necklace he placed around his neck was an object cursed long ago by a goblin to turn all those who wear it to stone.” The guardian paused and looked at him for a moment. “Why are you here?”

“Oh me?” Brant said, “I’m just a worshipper of the lady of the storm. I’m here to pay my respects.”

“A worshipper?” the guardian scoffed. “The lady of the storm has no worshippers. She took me long ago. Saved me from my certain death and made me the arbiter of her treasure. I am her moral scale, and if you’re found wanting you will not leave this place alive. You can not fool me.”

“That sounds like a very important job,” Brant said, looking around at the treasure. “How do you determine who is moral and who is not?”

“Those who come to steal are easy to judge.”

“What about those who are not here to steal?”

“There have been a few who have come into this place. They all have succumbed to the temptation. No one may leave with anything in this room.”

“I don’t care about your gold or silver. But I will not leave until the lady of the storm comes so that I may pay my respects to such a magnificent being.”

The guardian was about to respond when he was interrupted.

“And what respect do you have to pay?” said the shrill, yet commanding voice.

Mist filled the room before it came together in the form of a woman. Her body was like that of a cloud.

“Yes, I have many respects to pay indeed,” Brant said, surprised by the woman’s sudden appearance. “I’ve heard of the great lady of the storm. The woman who appears before ships and sends them to their doom. She commands the wind and the waves. The seas are at her beck and call. She’s a fairy with immense power and lords it over men. How can I not be in awe of such a creature as you?”

Brant inched closer to where his father stood. He kept talking to the being. She was aglow with the words he spoke and did not notice the sword he picked up from where it was leaning against his father’s still body. He then quickly raised the weapon and flicked the necklace from where it sat around his neck. It flew towards the lady of the storm. Reaching out, she gripped the object in her hand. As she held it, her formally soft features quickly turned sharp and fierce.

“How dare you!” she cried. Her voice deepened with rage. “You try to attack the lady of the storm?”

The pond behind her began to boil and the waves began to rise. But then in a moment, the mist disappeared and the lady of the storm turned to stone and the water calmed. With the necklace out of his father’s presence, his stone body turned back into flesh and blood. He collapsed on the ground before Brant.

The man in the golden armor stood still, his sword raised.

“What do you plan to do now?” Brant asked.

The guardian looked over at the lady of the storm’s stone figure.

“I will protect the lady as I have sworn. However, what I said before is still true; you cannot take anything from this room.”

Brent helped his father to his feet.

“As you can see, he is no longer an object.”

“Yes,” agreed the man. “He is not.”

“Thank you,” Brent said, as the two men made their way out of the hut.