Chapter 16: Silly Geese

The fisherman was pleased with the story and even examined Steven’s vest to affirm that there was a black ring on the inside where it had been held to a kettle.

“Salt soup, salt soup,” the fisherman said over and over. “I must find some people with whom to make salt soup. I shall have to go back to the village of Tornlace and get the innkeeper to join me in making salt soup. Yes, that is what I will do. There is a farmer who will join me. And the blacksmith. We will have a feast of salt soup.”

He took Steven out of his house into the morning sun and led him to his boat. It did not look like much, and Steven wondered if it floated at all. It was broad and flat-bottomed. Though it seemed not to sit deeply in the water, the sides were high and it did appear that a large catch could be held in its hold.

“Have you ever filled the boat with fish?” Steven asked.

“Well now, not for many years,” said the fisherman. “Time was that Tornlace was a thriving town, even a city. Every week I would pole my boat up the mouth of the river to the village and sell as many fish as I could catch. There is no sense in catching so many fish now that I cannot sell them. I’m happy to catch my dinner, and once every several days, dock at the burned out bridge to supply those who remain in the village.”

“What happened to the village?” Steven asked.

“The Terror,” Tavis answered. “After the melons gave out, people began to move back to the village from the far side of the river. Soon there was no one living on the other side. It was still a main route of travel to Rich Reach, but people gradually lost interest in going there. Came a time when you looked across the river and it looked like there were shadows walking among the deserted houses on the other side.”

“But there were no ghosts. The people had moved!” Steven said.

“Aye, but then we got word that something was terrorizing Rich Reach and the people burned the bridge to keep whatever it was away from their village. Problem was, with no bridge, there was no longer a reason to come through Tornlace at all. When people stopped coming through the town, they stopped coming to the town. Someday there will be nothing left there but the burned pylons of the bridge, warning people not to cross the river.”

“That’s sad,” said Steven. “Have you tried to sell fish to other villages?”

“Other villages either have their fishermen or are too far away from the water to get fish,” scoffed Tavis. “What I’m going to do is find me a magic fish and make a wish. He must be around here somewhere. Now what did I do with that scale?”

Steven almost told him that he’d given it to him, but the fisherman had genuinely feared his greed overwhelming him and killing the silver fish. He kept his mouth shut.

“How far is it to the other side of the river?” Steven asked, realizing they were nowhere near shore.

“Oh, I can’t take you straight across the river,” the fisherman said. “There is no place to dock my boat in the swamps, and you would be unable to walk. There is a smaller channel that cuts up farther along the seashore. If I let you off there, you’ll be able to find your way back to the road to Rich Reach ... if it still exists.”

Steven contemplated the possibility that the road to Rich Reach might not exist anymore. If that were the case, how would he ever find the principality? Well, as was always the case, Steven assumed that all roads would ultimately lead to where he was supposed to be. They had all led to his dragon. They would all lead to his Terror, if he was meant to face it.

At long last, Tavis pointed the boat toward shore and Steven gradually began to see the shape of a small river mouth indenting the shoreline. Into this river, Tavis expertly guided the boat. Just as they passed the shoreline, Steven saw a drake and his hen, floating in the current just to port. He pointed toward them.

“Duck,” said Tavis.

“Two of them,” answered Steven.

“No, duck!” the fisherman yelled, pointing forward. Steven turned to follow the fisherman’s gesture and was smacked squarely in the head by a heavy low-hanging tree limb. It knocked the breath from Steven and Steven from the boat. Water closed over the top of him and all went dark as the current swept him away.

When Steven awoke, he had difficulty remembering where he was. He was lying on a bed of straw, covered with warm wool blankets. Not far away he could hear a gentle female voice humming a little tune that seemed vaguely familiar to him. There was a scent in the air of drying sheepskin and Steven could just make out his vest, lying over an iron kettle to dry. He realized suddenly that all his clothes were draped over chairs, table, and mantel, and then the most beautiful visage Steven had ever seen came into view.

“Selah?” he asked, hesitantly, trying to clear his eyes.

“What is that, my fine funny fish?” the woman asked, coming toward him. Steven realized his mistake at once. This was not Selah. With that realization, Steven adjusted his opinion of her beauty downward. No doubt there was beautiful, and there was Madame Selah Welinska. They could not be compared. This woman was merely more beautiful than any non-dragon lady Steven had ever met.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”

“A wonder you can think at all with that knot on your head,” the woman said, good-naturedly. Steven felt his head and found a bandage that covered part of his forehead. Then he felt further and discovered that his hair had been cut short and his beard had been shaved smooth.