Swept Away - A Narnian Swashbuckler

SWEPT AWAY

A Story of Adventure and Courage
by John Burkitt and Joseph Ravitts

This story will be appearing here in daily installments and will be completely revealed here before it appears on its future home at byrononwells.org.

What would you do
If every one you loved
Everything you believed
Was suddenly SWEPT AWAY?

Chapter One: THE MESSAGE

It was a wonderful day in late spring, neither too chilly nor too hot. The cherry trees had blossomed in pink splendor down the streets of Cair Paravel, the pennants on the castle stirred in a mild breeze and outside Trundle the Badger’s carpenter’s shop a bird sang with unbridled optimism.

It was almost more than poor Trundle could stand!

He glanced out the window at the splendid weather, then bent back to his drudgery, resuming the maddening tap tap tap of his mallet and chisel on yet another mortise for yet another cabinet.

In his sulky mood he missed a stroke and brought the mallet down on his paw. “Thunderation!” he yelled, doing a frantic dance about the floor of his workshop. “Ow, ow, ow! Garn and garbage!” He nursed his injured paw. “That’s the last straw! Cabinets or no cabinets, I’m through for the day!”

Trundle tossed off his apron, threw down his chisel, and fled down the long switchback trail to the beach. He was a fugitive from the workday world.




Free at last! Trundle sighed deeply. He had lived in Cair Paravel his whole life and never once had the nerve or the means to board one of the vessels in the harbor that plied the Eastern Sea or rode the silver highway of the Great River. But as he stood on the beach in the cool moist sand and let the hypnotic cadence of the waves gently massage his frazzled nerves, all of that mattered a lot less. For a few moments he could wrap himself in the silver consolation of his dreams and drift along with the tides.

Dreams cost nothing, which just fit into his budget, and since big ones had the same price as small ones, he indulged himself with marvelous visions, gazing into the East across the endless waves, meditating on the raucous tune of hungry seabirds following the fishing boats.

Once a sailor taking pity on him kindly pointed out the general direction of the Lone Islands and told him what wonders they held. He faced them and tried to feel their presence. He imagined himself standing on their shore looking back at Cair Paravel. For a while it was so real he had almost convinced himself. “Aslan,” he silently mouthed, “let me go there someday?”

Though his pipe dreams had never been realized, Trundle was by no means a failure. He had worked hard to establish his business, which he literally built from the ground up, cutting all the timbers himself and driving every last nail. By hard work, long hours and scrimping and saving he had carved out a niche in the world that was uniquely his, and he was justly proud to be known as a creature of substance.

That being said, when he was alone and thoughtful in the night he often repeated his timeworn litany of regret that he never went to sea like Uncle Burly. He had traded liberty for safety like his father before him, learning what his family agreed was a “useful trade.” The problem was it seemed useful to everyone else but Trundle.

At times the safe, useful life he had achieved seemed to close in on him from all sides and his one escape lay somewhere out there over the eternal waves, alternately calling him and taunting him from the Utter East.

He turned and walked down the beach looking for the occasional shell in the tide. Somehow it encouraged him that even the sea’s poorest creatures could afford such magnificent lodgings. The largest one he’d ever found, a conch, sat on a shelf in his shop. When he was tired and discouraged, he would put it to his ear and listen to the echoes of the ocean waves. They called to him, and he longed to follow them into the far horizon.

That is when he saw the answer to his prayer lying on the sand; a bottle sealed with a hand-carved stopper and inside it a scrap of paper.

A message! And to think he would have missed it had he not hit his paw with a mallet! Oh blessed paw, blessed mallet!

Like most Paravellers, Trundle could read a little. His paws trembled as the words emerged from the black smudges:

“If you should find this, I am Seaman Holly Tremble, of the late ship HMS Reliant, wrecked in a storm somewhere close to the Spice Islands. I am washed ashore on an uncharted island not far away. Please send this on to Proudfoot at the Dancing Dog Pub in Cair Paravel. He will know what to do. Your time shall be rewarded.”

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]

I do indeed. Each time I put up a chapter or two I will be changing my signature graphic. A glossary of all the different designs will appear on byrononwells.org soon.

I must say that I will log on every day, even if it's just to read the next installment of this story.

Imagine people!! One of our best writers and most beloved member writing a story exclusively for TDL? It's awesome!! Thank you, Magister. I will read every chapter the day it is posted or early the next.

Oh, yeah. Post the Turnip songs!!

Trundle is a wonderful name for a badger

I will definatly be keeping up with this story!

Chapter Two: THE DANCING DOG

Feeling very important and quite pleased with himself, Trundle went straightway to the Dancing Dog.

The pub, known by the locals as the Double D, was a well known “beastie pub”. The tables and chairs were the right size to cater to the smaller folk, but were hardly the safest place to be. It seemed that every other day a local rowdy was conked with “the persuader” and tossed into the back alley to repent.

Things seemed peaceable enough when the badger walked in. Most folk didn’t bother to look about, and those who did subtly nodded and turned back.

At the bar sat a couple of foxes with one drink between them. “The problem with you,” one said, “is that you don’t understand vixens.”

“And I suppose you do?”

“Oh yes. You just have to follow three simple rules….”

“Agreed. But they change the rules every day!” The second fox downed the last swallow in the glass.

“Hey!”

Behind the bar was a meek looking hare swabbing down the woodwork and a rough looking wolf going about barking orders to the kitchen crew. It was clear to Trundle who wasboss, and swallowing heavily, he drew close, note in paw.

The wolf glanced up. “May I help you?”

“Good sir, would you point out Proudfoot for me?”

That got the wolf’s full attention. “It depends on who’s asking and why.”

“Well, yes, I suppose it does.” Trundle was flustered for a moment, then he gathered his wits and held out the note. “This is why.”

The barkeep gave the note a cursory glance as if it were a mere trifle. “One of those, hmm? So you found us, Stripey Dog. I suppose you’ll be wanting your reward.”

Trundle straightened indignantly. “Reward? Oh…that bit at the end. Of course not. Money takes all the joy out of it.”

“So why did you bring it in?”

“The poor chap’s in trouble, and it’s the right thing to do.” Trundle looked back into the wolf’s intent gaze. “Are you Proudfoot?”

The wolf subtly shook his head. “There ain’t no Holly Tremble, and there ain’t no Proudfoot.”

“I beg your pardon, sir…”

“See for yourself.” The wolf opened a small drawer in the bar and dumped out seven identical copies of the message.

Trundle stared at them in shock. Had he been a man he would have blushed, but he was not so his ears went back. “Are you saying this is some sort of trick? A nasty jape?”

“No, it’s a test, and a very good one.” The wolf looked him up and down. “And you are?”

“Trundle, sir.”

“Well, Sir Trundle, what do you do for a living?”

“It’s just Trundle. And as if it were any of your business…”

“Well??”

The badger withered under the wolf’s baleful stare. “I…I’m a carpenter.”

“Wife and kids?”

“Someday.”

At this one of the two foxes said, “Haw haw, that’s a good answer! I wish I’d thought of that one!”

The wolf shot the foxes an icy stare. “You’ve finished your drink, now off with ye!”

After the two foxes stalked out, Trundle scratched his cheek. “I didn’t think sharing a drink was allowed.”

“Ordinarily it wouldn’t be.” The wolf leaned forward and said, “Every day the Rufus twins buy two drinks and split each one down the middle. I think they’re a bit soft in the head.”

“Perhaps,” the badger said, looking a little dubious. “Maybe they’re just lonely.”

The wolf’s expression softened a bit. “You seem to be the understanding type.” He looked over at the hare and nodded. “I think you’ve found him.”

The hare brightened, came over, and took a small purse of silver coins from his belt, spilling them out on the counter. “Bravo, Trundle, Son of Earth! You have passed every test. If you make the grade, there’ll be more, and it will be gold.”

The badger stared at the coins. He wasn’t so crass as to count them but guessed there had to be at least fifty of them. “Why thank you. Thank you very much. But who are you, and what’s all this about tests and making the grade?”

“I am Sir Joseph of Brockhurst, and whatever else you may be, you are the true friend sent to me by Aslan.” He quickly and cautiously turned back the corner of his apron to reveal a gold and diamond brooch with a crimson lion on silver. It was the most beautiful and most fearful thing Trundle had ever seen and he stared at it transfixed.

“You’re a Knight of Narnia.”

Sir Joseph nodded gravely. “Come with me to the office. You shall hear my awful tale and all things will become clear.”

I really like this story. It is one that I would hide under my blankets with a flashlight to read if I had to! I am sure that anyone who reads it will feel the same way, if they love a good story. And I should know a good story when I see one, because I write also!

After the office door was properly secured, Joseph seated himself by the fire and invited Trundle to join him in a hot cider.

“Sometimes it is amazing what foolish things we do for those we love,” the hare began. “Such was my love for my new wife Fiona that I could refuse her nothing that money could buy! In her case it was a trip to the Lone Isles for our honeymoon.”

“That’s not too expensive, is it?”

“It depends on how you look at things. It cost me my very soul.” Joseph took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, slumping back in his chair. “The latest Calormene war had been settled but a month before, and the ink on the treaty had hardly dried! Yet such was her resolve to sail to the Lone Isles and spend the first bloom of April on the beach that she used her feminine wiles on me, smiling a bit, pouting a bit, and letting me know it never really slipped her mind. So I gave in, and we sailed there to spend three wonderful weeks in the sun and surf.

“Fiona, ah even her name is music! Such a fair and gentle creature this world has scarce seen before and may never see again, and I adore her with every fiber of my being. During those three weeks in paradise, we spread our blanket on the sand, sleeping out in the balmy nights with naught but a ceiling of stars to look down on our love…” He trembled at the memory. “We treasured every moment, and how fortunate that we did! My buck, when everything is perfect and you stand on the unmatched pinnacle of joy there is nowhere to go but down. And as high as we flew, how much further we fell!

“Before we knew it we were returning home on the Reliant—that part of the note was true.

“The first three days were calm and uneventful. Then an April storm swept out of the North, and an angry cold wind sent waves breaking over the deck.

“The lads rushed the yardarms and tried to reef in the sails, yet despite all, the rudder was sheared off, the ship turned broadside to the waves, and we quickly capsized.

“As suddenly as the storm came, it went. The sun returned and it would have been a lovely day except we were alone in the sea with nothing but flotsam to cling to for support. Fiona was in the longboat with the other does and I clung to a great wooden chest with the injured boatswain. He had crushed one of his arms and he had a nasty cut on his forehead.

“Two days passed. Nothing to eat and surrounded by miles of water unfit to drink. Heat, hunger, burning thirst. No one knew to look for us. Sharks took their awful share, and sometime in the second night the boatswain lost his grip on the chest and slipped away to his silent doom.

“Then just as hope began to fail, along came two merchant ships, Calormene Arabellas.

“We thought we were saved. Especially since our nations were officially at peace. But the barbarians insisted that we ‘pay our passage’, which is putting a good face on stealing our few possessions. Since I had some gold in my purse they let me go. And it was my understanding that the bribe covered my wife too, but that was wrong. Fiona was on the other ship, something that did not concern me at the time. However it got to port first.

“Fiona did not have ransom so she was taken back to Tashbaan and there sold into slavery. My dear wife was gone!”

Trundle gasped. “The dirty blighters…”

“To ransom her I would have given everything I had… even my very life…”

Joseph looked down. He kept his quiet dignity which made his grief seem all the more crushing.

Trundle impulsively put his arm about the hare’s shoulder and gave him a pat. “Wasn’t there anything you could do? Didn’t you see the King?”

Joseph sighed deeply. “I petitioned the Crown to give me an escort of troops, but the King was afraid it would start another war, something Narnia could ill afford. Instead the King gave me gold and told me to be careful what I did with it. For a while, too long, I stayed home, the gold sitting untouched in its chest, going through the motions of living. I tended my roses, I kept my appointments, and each night I held her pillow tightly and cried myself to sleep.”

“Oh Sir Joseph!” The badger set his tankard down and wiped his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, there is one thing.” The hare looked Trundle in the eyes. “We are going to that foul land to find her and fetch her home.”

“We?”

“You and I.” Joseph took one of Trundle’s paws and squeezed it. “It was for that purpose I wrote the note in the bottle, and I believe with all my heart that’s why Aslan led you to find it.”

The badger was silent for a moment. Taking the safe and simple way had become an ingrained habit. He had been challenged to put security…indeed, his very life…in peril. What would Mum and Dad say? What would his customers say?

Then he thought about Fiona. What about her security? What about her family? What about her very life?

Trundle took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “Garn, I’ll do it!”

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]

Two masters of writing skills... Our dear Evening Star and my Professor Joe!!! what a joy, people!!!!!
I'm loving it very much, but I'm expecting to read more soon.

Buckle my swashes! Love and tragedy! Knavery and skulduggery! A humble hero and a secret mission into dangerous lands! I can't wait for more!

Ginny_JillPole said:

Two masters of writing skills... Our dear Evening Star and my Professor Joe!!! what a joy, people!!!!!
I'm loving it very much, but I'm expecting to read more soon.

Click to expand...

You said it! Anyone who doesn't keep up with this story is missing something really, really good.

I'll put it in my siggy.

Oh, honey, this is wonderful! You have added so much poetic detail to "Swept Away" since you read it to me on cam! I'm so blessed to be present when you are in the creative process. I celebrate your new literary baby--he's beautiful, and he looks just like his dad. [hugs!]

I'm definitely reading.

oh EveningStar, it's wonderful, I love the bzgining of this story this part made me think a little bit of Little Big Man, I don't know if you have seen that movie, it's really good, (distibilization) and in one part of the movie, the main character's wife is taken away by a group of thieves, and he tries everything to find her

“Fiona did not have ransom so she was taken back to Tashbaan and there sold into slavery. My dear wife was gone! To ransom her I would have given everything I had… even my very life…”

Chapter Three: QUEEN OF THE SEA

Trundle and Joseph lugged their newly-purchased gear down the long switchback walk to the dock to find the Queen of the Sea. What they saw was a third-class trading vessel that didn’t look like a queen, a duchess or even a dame, but more like a barmaid’s charwoman.

Joseph looked at it and shrugged. “It’s a fly in the eye, but I suppose it will get us there.”

Trundle’s assessment was a bit higher. “I bet it took a really big tree to make that sail-tree in the middle.”

“The mainmast,” Joseph said indulgently. “The branches are yardarms. First time out?”

“That obvious?”

Joseph smiled again. “Our first job is to secure our gear below decks.”

“Oh, I love that kind of talk,” Trundle said. “What are the directions again?”

“Port is left, starboard is right, the bow is in the front and you head forward, the stern is in the back and you head astern.”

“Why do sailors use all those fancy words? It’s like they’re trying to make a lot of plain things sound important.”

Joseph laughed. “When you’re far from shore, it’s all important. So the big tree…as you call it…up front is the foremast. The tall one in the center is the mainmast, and the one in back is the mizzenmast. The ropes that hold them together are called rigging.”

“My, you know everything, don’t you?”

“I know your sea bag is coming untied…”




Trundle was finally having the adventure he’d prayed for. The wood planks groaned as he walked and the ropes creaked as the ship nodded in the swell. The capstans turned as seamen put their backs into their labor and the anchor chains rattled as they were stowed in the hold. Other sailors climbed the masts and crawled out on the yard arms, unfurling the sheets and belaying the rigging so that they caught the evening breeze. “Embarking” was another term Trundle had learned, and he felt his paws tremble as the dock began to move backwards, at least from his viewpoint. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, outwardly he did neither but inside him he did both at once.




It was Trundle’s first ocean voyage, and therefore it was his best so far. And yet within moments he realized it was also his worst ocean voyage. At first it was an annoying feeling from the swaying of the ship. It seemed irritating at first, then more and more discomforting so that by the time he was out of sight of the quay he wondered if he’d made a mistake. He tried walking about on deck to see if that helped, but his feet were unsteady.

“Don’t worry,” Joseph said, “you’ll soon find your sea legs.”

What he needed most was a sea stomach.




By the time they went to the galley poor Trundle was feeling a bit green in the gills.

The meat they were given might have charitably been called one of the great mysteries of the sea. Trundle moved it about with his knife. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice pot of simmer and sing stew!”

Joseph looked at his tray with loathing. “Do you know what this is?”

Trundle shook his head. “Not sure, but it lived an unhappy life and died an unpleasant death.”

Joseph wrinkled his nose. “Well it’s getting its revenge now.”

The smell of the unsavory fare suddenly made the badger’s malaise worse and he feared he would need to run up on deck to “see the scenery”. Fortunately the hare had a cache of medicinal herbs “just in case” and he put something in the badger’s tea. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Tremblebane. It will steady the nerves and settle your stomach.”

Trundle grabbed for the cup and though it was hot he downed it in one long pull.

“You should feel better soon,” Joseph said.

“As soon as I see the scenery,” Trundle said, jumping up from the table and running for the ladder.

[CONTINUED]

Chapter Four: SHARED DESTINY

Space on the crowded Queen of the Sea was at a premium, and every spot had to do double duty. Where Trundle had dined earlier, he watched folk setting up hammocks. The badger had a rolled canvas which ended in two iron hooks. He carefully watched Joseph unroll his bed and did likewise, dogging the hooks in the eyes on the upright timbers.

Sleeping in a hammock was a bit of an art. Trundle paid careful attention to the hare as he went to bed to see how he did it. It looked easy enough, and by following his teacher exactly he managed to lay down without falling off the other side. Not gracefully, yet safely.

The hammock wrapped around him, a very different sensation from sleeping in a straw bed since the movement of the ship gently rocked him. It was oddly comforting to Trundle, perhaps harking back to distant memories of Mum rocking his cradle and softly singing. Between the tremblebane and the tender embrace of the canvas, he started to drift off.




As they slept, a child’s quiet brown hands rifled through their belongings by the light of a single candle. Joseph’s long ears pricked and his eyes opened. In moments he sprung into action, rolling out of bed, drawing his sword and pointing it in the boy’s startled face.

“Ho there, laddiebuck! Looking for a free lunch?”

Awakened by the hurly burly, Trundle made a quick and painful exit from the wrong side of his hammock, ending up in a heap on the deck.

It was the cabin boy who trembled at the other end of Joseph’s sword. Oddly enough for someone dressed like a Calormene sailor he had the distinctive eyes and nose of a Narnian Telmarine.

“Don’t hurt me,” the boy said as if afraid of waking the others. Certainly he had awakened several, but they lay still hoping to remain uninvolved. “I didn’t mean to steal from a talking animal. Honest, sir…”

The hare nodded grimly and sheathed his sword. “So it’s alright to steal from the others, eh?”

“Momma taught me it’s wrong to steal, and I hate to do it, really. I’m a slave, and I’m trying to buy my freedom to get back to Narnia. They stole from me so I steal back from them.”

“So you want to go home? Enough to earn it with some honest work?”

“Yes sir. I swear…”

Joseph scratched his chin. “I want to trust you, really, but trust has to be earned. First off, there’s to be no more stealing, not from us or anyone else. Ever.”

The boy shook his head.

“Now tell us something about yourself.”

He boy looked puzzled. “I am Hassam the cabin boy on the Queen. That’s it.”

Trundle asked gently, “You don’t look like a Hassam. What’s your real name?”

The boy cringed. “Oh please, sir…”

The badger laid a paw on his shoulder. “Your name belongs to you. It is the gift of Aslan, and one of the things that makes you different from all other boys on Earth. I am Trundle. This is Sir Joseph. What is your name, son?”

His destiny hardened expression gave way. “My name… is… My name is Orlando.” He seemed embarrassed that his eyes misted up. “I was born in Farthingdale.” He had forgotten how powerful the music of his own name could be and how poignant the sound of home. “They’ll beat me if they know I told you. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Joseph put his paw on the boy’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. When a Knight of Narnia gives his word, he never breaks it. And I give my word.”

“A Knight? A real, live Knight?”

“The best kind.” The hare smiled and put his other paw on the boy’s head. “Orlando of Farthingdale, I, Sir Joseph, a Knight of Narnia, ask you to be my squire. Remember before you answer that a knight never cries, and neither does his squire if he too wants to become a knight someday.”

“I’ll never be a knight in this place. I want to go home.”

Joseph could understand that all too well. “Help us and you will go home.”

“Then I will be your squire. Tell me what I have to do.”

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]

Just a recap of the signatures so far...there will be a gallery on the site when the story is done ....

Chapter one



Chapter two



Chapter three



Chapter four

I am enjoying this story very much!