Blankmap: Book I

33. Three-Hundred Heartbeats

Solomon awoke to the sound of rain lashing at the roof. He had been dreaming, and his thin woven bed had taken him to a green country where the air hung heavy and water dripped from hanging moss.

He sat up in the darkness and could barely discern his father's large silhouette moving at the front of the room. Jacques must have heard his son's movements, for he turned inwards as he unlatched the door and looked out into the rain-driven night.

"Take care of yourself," he said. "There's a much worse storm coming." And he stepped out into the night, as lightning in the distance illuminated his massive frame.

The rain was still driving down outside when Solomon felt himself being shaken awake, and the room was pitch black.

"Come, Solomon Hyrax," hissed Melion's familiar voice. "You must come with me...now!"

Solomon sprung from his woven mat. "Melion? What's the matter?"

"Your father has gone."

"Yes, I saw him leave earlier tonight."

"Did he say anything to you as to his intentions?"

"No...He told me to take care of myself. That a...a much worse storm was coming."

"The storm is here. And I fear the worst for your father. Come!" Melion bounded out the door into the rain, which was coming down in sheets onto the sand. Peals of thunder and blinding flashes of lightning added to the chaos outside the cozy home. Solomon had no choice--Melion's words had driven an iron spike of fear into his heart. What could his father be doing? The young adventurer dashed out into the darkness hard on the older man's heels.

He caught Melion at the water's edge. The Irooj, who bore a trident slung across his back, let out three long whistles, somber notes that somehow wove their way through the noise of the storm. The effect was almost instantaneous. Within seconds, two Lodrik appeared, bucking their proud heads against the force of the gale. Their wild snorts were assuaged as Melion waded out into the water and stroked their manes, bringing them to heel with an expert hand. The Irooj gestured to Solomon to join him.

The second the young adventurer's feet touched the water, he felt the familiar tingling change begin to creep up his legs. By the time he reached the Lodrik and stood waist deep he had ceased to feel the chill of the rain-lashed sea. There was little time for a self-examination, however, as Melion had already mounted one of the great water horses and was motioning for Solomon to follow suit. The young traveler remembered keenly how long it had taken him to get on the water horse's back the previous day--they had no such time now. Panic began to well in him once more as Melion beckoned to him.

"You know how to ride the Lodrik, yes?"

"I tried yesterday--I fell off --" A crash of thunder drowned out the words as the rain continued to beat down on the two men.

"Just hold on tight, Solomon Hyrax. And trust that it will carry you."

Melion knotted his hands into the Lodrik's mane and gave a sharp tug. In flash he was off, his mount spraying sea foam as it tore through the waves. The icy grip of fear was still clinging tightly to Solomon's heart. He had never seen Melion look panicked before, never heard him speak so tersely, never known him not to comfort. Where could Jacques have gone? Solomon knew there was one obvious possibility, but he refused to look it directly in the eye. Things seemed safer that way.

The Lodrik gave a snort. It seemed totally unbothered by the storm raging around them. Steam poured from its wide nostrils, but it remained unmoved by the waves.