The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1
The Black Queen

Nestled just above Linthiel on Fish River, a dense woodland stretched down to the water’s edge, its gnarled branches whispering secrets to the passing breeze. Here, the dwarf cut his logs for the raft with his axe, just as young Joe had told him. The axe made short work of the logs, Marroh swinging it as if it were an extension of himself. The boy soon arrived with a length of “permanently borrowed” rope to tie it all together while young Joe, who came back later, brought a sail (The fact that there was no mast for it to hang from was of little concern.). The boy christened the raft as their pirate ship and named her the Black Queen. She would take them to a safe river island to hold their secret initiation rites.

There was a certain commotion when young Joe arrived, guided by their own noise, as the boy hushed the dwarf to silence and then gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered back, but then the boy demanded he remained halted there in the brush until he gave the password. This confounded young Joe, as there was no such password between them. But the boy solved that by calling to him to make a guess, which young Joe did by calling back “Blood!” And the boy agreed that was the correct password and called him forward.

The boy had brought the promised side of bacon as well as the sweet potato, all compliments of the elf, Duravane, though as yet he knew not that he had offered them and likely never would. In addition, young Joe had stolen a skillet and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco and had also brought a few corn-cobs to make pipes with, though dwarfs normally only chewed. The dwarf had kept his end of the bargain, providing Joe with a short, sharp, grey bladed sword about as long as Joe’s arm. Young Joe immediately set about practicing with it and did promptly slay his first victim—the enemy branch of a nearby small tree. Similarly, the boy received two short, well-balanced spears with iron shafts. Designed for both throwing and close-in fighting, you were expected to throw the first, aiming for your opponent at very close range, and then hand fight with the other second. It had the advantage of being slightly longer than most swords, by which means you could not only keep your opponent at bay, but even get a thrusting blow in from out of sword range. As for the dwarf, like all dwarves, upon the handle of aged old oak was an axe blade of sharpest steel. It had been fashioned in a time when an axe could be anything, from homely firewood maker to something strong and mighty for defense.

Dusk was approaching, and they now loaded the raft with their stores and provisions. The boy had selected their destination—the small, uninhabited island where Fish River and Gold Creek met which the boy now named “Pirate’s Island”, and they pushed the raft out into Fish River to make for it.

It was a long, narrow, wooded island, with a shallow bar at the head of it, and this offered a good place to beach. Here they would head and hold their initiation at the boy’s favorite hour, midnight.

Fish River was a large, smooth river, as flat and calm as a lake, so the going was easy. It was a starlit night and stony still. The boy and the dwarf took to the poles while young Joe took the tiller at the stern. As yet, there was no reason to pole, the trip being downstream, beyond poling themselves out into deeper water. As there was no such thing as a dwarf that can swim, Marroh was a bit concerned, but no coward, and no dwarf would ever abandon his friends and so made no demands about turning back.

“So when do I get to learn about this initiation?” he asked.

“When it happens and none sooner,” the boy answered.

They reached midstream presently, young Joe in command, with Marroh at the after pole and the boy at the forward. Joe stood amidships, casting a steady sea eye, hand on the tiller, and asked for his sailing orders now in a low, stern whisper:

“What’s our destination?”

“The island in the fork,” the boy replied.

“I see it. Watch for shoals!”

“Aye-aye, sir,” said the boy but did nothing.

“Steady, steady-y-y-y!”

“Steady it is, sir,” said the boy, who, again, did nothing.

“Let her go off a point!”

“Point it is, sir.”

“Ought we not to be doing something?” the dwarf finally asked the boy sitting ahead of him, “Sounds to me like he’s giving orders.”

“Naw! He’s just captaining. That’s what they do.”

“Oh! I see! And for that, he gets an extra share?”

“He’s worth it. You’ll see. Watch,” said the boy and asked young Joe. “How safe is it ahead?”

“Take a sounding and count the log,” was the reply.

“Aye-aye, sir,” the boy said, and nudged the elf. “See?”

“I didn’t see anything,” grumbled Marroh.

“Watch for whitewater and secure the deck!”

“Deck secured, sir!” called the boy but did nothing.

“Hard to port! Port, port! NOW, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!”

“Steady it is, sir.”

“Land ahoy!” young Joe decided. “Okay. It’s time. Let’s pole for shore.”

“Humph!” complained the dwarf. “I didn’t need him to tell me that!”

“He getting us there, isn’t he?” the boy asked the dwarf confidently.

The raft drew towards the island after the boys pointed her to head at it, and then laid on their poles. The river was not high, so there was a very slow current. Hardly a word was said during the next few minutes as the black shape of the island loomed larger and nearer. To their left, the raft was now passing before the tree houses of Linthiel. Only two or three glimmering lights showed at the highest tree windows to mark where the elf village lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of star-gemmed water, unconscious of the lads passing. At about two hours to midnight, the Black Queen grounded on a sand bar just above the head of the island, and they waded back and forth from it to the beach until they had landed their freight.

They took the sail young Joe had brought, and this they spread over a nook amongst the flowered bushes of white gold, illuminating the greens for a tent to shelter their provisions. They were just beneath a stone bluff and the boy led the way up, weapons in hand. The others followed, scaling the rock with stealth in case there was some sentry above whom they needed to catch by surprise. There wasn’t anyone there, of course, nor was there any need to scale the rocks as an easy trail led from the beach to the top, but the boys thought this ascent was much more daring and would catch anyone there unawares. Besides! It made for good practice.

With the day growing old, the sun sank down beneath the tops of the pines. The light streaked through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams to guide them in their search for fallen, dried firewood.

They built an evening fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty steps within the somber depths of the trees, the boy making sure it couldn’t be seen from Linthiel. Soon the crackle of sparks and the dry smell of smoke filled the air. Buried just under the fire was the boy’s sweet potato, lifted from Duravane’s field, before they cooked some bacon in the frying-pan for supper, the savory aroma making them all hungry, and lit up the corncob pipes they had brought. The campfire lit a glow in all of them that night. Between the songs and jokes, between the smiles and stories, their bonds began to grow. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that wild, free way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited island, far from the haunts of men, and they agreed they would never return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their forest temple while the smoke drifted upwards into the overhanging foliage and festooning vines.

When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, the boy stirred the fire, and dug up the sweet potato from within, now baking hot. They had that too as they waited for the stroke of midnight.

When the sweet potato was gone, the boy declared it was midnight, whether it actually was or not, and time for their initiation ceremony.

He got out his knife and cut himself on his right thumb, just enough to draw a drop of blood. Next, he handed his knife to the other two for them to do the same.

“I’ve not seen a knife like this before,” the dwarf noted, examining it.

“It’s a keeper’s knife which makes it magical,” said the boy.

“Aye! It is sharp. I’ll give you that,” Marroh conceded. “That’s quite a blade. I’ve not seen its like.”

“Now we mix our blood together,” the boy instructed. “That makes us blood brothers. Then we have to swear an oath to another.”

“What oath is that?” Marroh wanted to know.

“That we’ll always stay together, and none will abandon the other, and that we’ll never tell the secrets of the Gang even under torture or, if we do, then may we and our families die wretched painful deaths.”

“But you’ve got no family,” young Joe observed.

“I have my aunt and Sith.”

That satisfied the others, so they shared their blood and made their solemn oaths.

“That’s it,” he told them, putting away his knife. “We’ve all been initiated into the gang.”

“Why, that’s high fine and mighty!” said young Joe. “Wait till I tell everyone!”

“No! You can’t tell anyone,” the boy said. “You took a vow of secrecy.”

“I took a vow not to talk under torture. Otherwise, I can talk all I want.”

“No. You can’t," the boy insisted. "You can’t be a robber if everybody knows you’re a robber.”

“Why not? You steal and everybody knows it.”

“That’s because nobody whips me for doing it." The boy reminded him. "What would your pa do if he knew you were a robber?”

“I guess he’d spank me good.”

“Dang right he would," said the boy. "And then do the same to Marroh here. We have to keep this a secret.”

“Okay,” young Joe reluctantly agreed, “but I don’t see the fun if you can’t tell anyone.”

“We get to have fun." The boy assured him. "Remember, we’re heroes. We rob from the rich and give to the poor.”

“Oh! Yeah! I forgot about that,” remembered young Joe. “Marroh doesn’t know about that. That’s the best part!”

“What do you mean?” the dwarf wanted to know, squinting suspiciously over the embers. “Why do we have shares if we’re just going to give it all to the poor?”

“Because the poor is us!” answered young Joe.

Marroh nodded in agreement with that but still wanted to know. “But what if we meet folks poorer than us?”

“Then we let them join the gang to get their share,” the boy explained.

“Seems fair,” the dwarf mused with a nod. “How many shares do they get?”

It seemed a good question. Marroh waited on the boy’s reply.