Samuel Clarke - Writer

I wrote this short story as a response to a prompt which was to select a song and write a story based on that song. The song I chose is by my favorite band, The Gray Havens and the song is called "Silver" and I based my story roughly on the lyrics from the beginning of the song... Hope you enjoy! (Also, for C.S. Lewis fans, try to catch the reference in the song nearer to the end.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beQLvTNW9y0

     

     The ship rolled over wave after wave as the wind picked up like the growling beginnings of a lion's roar. The men scurried all over the deck, tying ropes and securing barrels. One of the sailors dashed up to the captain and shouted over the roaring waves and whistling wind, "A storm's picking up, sir! We should give the sails more slack so we don't lose the mast!" The captain shook his head, his beard dripping from the sea spray.

   "We need to keep our pace!" His voice was strong despite three days at sea shouting orders.    

    "May I ask what for? We don't even know where we're going!"

     "No," the captain replied, taking his piercing blue eyes off the water ahead and looking into the eyes of the other man. "But we know what we're looking for and we haven't found it yet, have we?"

     "But we don't even know if it exists!"   

     "Not for certain, no, but we'll look for it, or die trying. That's what you volunteered for and there’s no backing out now."

     The sailor nodded in agreement and left the captain, running over to help drag a trunk below decks. The captain reached into his breast pocket and fingered a folded piece of paper as if only to be reassured that it was real and safe.  After a pause he pulled it out, its surface shimmering, almost metallic looking.  He studied the notes painstakingly inscribed on it, making up a tune.

     THE tune.

     It made him think of home and he suddenly, vividly imagined the royals in the palace. Every one of them, queens and kings, hearing that song in their dreams every night for the past year and waking up in feverish sweat, called by the song, but not knowing what it meant. He remembered the day when he had gone before the queens and kings and had volunteered to be the captain of the fleet sent to find the song.  To lead a ship out into the unknown to uncover the source of that haunting melody.

     A song, beginning low and slow brought him out of his thoughts. Not the song on the paper in his hands, but a song from home, a celebratory song sung by the people of his country when heroes returned to their homeland. One of the men, standing in the middle of the deck, was singing it out through the storm-charged air.  He no doubt was imagining it being sung for them when they would arrive back home with the long awaited answer for their kings and queens, with the source of the song from their dreams. More of the crew joined in and their song wove up on the wind.

    

     Ooohh... Oohhh...
     Welcome back, welcome home
     Ooohh... Oohhh...
     Cease to fight, cease to roam

 

      The silver soldiers have returned
      Burial wreathes were never burned
      Great honor to the very blessed
      Much feasting, singing and much rest

    

       Ooohh... Oohhh...
       Songs and cheers, wines and toasts
       Ooohh... Oohhh...
       Tales of glory, honors and boasts

 

       Families welcome you back well
       The tower rings its silver bell
       Yelling, 'Victory, victory!'
       Ringing it's sound of liberty

 

       Ooohh... Oohhh...
       The journey's over, the battle won
       Ooohh... Oohhh...
       Welcome home, and cease to run...

 

     As the song faded, whisked away by the storm, the captain heard it, almost as if in response to the singing of the crew. A hauntingly beautiful melody began quietly, coming in fragments and echoes, floating between the winds from across the waters. It was the same tune heard by the kings and queens in their dreams. The song was found, now all that was left was to follow it.

     My brothers and I sat, dusty and unused along the mantle and the tops of the shelves. Christmas was months in the past and winter had left soon after and so no one wanted or needed us.  And so we watched, dormant.  We watched as the boy sat on the couch playing a game on his mobile.  We watched as the girl ran to her mother, asking for money behind the father's back.  And we watched the father, bent over his computer, working overtime for a raise.  We sat and listened as the rain poured down outside and the thunder chased the lightning.  Then, in a flash, all the hustle froze.  The lights went dark and everything shut down.  Silence rang for a moment before the clamor and complaining, the shouts of distress and whining began.  The mother calmed everyone down and asked the father to find matches.  Then one by one, she walked around the room and woke me and my brothers up, our faces lighting up and the house glowing warmly with our joyful, dancing flames.  The family sat around and peace and beauty reined.  

     My bedroom is completely made out of Amethyst.  It's a bit awkward due to the hue and the fact that I am a boy.  But when I asked my very rich parents to make me a room out of a valuable  material, and they relayed my order to someone else, this is what I'm stuck with...  I could have had it changed, thrown a tantrum like I used to or I  could've played the silent card.  But oddly enough, I've become quite attached to my purple room.  I just never bring any of my friends in here... We either go to my game room, my pool room, my dance room, my secret room, or hang out in the 30 acre back yard.  But recently, I've been noticing something off in my room, a pungent odor that comes from somewhere I can't find.  So today, I turned my room inside out to find the source.  It wasn't in the closet, under my bed, behind my drawers... I stopped and just sniffed.  I would find the source!  I stalked about, sniffing like a bloodhound, probably looking idiotic.  After a while, I saw somewhere that I had never looked before; my chandelier.  I staked two chairs on top of one another and reached up.  My fingers closed around something cold and limp just before a chair leg snapped.  I positioned my body so that I would fall on my bed.  The crash brought our butler scurrying to the door, fortunately, it was locked.  I ignored his knocks as my hands opened.  A small reptile fell out onto my sheets.  Definitely dead... I pulled out my phone and searched up every kind of reptile on the planet, I couldn't find a match.  Snapping a picture, I sent it to a reptile expert.  The reply came quickly...  This reptile was not from Earth.  

AUSTRALIA, 1614

            I kicked the grass ball hard and it flew into the trees.  Laughing, the other boys of our tribe told me to go retrieve it.  Grinning sheepishly, I sprinted into the refreshing cool of the forest.  My brown skin immediately blended into the bark of the trees.  I searched for the green ball woven out of grass among the undergrowth.  As I passed a bright orange snake lounging lazily on a branch, I heard strange voices coming from through the trees.  Creeping silently over the leaves I peered through the branches.  My heart stopped.  It was Englishmen.  I had heard stories about them.  About how their skin is white because they bath in milk.  About how they always carry around magic thunder sticks that boomed and killed my people. And also about how they wear weirdly colored plants that cover their bodies.  And here they were, standing right past the forest with their white skin and odd colored leaves around their selves.  They were talking loudly to each other in a language I didn't understand. An idea came to me.  I snuck back to the orange snake and carefully picked it up.  Then, climbing a tree near the men, I threw the nonpoisonous reptile onto them.  They screamed and pulled out some short sticks from their pockets.  Then, BOOM!  I almost fell out of my perch as a stick roared.  BANG!  Another one.  They weren’t aiming at me though; they were trying to kill the snake.  Even so, I cringed every time one went off.  After the snake had slithered back into the safety of the forest, the men put away their sticks and went back to talking among each other.  One of them was gesturing toward the forest and I understood.  They were going to barge into the forest and destroy the village.  I wished that they had never come from across the vast water.  They had come in groups many dying in the harsh heat of the deserts.  They had interrupted our simple way of life.  Our routine of fishing, hunting, playing ball and telling dreamtime stories.  I raced ahead of them, familiar with every inch of the forest.  I had a mission.  My mission was to make it as hard as I could for those Englishmen to find the village.  I will not let them take and kill the people of my tribe, I thought as I secured a tripwire.  I will not.