The Admiral stared into the storm, his face stern and his thoughts concealed. It had been many years ago that he first met Gylain.
William was born to a man who was already dead and a woman who was soon to follow. From youth he was an orphan, left to wander the streets of Eden and beg what he could, steal what he could not. It was several years before he stumbled into the Floatings, for the rest of the city was a maze for the child. He walked between two lofty buildings, and the city abruptly came to an end – all he had ever seen or known simply vanished. In its place stood the Floatings. He was entranced by its charm and its bustle. He looked out upon the harbor – so full of floating structures its surface could not be seen – and he saw the dreams of the hungry nights sitting before him like paradise.
For an hour he did not move, but stared with the delight of discovery. When he finally ventured within the Floatings it was as if he entered a bubble of excitement. Even at its edge, it felt different than the city. It was alive. He crept to the edge of the water and put his foot in, as if assuring himself it really was there and not some dream of his. The keeper of a small shop saw him there and brought his Lipel beside William with two strokes of the oars.
“Child,” the shopkeeper called out to him, “Are you busy?”
“No, sir.”
“Ah, then would you care to earn a penny? I have need of a helping boy.”
“Yes, sir,” and William’s face opened into joy.
The shopkeeper was a man in his forties, with a round face and a nose almost as long as his head. This prodigious nose, however, was straight, and gave him an honest look. He reached out and picked William up, pulling him into the center of the boat. It was a circular boat, with a counter some three feet tall running around edge – covered in fresh fruits – and a thatch roof. There was a small platform in the center, resting on a row of ball-bearings: it turned in whichever direction his feet pushed. A wooden chair occupied its center; a pair of oars came up through the bottom and swiveled with the platform. A pedal at his feet controlled the rudder on the bottom, allowing him to adjust which way the current pushed the shop. In this way, he could dart among the other vessels of the Floatings with the dexterity of a water bug.
“You will be my spotter,” he told William, and he opened a door to the roof. There was a comfortable seat built into it, upon which he set the boy.
“Can you swim?” the man asked him.
“No, sir, though I have always wanted to learn.”
The shopkeeper laughed until his face was red with mirth. “I will teach you when the day is done. Until then, wear this,” and he handed a small floating vest to William.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are perfectly welcome, my boy. Here is what you must do: look about you for anyone that might be wanting some fruit. When you see them, call into this tube,” and he showed William a speaking tube that connected to the cockpit. “Tell me where and what it is. With a little experience, you will learn what is a good prospect and what is not. Until then, keep your eyes open.” The shopkeeper’s smiling head disappeared into the Lipel. It came up again a moment later, however, handing William a plump orange not two days from the tree. “When you are done with it, holler down to me and I will give you another. Don’t be shy about it. Just be sure to show the joy there is in eating such extraordinarily good fruit.” He winked and pulled his head below. Then away they went, darting around the Floatings like a fish among whales.
The shopkeeper had no children – though his wife dearly wanted one – and from that day they raised William as their own. He worked with his father on the Lipel until he was twelve. Then, with the money he had diligently saved, he bought some sailor’s clothes and became a cabin boy in the Atiltian fleet. By twenty, his courage had made him a lieutenant.
At that time, Atilta was at war with Spain and Egypt. It was the threshold for Atilta: victory meant empire, and defeat enslavement. In the battle for Saxony – Atilta’s only ally in the three kingdoms – the Admiral of the fleet was killed. Chaos threatened, and William took command, issuing orders to the fleet as if the Admiral was still alive. He wisely feared a power struggle between the other captains that would ruin them, and through his genius the battle was won: Atilta became great. In the glory of victory, his means were praised. He became a hero.
In the courts of Saxony, he met the beautiful royal daughter: Casandra. The end of the war filled the air with the fuel for love; their passion sparked it to a blaze. They were married before he left. She left her country for Atilta, forsaking the power and wealth of her family for the power and passion of her lover. Passion is not long fermenting into sweetness, and when they fed it love, it did not fade. William grew in stature among the court of Atilta. His victory over the Spanish was brilliant, but he did not grow dull with authority. He won every battle and made no excuses. At length, he was named Admiral of the entire navy.
There was another young man who also grew quickly into power, however. Gylain was born into the highest level of wealth and power, as the Duke of the Lion’s Mane. With beauty and nobility, little worth is needed for advancement, and Gylain possessed both. Yet he was also a brilliant, spirited man. He burned in the service of the king, just as he later burned to overthrow him. He was named General of the entire army at the same time William became Admiral.
They first met in a council of war, called to discuss the Viking invasions to the north. William came with a powerful stride, as did Gylain, and from the first they felt an affection for each other. While other men were weak and prostrate before the King, Gylain and William were equal. Yet Gylain envied him in one thing: the love of William’s wife was still passionate, for they were not together enough for it to grow cool.
The council lasted through the night. The next day they parted: William for the seas, and Gylain for the land. William went to confront the Viking fleet and destroy the threat before it could land. On his journey, however, Gylain first met Casandra, and was charmed by her surpassing beauty. He was accustomed to satisfying his desires and struggled with his lust for her. Yet it grew within him – by divine dictate, as he said – until it consumed his conscience. He flamed within and it manifested itself in his sword.
Casandra’slove, meanwhile, had evolved into bitterness. In her loneliness, she cursed William. She desired him, but he was not to be had. She gave herself to him, but he was not there to receive her. Hate is but the after taste of love. And she hated William.
On the northern coasts, William was wrecked against the shore. Whatever men survived joined Gylain’s army. Yet the army had also been beaten back and was reduced to a hundred men – a hundred hard and desperate men, left to defend their country. The Vikings were almost two thousand strong.
The beaches of northern Atilta were flat and sandy, stretching inland for half a mile. There, however, they came against a mountain range whose precipices could not be passed. On either side the beach stretched for a hundred miles, and could not be left but through a single, narrow pass: the Pass of the Forest. It led directly into the heart of the forest that covered the rest of the island. The pass itself was ten feet across, with cliffs rising thousands of feet on either side. The sun could only penetrate to the bottom for two minutes at high noon. At any other angle, the cliffs would not let it come down and the pass below was dark.