EPTThe Travels of Mr. Greg Fields
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/jhJw3.jpg)
or, a Journey to a remote and unforgiving land
or, a Journey to a remote and unforgiving land
Dear readers,
I'm afraid that it has been some time since I wrote to you last. I was called away temporarily on urgent business from Porlock to see a patient of mine in the country, quite ill he was, though not particularly pleased to see me for some reason.
Here is the third installment of Mr. Fields' travels. I think you'll find this one especially exciting, I know I did. Here are parts one and two. As always, I have included a few daguerrotypes to supplement the text.
Yours as ever,
Grovel Oh-Sea
Part 3
A Dark Corridor
In which the author quits the American continent for good, enjoys some days of pleasurable sailing, and makes the dangerous passage through the Bering Strait
A Dark Corridor
In which the author quits the American continent for good, enjoys some days of pleasurable sailing, and makes the dangerous passage through the Bering Strait
I had arrived at the town of Deadhorse, Alaska, now about halfway through my journey to Korea. If my readers remember well, I had made a port of call to replenish my supply of food, and to make repairs on my damaged ship. Also, after taking a fall and breaking my arm, I needed proper time to rest and let the bone heal, about two weeks I figured. I had spent most of the funds raised from pawning my computer gear and stamp collection on leasing the boat, but thankfully I did have a little left to pay some workmen to haul some timber in and fix the broken boards so rent by the ice. I had some time on my hands then, and I thought it well to amuse myself by walking about town, pacing street after grim street, taking in what the whistle-stop of Deadhorse had to offer.
With dreary resolve I spent the days doing just that, sometimes heading with the wind down some frozen alley, other times against it, but always with my brow bent forwards in defence of the biting air. Such drab blocks in this place! Blackness, sheets of ice, the town slumbering beneath a blanket of snow, suppressed in a torpor of cold. At times I would espy a lantern bobbing through the hoary gloom, as if a candle through a tomb; then would I feel the desperate urge to rush up to it and follow its bearer to whatever homely place he was headed. I spent time on the dock, watching over the men repairing my skiff. Always at the back of my mind were the old man’s words: that dark strip of sea, the malice there; still could I smell his saltwater breath and see his rheumy eyes. Once I even fancied that I saw him again, a hunched form turning the corner at the end of the street. I ran after him, but, rounding the block, I found that he was gone.
I spent my nights at The Nidus; a thin broth for dinner and sleep under a thinner blanket. The place remained near empty for the two weeks I was there. The landlord spent every hour behind the bar, eyeing the door in case of an unexpected arrival. I whiled away the dark hours in some books which I had found in the bar, tucked away on a grimy shelf in the corner. I was lucky enough to find a copy of Mil Anyhow’s The Power of Hwan, an old tale of a boy’s ascent in the gaming world. I poured over it, gleaning all that I could in hope of emulating Hwan’s success, such impressionable mind that I had!
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/hQvRG.jpg)
The two weeks drew to a close. I was confident now that my arm felt strong enough to travel with. I saw to it that my skiff was properly repaired, and, spending the last of my money on supplies, quitted for good the town of Deadhorse, Alaska, not one least bit sorry to be rid of the place.
I left at sunset, the white waters giving way to that clear azure of the Arctic. Casting off, my skiff making slow progress from the pier, I turned astern and gave dreary Deadhorse a final look. Then again I thought I saw the old mariner! There he was, or at least I thought him there, standing idly by on the wharf. Did he wave at me then? A final parting shot perhaps, though ill-directed in the gathering gloom. Collecting myself I turned from the scene; no longer could I afford to give thought to his premonition, and what fiction it must be anyway, no doubt the ghostly product of an addled mind. With these affirmations I gave myself to the navigation of the ship, only taking time once in a while to look back upon the silvery wake left by my skiff as it trailed away beneath the rising moon.
I enjoyed calm sailing for some three days after. The seas seem to oblige my passage with a calm resignation, and I had time to sit at leisure with my back against the mast and a book in hand. I had taken The Power of Hwan with me, smuggled away in my sack, and now I was able to finish it unhurriedly. I think you readers would find it an altogether rousing tale, the type that might inspire some to leave off from colourless lives and seek their own successes. I had already found such motivation, but the book seemed to channel within me all those loose strands of passion which, like stray grains after the scythe, need to be collected from the soul’s dark earth.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/CLkiF.jpg)
I had entered the Chukchi sea, and the calm weather persisted. The air now felt a little warmer, at least divested of that chilling bite from which it is impossible to become accustomed. I was able to remove my coat and even the thick woollen jumper I wore beneath it. Tacking south against a mild wind, the sun at my back, my shoulders leaning against the slackened sails, I feel into a sort of enchanted air. In this dreamy mood my mind seem to escape my body, and from above I could see it swaying gently to and fro, as a pendulum does long after its first force is withdrawn. The waves indulged my languor, climbing lazily to a peak then dissolving with similar lack of care; now and then a whip of spray falling effervescent on the ship’s prow. The daydream took full command of my thoughts, and time passed unchecked.
Such was my condition when I started at a sound so strange, so unearthly, that at once I was pulled back to reality. I rushed from the bow onto the forecastle, wildly looking about for the source of the ethereal call, and a call I was sure it was. A long-drawn out wail, but at such foreign pitch! Now a low rumbling thunder across the waves, but soon rising into a shrill squall as if a thousand birds of prey had seized upon the same quarry. The horrible sound resounded louder and louder, sending me into a fit of madness. I fell to my knees, hands clutched to my ears to block it out. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the noise ceased. I stood up and gathered myself. All seemed as it was before, the waves nodded their slothful crests against the bow, the wind remained calm, the sun over all. There was no sign of anything amiss, or clue as to the origins of the frightful cry; though, turning ahead, I could see the far southern horizon now obscured by a mass of heavy clouds, their heads swelling skywards to a dark and ominous grey.
I was now approaching the Bering Strait, that slim corridor between Alaska and Russia. Once through it was not far to Korea, and I had begun to let my mind ply ahead to my final destination. But now the wind was picking up, and the waves rose from their slumber; I was compelled to fix all my attention and energies on manning the skiff. When darkness came on the sky split forth, letting loose a fearsome thunder. The sea swelled, my skiff rolling between walls of water. Forks of lightning came down from the heavens, illuminating the heaving sea at intervals. I began to grow afraid. I had not yet witnessed such a storm as this, and sea and sky seemed to show no signs of calming. Higher my skiff went over the crest of billow after billow, and lower again between the seething troughs. Heavy rain came on, and I could see very little in the gloom. I lost all means of orientating the skiff; south was north, east west, ocean and sky together as one vast and hostile sphere.
Struggling as I was against these furious forces, the strangest sensation then came over me. Like before, when my mind seem to rise adrift of my body, I felt a lazy calm. I cannot account rationally for it: before, with the sun out and the sea at ease it made some sense, but now? It must be the most perilous thing in the world to sit distrait on such a tiny vessel, the sea roaring beneath and around you, the mind neglecting care or thought for survival, the eye content to view the boiling elements with casual disinterest. But that is exactly what I did, giving no thought to my imminent danger. I sat by on the forecastle, holding the bulwark with one hand, the other outstretched like a wand in an absurd gesture of conduct. It seemed to me that I was orchestrating this elemental show, the waves rising and falling with my baton, the thunder beating in time.
Then, though at first indiscernible from the booming sound of waves, I became aware of that same unearthly moan as before. From the depths it resonated lowly, but soon rose to a shrill and deafening pitch until all the world seemed filled with it. In the same way as before I fell to my knees, this time covering both ears and eyes with my hands. Suddenly, from behind closed lids I beheld an awakening: a foaming of the water before my skiff, a bubbling of the ferocious tide, then a giant tentacle shooting forth from the ocean’s tumbled surface. I sat dumb, eyes shot open now, fixated by the monolithic limb. Another soon followed it; both were covered by countless glistening suckers. I just had time to see part of the beast’s body emerge before the entire form went under again, tentacles lashing at the water’s surface.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/kU6iX.jpg)
Holy terror! What a thing it was, the Gracken true! I could make out little of its appearance from my brief sight of it, but what I did see was cause enough to get me up and moving with frantic speed. Curse that bedeviled old man and his words! Curse their hideous reality! I took to the tiller but could not get it to budge, jammed as it was by the wind and waves. And what could be done against such a foe anyway? My instinct was to leap inside the hold and bar it shut, insanely reckoning that if I could not see the awful beast then it could do me no harm. I dismissed the idea. As I grappled with the sails in a vain attempt to give direction to my skiff, I beheld the beast again, this time emerging from the billows on my starboard side. Immeasurable it was in size, like an iceberg whose precipitous tip belies an even greater mass beneath. Affixed in its monstrous head were two blazing eyes; below these a bird like beak opened wide, revealing rows upon rows of sharpened teeth. With lightning speed the Gracken struck, flailing two of its tentacles in opposite directions across my bow. Ducking just in time, I heard the mast snap clean in two. I peered over the bulwark but the beast was already gone.
What could be done against it? Nothing it seemed, no weapon did I have or means of escape. When the monster surfaced again, this time port-side, I grabbed the only thing to hand: my Brood War manual. The Gracken reared its enormous head, and at that moment a giant sheet of lightning split the sky. I raised the manual behind my head, but too late! The beast had gripped my skiff from beneath, and I could hear the timber crumbling under its incredible strength. Just before I lost my footing, I let fly with the manual, hurling it with all my strength.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/Ptvqe.jpg)
A hit! The corner of the book dug deep into the monster’s eye. A cry went up, the same one I had heard twice before, and a red tide came pouring from the wound like a brook down a hill. The Gracken flailed, letting loose my skiff. I thought for a moment that I had him bested, but not so. In one swift motion a tentacle was raised; there it hung aloft for the briefest of moments before crashing down with awesome speed upon my boat, missing me by a fraction. I felt the ship reel from the fatal blow, the two ends tilting upwards at dizzying angels. With nothing to grab hold of I slipped into the break, my head catching the bulwark with force. The boiling seas took me down, and I remembered no more.
Part 4
