11Chapter One: Vacation
James blinked at the blinding white sand stretching toward the sea, sand that had moments ago been marble. He looked up to see that they were on a beach—perhaps that of a small island. "Where have you brought us?" he asked, though it was clear that he didn't much care—he was just glad to be away from the Pevensies.
"The rumrunners' isle—the one Jack's guv'nor of. You've been here once before, though I think you landed on the opposite shore," the lass replied, setting down the fox and beginning to walk along the beach, tugging once or twice on the leash so that he would heel. James followed.
"And why is that?"
"I thought you might need some time. You know, away from everything. I would have brought you to Fortitude's Last Berth if I knew where it was. Solitude and a vacation. That's all."
And so they strolled in silence, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves and the occasional cry of a sea bird over head. Amy kept waiting for him to calm down so they could talk, but he never did, remaining deep in thought all the while, opening his mouth every few moments as though about to say something and then abruptly closing it again. After several minutes he stopped, mumbled "I'm going fishing," and promptly pulled off his boots and coat, &c. until he stood in only shirt and trousers (for she had poofed him out of his armour), and waded out into the sparkling blue shallows to wait for the fish.
She sat down cross-legged in the sand to watch. Curiosity nudged her, and she suddenly felt compelled to explore. "Oh stop that," she told the emotion. "I can't leave him just yet." To get rid of the manifestation's influence on her, and figuring he wouldn't be able to get far given that they were, in fact, on an island—and a tiny one at that—she removed his leash and set him loose. Almost at once, he bounded into the jungle and disappeared amidst the green.
She turned back to James. Even from here, she could see shapes swimming around him as though he were but a strange rock or coral formation. Amy wondered at how he could stay so still; if she were to try, she would probably have begun to shake or twitch by now, as one tends to do when they have held a position for too long.
As it were, a larger shape was coursing through the rest—Amy supposed it was a small shark—coming closer, closer. James shifted slowly, smoothly, without disturbing the water, hands stretching out, ready and waiting for the opportune moment. And then he pounced, his hands darted into the water and pulled out the fish. Before it could struggle out of his grasp, he hurled it toward the shore, where it flopped helplessly on the sand. As he approached drawing his knife, Amy turned away, unable to watch it die. "Nice catch," she murmured to James as he came up beside her, his eyes aglow with satisfaction. "What kind is it?"
"Dogfish," he said promptly. "It's actually a shark, if you believe it."
"Either way it looks like we'll have full bellies tonight!"
"Aye. Will you gather some firewood? I'll get to gutting it."
She nodded obligingly, wrinkling her nose at the thought of sticking around for that, and proceeded along the beach where she began to collect bark and driftwood. Once into the trees, she spotted a flash of orange and nearly jumped out of her skin as the fox pounced on a trailing palm frond, before laughing and picking up a stick. She hurled it out of the trees to the glittering white sand and he took off after it. For a few moments she stared after him with a small smile before resuming her search for more timber.
By the time she returned to their camp, James had already built up a pile of logs and driftwood that made Amy realize that some of the larger pieces she had collected were mere kindling to these huge chunks of tree. And so, with the help of a little magic, they got a small cooking fire going and toasted their fish (even James did, complaining that this type of fish was unhealthy to eat raw), and quenching their thirst with coconut water.
As darkness began to fall, they got the fire going big and hot, its flames reaching ten feet into the air—easily higher! Ames and James sat side by side in the sand, watching the flames dancing perhaps a jive, or, if one wants to be more period, maybe a paso doble, and embers glittering through the air like falling stardust.
"So are you better now?" she murmured to him, in reference to the case of mistaken identity in Narnia, where the Pevensie children had thought him to be their father; he had reacted in a rather negative and peculiar manner.
"I suppose so," he replied with a swift smile.
"What...What exactly happened? I mean, you seemed awfully, erm... un-you."
He stared into the fire, thinking on his words carefully before speaking. "It...it startled me. But more than that, something happened to me—something..." He trailed off, casting about for a means of explaining such a concept, running a hand through his bushy hair. "I believed that I was not their father. I knew I wasn't, and I couldn't remember ever having been such. But...When they said it, it felt right. I felt like they were my children. I could see his whole life stretching out with them. I believed I was their father, when at the same time I knew I wasn't. I knew." His eyes found hers, and she saw his unease. "I believed two contrary things at once, and it scared me." He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Amy looked thoughtfully into the fire. A hunch was growing. "James," she said at length, "you once said that your name was an alias, right?"
He was hesitant to answer. "Yes. To escape persecution as son of a witch."
There was a long silence before she asked, "What was your original name?"
He stared at her, and she could see that he was having a hard time of recalling it. "I...don't remember," he finally stuttered, with a look of defeat. "I've been James Norrington for so long..."
The lass frowned. "But you were definitely never a Pevensie in this life?"
"No," he replied resolutely.
"No, no," she was muttering even before he had answered. "Name wouldn't matter anyways. You must have a parallel in that world that is their father. You don't need to share a name, just an existence—or something like that," she waved a hand vaguely. "One person can be many in the Realms, after all. For instance, in my world, your parallel would be Jack Davenport—the actor who plays you in the films. You're the same person, leading different lives. Or Captain Greenleaf from your story about the Fortitude and Gordy the Janitor. They're the same person, but not."
James blinked slowly. "That makes sense in a confusing sort of way," he said with a lopsided smile.
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Sorry."
He only widened his grin and pulled her to him in a one-armed embrace as they resumed staring into the fire. "Times like these I'm glad I've got you to set me to rights."
—
"Do you see that one there? That bright one?"
"Yeah?"
"That is the bowsprit of the great ship, the Constellation."
"Creative name."
"Oh come now. You have to admit, it's a good name for a ship, even if she is made of stars."
"I see it now! It really is shaped like a ship."
James lifted his head from the sand to look at her. "Beg pardon?"
"Look." Amy hummed a tune began to weave her arms with spellmaking, and when he looked up he could see more stars which had not been there before making up the shape of a light, two-masted galleon. Dark clouds swirled around to fill in the places where the sails would have been, as well as spiraling into cloudy waves as the heavenly vessel took sail across the sky.
James sighed with content. "Beautiful."
"So what's her story?"
"Hmm?"
"You know, the legend about how she got into the sky."
"Oh." He propped himself up on his elbows, donning the storytelling voice he had developed from all the tales he had been begged to tell the ship's boys and midshipmen. "Well... ...It has long been told that the Constellation was a ship that sailed herself, a spirit all her own. She was the swiftest and most powerful ship in the world, and all sailors coveted her. Men tried to capture and command her, but she was nimble and always evaded their traps. But one man succeeded, after chasing her relentlessly across the seven seas and at last trapping her in the shallows of treacherous shoals. That was Triton. He had an enchanted sword that he used to control her. Once in captivity, though, the Constellation longed for the freedom to roam the seas, seas which no one knew but her.
"But her captain was harsh and cruel, and handled her roughly. He forced her to sail into conditions she would normally avoid, with little regard for the damage she took because he thought her an enchanted vessel instead of a living soul. When the storms would subside and the clouds had cleared, she would look up at the night sky and see the stars stretching away beyond the horizons. 'I would I were a star, that no man could ever catch me,' she thought. And so, one night, when her captain was asleep in port (and him having no crew, for the ship sailed herself), she slipped her cables and stole away to the sky. She has sailed beyond the clouds ever since."
"Let me guess," the lass grinned, "Hannah told you that one."
"Actually no." James crossed his arms behind his head, watching the celestial ship dip her bows into the cloudy waves. "I heard it from the quartermaster of the Falcon when I first became a ship's boy. Did you know that the bowsprit is also the Great Western Star?"
"Really? We don't have a West Star in my world. Just a North one."
James chuckled. "It is said that the Constellation is sailing west so that the rising of the sun in the East cannot fade her light."
"That's cool," she commented after a moment's thought. They watched the ship sail through the clouds. "Oh—look! Someone's fired across her bow!" Amy pointed at a shooting star.
"Make a wish."
All their troubles forgotten, she replied, "I couldn't possibly think of anything to wish for."
"Nor I."
And such was their carefree conversation as the night wore on and the fire burned like a beacon on the beach; not a care in the world, nor a sense of urgency or danger. Perhaps if it had not been night, someone would have noticed white sails on the horizon.
Yeah yeah fluffity fluff. It doesn't stay that way, don't worry. Who's coming to the island? Anyone care to venture a guess?