Writing on the Road
Hi friends. If you’re new here, this is The 200 Word Novel, where true to its name, I’ll be writing a novel roughly 200 words at a time. You can find the start of the adventure (and the story) here. This week, we chipped away with 200 words at a time while traveling to Austin, Indianapolis (!), and Houston. (Yes… in that order. A story for another day!)
Gruber responded by putting another bolt in the forehead of a sharpshooter on the other ship, a red fox that peeked his nose out at the wrong (right) moment.
“I assumed your life was worth more than your coat, but good to know I was mistaken,” he said.
The surprised look on Orion’s face shifted into a bemused smirk, the wolf grinning with just a hint of fang. “Fair play, frog,” he said, pulling the arrow out and loosing himself from the mast. His jewel blue eyes shimmered, then glowed with a milky silver light as his paws gently floated off the deck of the ship, levitating into the night air. Gruber watched as Orion drifted two, three, five spans above the ground, silver fur dancing in the light breeze, shimmering slightly as the magical storm clouds parted ever so slightly, pierced by the full moon’s light.
“Avara haunts you!” Orion bellowed, paws held above his head, fingers intertwined in an arcane seal. His voice boomed across the water, enhanced by some kind of magic. Gruber’s annoyance at the wolf’s performative spellcraft was disrupted as a beam of silvery light erupted from Orion’s paws, focused and enhanced like sunlight through a magnifying glass as it carved a path across the approaching ship. Wherever the silvery light touched, the wood ignited into flames, searing a violent arc across the bow and over the approaching vessel. The sounds of screams and pained cries drifted across the distance, unseen animals confirming that the searing light scorched flesh just as readily as it did wood.
“Damn,” said Basil.
Gruber begrudgingly (and silently) agreed.
A whiz of arrows and bolts flew through the air in answer from the dark ship, and one found its mark in Orion’s thigh. The wolf wobbled in the air as he howled in pain, his hands breaking apart from their pose and his spell ending. He quickly repositioned again in the air, using the mast once more as cover.
Gruber returned fire at the crossbowfolk as they peeked from their cover, but they knew to take greater care now to hide their positions. Another crackle of lightning burst across the Duskhawk, sending splintered wood and animals flying, the sails flagging once again as paws that held ropes now clutched wounds instead. Gruber watched, his mouth a grim line, as the dark ship began to pull up in parallel to theirs. His spotted spotting several cannon ports along their hull—yet none opened fire, even as their ship pulled into prime position.
“Grappling hooks and ladders spotted! Blades at the ready! Prepare to be boarded!” Gruber turned back to spot Ren, the ship’s first mate, dashing across the ship, golden fur a blur as the leopard drew her scimitars, racing to where the first hooks sunk into the gunwale to slash at ropes as they pulled taut.
A dozen scenarios flashed through Gruber’s mind. No threats nor calls for surrender meant they were unlikely to be pirates or brigands, who would want to secure spoils more than to risk their lives in continued combat. No cannon fire meant they weren’t seeking to simply sink the vessel (at least not yet). And the salvos of attacks so far sought showed a relentless focus on killing and maiming the crew, all in preparation for a concerted effort to board. All of this meant they most likely had something of high value to retrieve.
Or someone.
Gruber scurried across the ship, sliding behind cover next to Basil who had now taken over manning the wheel. The lynx who had been doing so laid on the deck, gritting his teeth as he clutched a new arrow in his abdomen, breaths coming in shallow bursts.
“Can we give them the owl,” Gruber said.
“What?” Basil’s biceps strained as she held the wheel on course, her eyes wide with confusion at Gruber’s calm request.
“You lied. Or didn’t tell the whole truth,” Gruber said.
“What are you talking about—can this wait?” Basil reached inside her coat and drew out an emberstone pistol, firing a roaring shot at the grappling hooks that just latched onto the gunwale nearby. The blast blew a smoking hole in the wall, but the hooks snapped backwards as the yelp of surprised would-be boarders confirmed her success.
“This is not a routine shipment. Those are not run of the mill pirates. That wolf is no regular passenger nor simple tourist hitching a ride to Vahn.” Gruber jerked a thumb behind him, where Orion was unleashing a fresh beam of moonlight at the enemy ship, pinning would-be boarders down and cackling with glee as he did so. “He and the badger clearly protect the owl. So can we afford to surrender him?”
“That’s cold, Gruber.” Basil refused to make eye contact, but her tongue flickered, tasting the air.
Considering his proposal.
“You hired me to guide you to safety.” Gruber fired a shot, sending an animal figure clad in black careening into the water instead of landing on the Duskhawk as they swung across the gap. “Surrendering him is the shortest path to potentially averting this bloodbath.”
“No one was supposed to know they were here,” Basil muttered.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“If they are here for him,” Basil said, feeding more emberstone into her pistol, “then they won’t stop until there are no witnesses.”
Gruber nodded. “That does answer my question.”
Basil’s eyes narrowed as Gruber loaded another bolt into his crossbow. “What does that mean?”
“Now I know we have to kill them all,” Gruber replied.
With that, he dropped to all fours and darted across the deck, building momentum with each hop. Behind him, he heard Basil shout a new command. “Fight for your lives, lads and lasses! Give no quarter as they’ll give us none!”
Gruber ran a quick tongue over his left eye as he sprang out of the way of a new bolt of electricity. This was why he liked Basil. Adaptive and decisive in the face of new information and realizations. “Orion, to me!” He croaked, sparing a glance skywards. “We must sink them before they sink us.”
“Get those archers to stop targeting me and I’ll gladly lead the charge, Frogbowman!” the wolf replied, dropping the magical boom behind his voice, but still yelling loud enough that that Gruber could hear him above the din. Gruber mentally shrugged. The wolf’s firepower was a useful asset, but providing a glowing, floating target to draw fire was not a terrible alternative either.
“They have cannons,” Gruber called out. “Cannons mean emberstone. Look for my signal, fire mage. And cover me.” Gruber ignored Orion’s verbose decries of how he obviously did not dabble in something so mundane as fire magic, continuing his springing steps and barreling towards the edge of the ship. Without looking back, he leapt off the side. As he plummeted to the water below, Gruber’s cheeks puffed with air as he let out a high pitched whistle—too shrill for most animals to hear. Above him, the roar of moonfire whooshed by as Orion did as he was asked (a pleasant surprise).
The shock of the cold ocean water would’ve sent most mammals into a reflexive gasp for air, but to Gruber it served as a comforting jolt of familiarity. He always felt more at home in water, and could swim even faster than he could hop—but he did not plan to swim the rest of the way to the enemy ship.
From the depths below, an impossibly high pitched whistle reached him in a stream of bubbles, heralding a fast approaching shadow. Gruber bent his knees as the dark shape intersected his position, and the two rocketed upwards and forwards. The duo breached the surface as one, Gruber on the back of a monstrous frog, easily three times his own size. To any animals seeing them from above (say, from the deck of a ship or as they floated like an idiot while glowing with pale moonlight magic), they might have mistakenly assumed Gruber somehow skimmed across the water alone, white spray and wake rippling behind him. But Gruber remained crouched on top of his brethren with one hand gripping its back, the other hand held out behind for balance, as the latter swam at astonishing speed just below the surface.
“Nice catch, Gilly,” Gruber shouted above the spray. A rumble of affirmation came from beneath his webbed feet.
Plumes of water splashed up around the duo as arrows and cannon fire burst around them. Gruber gave Gilly a tap on his back, and the large frog dove again beneath the surface, swimming an arcing path out of sight towards the enemy ship. Its dark silhouette loomed above them, now moving much slower as it jostled to simply maintain close distance to the crippled Duskhawk. Gruber peered above, webbed feet tapping directions to Gilly as he lined up to where he remembered seeing the cannon portholes, the sketches of an idea coalescing into a plan. He had one shot, at best. Had to hope surprise and a dash of luck was armor enough to stop an arrow or cannonball from finding him.
Gruber’s cheek puffed up as he once again let out two shrill whistles, the sound carrying in the water much better than above. Up. Fast. He felt Gilly rumble with uncertainty beneath him, and gave the lug a reassuring pat. We’ve seen worse, brother.
Gilly let loose a stream of bubbles in reply, and the pair began to build up speed. Faster, faster, towards the surface. The cerulean blue of the sea blurred into a turquoise gradient as they barreled towards distorted sky. Gruber bent his knees, braced for the impact with air. One shot. Can’t miss. Good thing Gruber made his living making sure he didn’t miss.
Splash! Gruber took a deep inhale of air as they breached, shifting from skin to nose. Gilly sprang clear above the surface, water glistening as they leapt up, up, up the the side of the ship. The open cannon porthole gaped high above them, closing in fast—but not fast enough. Gilly wouldn’t make the opening.
It’s been pretty fun keeping to the new writing schedule. And many days, I find myself writing a bit more than 200 words. But even on busy travel days and days when I’ve been exhausted with other obligations, I find myself saying, “it’s just 200 words,” opening up the document, chipping away at the scene, and closing the page with relish.
This past week I’ve been in Austin, TX, visiting an improv theater I admire out here—the Hideout Theatre. They put on some of the coolest, most innovative narrative improv shows I’ve seen, AND they run an incredibly admirable business that’s been around for 26 (!) years. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed guesting in their shows last weekend, and also appreciated their artistic and managing directors taking time to chat with me about running the business. I’ve also enjoyed hanging out with Flip, the Bestest Boy of the Hideout.
That’s all for now. Thanks as always for reading, and thanks for the support and love. And if you’re a fellow writer looking for a nudge to get momentum on your next project, join me! The water’s great (when it’s not filled with murderous frogs). 💙