Chapter 2: The Whisper of the First Shore

The crew's joyous roar on the Sea Wanderer gradually subsided, replaced by a focused silence. The ship slowly, with utmost caution, entered a wide, horseshoe-shaped bay. The water here was surprisingly clear, a shade of turquoise Flora had never seen in the harsh northern seas of the Union of Nine. Through its depths, a sandy bottom was visible, in places overgrown with bizarre algae resembling purple and emerald lace. Schools of small, brightly coloured fish darted away from the ship's shadow, their scales glinting in the sunlight.

The shore drew nearer. High, almost sheer cliffs of dark grey stone framed the bay on two sides, like mighty sentinels. Their peaks were lost in a light haze of clouds. Up the slopes of the cliffs scrambled a thick, lush greenness—unfamiliar trees with broad leaves, vines as thick as ship's ropes, and bright, large flowers that looked like exotic birds. Between the cliffs lay a wide beach of dazzling white sand, so fine it seemed like powdered sugar. Beyond the beach began the jungle—a dense, impenetrable wall of vegetation that promised both coolness and hidden dangers.

"Depth of seven fathoms, Captain!" reported a sailor with a sounding lead. "Bottom is clear, sand."

"Drop anchor!" Flora commanded. Her voice, though not loud, was clear and authoritative.

There was a grinding of the chain, and the heavy cast-iron anchor plunged into the water with a splash. The Sea Wanderer swung gently with the wind and came to a stop, rocking on the lazy waves.

A silence, broken only by the cries of unfamiliar birds from the jungle and the soft murmur of the surf, enveloped the ship. It was a tense silence, full of anticipation. All eyes were fixed on the shore. Were there signs of life? The smoke of campfires? Boats? And most importantly—gold?

"Nothing suspicious so far," said Brenn, lowering his spyglass. "No smoke, no movement. It looks like the island is uninhabited. Or its inhabitants are very good at hiding. Or there's simply no treasure here, Captain."

"We'll find out soon enough," Flora replied, ignoring the last barb. "Prepare the first longboat. Me, you, Brenn, Son, Masefeg, and two more crossbowmen. Armed to the teeth. The rest—on the ship, on full alert. If anything goes wrong, raise the anchor immediately and head out to sea. The signal is three strikes on the ship's bell."

"Aye, Captain!" roared Son, his eyes already scanning the jungle for the glint of precious metals.

A few minutes later, the longboat, heavily laden with men and weapons, pushed off from the side of the Sea Wanderer. Flora sat in the stern, her hand on the hilt of "Whisper." Besides her sword, she had a long dagger and a pair of throwing knives hidden in her boots. Brenn and Son were armed with swords and shields. Masefeg, true to his smithing nature, had taken a massive war hammer. The two sailors, chosen for their marksmanship, held their crossbows at the ready.

They rowed slowly, trying not to make a sound. The closer they got to the shore, the stronger the sweet, spicy aroma wafting from the jungle became. It was pleasant, yet somehow unsettling, unfamiliar. Flora carefully scanned the edge of the forest. No paths, no traces of human activity. Only pristine, wild nature.

The longboat's prow gently nudged the sand. Flora was the first to jump ashore. The sand was warm and powdery. She took a few steps, looking around. Silence. Only the rustle of palm leaves overhead and the distant, melancholic cry of some bird.

"Clear," she said. "Spread out. Check the nearest thickets. Don't go far. Look for tracks, sources of fresh water. Son, Masefeg—you stay with the boat, provide cover."

She herself, along with Brenn and the two crossbowmen, moved towards the jungle. It was hard going. Dry leaves and fallen branches crunched underfoot. The dense undergrowth snagged at their clothes. The air was humid and stuffy, like in a steam room. Insects the size of a finger buzzed by her ear. Flora mechanically waved them away. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, on every bush, every shadow. She was looking for the slightest sign that someone had been here before them. A broken branch. Trampled grass. A footprint.

Suddenly, one of the crossbowmen, a young lad named Jorgen, cried out and recoiled. "Captain, look!"

Flora and Brenn ran to him. On the ground, among the roots of a huge tree with silvery bark, lay something strange. It was a skull. But not a human one. It had an elongated shape, with long, sharp fangs and empty eye sockets that seemed to still stare at them with a mute threat. The skull was the size of a small wolf's.

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"What kind of beast is that?" whispered Jorgen, his face pale.

Brenn leaned down, cautiously prodding the skull with the tip of his sword. "I don't know. Never seen anything like it. Not in any bestiary of the Union of Nine."

Flora crouched, carefully examining the find. The bone was old, yellowed, but the fangs still looked dangerously sharp.

"A predator," she stated. "And a rather large one. It means we're not alone here. At least, we weren't alone." She looked up at the dense thickets. What else could be hiding in this primeval jungle?

They continued their search, trying to stick together. They found a small stream with clear, cool water. This was good news. The supplies on the Sea Wanderer could be replenished. Flora filled a leather flask with water and tasted it. The taste was a bit strange, with a metallic tang, but it was drinkable.

Not far from the stream, Brenn noticed something else. Carved on the trunk of one of the trees were some signs. Deep, rough notches forming a complex pattern. They were old, overgrown with bark, but clearly made by the hand of an intelligent being.

"These aren't just claw marks," said Brenn, running a finger over one of the notches. "This looks like... some kind of writing. Or markings."

Flora came closer. The signs were unfamiliar to her. They resembled neither the runes of the dwarves, nor the script of the elves, nor any of the dialects of the Union. But as she looked closer, her heart skipped a beat. One of the symbols, almost worn away, was vaguely familiar. She had seen something similar in the oldest books from her father's library.

"Memory does not fade..." The thought flashed through her mind. Could it be?

At that moment, a sound came from the depths of the jungle. A long, low sound, like a roar or a howl. A chill ran down her spine. The birds in the forest fell silent at once. Even the persistent insects seemed to quiet down.

"What was that?" Jorgen clutched his crossbow so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I don't know," Flora answered, her hand resting on the hilt of "Whisper." "But I don't like it. We're going back to the boat. Quickly."

They hurried back, trying to move as quietly, but also as swiftly, as possible. The jungle, which had recently seemed merely wild and unexplored, now felt hostile, full of hidden threats. Every rustle, every crack of a branch made them flinch.

When they reached the beach, Son and Masefeg were already on alert, peering towards the forest.

"Did you hear it?" Son asked, his face serious.

"We heard," Flora nodded. "Something big. And it seems, not pleased with our presence. We're getting in the boat. And getting out of here before it gets dark."

They quickly loaded the flasks of water and samples of unknown plants that Flora had managed to collect. Pushing off with their oars, they directed the longboat towards the Sea Wanderer. Flora did not take her eyes off the edge of the jungle. It seemed to her that from there, from behind the dense wall of green, someone was watching them. Unseen, silent, but very attentive.

When the longboat was halfway to the ship, the same sound came from the forest again. This time it was closer, louder. And there was a clear threat in it.

And then they saw them.

Several figures emerged from the thickets onto the beach. They moved quickly, crouched low to the ground, almost merging with the shadows. It was hard to see them against the dark green, but Flora managed to notice that they were tall, slender, and something glinted in their hands. Spears? Or...

"Crossbows, ready!" Flora shouted. "Son, Masefeg, Brenn—prepare yourselves!"

The figures on the shore stopped at the water's edge. Now they could be seen better. They were people. Or creatures very similar to people. Their skin was dark, almost black like ebony. Long, matted hair fell to their shoulders. They were nearly naked, except for loincloths of some kind of hide and crude ornaments of bone and shells. They indeed held spears in their hands—long, with sharp stone tips. And they were looking at the longboat with open hostility.

There were about a dozen of them. But who knew how many more were hiding in the jungle?

"Do not fire without my command!" Flora ordered. She didn't want to start a fight if it could be avoided. But she wasn't going to let her guard down either.

The islanders on the shore shouted something. Their language was guttural, harsh, unlike any of the languages of the Union. One of them, apparently the chief—he was taller than the others and wore a headdress of bright feathers—took a step forward and shook his spear towards the longboat. It was a clear challenge.

"Looks like the treasure you promised is well-guarded, Captain," grumbled Son, gripping his sword more comfortably. "Maybe we should show them we didn't come empty-handed?"

"Looks more like we need to get out of here first," countered Brenn. "And then count how many Golden Bears each of their heads will be worth."

"We're not leaving until we know what this place is. And who these... people are," Flora cut in. She stood up in the longboat, trying to look as calm and confident as possible.

"Row to the ship!" she commanded her men. "But slowly. And keep them in sight."

She didn't know what awaited them next. A friendly welcome? Or a deadly fight? But one thing she knew for sure: this journey was just beginning. And it promised to be even more dangerous and unpredictable than she could have imagined.

The whisper of the First Shore had turned into a distinct roar. And Flora Disleyvane had to decide how to answer it.