The Ferryman's Apprentice: Part One

By Lee Cope

A story about a boy with a questionable relationship to life and his best friend, a girl with a questionable relationship to death.

The concept of death never particularly bothered Wilom Tris. So, when the opportunity for a truly unusual apprenticeship came up, the only thing that mattered to him was that it got him out of his aunt’s house.

Until then, Wilom had more than enough information to know his only options were bad ones. Now, it turns out he has two options that are equally tempting, but not nearly enough information about them. Option one: Stay on the River, be a ferryman, live by the rules. Option two: Go back to the living world, and do whatever he wants.

The more he learns about his apprenticeship and life on the River, the more questions he has, but his mentors have stopped answering them. The only perspective he has on the living is through the eyes of the dead. He knows he’s missing something important, but nobody will tell him what it is.

At least he has a friend along for the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Cope
• Release date: Aug 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244946685

Lee Cope

Lee is an Australian fantasy author and wordsmith-for-hire who likes to procrastinate from writing with more writing.Their writing efforts can be traced either to the terrible Disney ripoff they wrote when they were six, or to the not quite as terrible but equally embarrassing David Eddings ripoff they wrote at fifteen, depending on your definition. They like to think their writing has gotten less terrible with practice, and if not original, then at least it derives from a variety of sources now.They fund their fantasy writing by selling their wordsmithing services as a writer, editor and research assistant in projects both fictional and non. These ventures also fund one of the last DVD collections left in a digital world, a somewhat ill-advised martial arts interest, a modest video game library, and the upkeep of two very affectionate cats.Lee has studied in Canberra, Melbourne and Dublin, all revolving around writing, literary analysis, and some languages and linguistics to round it all out. Their current degree is on hiatus. They would love to keep learning languages in their spare time, but that requires first having some spare time.

Book preview

The Ferryman’s Apprentice

Part One

Lee Cope

© 2017 by Lee Cope. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-244-94668-5

Cover design by Janis Singley

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form of by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. Short quotes for review purposes excepted.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real life persons (living or dead), places or events is entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to:

My parents, who believed in me

My friends, who encouraged me

My beta readers, who were honest with me

And to you, who are helping support me.

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge the following people, without whom this book would not exist.

First, my parents, who taught me first to read, then to write, and then finally to not write crap.

Second, Evie, Joe, Beppe, Deb, Amanda, Liz and Ariane, who all beta read this (and the next few story sections) before it was good, and were willing to keep associating with me anyway.

Third, to Janis Singley, without whose amazing art this book wouldn’t look half so attractive.

And fourth and finally, to everyone who helped convince me that going ahead and taking the plunge to publish wasn’t a terrible idea. You all rock, but there are too many of you to mention here. Just know I appreciate each and every one of you.

About the Author

Lee is an Australian fantasy author and wordsmith-for-hire who likes to procrastinate from writing with more writing.

Their writing efforts can be traced either to the terrible Disney ripoff they wrote when they were six, or to the not quite as terrible but equally embarrassing David Eddings ripoff they wrote at fifteen, depending on your definition. They like to think their writing has gotten less terrible with practice, and if it’s not original, then at least it derives from a variety of sources now.

They fund their fantasy writing by selling their wordsmithing services as a writer, editor and research assistant in projects both fictional and non. Other things funded by these services include one of the last DVD collections left in a digital world, a somewhat ill-advised martial arts interest, a modest video game library, and most importantly, the upkeep of a fluffy cat named Delenn.

Lee has studied in Canberra, Melbourne and Dublin, all revolving around writing, literary analysis, and some languages and linguistics to round it all out. Their current degree is on hiatus. They would love to keep learning languages in their spare time, but that requires first having some spare time.

Lee can be found online at:

http://whimsyandmetaphor.com

https://www.facebook.com/whimsyandmetaphor/

@Whimsy_Metaphor on Twitter

Table of Contents

Title Page

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Tumbledown Shack

Routine

The Last Train

Futility

Home

Breaking Point

The Lighthouse Keeper

The River

Chapter One

Experience

Fear

Friendship

Youth

Thick Like Water

Generations

Propriety

Pathway

Lost Chances

A Visit from a Friend

Hung Up

A Second Opinion

Opinions

Duty

Shades and Colours

Standing Watch

Mirror, Mirror

Lost and Found

Combustion

Consideration

The Clear Path

Thank You!

Tumbledown Shack

When the house collapsed, Wilom was still inside it.

It could have been the poor foundations, so close to the sea. It might have been the bad storm recently, swelling exposed wood. It could have been sheer bad luck. Wilom never underestimated the viciousness of sheer bad luck.

He didn’t have a lot of time when he heard the first creaks – and when the first rafter fell, he did the only thing he could think of.

He dived under the table.

The rafter hit the floor in the next room. Something snapped, collapsed. He felt the house shake.

For a long time, there were no other noises. He lay under the table, composing himself. In a moment, he would go out and look in the next room and see what had happened.

When the next rafter fell directly onto the table, snapping it in half, Wilom screamed. He tucked his head up into his arms, and brought his legs up, as if he could hide behind them.

The rest followed, faster and faster. The table was tilted over Wilom; he had his back against the underside of the board, and through the legs he could see …

He buried his head again, whimpering and trying to draw his legs even closer. His fingernails dug into his back through his shirt. He flinched every time the table jerked against his back. There was a small noise and fear like ice rushed up his back. The table legs – they were coming loose! They’d collapse too and then it’d just be him and the table board, and with nothing to support it, it would see-saw down and then the roof would come down and then …

He realised that the noise he’d heard wasn’t the table legs squeaking at all.

It was him.

The table creaked as another section of roof landed on it. Wilom tightened his grip without really meaning to.

After the noises stopped, he waited, just in case. He gave it a few minutes, and then a few minutes longer. Just until his breathing was calm, just until he could be sure that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. Nearly everyone would be gathered by now, he was sure. The curse of the small town. Someone had probably even heard him screaming.

He rolled over onto his back and stretched his limbs out as much as the cramped space would allow. Through the table legs, he could see the sky. No roof.

He could feel the laugh welling up in his chest, but he squashed it down, in case it turned into tears once it got outside his body. Thankfully, his face was, so far, dry.

Wilom reached up to the sky-filled gap, and felt his shaking fingers slip against the rough wood. He tried again. This time, he managed to pull himself up, squeezing himself up until he was sitting on top of the table top, his legs dangling down into the ruins, looking up at the sky and breathing air that didn’t taste like wood splinters. Dammit. He had been right. Everyone could see him. He lifted his legs up and tried to act casual, pretending he was being careful not to trip on the debris of the house, instead of trying to keep his shaking legs holding him upright.

He heard his aunt long before she arrived. She made such a racket running over the wood.

Wil! Wilom!

His nice view of the sky was suddenly cut off by his aunt’s shoulders and wispy hair. He didn’t bother answering. He doubted she’d let him get a word in, anyway.

Are you hurt? Oh, sweetheart, your shoulders…

She insisted on touching them. Wilom winced. Was that blood on his back, then? Bugger. That wasn’t going to go over well.

I’m only scratched. He would have brushed her hand away if she hadn’t been holding him so damn tight.

Wilom, don’t shove me. Let me have a proper look!

Wilom finally managed to push her away, and looked around at his house, just to see if any of it was left standing.

No, don’t look at that, Wilom, not yet. There’s time enough for that later. Aunt Jali shoved his face back into her shoulder. It was a bad idea from the start, letting you live in this old place.

What was he, a child? Who was she to tell him what he could and couldn’t look at? He pushed her away again. Aunt J, I can’t breathe.

Sorry! She released him. Why don’t we …

Not now, Wilom said. The crowd had grown. What was that, everyone in town? He sighed. If it weren’t for Aunt J, he could have been long gone by now.

Come back to our house, Aunt Jali said. I know you loved this house, but just stay with us until you get your feet under you again. It’s no imposition – you know you can stay with us as long as you like, it’s no trouble …

Wilom tried to sound flippant. There’s a perfectly good bed under there, you know.

Jali sighed.

Wilom could have burst out laughing at her disappointed expression. It was absurd. He was lightheaded. His house was gone. It was a joke. I’m joking.

I know, dear.

The crowd was encroaching on his vision again, that suppressed laugh increasing pressure against his ribs until he felt like it might choke him. I shouldn’t stay here.

He pushed past her and picked his way over the rubble towards … something. Immediately, he bumped into his uncle.

Sorry, he mumbled.

Don’t mention it. Tanim looked over his head, and Wilom realised Jali had followed him. Tanim smiled at her. Why don’t you reassure everyone?

Wilom very nearly disguised a snort of laughter. Jali didn’t pay him any attention. Oh, but …

Tanim reached past Wilom to put his hand on her shoulder. I’ll take him back to our house and give him a hot drink. We’ll meet you there.

Jali squeezed her husband’s wrist. Thank you, honey. You just wait for me, Wilom, I’ll be home soon. In the meantime, go with your uncle, sit down and have something warm to drink.

Wilom kept his eyes carefully focused on the pavement, in case he met someone’s eyes as he watched her go. Thank you, he said to Tanim. Was he still shaking, or was that his imagination?

Don’t mention it. Are you hurt much? Tanim seemed to sense that Wilom didn’t want someone’s hand on his shoulder, and Wilom was glad at least one person had some empathy.

Just scratches.

How are you feeling?

What the hell kind of question is that? Wilom snapped.

Tanim nodded. Noted. Don’t tell your aunt I let that language slide, by the way. I think, though, under the circumstances…

Wilom looked away. He knew that hadn’t been fair to Tanim, but really, what kind of a question was it? I know. Circumstances.

Jali and Tanim’s house wasn’t far. Tanim pulled out a chair at the table for him.

I’m fine.

You’re shaking.

I said I’m fine. Wilom folded his arms and leaned on the table. I’ll take the hot drink, though.

Tea? Or cocoa. I think your aunt might let us use a little of her cocoa.

Tea is fine.

Tanim started the water boiling, and got out the tea things. Wilom tried to still his hands, but every effort only made the shake more. He gave up in disgust.

Tanim handed him the steaming mug, and said, Listen, I know you’re shaken, and I understand she can be overbearing, but please try not to be too hard on Jali. She very nearly lost her only nephew, after all.

Wilom tried his very best not to sound sarcastic. I’ll remember that.

Tanim sipped his own tea in silence for a moment, watching Wilom. Are you sure you’re alright?

Wilom shrugged and sipped his tea. I’ll be fine, he said.

Do you need some time alone?

No, Wilom answered automatically and forcefully. I mean, uh … no, I’m alright.

Tanim nodded. Please tell me if you need anything.

Wilom really needed Tanim to go distract Jali so she didn’t come back in and talk to him, but he knew that wouldn’t happen, so he kept silent.

We’ll help you get back on your feet, Tanim promised.

Wilom nodded. It was a nice offer. But it meant Jali’s help, and that was definitely not Wilom’s idea of help. He could just hear her now, telling him how ‘she always knew that place was going bad’ and ‘wouldn’t it be more comfortable living with her and Tanim’ … but he appreciated Tanim trying to make the offer anyway.

There Jali was, coming down the path to the house. He drained the cup, ignoring the bitter dregs and his burning tongue and put it next to him on the table.

I think I’m going to my room for a while. I’m tired. Tell Jali I’m alright.

Tanim nodded, and sipped his tea. We should see to those scratches first.

I’ll do it.

Wilom, you won’t be able to reach them.

But Jali was at the door and Wilom didn’t have time to argue with Tanim anymore.

He closed the door to his room behind him and wished he could lock it, or that there was something heavy to put against it.

It was just like it was before he’d moved into his own house, except that none of his things were there. Jali had kept the bed made. All the requests for him to stay over the night … had she really kept the bed made just in case? Just like her.

He stripped to his underwear and climbed into the bed, so he could pretend to be asleep.

Routine

For the next three weeks, Wilom fed chickens.

He hated chickens.

But it meant he was up earlier than his aunt and uncle, and it stopped them giving him too many jobs around the house. He didn’t need to