The Buoys’ Rime

“The buoys?” The man scrunched his brows. Leaning back, he peered out the window at the bay. Turning back, he shrugged. “The small, white buoys appeared one night with a gentle sploosh. What else is there to say?”

I believed there was much more to say. Ever since arriving in Nevereth, I’d watched the boats carefully avoid the buoys, a white line dividing the bay.

Leaning forward, I rested my chin on my palm. “No one knows where they came from?” I inquired, casually.

The man waved dismissively. “Nah. They just showed up.” His brows drew together. This time, lingering sorrow marred his face. “None who poked ‘em came back.”

I attempted to wheedle more information from him. Anything. I failed, but his scant account meshed with the others I’d spoken with.

Equally vague. Equally unhelpful.

I sighed inwardly and gave up. Nodding my thanks, I rose and placed two generous coins on the table for our drinks. Turning, I headed for the door.

“You leave those buoys alone, miss.” the man hollered after me.

I paused, glanced back, and nodded. He shook his head and mumbled into his drink. Leaving, I waited for nightfall.

I rowed out the small boat I’d acquired, pulling through the water toward the buoys.

They glowed too brilliantly beneath the moonlight. Even so, until I felt the first sting of frost, I didn’t understand how correct the old man had been.

The boat stuck before I could turn about as ice held it in place. At least I understood why the ships avoided them. If only I knew how to get myself out.