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Ferrymen's Voyage

Up high on the mountain tops, up higher than the clouds, up were the stars dance, lived the brave men and women of Starlight. Those who sailed the endless sea of night, threaded the sun's rays, and charted the stars. To the common folk they are known as the Ferrymen.

During the last waning hours of the year, those Starlights that have come of age may enter into the White Voyage to become a Ferrymen. Any could enter, be they Star Jumpers, Gas Burners, or even the lowest of Star Dwellers, the Cloud Weavers. All it took was a finely stitched cloth craft and a strong will to stay on the open White Sea for one month. It however was a dangerous journey and every year many did fail. There was only one rule, to never touch the land beneath the aired sea.

Men and Women of all classes came to see the budding lights take off late into dwindling hours of the year. Hundreds of Starkin would gather as the Starchildren prepared for the one month journey ahead. Each participant had last words with friends and family before moving to the cliff's edge where the soft nimbus clouds rolled gently against the stony shore.

Under the bright moonlight each child preceded to pull from their bags a masterfully woven tapestry. Each unique in its own way, those of higher class held brilliant golds and silvers mixed with regal purples and reds, while those of lower class had simple cloths of greens and browns. Quickly they worked folding the fabrics into crafts worthy of traversing the endless sea. Before too long the first craft hit the aired sea, a wondrous blue cloth lined in green, before the child clambered inside.

Finding his balance he looked towards the stars, gazing at them in wonder as the crowd behind began to cheer. Raising his arm towards the stars he began pointing to one, high in the night sky. From there he dragged it down to another, creating a thin blue line between. He took a moment to find the next before connecting it to the chain. Before long he had chartered the stars as the fabric of the night sky became his sail. With both hands he griped his sail and flushed it out, as the moonlight caught it, pulling his craft from shore. He was the first off, but not far behind was another craft of Golden red, with a large smile the boy waved to the joining companion as she returned it, before hosting her sail catching the heavenly winds of the night.

Soon the White Sea turned into the sea of color. Their vibrant hues glowing softly against the night sky, spiraling together, as the watching crowd filled the night winds with cheers of gentle goodbyes. It was a night never to forget as the last of the sea bearing crafts disappeared into the horizon. There gentle glows fading from sight.

It would not be for several days before another Starkin would stand alone upon the stony mountain top, his aired blue body inhaling the thin air deeply. Unlike the last evening of the year, there would be no fanfare for his departure. He removed the burlap sack from his shoulders placing it upon the ground before pulling out a patchwork fabric. The rather small fabric looked cobbled together, no pattern or prominent color could be found as each fought to overlap the other. Making it hard to tell where one patch began and another ended. He laid out the fabric under the yellow sun, his near transparent hands working to fold the fabric into shape, as familiar gentle eyes watch him from afar.

The young man continued to fold the craft, working to line the walls before finally finishing. Reaching into his bag he pulled out two baskets, one as white as the clouds, the other glowing softly yellow. He sat down upon the stony earth taking the yellow basket into his lap. Calming himself he remembered what his mother had taught him. Gazing towards the sun, he held out his hands.

With gentle movements he pulled upon the sun's rays. At first they scattered like the wind, with a deep breath, he calmed himself. Before trying again, this time curving the light threads towards the basket with a gentle flick of his wrist. It was slow at first, unnatural to a Cloud Weavers son; however, as time progressed he slowly filled the basket with this morning's light. Unlike his brethren who could afford to bring bottled sun light, he'd have to make due with harvesting it every morning like this.

Once filled, he placed the baskets inside his Ferrymen's Craft, before pushing it slowly into the lapping sea. With ease he slid inside resting for a moment before grabbing for the still empty white one. Leaning over the side of his patchwork craft he sank the basket into the nimbus sea below, scooping up the moistened white air. Doing so created a hole in the sea, rocking the craft gently as the sea of white rushed to fill the whole created. He gazed at the world below as the White Sea seemingly made it vanish as quickly as the vision had come.

Resting back in the patchwork craft he took the white clouds within his hands. He marveled at their light texture letting them drip from his fingers back into the basket. This felt much more natural to him as he grinned, picking up a large lump. With ease he began to condense, stretch and knead the fluffy white nimbus into a pole. Needing to stand when it grew larger than his form, and still he worked the cloud, spiraling it further upwards. Once standing tall he placed the mast in the center, cementing it in place with more nimbi.

Reaching over the craft, he took more of from the aired sea. This time, he sat down, removing one of his shoes, and placing the nimbus upon the bottom, shaping it much like a hook before doing the same to other. Slipping his shoes back on, he stood and took a small strand of cloud, working it around his body. Shaping the cloud into a strap that reach around himself and the mast. He then placed the basket within one arm, while he wrapped the strap around the mast. With some difficulty, he took hold of the clasp in the other hand, and ascended the mast.

Once atop, he worked the cloud into a beam across. The sun now approaching late morning, he slid down, his blue body swirling hot from this morning's activity. Now a flushed navy blue, he sat and took to the harder task at hand. Taking the bowl of light into his lap once more, he began to twin the threads of light together. His fingers working nimbly as he took strand after stand and rolled them together. It wasn't long before his fingers pulsed from the pain of working the pure light into strands of rope. Still he pressed on, till all the rigging was complete.

With all the rays of light almost gone he took the near empty basket and placed it within the White sea, lightly filling it with soft rolling nimbus. With his hands he mixed the sun strands and cloud together, turning the clouds into a fluffy gold. When held the material it was lighter than the cloud, but heavier than the rays. He then reached over to the white basket and took the last bit of cloud and made a set of needles.

Dipping his needles into the new fabric he knitted it into shape, working slowly but diligently. Just as the sun was reaching mid-day he finished. He stood holding the blanket of gold, its form transparent and glistening in the sun. With pride in his heart he moves towards the mast, stretching out the fabric and hanging it, using the thick ropes of light to tie it down. With the sail and rigging in place it was just about time to set sail.

As he readied himself for the Voyage ahead he heard the gentle footsteps of another. Turning towards the stony shore he saw his mother, her faded pink form frail against the earthy back drop. Her eyes darkened by her years, yet still as warm and understanding as always. In her hands was a simple sack, filled to the brim with honey sun delights, his favorite of sweets.

With tears in her eyes she approached the shore, without a word she handed him the sack, which he took and placed within the craft. When he turned to meet his mother once more, he was embraced within her out stretched arms. She held him within her warm embrace as soft whimpers left her lips. With a sniffle she pulled back, whipping the dew from her eyes. Unable to speak, she simply mouthed, "Goodbye my son," and took a step back.

With a silent nod he turned back to the task at hand, working with a heavy heart. He grips his sail, and without hesitation whipped it outward. The sun's rays catching it, slowly pull him from shore. He turns and watches as the shore slowly disappears as his mother stands there unmoving as her arms grip her form. Her ghost white hair flowing gently in the mountain breeze is the last he ever sees of her.