Einsdee, the 1st of Frost, 768 A.E.

  Makan crossed the rolling deck of the Ula, the ship they’d taken out of Rummas. He moved with an easy gait that had been learned from long Yarres at sea. The Ula was a whaler, much to his dismay, and the function of the ship was plainly obvious. The hull was broad and it sat heavily in the water, like a merchant vessel yet built sturdily enough to endure a Saysuhn or longer at sea. It had sluice grates on the deck for blood to leak out when whales were being rendered, and a number of holds filled with barrels and salt for packing meat or storing fat which would be processed for oil. There were harpoon posts and dozens of other indicators of the ship’s deadly purpose.

  Despite the Ula’s homeport being in Lesser Aynglica, just a little over half the crew was Aynglican. The rest of the crew was made up of Rumani, Elegians, and even a couple Kerathi who were likely the harpoon men.

  When profits were at stake, race mattered little it seemed. Yet it made Makan’s stomach turn to think what the cost of such profits and cooperation were. The deck boards were stained a deep brown from the blood of whales that had been butchered onboard. The ship didn’t sit too low in the water yet, but Makan knew that the ship wouldn’t return home until it had butchered enough whales to fill its holds.

  Being Mueran, to whom whales were just short of sacred since the father figure of their race, Fallu, was one himself, he was thoroughly disgusted with himself for allowing himself on the vessel. Thankfully, he knew he needn’t help the crew go about their duties, for if abiding in the presence of those who would kill whales was just barely tolerable because of greater things at stake, helping them would be an offense against his people and Fallu. No, Nishan had paid their passage in full, and it eased Makan’s conscience only slightly to know that not a single coin that had been given for their passage had been earned by him; therefore, he had not helped to finance the deaths of whales.

  Rolf stood at the bow of the ship, staring blankly out past the bowsprit at the Kilomes of grayish-blue water that spread before them. Makan sought him out for a few reasons, not least of which was the fact that Rolf seemed miserable as well.

  “What do you want?” Rolf asked gruffly, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he heard someone approach.

  “Misery seeks company or at least understanding.” Makan replied, leaning against the railing beside Rolf, though he looked upward instead into the spider’s web of rigging and lines that ran from the deck up into the masts or between the three masts.

  Rolf didn’t answer at first, and it was near on a Mynette before he finally opened his mouth. “And I’m miserable?” He asked.

  Makan grunted, and since he was feeling a bit feisty because of the predicament he was in, he decided to not go easy on Rolf. “Don’t pretend you feel otherwise. Your sulking has been plainly evident since you rejoined us.”

  “I am merely worried about Anthea.” Rolf said dismissively.

  “Or maybe you’re lamenting the fact that she has not woken up yet to give you your verbal lashing for running off on us?”

  Rolf shook his head. “You’re way off target this time, Makan. Then again, maybe your wisdom seems less wise after a few Dees away to think my own thoughts for once.”

  “I never claimed to be wise. It wouldn’t be wise to do so when there are so many more experienced and smarter people out there who wouldn’t dare to declare such a thing.”

  “Ah, your humility is staggering.” Rolf said sarcastically.

  Makan took a moment to look away from the sailors working in the rigging to the Kerathi man beside him. He had to admit Rolf was a man now, even if he had been but a boy when they’d met. There was a grim set to his features that gave him an adult look that his beard had not. Makan had always been one that contended that it was experiences in life and not age that made a man or woman into an adult. Rolf was even more proof that he was right. Adult matters weighed on the Kerathi man’s mind.

  “I am sorry for your losses and that you do not know what happened to your mother, Rolf, but know that I am not the enemy. Neither is Anthea for that matter.”

  Rolf turned to regard Makan coldly, but he didn’t have it in him. His face softened when he realized that there was genuine concern in the Mueran’s dark, storm-colored eyes. “Perhaps that is what made coming back so difficult. I knew I had wrongly condemned her, and it is a blow to my pride to have to come back and beg forgiveness for speaking wrongly of her. Yet when I return I find that I must delay my forgiveness because she has incapacitated herself on the behalf of her comrades once again. This makes my words look even more… I don’t know.”

  “You spoke in the heat of passion. She will know that you regret what you have said.”

  “But part of me doesn’t. There is a grain of truth in what I said, I only blamed her for the wrong reasons.”

  “Oh?”

  “I should blame her for the unwanted changes in my life. Until she came along, I was a man with a home and maybe some prospects at marriage and a family. Even if I was squabbling with my stepbrother, life wasn’t bad. I had a woman I liked, Anika, and I had community standing. Then Anthea came along, her and her Aurean ship crashing down over my head, and everything began to change for the worse.”

  “Do you think she asked to have to wander the Broken Crown with her Ox-Man guardian and a few haphazardly gathered friends? Do you think she wanted her father to die helping her escape the only home she’d known?” Makan demanded.

  “No, but she does not believe him dead.” Rolf pointed out.

  “Only because she clings to that thread of hope to keep her going. She is more fragile than you might think. Like a flower, you see only the bright petals and the vibrancy she lives life with. You do not see the weak stem supporting that heavy blossom.”

  “But if she is so weak, why does she push on so? Why does she tear herself apart for this quest of hers? What can she gain?” Rolf wondered aloud, hating not knowing why she did what she did to herself.

  “I don’t know.” Makan answered truthfully, not wanting to claim that he understood the girl completely himself. “Sometimes it is the journey that makes all the difference in the world. Sometimes we struggle just to give life meaning. Otherwise, all we do is for naught.”

  “You’re waxing philosophical again. I am not a thinker or a theologian. I’m a simple man – a hunter and a warrior.”

  “Everyone who bothers to live and think is by nature a philosopher, some just show it in deeds rather than great writings.”

  Rolf laughed. “You’ve never met my mother’s second husband then. There is nothing philosophical about that man.”

  “Then I pray I do not meet him, lest he rob me of any kernels of wisdom I might have garnered in my Yarres wandering the world thus far.” Makan replied, grinning widely.

  Rolf laughed even louder at this, bowing his head as he did so. When he raised his head again, he looked back at Makan, who was, in his opinion, regarding the sea like a long lost lover. “You missed it?”

  “The sea?” Makan asked, not even needing to see Rolf watching him to know that is what he meant.

  “Yes. You look at it with longing I could never feel for it.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Makan smiled and nodded agreement. “Some say that the sea is unpredictable and fickle. I have always thought that she is that way because she is alive. If she were just a dead thing, she’d likely always have the same waves and perfect tides and never have a storm. Yet it is her wild nature that so attracts Tulis and Marceaupo to fight so strongly to possess her, for she is truly worth the effort.”

  “I wonder if I will ever find such a thing to look at as you do the sea.”

  “Perhaps the reason you were chosen by Anthea’s enchantment, if there really is a good reason, was for you to find such a thing. A man must know himself before he can give his heart to anything.”

  “You think there is no enchantment?” Rolf asked in surprise.

  Makan shrugged. “I think it’s possible that she has such a powerful will that she can sense in others what they can offer her. Perhaps she saw in all of us a need for some purpose that she could offer, and with a little help from the Gods and Goddesses who watch over us all, we have been joined together.”

  “That’s a rather long jump of circumstance and happenings from a man who has seen her perform miraculous deeds and who has promised to trust in her.”

  “I never needed an enchantment to believe in something, Rolf. What she is doing is just. I feel that. She was wronged, and we are helping to set that right. Or, if we cannot set that right, we are surely going to try to stop further wrongdoings.”

  “If this is truly so, then I am glad I came back.” Rolf replied.

  “Why did you anyway? Was it her?” Makan asked, suspecting that the lad felt more for the girl than he would let himself realize. “Sagira didn’t think you’d come back, and Nishan didn’t really care, as he had never met you before. Anthea always said she needed you though, that she couldn’t do this without you.”

  “I swore a Racheneid. I will be with Anthea so long as I think that she may carry me back to the Aureans. I do not believe for a Mynette that she will find peace in Aetheline. I think that she will find betrayal and a trap. I will be there to exact revenge on those Aureans if not on the ones on Maethlin.”

  “A Racheneid!” Makan exclaimed. “You truly did?”

  Rolf nodded. “I bear the mark.” He unbuttoned his shirt to show Makan the purplish ink symbol of Cainel’s runes that stained his skin. The mark was over his heart and the size of an open hand. The hair around the mark looked almost singed, and where the mark was, the hair was completely gone.

  “You foolish boy.” Makan exhaled strongly, his brow furrowed as he shook his head.

  “Am I a fool for seeking to avenge my Hersker? My mother may lie dead in the ashes of my Stammheim. Should I let her bones rot there while the other cities of Maethlin are put to the torch and the people there are slaughtered to make room for whatever it is the Aureans plan to do?”

  “No, but swearing such an oath is not to be done lightly.”

  “What more serious reason is there to swear such an oath for?” Rolf demanded.

  “I cannot think of anything more serious than what may have befallen your mother. Even Anthea could not see her fate, though. You may be the last living son of your clan, would you throw that all away?”

  “What would a Mueran know?” Rolf asked bitterly. “How can I be a clan of one? What life do I have left to me?”

  “I honestly do not know. All I know of your Kerathi Racheneid oaths is that when you reach the end of your path there is often little more than death waiting for you and your enemies.”

  “Then I shall take their deaths and mine as if they were gifts from my mother’s own hands, and I shall embrace them with fervor.” Rolf replied, clutching a hand to the mark of Cainel on his breast, a mark of special inks that would only come off when the priests of Cainel had decided his oath was fulfilled.

  “You haven given up on hope, Rolf. You have given into hatred.”

  “Then hate shall keep my path straight and my footsteps fleet. Hate and its brother rage are old lovers to the Kerathi.”

  “I pray that somedee you will be released from your oath, and that you will not hate yourself for what you have done in its fulfillment.” Makan said wistfully.

  “We all do what we must.” Rolf remarked, coming as close to asking for understanding for his justifications as he would.

  “That we do, and I must see to Anthea.” Makan replied somberly. “She struggles to live while we speak of death.”

  Rolf caught his arm as he turned to leave. “Let me.” He said, adding after a moment when a pained expression crossed his face, “Please?”

  Makan nodded. “See to her, Rolf. Remember that beneath her strong exterior she is a gentle creature, and it is no more evident than in her helplessness now.” Yet even when Rolf strode off to care for Anthea, his heart could not forget the purplish mark of Rolf’s Racheneid.

  ?????

  Anthea was laid out in a very modest bunk with a surprisingly decorative coverlet pulled over her. Ships weren’t often well accommodated, yet these were Aynglicans, Rolf reflected. What they considered necessity was what most Kerathi would consider luxury and largesse. Yet if the coverlet was an exquisite example of needlework, it only made the cabin look that much more austere. And nothing would chase the smell of fish and whale oil out of the boat; that had seeped into the wood of the entire ship and would likely never come out.

  Sagira had dismissed herself wordlessly from tending Anthea when Rolf had arrived, closing the door behind her. Bedros had been convinced to rest in one of the spare holds, because his presence had caused Anthea nothing but restless slumber, and she needed her sleep to recuperate. So, Rolf had her all to himself as he knelt beside her bunk.

  His eyes wouldn’t seek out her face at first, concentrating instead on her dainty little hands that lay still upon the coverlet. Her hands looked so pale to him against the cream-colored fabric. Sighing, he took her small hand in his, noting its soft texture, like a baby’s skin almost. There were no calluses whatsoever, and the lines of her skin were very faint. Her hand almost felt a bit waxy or velvety, like a rose petal. He smiled as he thought this and looked up at her face.

  Her silvery hair was shot through with streaks of pinkish blonde. Yet he couldn’t recall if her hair had always been that color or if it was a new thing or even a trick of the light. A string of three crystal pods had been hung from the low ceiling in the cabin, and everything seemed so bright, even after squinting from the bright sun glinting off the crests of the waves above deck.

  Her eyes were closed and darkly ringed. It made her look like a raccoon or like she’d been in a fight. Her cheekbones stood out where her face had been very gently rounded before. Any little amount of baby fat she had was melting away with each Dee that she did not eat. The light was simply not enough to sustain her, and she had been thin to begin with. This was even worse than the four Dees she’d been unconscious after Maethlin.

  Rolf brushed a fingertip across her pale pink lips, marveling at the softness of them. Then he brushed her hair back from her brow and lowered his hands. He put his head down on the blankets beside her hand, feeling a bit guilty that he’d touched her even caringly. What right did he have?

  He stayed like that for a long while, kneeling with his head pressed into the bed beside her hip. Thoughts cycled through his head, thoughts he dared not voice, for he hadn’t the courage to say them even to an unhearing audience yet.

  “I have done so much wrong. I have been so lost.” Rolf began to say, each word growing from a faint whisper toward a normal speaking voice. “I looked to you for purpose, but it was unfair for me to put that burden on you. I was merely scared to seek my own path.”

  “I need you. I need you to give me a chance to redeem my clan and myself. I cannot live with the dishonors dealt to my kin. I have done what may be foolish and I have sworn a Racheneid. I meant to pursue its fulfillment on my own, but then I heard of you in Rummas. I heard that friends of a man who was helping you had been taken and tortured. I saw them do it. I knew they would lay in wait for you.”

  “My duties were clear in that instant, and I did not hesitate to detour from my Racheneid to try to save you from them. I thought that any enemies of you must be allies of the Aureans that killed my family, right? Was I wrong?” The words raced out of him. He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t do enough though.” Rolf said, sinking back into a whisper as he admitted his failure.

  “You are… broken.” Rolf choked out. “You are hurt somewhere inside you and I cannot mend you. I am so sorry to have left you, but can’t you see? I have responsibilities to my people. I must do my best to please two masters, but I fear I can please neither. Help me to do what I must, Anthea.” He pleaded, pressing his face against her limp hand.

  Any other words he might have said melted away then, and he let his head and heart rest. He had confessed all he needed to at this time, and even if she hadn’t heard him, his heart was lighter. He stayed beside her for a while longer, until Sagira knocked on the door a bit later, and then stood to leave.

  As he left the cabin, shutting the door behind Sagira, who was taking up her post once more, he heard footsteps approaching out of the darkness.

  “So that’s how you knew to come to the square to help her?” A voice called from the dark corridor within the bowels of the ship’s crew area. Nishan slipped out of the shadows a moment later, his face an expressionless mask despite the brown and gold eyes within it betraying a hint of mischief.

  “Do you merely have sharp ears, or are you a spy and a scoundrel like the rest of your pitiable race?” Rolf demanded testily, ignoring the question put to him.

  “I am what I am, but I’m much more handsome and charming than the average Rumani, or at least all the girls say so.” Nishan said with a wink, shrugging off the insults of his heritage as easily as he breathed.

  Rolf grunted in disgust and stalked off to find some peace – a rare commodity on any ship, let alone one crewed mostly by Aynglicans. It would be a long trip to Zaraig, and the journey had just begun. And when he thought about it, he really didn’t care that Nishan had overheard what he had spoken.

  There was nothing shameful in the words he had said to her. The shame was going to be undone. The shame would be washed away with his Racheneid’s completion, but would the loneliness? Would he ever feel like part of a family again?