III-The Wave-Watchers
The translucent water splashed against the hope-filled royal ships. On that clear sunny day, the peasants, the mariners and the queen gathered on the deck as the clerics did their daily mass.
An old priest stood at the far end of the ship. All could see him as he praised the goddess of Haven-Harbor.
The peasants sat on the deck and the mariners and sailors sat on the ropes of the ship, paying half attention to the clerics and the other half to the Roaring Sea. Miria stood next to Gilbert as he held the helm and stood his course.
“Brothers, sisters. Your Highness. Let us give thanks to our goddess that has been so kind to us, to let us escape the doom of the blacksmith, and cross the uncrossable waters of the Ring of Storms.
Agua! Lady of the waters, mother of all sea life, kind protector of our ancient Varzense forefathers, we thank thee for our safe passage. Bring us to a new haven and deliver us from the wrath of all who oppose you.”
“From the depths may we rise. Fisher of men's souls, Agua, bring us to new shores,” all on the ship said in unison.
The queen gave the captain a sly look and playfully taunted him. “It's a shame that Agua is taking all your praise, huh Gilbert?”
The captain glanced back with a smile. “Ah! I may be a good captain, Your Highness, but I am still a man. I can sail the worst of storms, but if the goddess wanted me dead, I would be dead. After all, I'm no wizard, I cannot turn a titanwave into a puddle.”
“Shame we didn't bring a wizard then,” the queen said with a smirk.
“I thought ya wanted the peasants to feel safe, my queen.” His tone darkened. “The gods may have left, but there's no denying that our praying to 'em stops the peasants from rocking our ships too much.”
“Sadly, that is true. I just wish we didn't need to rely on it as much as we do to keep the peasants loyal. I feel as if we are lying to them.”
“We do what we need to, my lady.”
The mass was interrupted when a young sailor in the crow’s nest shouted at the top of his lungs: “Land ahead!”
Everyone turned to see a fair-sized, highly-forested isle in the distance. The peasants erupted into a cheer.
Some of them even started crying and thanking the goddess for her protection. The priests tried to calm them down, but their cheer was so great that it seemed that the boat would sink with happiness.
Miria let the peasants celebrate, as she saw that any attempt to calm them would be fruitless. Instead, she turned to Gilbert. “Please get us to that island as fast as possible Captain, before the ship sinks.”
“I was already on it, Your Highness.” Gilbert expertly turned the helm and issued the orders to his men to sail toward the new land.
On the shore, ocean waves lapped over white pristine sand. The soothing silence was broken by the heavy thump of anchors on the water as the people of Haven-Harbor stormed the beaches and set up temporary camps.
The isle’s white sand gave way to a flat, lush grassland, filled with various types of bushes, flowers, and moss. Trees as tall as ship masts grew from the fertile ground. Their leaves were sharp but harmless and their brown-orange bark was remarkably durable.
“The perfect place to resupply. Should we send a scouting group, brother?” First Mate Garret asked Gilbert as he returned from analyzing the surrounding timber.
“As long we have our queen's permission,” Gilbert said as he looked at Miria impatiently.
Miria was dazzled with the island's beauty. It had been a long time since she’d seen such a well-preserved place. Garret made a loud cough and she snapped back from a trance. “Uh, yes. Of course you have my permission to explore.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I will set up the expedition, brother.” Garret said before he saluted his brother and superior and descended to the camp to gather men for the expedition.
Garret quickly assembled a small company of men to venture deep into the island and gather information. The company was comprised of a handful of mariners, armored with breastplate and armed with the standard equipment for the Haven-Harbor army: a black carrack sword and an iron dagger.
The party ventured deep into the forest, leaving behind their comrades. Garret adjusted the metal helmet that lay over his black hair. He tried to keep his composure and inspire his men like his brother had done many times, but he doubted himself and, like many other times, he stumbled through the dense grove as he struggled to command.
The mariners did not care however—their discipline did not allow them to. They knew their job and happily ventured with the somewhat inexperienced Garret.
The wind softly brushed against the leaves and trees and made them dance to the natural harmony of nature. The party did not hear the sounds of beasts, instead only that of the flora that echoed like a soothing harp made of branches and leaves.
However, as the party ventured further and further, they found the natural harmony blending and giving way to a man-made one. The harp-like wind sound became a wind-like harp sound.
The company followed the melodious music until they saw its source from between two tall trees.
In a sun-lit clearing, two strange humanoid figures sat atop two stumps with their backs to each other, as if they were resting. One held a strange, flute-like instrument. The other, an oddly-shaped harp.
The figures were human-sized, but their skin was green and instead of hair, leaves sprouted from their heads. Their bodies were covered with an odd form of clothing: a strange mesh of tree bark and animal leather that covered their chests, arms, legs, and feet.
The mariners took notice of their piercing emerald-colored eyes as they stared into the dancing leaves in the trees and the distinctly darker shade of green on the more masculine-looking tree-person and a lighter shade of green on the feminine figure.
They each wore a relaxed smile and as the mariners watched their concert in awe, they felt enchanted by it and tried to approach the creatures.
It took the tree humans a few moments to notice the party that slowly walked toward them, but when they did they jumped up and each grabbed a javelin from its back and tried to keep the humans at bay.
The humans drew their swords, but Garret held his ground. “Stop! Don't attack 'em.”
The two figures twisted in pain as they heard the human language. Giving up on their fight, they ran into the trees to escape the humans and the pain they caused them.
“Look around see if you find 'em!” Garret ordered the company as enchantment gave way to wariness.
The mariners searched, but it was useless. Instead of the melodious harp sounds, they only heard nature and the ancient song of the summer wind passing through the trees.
The party returned to the camp. Their scouting for supplies had been successful—each brought back rucksacks full of strange new fruits, berries and even exotic wood—but this was dwarfed by their discovery.
In the camp, Miria was talking with Jameston's scribe, Stein, who her other ships had rescued.
As Garret approached the queen, his brother, and the scribe, he noticed that Stein was talking about his survival and Jameston's disregard for his settlers’ lives.
The queen looked furious as she heard this, but before her rage burned her, Garret intervened. “Your Majesty! I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have some important news about our exploring mission.”
The queen looked at the first mate, still furious. “What?! Did you find an old wrecked ship of ours?”
“N-no Your Highness,” Garret stumbled. “Something better! We found some natives. It was two of 'em—a couple, I think. They looked like an odd mixture of tree and man. We tried to approach them but as soon as they heard us, they ran into the trees and disappeared. They were armed with some javelins though—they might be hostile.”
Miria's furious look gave way to a curious expression that was minuscule compared to Stein's.
“Natives you say?” The queen stopped for a few seconds and thought to herself, she then continued.” Well, if they are hostile, we should make some preparations. However, we are far away from home and being attacked now would almost certainly mean our demise.”
The scribe almost jumped in the air. His excitement drove him to disregard the common court manners and he spoke out before the queen. “Majesty! This is an amazing opportunity for us! A new race of humans. We must try and talk with them, learn about their ways, get them to help us. If they are natives, they must know the land better than us. They can help!”
Gilbert gave the scribe's head a reprimanding smack.“Aye Stein, they know the land better than us,” he said carefully. “Meaning they could be very dangerous. Who knows if there aren't more of 'em, and if they aren't coming toward our way as we speak.
My queen, like you said, our people have set up camp already. If a giant army of these tree folk appear and attack us, we will have no way to fall back or save everyone. We would be slaughtered.”
“What do you think, First Mate Garret?” Miria said after a pause. “Did they seem dangerous?”
Garret was unsure of what to say, but as he fixed his helmet he answered. “They seemed to be minding their own business, but our encounter was so brief that I don't think I can say whether they are hostile or not. They did not attack us though.”
“Please, Your Highness! I'm a scribe. I can find a way to communicate with them!” Stein pleaded with the queen before Gilbert retorted.
“These are unpredictably dangerous natives—who knows what they could do. I say we go out looking for them and kill them before they spread word to their mates.”
Miria weighed her options. “Let's agree on a compromise,” she said finally. “We will see if we can find these tree folk and have Stein find a way to talk with them. However, if they start to attack us, we will capture them and then try to make them see we are no threat. If they still don't see things our way, then,” she paused with a heavy look on her face, “you have permission to kill them, Captain.” Miria said, secretly praying they wouldn't have to go so far.
Gilbert reluctantly agreed, and Stein became overjoyed with the queen's decision.
“Gather a decent party. We should go look for them as soon as possible,” Miria said to the captain.
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
“And you, Stein, grab your notes and anything you may deem useful. We are going to need a lot of luck to do this.”
“Please, Your Highness. Luck has nothing to do with this.”
It took only a few minutes for the party to prepare. It was a small group, composed of three mariners, Gilbert and Garret, Stein, and the queen herself.
The retinues looked with astonishment as they saw the queen approach with the scribe by her side. Gilbert stood up, defying his superior. “Your Highness! What are you doing here—you don't intend going on this expedition, do you?”
Miria gave Gilbert a scathing glare. “We are meeting what could be the emissaries for a new kingdom. Of course I'm coming with you. Who better to speak for the Crown than me, the Crown herself?”
“Aye, but my queen!”
“But nothing,” she interrupted. “I have seen my share of danger before. We'll be fine. After all, I have you experienced and strong men to protect me and Stein to translate for me. Or don't you trust your own abilities?” the beautiful queen asked as she tried to persuade her reluctant entourage.
Gilbert's expression changed to one of defiance and frustration at Miria's attempt to control him, but before he could lash out and do something rash, his brother hit him on the shoulder, and he quietly agreed. “Aye, Your Majesty. I was just afraid something bad might happen to you, we cannot afford to lose you. Not now.”
Miria tried to humble herself. She felt bad for attempting to twist their opinions. “I understand, Gilbert, but I have full confidence in your skills. I know you'll do well.”
The morale of the party was restored as they heard the honest words of the queen.
“Aye, thank you, Your Grace,: said the first captain. “I'll try to do my best.”
“You always do, Gilbert.” Miria said it with a smile, and everyone else on the party smiled back. “Gentlemen, if you are all ready then. Let's find these tree folk.”
The party finally packed everything and entered the deep, green forest.
Garret led the party through the dense bushes and non-existent pathways while the curious scribe gasped with glee as he scribbled on his notepad all that he could of the new flora and the minuscule fauna of this new land.
“This is beautiful. I have never seen flowers like these! Look at the round almost sphere-like outwards shell the petals make. It’s incredible! Oh, and these bugs—so shiny and colorful.”
“Shhh, quiet Stein! We don't wanna scare them again,” Garret declared as he turned back toward Stein. “Last time we talked, seemed like our language hurt them for some reason. If ya need to, talk really quietly.”
“That's . . . odd.” The scribe said as he wrote the information on his notebook. “Your Highness, I don't assume you know hand language, do you?”
“Only a little bit. I was taught back when I was a princess in my father's court,” Miria said as she pulled on her royal blue cloak that kept getting stuck on the bushes.
“Then if we need to communicate let's use hand language. You too, Captain Gilbert, you should use some simple gestures to give orders if you don't know hand language.” As Stein finished, Gilbert nodded, visibly annoyed.
The party continued through the dense forest in silence. Only the sound of their steps and their clanking weapons was audible as they approached the clearing where Garret had spotted the tree folk.
The clearing was empty, save for the two musical instruments the natives had dropped in their escape.
The strange harp and wind instruments lay next to the stumps, and some rustling leaves freed themselves from the trees and fluttered around the musical instruments.
The humans slowly approached and as they stood in the clearing they looked all around to spot the tree couple but found nothing.
Miria crouched down and grabbed the natives’ harp. The shape was like nothing she had seen before. It was an unusual angle for an instrument and was decorated with various strange woodcut symbols.
As she stood up with the harp, suddenly, a javelin landed right in front of the human party.
Gilbert unsheathed his black carrack sword and gestured for his men to do the same.
The humans looked at where the javelin had come from and saw the forest couple high above on the branches.
Their leaf hair meshed with the trees and their emerald eyes seemed to pierce souls as they stared from the cluster of leaves, their body armor camouflaged with the tree bark. Only their slow arm movements gave away their position once they had been spotted.
On their backs were quivers, filled with various javelins.
Neither party dared advance first. The couple remained atop the trees, poised for action, waiting to see what the humans would do. In turn, the humans did the same.
Miria signaled to Stein to start trying to communicate. Stein fumbled as he frantically gestured, trying to think of what to do. While the scribe thought in confusion, Miria stepped forth and raised the tree folk's harp high into the air, smiling warmly toward the couple.
Miria's disregard for her safety was met with anger from Gilbert, as he tried to hold himself back, and curiosity and confusion from the tree couple.
The couple looked at each other as they raised their brow in bewilderment.
Then the feminine-looking one stood up and slowly climbed down the tree. Her counterpart tried to grab on to her arm and stop her, but she slapped his hand away.
When she touched the ground, the tree woman walked slowly to Miria. Her green hands still held her javelin tightly, and she approached with a slow, careful step and uncertain expression.
Annoyed at his counterpart’s recklessness, the tree man hopped down and stood behind the tree woman. He pointed his javelin straight toward Miria.
Miria stepped forward too, still smiling. Then in a show of peace, the woman slowly put her javelin back in her quiver.
The two approached one another, and as sunlight illuminated the clearing, Miria returned the harp to its tree owner.
As she held the instrument, the woman smiled back to the queen and began to play.
The song was beautiful, calm, and brought the humans a peace they had not felt in a very long time. Miria's worry about her subjects, about Rorrick, and about the kingdom, seemed almost to disappear as she listened.
Then the woman finished and looked back at the humans as if waiting for a response.
Stein stepped forward and gestured out his idea, which Miria approved.
The scribe grabbed two stones from the ground and started to bang them against Gilbert's breastplate. It made a metallic rhythm that mixed with Gilbert's angry grumbles. It was a song of anger and peace.
Both tree humans started giggling to themselves. The male approached, and he too put his javelin in his quiver. He went to the side of his counterpart and put his arm around her shoulder as they leaned on each other and enjoyed the strange new song from the strangers.
As Stein played his song with the angry captain's breastplate, the tree woman closed her eyes and, holding her hands close to her heart, rocked slightly to the sides with her peer and started to sing in her native tongue.
Her language was even more enchanting than her music, but Stein continued as an idea formed in him. And after the woman stopped, he gestured to the queen.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The scribe told Miria that the tree folk may not speak in the same way humans do—perhaps they communicate entirely by song and rhythm.
Miria nodded to Stein and formally sang their introduction in the human language. While the couple did not run, they seemed perplexed by the words meant.
The female stepped forward and held her right hand on her chest while singing harmoniously. “Qei Per Vania. Vania.”
Her male counterpart then reluctantly also stepped forward, frowning at his mate's eagerness.
The woman placed both her hands on her mate's head and sprouted a great smile. She put her head next to his. “Qeu Agar. Agar,” she said.
The woman Vania, tried to force him to smile, but he gently slapped her hands away.
She stuck her tongue out at him before turning back to Miria. As she gestured to both her and her companion she continued to sing, “Qoi Qep Cro Alq Fen.”
Both Miria and Stein had understood, at least, that they had introduced themselves. The queen mimicked Vania and as she put her right hand in her chest, she proclaimed her name in a singing tone and did the same for Stein.
“Miria Rosép Ort,” both Vania and Agar tried to say.
Agar spoke alone for the first time as he questioned them, in a deep singing voice. “Ga Qep Qai Cro?”
Stein tried his best to make sense of the language, but as he scratched his head in impatience to find a way to translate, Vania stepped forward.
She spoke again to her partner before she crouched down and drew a strange symbol in the dirt.
It resembled a tree and was surrounded by a simple decorated border similar to the banners for the kingdoms and nations of Old Vaelia.
As she pointed at her and then back at the seal, she sang. “Qoi Cro Alq Fen. Alq Fen.”
The queen thought she understood it. Vania was showing them her nation. To do the same, Miria crouched down and drew opposite to it a simple version of her own nation’s banner, an anchor with a sun on its right and an intact moon on its left.
Miria sang her nation’s name once again, with difficulty. The couple tried to repeat it. “Havén Harbo r.”
Both races smiled at their initial understanding. Not wanting to keep it at this first contact, Miria drew a crude image of a ship on the earth and gestured for the tree folk to follow them.
The couple exchanged concerned looks but agreed to go as Stein experimented communicating with them with whistles.
Together the two parties made their way through the grove back to the camp, the humans still on alert and wary, and the tree couple still curious and worried.
Miria signaled to a party member to head on alone and warn everyone in the camp to keep silent, as the queen did not want to scare away their new friends. So the party continued at a slower pace, the captain and retinue with a heavy and annoyed march, the scribe with a great smile, the couple with curious eyes and the queen with a light and satisfied step.
“Still waters, hot air, and no wind . . . please sire, do something,” the first mate begged on his knees before Jameston.
“I cannot go against the will of Fortuna. She must have a reason for us being here; we need only to wait.”
“Sire, our ships haven't moved for hours. We are still running out of food! At least let us get the oars so we can row.” The sailor gestured to the crew who were trying in vain to fish, and the people on the deck, starving and dying of boredom.
Jameston looked at them and then back at the first mate, and with a saddened look and a resolute posture he declared, “I cannot. This is a test from Fortuna. We must only stay true to her, my servant.”
The planks of wood underneath the first mate shook as he screamed and bashed his head against them, his tears rolling down into the cargo hold. He too prayed to himself—not for Fortuna to save them, but for the goddess to smite the count.
Jameston crouched down and as he placed his hand on the first mate's head, he tried to comfort him. “Fortuna will grant you your desires, my servant. Just stay true to her.”
The first mate looked up with scorn. The more time he spent with the count, the more he realized why Stein had held their ruler in such contempt.
Another hour passed as everyone on deck patiently waited for a miracle.
Mothers, fathers, sailors, children, all of humble origins; Jameston had not allowed anyone of higher ranking to embark on his ships. They all sat in the hold or on the deck, trying their best to avoid the sun and not waste their energy.
The first mate was sharpening his sword and as he did it, sending traitorous looks to his superior. But the count walked straight toward him. “Can I see our remaining food supplies?” he asked.
The first mate's eyes widened at Jameston's sudden care for his serfs.
“Huh? Of course, my liege. This way.” The first mate sheathed his sword and led Jameston into the cargo hold toward a lonely barrel.
The people inside were both amazed and scared at the sight of the count; as he passed through, they crawled back to avoid touching him, afraid they might be cursed by a surge of bad luck.
Jameston wondered why they looked so miserable. He tried to think of a way he could inspire them and raise their spirits, but his first concern now was food. He would try to fix that first.
The first mate opened the barrel’s lid. Inside. Preserved in oil and salt were the last provisions of the ships: two buckets worth of foam fish. One of the smallest species of fish in Vaelia, eaten primarily by the common folk in Haven-Harbor, they were renowned for their ease of catch on the coastal, foaming waves by boatless peasants.
“This is all we have, sire. If we give everyone the smallest amount possible, we might survive for just another day. We will be incredibly hungry, but at least we won’t die yet,” The first mate said, staring nervously at their tiny supply of food.
“Bring the barrel to the deck,” Jameston ordered the sailor.
“Yes, sire.”
The common folk all looked in fear at the count and wondered what he would do with their last food supply. None of them had even dared to go near it in fear of godly retribution.
The count forced a smile. “Have no fear, my subjects. Fortuna will provide for us.”
However, this had the opposite effect intended. The settlers became terrified at the notion of what would happen now. But the count's blind zeal made him misunderstand his subjects’ reactions, and he returned to the deck satisfied that he had lifted their spirits.
On deck, everyone stared as the count returned.
The sun shone brightly in the air and burned all it touched. The winds of hope from the west were gone, leaving the water motionless.
Jameston stepped toward the barrel of food, the ship's last faint hope, and proclaimed to both ships and the heavens. “My faithful, I know you are suffering. The uncertainty of our survival is driving you mad. But I ask you, have faith in Fortuna, and we will arrive safely.” The people looked at Jameston with doubtful eyes. They had lost too many friends and family to have faith in Fortuna now.
Jameston noticed this and tried to calm them. He took his royal coin from around his neck—the coin he’d formed from his county’s crown when he took it from his foster father.
He looked at it, and after he had thought to himself, he flipped the coin. All watched in silence as the coin spun and hit the floor of the deck. Those that could see the result looked in fright as the coin sealed their fate, its black arrow side was up.
Jameston then looked at his subjects with a weary expression. “I shall prove to you that Fortuna hears our plea and we have nothing to fear.” He walked toward the barrel and as he grabbed it, he thought to himself, please save us, my lady.
The settlers and guard watched motionless, in horror at what the captain was about to do. The first mate whispered to another crew member. “Surely he won’t . . .”
“Should we stop him?”
“I . . . don’t know.” He tried to move, but the shock and exhaustion did not allow it.
The count walked toward the edge of the ship and, to everyone’s horror, dumped the last supply of food into the still waters. “I put our lives into your hands, Fortuna!” he screamed to the heavens.
The people gasped at the count’s action. As if awakening from a horrible nightmare, their last energy was unleashed. Some desperate settlers dived into the water, hoping to save as many supplies as possible; others, like the first mate, charged against the count in a blind fit of rage.
They all tried to grab the count and as they did, he didn’t fight back, accepting his fate that he had put onto Fortuna.
“You idiot!” someone from his crew screamed.
“You’ve killed us all!”
“How could you have done this?!”
“Die!” The first mate said, preparing to stab the count. But right before the blade met the captain’s flesh, a fish landed on the head of the count and jumped to the deck, where it struggled to breathe.
Everyone stared at the sea creature, dazed. A then strange rumbling came from underneath the ship.
When the crew looked to the ocean, they could not believe their eyes. Billions of flying fish had gathered where Jameston had dumped the foam fish bait.
The creatures formed a bright violet cloud underneath the ship, and some flew with such ferocity that they jumped over the deck.
Those that had jumped overboard were lifted back into the deck by the massive school of flying fish and as the miracle continued, everyone watched in astonishment as the school of flying fish started to push both ships toward the southwest current—the direction Jameston had chosen.
Jameston silently thanked his goddess as he stared at the first mate who still held him by his collar. “Do you believe me now? I told you, Fortuna is with us.”
When the man realized he still held the count, he immediately let go in fear of the goddess.
The first mate said nothing. He backed away with an incredulous stare. His grip on his sword weakened and he fell to his knees. “Forgive me. Forgive me,” he said in tears.
Everyone else on the ship followed the first mate's lead and bowed to Jameston in awe, fear, and gratitude.
As some of them looked at the count they noticed the almost-ghastly figure of a woman hugging the count from behind. Jameston put his hand over the first mate's head. “Don’t ask me for forgiveness. Ask it of Fortuna.”
As the captain walked through the crew toward the front of the ship, the figure followed him. Once more, Jameston praised his goddess as they headed toward new fortunes. “Thank you, my lady.”
“One, two, row! One, two, row!” The bard ordered as he plucked the strings of his lyre to the rhythm of the waves and the rowing of his loyal sailors.
“Keep rowing lads, I bet we be by the beaches by sundown,” a hopeful sailor proclaimed to his crewmates.
“Aye, unless we die of thirst first,” Henrik said, looking annoyed.
“One, two, row! One, you, row, one, should, row! One, be, row! One, more, Row! One, optimistic, row!” Rorrick said to the rhythm.
“What?”
“You should be more optimistic, Henrik,” Rorrick said before he realized he missed the rhythm. “One two row, one two row, one two row!”
The sailors tried to keep up with the rhythm and rowed nervously as Rorrick tried to catch up with his lost tempo.
“Has being optimistic ever worked for ya, Mr. Rorrick?” Henrik asked skeptically.
“One, two, no!”
“Then why ya tellin' me to be one?”
“Because when you're hopeless, at least your dreams and wishes give you the strength to keep rowing! I learned it the hard way. Row!” Rorrick admitted to his sailors as they stopped for a bit while he answered Henrik.
“Aye, Captain. Ya know, it’s funny. The gods made us from these waters, and yet if we drink it, we die. We can only live from the waters we are not a part of. Ha.” A few of his mates laughed along at their predicament.
“That's the spirit, Henrik! You're right—we are dying of thirst and surrounded by undrinkable water,” Rorrick, joining in the laughter.
“Ah, but Captain, don't worry. If ya have some meat ya can put as much salt as ya want.” The crew continued laughing at their desperate situation and as the sun set on the hottest hour of the day, they felt lighter and happier.
As they chuckled, Rorrick looked at his crew, satisfied that he had, at least for now, raised their spirits.
A few hours passed and the spirits and energy of the sailors had all spilled into the oars and the ocean. Only three members of the crew kept rowing, slowly, tiredly.
The sun and their thirst had overcome the crew. There was little they could do except row and hope they would find the royal fleet before dying.
They felt their last energy fading away as the bard slowly plucked the last strings that he could pluck on his lute.
And just like that, to the harmony of dreams, the bard joined them in sleep.
In his dream, Rorrick remembered the night his life was given meaning.
In a dim countryside tavern in the County of Roseport, the wandering bard played for scraps as he accompanied a roving paladin.
The accommodations were honest and so were the Haven-Harbor folk. Most of his listeners were drunk fisherman wanting to escape the salt and sorrows they carried.
Rorrick had accompanied a paladin named Pat, purely for the safety of traveling with such an escort.
The night had passed as usual. The bard performed for some meager nickels while the paladin kept danger at bay with a mug of water on the counter.
The bard had finished his performance and was enjoying a rare plate of meat. When suddenly, a gust of wind filled the cramped tavern as the door slammed open to reveal a beautiful young woman with rose-red hair.
She stormed towards the tavern keeper, her burning eyes and hair seeming to scare the night away.
She was visibly bruised, but no stain or wound was enough to quell her radiating beauty.
Seasoned seamen scrambled from her path as if a sea devil had entered their refuge.
The woman grabbed the tavern keeper by his shirt, and as embers fell on to his vestments, she yelled, “Where is Lionel?”
The barkeep struggled to breathe as he answered in a sweat. “I-I don't know who Lionel is.”
“Lionel Roseport! The count's son! My brother!”
The tavern owner suddenly realized who was threatening him. “By the One . . . Princess Miria?”
“Of course! My brother doesn't have any other siblings, does he.”
Pat and Rorrick focused on the sudden patron. Pat, to prevent anyone from getting hurt, Rorrick out of interest in the princess's fiery personality.
“She doesn't act much like a princess, does she?” Pat whispered.
“Oh Pat, these coastal folk are nothing like what you have in the Lecii Kingdoms. They were always very, down to earth. I prefer it that way,” Rorrick said with an honest look before he started walking toward the princess.
“What are you doing?!” The paladin looked worried.
“I'm going to help her. I know who she's talking about.”
Pat sighed and reluctantly nodded his head. After he drank the last of his water, he got up and followed the bard to protect him.
“I swear, my princess, I don't know where your brother is!” The princess still held the tavern keeper by his collar.
“My brother has gone missing! I haven't seen him for weeks now and everyone refuses to tell me what has happened to him!”
Rorrick stepped forward. “I know where Lionel Roseport is.”
Miria looked to him and the tall paladin in full plate behind him. “You do?” she asked. “Where is he?” Her threatening expression changed to an eager and trusting one as her hair sizzled and she looked Rorrick straight in the eyes.
“Last I heard of a noble with that name, they said he was heading toward Cwormack.” Rorrick said as he felt the warm, almost burning aura of Miria close to him.
“How do you know that, and from who?”
“W-Well, I-I'm a bard. I hear a bit of gossip everywhere I go,” Rorrick said as he fumbled with his words, feeling nervous from the princess's intense stare.
“Cwormack? That's not that far away, I might still be able to—” Miria's glee was cut short as the door opened to three armed royal Roseport guards.
“Princess Miria, stop this foolery. His highness the count wants you to come back home and stop this ridiculous quest,” one guard said as he prepared to unsheathe his sword.
“I will not! I will find my brother, even if I have to do it on my own!” The princess exclaimed to her escorts as she prepared to lunge herself at them.
But before she could attack, she was taken aback as she saw the paladin and the bard charge.
Pat struck the first guard in the head with a stunning fist that made the guard's helmet ring like a temple bell.
Rorrick struck next with a low kick to the next guard's groin, followed by a punch to his face, which Rorrick immediately regretted as he felt the cold metal dig into his knuckles.
Miria took her chance and lunged at the last guard and landed a fiery fist on his breastplate. Her punch melted into his armor and the chain mail underneath.
As the guard felt the melting metal sear into him, he pleaded. “Mercy, please Your Highness.”
Miria pulled back her hand as the metal slowly cooled off. She gave him an eager and furious stare. “I will, but you tell my father this: if he doesn't want to tell me what happened, I'll find out myself and won't return until after I do.” Miria’s hair shone like a star.
“Yes-my, lady.” The guard said in pain and then carried the soldiers outside with the help of some fishermen.
“Thank you for the help. But I must ask, why did you help me?” Miria said with a confused look.
“My lady. I am a sworn errant paladin and it is my duty to help and protect those that can't protect themselves. Although I'm starting to think I should have helped the guards instead,” Pat said as he knelt down.
The bard fumbled as he answered, while he still held his punching hand. “Oh I just . . . I uh. What he said. You seem nice.”
Miria smiled at their honesty. “Well, I appreciate the help, both in fighting and the information.” She gave them a delicate princess’ bow that felt awfully out of place, considering the punch she’d just landed.
“H-Hey if you want you can come with us, we are heading to Cwormack too. We won't mind bringing you with us,” Rorrick stammered as he bumped Pat's arm.
“I highly advise it against it, princess. While we are indeed headed toward Cwormack, we are on a very dangerous mission. I am to apprehend a rogue ice wizard who is dwelling in the Frigid Rocks mountain chain,” Pat said, ignoring a sharp glare from Rorrick.
Miria looked happy with Rorrick's proposal and answered with a sly look. “Well, it's only until Cwormack. It’s not that long and you don't have to worry about me getting into danger; like you said, the guards could have used more help than I.”
“Then it's settled! You'll join us for now.” Rorrick threw his hands in the air and back against Pat's armor before grunting in pain.
“Then let's head off, gentleman. I don't think it would be wise for us to stay here any longer, my father might send some more men after us.”
“Of course. Let's go, Pat!” Rorrick said to Pat as he headed off with Miria.
Pat sighed and paid the damages they had caused.
“Gods help me, this will be a long journey,” he muttered.
The brine elevated itself unto the heavens and back to the sailors, as the hopeless men received a rude awakening.
A dotted whale briefly lifted the lost rowboat high into the sky. The bard gasped with sudden fear and grasped the pendant he wore around his neck, the one Miria gave him on the day she left him and Pat.
Once the vessel splashed against the stone-like ocean, the bard realized their once-again dire situation and slapped the faces of the remaining sleeping sailors.
He joined in the rowing and screamed at the top of his lungs. “Don't falter now, men! We have come this far! We can't die now! So row! Row!”
The sailors gathered their last strength and kept rowing toward their direction. As the sun started its descent, the sailors’ energy slowly left their bodies. One by one they fell to what they feared would be their last slumber.
Only Rorrick, Henrik and two other sailors remained on the last paddles.
“I suppose there's worse ways to go, eh Captain?” Henrik said as his breath failed him.
“Save it, Henrik. We aren't dead yet and you shouldn't waste your life talking,” Rorrick said as he tried with all his strength to keep rowing.
Henrik did not answer back. Instead, he merely kept rowing until he too blacked out.
By now, the sunset was close approaching and the bard felt his life slowly fading away. He held the pendant from his love. Right before he blacked out he, looked into the distance and saw the masts of the royal fleet on the horizon.
The bard tried to signal them any way he could, and as a last effort, he grabbed his lute and played the loudest notes he could before his fingers stopped working.
With a screeching note to the human fleet, the bard dropped his lute and fell once more into a dream where he prayed over and over that Miria would come for him.
When he awoke, the bard saw in the glimmering light a familiar figure. A figure he thought he would never see again. As his vision focused, his hopes were confirmed.
Standing next to him was his old loved one, his old friend and companion Miria.
Before he could utter a word, the queen hugged the bard and whispered quietly into his ear. “I'm so happy you're alright.”
Rorrick felt the warm embrace of his friend, the same embrace he had wished to feel again for so many years.
As the setting orange and golden light entered through the holes and flaps of the emergency tent where Rorrick and the other sailors were being treated, the bard hugged back his beloved and whispered back, “I'm happy to see you again, Miria.”
The two held each other for a minute or two before Miria let go of her old friend. “Rorrick, what happened?” she asked. “Where's the rest of your crew and ship?”
The bard spoke with a defeated look and admitted. “They mutinied and took the ship.”
“What? Why? I thought you told me you paid them!” Miria said, baffled.
Rorrick straightened his back. “I did! I swear. They mutinied because they felt like it. “No obligation to anyone,” they said. Or something like that.”
“I knew I shouldn't have let you bring a mercenary ship,” Miria said before a thought erupted from her. “What about the common folk? You said you would try to get some of them on your ship.”
Rorrick nervously chuckled at Miria's concern. “Well, the good news is I wasn't able to get anyone to come with me. So if you ever see those traitors, be my guest and sink them. If they haven't already, that is.”
“Thank the gods,” Miria said as she sighed with relief before a faint smile emerged. “They probably would have thrown you out sooner if they had more music fans aboard.”
Rorrick tried to contain himself and failed, laughing at his friend's jab.
“You know better than anyone that I'm a misunderstood artist.” Miria had always been his most trusted fan. “What about you? I didn't really have much time to talk with you on the port, with all the invasion and the hurry to escape. How have you been doing these past four years?”
The queen sat by the bedside next to the bard and with a heavy look and the golden rays on her she told him. “They have been . . . tiresome. As dangerous as they were, I still miss our old adventures sometimes. The fights, the sneaking, the traveling. Pat’s grumpiness, and most of all—I missed you, Rorrick.”
The bard wore the same heavy look as the queen. “I missed you too. More than anything, really. That day you left me, I spent almost all my treasures on cheap wine. You left, Pat did too. That night when I first saw you. I didn't know it yet, but you gave me meaning. You gave me a light. When you left, well, I realized what I had before you arrived: nothing. I was just an aimless, poor wandering bastard without a family and returning to that just killed me.”
Miria looked at her old friend. “I'm sorry, Rorrick. I didn't know.”
Before she could say anything else, the bard grabbed the queen's hand. “But, it was alright. Because as I stood half-drunk on your wedding day, on the streets of the Seven-Towers, I remembered something you told me once: ‘If we put out a fire during a storm, we will surely never light it back again; but as long as the slimmest of embers still exist, we can bring light and hope again.’”
The queen’s eyes teared in a rush of memory. But before the bard could continue, she interrupted. “Rorrick, stop. All of that was . . . so long ago. So much has changed since then. I'm still a queen with responsibilities. People to look after. I'm not an adventurer anymore,” Miria said with a crooked and saddened posture. “As much as I wish we could go back to those days, the truth is we can't. We must accept the present and move on. The least we can do is to cherish those old memories and carry them with us. Besides, in the end, I was never destined to be an adventurer. I was a princess and now I'm a queen. My fate was always to be with my kingdom.”
Rorrick rose up from his bed and as he straightened himself and looked into the eyes of his love with a determined look. “But we are here now! We're having another adventure together. How am I supposed to interpret this as anything else other than the will of the gods?”
Miria slowly pushed him back into his pillow. “You have been through a dangerous trip. Just rest for now, Rorrick. We'll talk more later.” She kissed him on the cheek.
Afterwards, she left with the last golden rays of the sun. As the warm glowing queen turned, she said, “sleep well, my bard.”
Rorrick was left alone in the tent. He clung to pendant Miria had gifted him so long ago and slowly fell back to his dreams with an annoyed grin.