Chapter 110
Well, There it is.
(Ogo)
The relentless storm was thinning. We traveled north with warmer blood in our bodies. Our pace increased, and the pitch of creaking wood turned higher.
“Are the scarpadae really so far north?”
Jix translated for the golem we had befriended. “Straight there is faster than what your ships would have to sail around.”
Just then, we came around a mound of white rock. Finally able to purchase distant views through the weakened storm, I saw our destination ahead. It lay down in a plateau of crumbles of rock where water streamed.
How much north had we gone since the port we lost to Hawkin? The volcanic isles were already far north, but this was insane. Any more north…would the sky become brittle? Would everything be eternal ice? Would even an orc freeze, when a single orc is stronger than the world?
The path soon cleared on the western side, where it continued around a corrie. Laid upon the west was the sea. My sea!
“Halt! For meal!”
The golem, whose name I could not pronounce, turned to me. As always, Jix translated. “I knew that the orcs were not like golem. Golem can go on. Orcs must rest.”
“We stop for you.”
“That is needless.”
“I want to show you something.”
The wheels of our carts screamed as they came to a stop. The orcs hastily set up hanging pots over cooking fires. They managed boiling eel, and started puncturing barrels. The spray of beer foam floated in clumps in the little snowfall.
“Follow me,” I told Golem and by extension, Jix.
“Where to?”
“Closer to my sea where our view is wider.”
My sea was a beautiful sea. She was mean today, and the rocks were like her tusks. She was empty of ships.
“What do you call it?” I said.
“The sea? It is the sea.”
“The prow of my ship will one day ply these waters so deeply, the sea will look like something which can be folded like a map, and it will read The Sea of Ogo.”
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“How fascinating it is to learn that orcs are half muscle, half imagination.”
“If not imagination, what has built your city?”
“Effort.”
“I have the muscle for that part.”
A bowl of eel was placed in my palms, and a bowl of goodmoss was given to the golem.
“I have imagination as well,” the golem said. “I hope you have your sea. It will be the same sea to me either way. So why not help you.”
“Your escort is a small but helpful thing.”
“...Perhaps I shall join your crew…”
“If you fall overboard, there’s nothing I can do for that.”
“Yes, it will be a great splash, but I will take the fall, the plunge, and I will visit the old ones.” Then I’ll return to my clan by foot and await another trade of goodmoss to join your crew once more.”
“Old ones?”
“Before green growing things there were golems. The oldest clan dwell at the bottom of the sea. They are closest to home there.”
“I shall sink crates of goodmoss for good relations.We’ll have to look at a map together and you’ll have to mark where they are.”
“Show me a map, orc.”
“Jix?”
Jix laid out our map. The drifting dust of dry snow skittered across the map. The golem studied the map for minutes on end. It wasn’t beneath me to offer some help.
“We are here,” I said.
“...I know.”
But he kept his stare upon the map.
“You don’t know where your old ones are?”
“I know where they are.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“For our journey, you have gone on and on… but nowhere on this map does it say The Sea of Ogo.”
My belly rolled with laughter. With a fat finger, I said, “It’s this one.”
“I understand that, but it is not written, nor is it in the legend. And in that case, I’m afraid this map is worthless.”
I leaned back–bracing against the stone–with laughter. “Fur! Come!”
Fur, the thickest of the group, strolled over. His breath smacked of hot, slick eel. “Commander!”
“Amend this map.”
Fur turned the map and sat with his back to the sea. He sprawled his leather tools upon the stone. He tucked the bottle of ink under his armpit. After a dusting of cuttlebone, he brushed the map clean and made eye contact.
“How shall I amend, Commander?”
The ink was fresh where Fur had detailed the golem comb.
I hovered my thumb over the sea. “The Sea of Ogo.”
Fur’s eyes were the color of green mold. His polished tusks bobbed for a moment. His brows made his forehead wrinkle like fallen cloth.
“I am honored, Commander.”
From deep within a leather pouch of utensils, Fur traded his quill for a finer, meerschaum quill.
“Gather round,” said Fur. “Gather round! This day, orcs change the world!”
Boots scuffed the stone. Billowing steam blasted from orc nostrils. The smell of eel became humid-thick.
With his writing helped by a crossing finger, Fur dragged his quill in long loops upon the map. A powder of cuttlebone was dropped over the letters, which raised above the parchment.
“Well there it is,” the golem said. “That’s where you’ll find them.”