Thirteen warriors, a healer, and a druid departed from Aethin Wod on a cool morning. This far north, dew that coated the ground still froze to leave intricate crystalline patterns of the vegetation. The overcast skies ensured that it would not be until late in the day that these flimsy ice structures would melt away into nothingness.
The two brothers disappeared sometime in the early hours of dawn, their location unknown to everyone but Valentin. To the rest, Médéric and Rou were assigned to a sudden and confidential mission. Their selection caused some protests amongst the warriors who believed that the assignment, particularly Médéric’s, was an endorsement of his position within the hierarchy. This was an assertion that Valentin’s protests failed to overturn.
To explain the true reason would be of little benefit to anyone. Médéric’s selection had as much to do with Valentin’s perception of his innate intelligence and covert abilities as it did with the convenience of the warrior being present to Valentin’s abrupt journey into the night.
A little sulking from his warriors was not something that Valentin was overly concerned with. Instead, he was consumed with looking over his shoulder obsessively at the ever-shrinking fortress of Aethin Wod. While they were still within the town, he inspected every person, place, and thing he crossed with unnerving intensity. There had to be something, anything that would reveal to him the sinister foundation of the settlement. However, wherever he looked, he found peace. The faces of the people were no less content than anywhere else that he visited.
Disappointment would not deter him. When Valentin returned south, he would have what he needed to rip this veil of safety from them. Even if it was the smallest of gaps, he rip at it with all of his might. To do anything less would be antithetical to what he knew. He would lose respect for himself as a warrior and as a righteous individual.
“Did something happen?” Renne asked Valentin. “You’ve been acting strangely all morning. It’s affecting the deg.”
“Nothing that you will need to concern yourself with,” Valentin reassured absentmindedly. “I will be fine by this evening.”
Accustomed to the frequent strangeness that his leader normally displayed, Renne abandoned his curiosity swiftly. He turned his attention to rallying the off kilter mood that permeated the group. It was in moments such as these that he shone brightest in his position. His disarming personality allowed him to cultivate unique relationships with each member of the deg. It did not take long after the fortress fell out of sight for a sense of normalcy to return to the deg.
The northeasterly road that led to Croismor continued to be littered with various towns and villages that continued to slow their progress. However, unlike the environs around the capital, there were enough suitable places to rest without harassment.
It was in these small gaps of light before nightfall that the deg was able to train with their weapons. The long days of travel sapped at their form and sharpness within their strikes. Valentin could see the small compromises that his warriors made when they lacked the energy to strike properly.
“Kerwin, do you believe that such sloppy strikes will kill anyone?” Valentin sharply questioned the warrior.
“No, Deggan, I do not!” Kerwin shouted in response. His next strike was perfect as he thrust the weapon forwards at speed. Sweat poured from his skin and steamed off his body in the cooling air of the evening.
“And you Caera, look at how tight your joints are! Guain, your stance isn’t low enough!” Valentin admonished the next warriors with his instructions.
He found that he adopted Hrost’s harsh style of teaching for his own. This was not an active decision on his part. One day, he just had a moment of clarity that he had now become his deg’s version of the ornery old warrior. He could not say that he was thrilled with the designation, but the improvements made by these raw talents lent credence to the idea that this was the proper way forwards.
It was only after his deg was finished that he spent his own time training. His limbs moved in predetermined ways. Just as one does not need to focus on how they breathe or sleep or digest, Valentin no longer had to think about his attacks. These trainings in the infant darkness only served to prevent his muscles from forgetting their job.
As he wiped his sweaty face with a cloth, he heard his ancestor rattle for attention. The mask, left leaning against the tree, knocked aggressively against the wood. The noises carried far beyond Valentin and into the woods.
Unable to renege on his agreement, Valentin donned the mask. The ambient sounds of the forest dimmed to be replaced with the quiet one would hear when in a large hall when anticipating a tiarna’s speech.
Well at least you have more honor than your father.
It was a bizarre echoing the traveled through his temples and directly into his mind. The voice of his ancestor sounded like a clearer thought akin to an epiphany. The clarity of his ancestor’s invading voice made the nebulous thoughts that shared the space in his mind feel, by comparison, far less real. It was as though this was the first true thought that he ever had in his life. He hated how it felt.
Valentin attempted to think something back towards his ancestor, however, there was no response from the mask. Valentin repeated the loud even louder to the same reaction. He tried to deafen the background voices and thoughts in his mind to deliver the clearest thought that he has ever thought intentionally. Still nothing.
“You cannot read my thoughts, even with the mask on,” Valentin observed aloud, relief mixed in his voice.
Of course not. The voice emanated inside his mind again. Such a spiritual bond is almost impossible to make. Not to mention the potential to be overwhelmed by the thoughts of another. Though I don’t think I have to worry about that with you.
“What are you implying?” Valentin inquired with a frown, certain that his grandfather mean it in a demeaning way.
You have to be the drollest Stormblood I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing. His grandfather said his claim quite loudly within Valentin’s head. Without physical emotion behind the mental messages, volume seemed to be one of the few ways to better convey feelings. It would do Valentin well to not rile up the old warrior.
“I struggle to imagine how it is much different than any of the other deggans I know,” Valentin countered. “The missions that I go on might even be more interesting than what the main force is currently tasked with.
That is not what I’m referring to at all. It is about you wasting your youthful vigor for incomprehensible reasons. An exasperated voice entered his mind.
Valentin, believing that it may be a longer conversation than he bargained for, leaned against the tree he had placed the mask on. He briefly pulled the mask from his face while he put his waterskin to his mouth and drank.
“How should I be using my youthful vigor if not in battle?” Valentin asked with an almost genuine innocence. Anticipation of the flow of conversation caused him irritation.
Sex! His ancestor screamed loud enough for Valentin to almost rip the mask off in surprise. You are surrounded with numerous young women who have interest in you, yet, you have not shared a bed with a single one of them! Worse still, you paid for and then ignored those beautiful courtesans, and for what? To take a bath and give them away to your oafish door guard as a favor? It’s a disgrace! It runs counter to the warrior spirit, to the clan raison d'être. If I could wrest control of your body from you, I would show you the proper way of things. So, I must ask, what is the issue?
“There is no issue,” Valentin replied through gritted teeth. “I simply believe in possessing a single partner in romance. My true betrothed is yet to enter my life.”
You think you can lie so brazenly to me? Such rules of monogamy are not enforced during campaigns. Even the most virtuous were not as stringent as yourself. Even my rigid eldest brought a stray back with her. You are not ignorant to the needs of your body. If I have to be present to you training alone while there are people tripping over themselves to share your bed, I am going to crumble into dust. That Zoe woman is perfect for you, I can see that she is smitten and she has a nice body. A cute Southerner. Take care of your carnal needs through her.
“It will only cloud my judgment in the future to harbor such a relationship,” Valentin reiterated from a previous conversation.
I do not believe such words for even a moment. Attachment to such a woman should be impossible for the man you will become. Even if she dies, there will be many more clamoring to replace her. Do you know what I did whenever I did not get along with my wives? I got a new one to show them how unimportant they are. It is unnatural for you to be any different. Besides, you’ve already seen so much of her when you treated those wounds, it is not though there is anything that she even wishes to hide from you.
Blood drained from his face with the realization that the mask was dangling from his hip during those dire moments. The eyeless sockets of gold lapping up the image even when Valentin did his best to prevent his own eyes from straying inappropriately.
“I refuse to turn my back on my principles,” Valentin asserted. “Your needs are irrelevant to me and I have no interest in fulfilling them. You are no compass to how a man should be and you never will be.”
So you think that your petulant avoidance towards everyone around you is how a man should be? I have silently watched you for a season already. Do you know what I see?
“I don’t know what you see, ancestor,” Valentin snipped, wondering when this would end.
Do not be short with me, boy. I have been forced into silence for over fifty days now while you have done as you pleased, I will speak my mind. Your melancholic demeanor and cold detachment is not endearing. Someone of your position is not sympathetic and your somber sighing and aloof speaking only comes across as abrasive and unlovable. Only the looks you inherited from me and your power continue to allow you to be tolerated by the rest of your warriors.
The biting words tore into the confidence that he had carefully built up over the cycles and gnawed at the questioning regions of his mind. Insecurities bled from recesses within his brain, causing his heartrate to increase rapidly. The carefully constructed personality that he had assembled turned out to be nothing more than a flimsy recreation of a man, fooling nobody. Without his natural born power, nobody would respect him. His warriors will flock to stronger leaders the first opportunity that they had.
He removed the mask and slapped his face with both hands. Hard. He could not allow his own hands to be the architects of his destruction. A stinging sensation washed over his face and stopped the whirlpool forming in his mind from devouring him whole. And, even though he had been delivered safely from the shore, those doubts remained in small pools.
What are you doing? His ancestor asked in confusion once Valentin returned the mask to his face.
“Centering myself,” Valentin replied calmly. “Is there anything else that you’d like to criticize, ancestor? Do I use my weapon shamefully or ride my horse like a woman?”
Go on then, continue to be snide and wallow in whatever misery you find yourself mired in. Dance in the delusion that you are unique in your suffering and ignore the life that passes you by. I have nothing more to say to you.
Valentin removed the mask without offering parting words to his ancestor. His posture slumped further against the abrasive bark of the tree. As he turned his face skyward, he let out a regrettable sigh. Even a being that had never taken a corporeal form delivered such biting judgment upon him; reinforcing the knowledge that he already possessed. There was something wrong with him. He knew that he possessed no uniqueness in his suffering. Those without power languish far more than he ever could; trapped beneath the boots of those that call themselves superior with no way to wriggle themselves free.
He felt unseen, self-conscious of the fact that what plagued him was not good enough to be shared with others. He could understand the trauma of others. Pangs of empathy entered his heart whenever he heard of or participated in something harmful. However, he felt as though his own pain was like a reflection that nobody else could recognize. If he opened his heart to his warriors, he would be disregarded at best and would lower his estimation in their eyes. He would not open his heart to the mask; it would only bring him ridicule.
Would throwing himself in the arms of another salve those scars? When even the impassive touch of his own hands bring images into his mind, would sharing a bed with Zoe or Caera fix those things?
No. He contested that it would not. Such reckless paths towards treatment would only condemn him to more agony. However, he similarly could not conjure up a single alternative to heal himself. If there was a person on this land that knew the answer to his questions, Valentin would drop everything to go meet them. For now, he would stay in his current condition. Familiarity was far better than carelessly experimenting upon his soul.
The only thing that he could agree on was his critiques on his personality. His unsocial and difficult to approach personality that Renne showed to him four cycles ago still followed him today. If Valentin were to make change, he would start there.
Now that he determined his path, he returned to camp. Motivation flooded his soul and dripped into every fiber of his body. Such a change seemed to be the easier of the issues to solve. He could simply mimic what the more popular of his warriors was doing. Confidence was already carved into his personality, why couldn’t this?
His pleasant dreams broke way to the dawn of a new Valentin, an improved Valentin. The man that left the deggan’s tent would be the charismatic and personable person that he knew that his warriors truly wished to serve.
If that was the case, why was he finding it so difficult to smile genuinely?
Not a smirk or a wry bending of the lips, but a genuine smile that revealed teeth and created wrinkles around the eyes. Nervousness gripped him, preventing him from revealing that brand new facet of his identity. Would it not be jarring to his warriors for him to change to rapidly? Would it not cause great shock and concern? They were too accustomed to how he was now, such a change would be too severe to be genuine. What if he did it poorly? Did he even smile like that when he was in Orsulie?
His spiral put him in a mood that could not support even a regular grin from him. Thoughts suffocated his mind and, though he led the column, he was not truly present. Waves of irritability emanated from every pore on his body, barring anyone that may have felt concern towards him from reaching out.
Dark clouds wreathed Valentin for the next couple days. His circular thinking kept others at bay throughout the nights as well, only reinforcing his own warped perceptions in his relationship with the other warriors.
Poorly slept nights only sapped at his mental strength for the following morning, lowering his capabilities for reasoning. His thoughts became more foolish and paranoid. All of them directed inwards to compound the negativity that flowed in his veins at a faster speed than his blood. He felt so close to a nonsensical breakthrough.
“Valentin, I’d like to request something.”
Zalavo’s morose tone snapped Valentin out of his malaise. The healer, completely oblivious or uncaring towards Valentin’s state, reached through the black vortex to grip a hold of Valentin’s mind.
Suddenly, Valentin obtained lucidity for the first time in days. The landscape apparated into in eyes as though he had been blind. In the distance, down the winding road that navigated the hillsides, sat the seat of power for the Echavin region, Croismor. The bridge city covered the entirety of the Strait of Calevfor and served as the only land crossing into Norzyet. Light sparkled off of the cold sea water and numerous vessels passed beneath the high arched bridges of the city.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“What do you need?” Valentin asked absentmindedly. “We’ll be in Croismor a bit after Zenith. We can stop and get whatever you need there.”
“We cannot enter Croismor,” Zalavo corrected.
“Oh, of course,” Valentin agreed without thinking. “Why is it that we can’t go through Croismor again?”
“Because it is my will and it is your job to cater to that will,” Zalavo replied with an uncharacteristic zest that wrested Valentin’s attention fully back into the present. “We will take a ship across and ride the rest of the way.”
“The only people who willingly avoid the bridges of Croismor are sailors and criminals,” Kerwin remarked with suspicion. “Which are you?”
“Criminal,” Zalavo answered casually.
Zalavo’s reply sucked the words from the rest of the deg, leaving only questions behind. Their faces clearly showed that their expectations and reality were now incongruous. They expected such a background from their fellow warrior. Mercenaries born from histories of violence was almost a rite of passage amongst well renowned war bands. A response of that implication from a healer was not one oft heard.
“Even if you were the son of Killik, we would take the boats,” Valentin commented to fix the mood. “Though we work with you often, this time, you are the client. The success of the mission depends on your satisfaction.”
While not very satisfying for lingering curiosity, Valentin’s words was sufficient in moving everyone forward. As the morning stretched into day, the main road into Croismor began to become full with people planning to enter city or cross to the other side. Instead of following the flow of the human river into the city, the deg exited onto a narrow footpath that led them through fields and over hills to a village that sat on the sea shore.
A cropping of shacks sat on the rocky beach only a couple hundred paces away from the shoreline. A raised dock stretched dozens of paces into the sea. Several unused rowboats sat beached upon the rocks.
Drying fish hung from wooden racks, their tails stuck with hooks and their bodies salted to steal their moisture. Villagers wearing only pants and worn leather aprons deftly took their knives to the freshly caught fish. Guts and blood stained the leather with a large splotch of moisture before being dropped in a barrel for later use. The scent of the Ortus-kissed organs traveled sharply into Valentin’s nostrils.
Vessels swarmed the sea. Fishermen in small rowboats threw their nets over the side while flotillas of merchant ships crossed the narrow strip of sea to carry mass amounts of cargo faster. Massive wooden vessels with multiple masts and canvas sails passed under the bridges and along the deepest stretch of water. Ornate figureheads of historical figures, beautiful women, and beasts carved into the ship’s prow valiantly faced the rolling waves to lead their crews to safe harbors.
Bobbing in the near harbor were several boats. Chief among them, a medium sized cog moored near the shoreline. A large emblem of a pointy-nosed fish with massive, tattooed human arms flexed peculiarly upon the center of the ship’s singular sail. Its crew milled about casually atop the deck of vessel, seemingly with nowhere in particular to be.
“We need to get on that boat,” Zalavo informed to Valentin in the event that it wasn’t clear.
With an annoyed nod, Valentin led the deg towards the ship. He could feel the eyes of the sailors begin to drift towards the approaching warriors.
“Is the captain of this vessel on board?” Valentin hailed the ship.
A raucous laughter erupted amidst the sailors of the ship, leaving Valentin to wonder exactly what he said that was wrong. A sailor in bright blue clothes moved from their place on the stern to stand closer to the shore.
“A captain is always aboard a vessel at sea!” An accented voice called back in Overtongue to more, slightly stifled, laughter. A loud slapping sound from somewhere on the boat accentuated the reply.
“That was a foolish question,” Zalavo added unnecessarily.
“Then you should have given me a short lesson of sailing etiquette,” Valentin quietly barked back at the healer before cupping his hands to shout back in the universal language. “We’re looking to cross! Do you have room for us?”
“Could you yell louder? I’m not sure if the Great Spirit could hear you yet!” The blue-dressed sailor called in response to the sound of more laughter.
Valentin rolled his eyes at the sailor’s disrespect. He could see the rest of his warriors torn between bemusement of their deggan’s unusual position or furious over the disrespect shown to him, and therefore the deg at large. While they could not understand fully what was being said, it didn’t take much to realize that the laughter was one-sided. It would be better to disengage now before things potentially came to blows.
“Let’s just go somewhere else, Zalavo,” Valentin suggested. “It’s clear that I’ve already ruined negotiations.”
Valentin turned Vescal and led him in the opposite direction. Zalavo did not put up much of a fight and followed him along with the rest of the group. There would be other ships and further opportunities to find crossing, even if it wasn’t until the next day that they would accomplish it.
“Hold! Let’s have a proper meeting without all the shouting!” The sailor shouted at the departing money the ship could be making.
A sailor wearing fabric the color of the sky leapt over the side of the cog into a small rowboat fastened to the vessel’s side. Calls echoed from the deck as the sailors rapidly lowered the vessel into the water. Valentin, despite his poor mood, found himself impressed with the speed and fluidity in which the small boat touched the water. Oars chopped into the waves as the back of the sailor approached the shore rapidly.
“I’d like to hear them out,” Zalavo reiterated. “Foreign ships serve us far better than Strettian.”
Valentin nodded begrudgingly and ordered the group to turn back around towards the shore. He sat upon his horse with his arms folded, waiting for the captain to reach the rocks. Though they were within shouting distance of each other, it took several minutes longer than Valentin expected for the vessel to reach the near shore.
As soon as the boat caught the rocks of the shore, the captain vaulted themselves out of the vessels and spun to face the waiting warriors. The captain wore a wool tunic without sleeves revealing tattooed arms. One their right arm was a portrait of a beautiful women with skin made of tranquil water while the other was bound with ropes made of black ink. Matching blue breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots to give the impression it was all one piece of cloth. An excessively wide brimmed hat sat atop their head, coating most of their torso in shade.
“Greetings, land legs,” the captain greeted with a bow before offering a grin. Her mouth possessed some of the teeth that the Mother gave her and what was left were yellowed and in poor condition. “Around here, I go by Philaeron.”
“Gilles,” Valentin replied and reached out his hand in greeting. He chose to reciprocate that the captain provided him with a fake name.
“Well met, Gilles,” Philaeron said and gripped Valentin’s hand with force.
Valentin returned the grip with his full natural force. For a moment, they stood silently in their competition of strength. Eventually, Philaeron grimaced and loosened her grip. Valentin allowed the captain to escape his grasp immediately after and she shook her hand a few times to breathe some life back into the limb.
“Very nice,” Philaeron commented approvingly to herself while she shook her hand once more. “So you wish to take these people, animals, and cargo across the sea to the northern shore? Is that what you were screaming from the land?”
“Is that something that you can do?” Valentin asked without mincing words.
Philaeron seemed to perform space calculations as she took stock of everyone in the group. Valentin could see her point her finger and count up mental tallies. She pursed her lips and scrunched her face.
“It would be tight, but it is a short trip,” she finally assessed. “Of course, as long as all you need is to reach the opposite shore over there.”
“That will be more than enough,” Zalavo replied in Overtongue. The healer possessed an entirely different accent than Valentin or the captain. His voice in the universal language was far more gruff and growling than his normally plain tone, throwing both Valentin and Philaeron off guard.
“Thirty silver and you have a deal,” Philaeron stated with another yellow smile.
Valentin raised his eyebrow and gave Zalavo a questioning look at the price. It could take cycles for a regular person to collect thirty silver. It was well over half of Valentin’s annual gift he received from the Matriarch of Guerros. After his bath and the several rounds of drink, his purse strings would be more strained than he budgeted for.
“I presume that your confidentiality is included in that price,” Zalavo said to Philaeron.
“But of course,” Philaeron agreed with an emphatic nod. “If anyone asks, we just felt like spending some time on the northern shore. No passengers involved.”
Zalavo procured a purse of high quality from his jacket and handed it to Valentin. He opened the purse to see numerous silver eagles nestled within, more than enough to satisfy the demands of the passage.
“Courtesy of Ferron,” Zalavo explained.
“We accept your offer, Philaeron,” Valentin stated, placing multiple handful of coins into the captain’s hands.
One by one, Philaeron counted all the coins in her hand and slipped them into a leather pouch. When she reached the count of thirty, Valentin saw that she slipped in one extra coin and returned the remaining silver pieces to Valentin. With a flourish of her arms, the crew aboard the cog sprung to life and the ship lurched forwards.
“If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, could you help me carry my boat to the dock?” Philaeron asked shamelessly. “I could row it over myself, but I feel as though you wouldn’t trust me to come back.”
“My warriors could use some exercise,” Valentin agreed amicably, his words creating several groans from his subordinates.
Eight burly volunteers followed Philaeron’s instructions and lifted the vessel atop their shoulders. Their clothes dampened from the contact with the wet wood. Under a regimented rhythm of an experienced coxswain, the warriors marched the vessel along the shoreline and towards the dock. Valentin watched sweat bead on foreheads and lungs huff to keep their breath.
When they were finally allowed to gently lower the vessel upon the wood of the dock, relief crossed their faces. They stretched their strained backs and pin-wheeled their arms around their shoulders. Some bent towards the sea and splashed the cold salt water into their faces.
Relief did not last overly long. Philaeron’s cog soon pulled up to the dock. Discordant calls echoed from the deck, instructing sailors to hop over the side and fasten the ship to the dock by way of ropes with elaborate knots. A wide wooden plank slid over the side and hit the dock with a loud thud, inviting the waiting travelers to take the incline up. While the warriors were more than eager to get this over with, the animals were far less agreeable. It took a great amount of coaxing to get the more skittish horses and mules up the gangway and onto unstable footing atop the ship.
It was a tight fit on the deck of the ship as mass of man and beast and cargo suffocated every free step of space. Valentin, fortunately, was able to find a place atop the stern to anchor himself to. He tried to brace himself in advance, earning a few grins from the seasoned sailors.
“Fret not, Gilles,” Philaeron comforted with a couple slaps to the back, “I’ll be sure to be gentle with your sensitivities.”
Orders were issues and the ship reacted accordingly. However, Valentin’s mind had already dissociated from the venture. If he was not present in the moment, perhaps he could avoid the worst of the illness that he knew was soon approaching.
Waves parted beneath the bow and lurched the ship every which way. Rare larger waves sent sprays of white water over the front of the vessel. His warriors attempted to keep the animals in check and fasten the cargo to the deck. Frantically, they moved between touching snouts and offering bribes of straw to checking straps holding down their carts.
Valentin was helpless to support his deg in their endeavors. The waves of the sea was far rougher and choppier than the calm waters of the Linnbeatha. Lack of balance beneath him combined with the reek of animals and unwashed people caused nausea to rise sharply inside Valentin’s body. He shifted back and forth in an attempt to match to the movements of the vessel to no avail. A headache dug inside his skull, leaving him feeling lightheaded.
He gripped the railing on the side of the ship and sucked in the salty air to try to cycle the sickness from his body. Every rocky and uneven movement the ship made as it bucked over the waves only served to bring renewed and compounded discomfort to his body.
How was it possible for such a nearby shore to be so far away? It was his first time on a real seafaring vessel and he learned for certain that his whimsical thoughts of hopping on a ship leaving Briste to explore the world would have never worked in a thousand cycles. If Philaeron was truly navigating the ship in a way that showed genuine consideration for Valentin, he knew that naval warfare would be his true weakness.
“Did your soul fall overboard somewhere?” Philaeron asked the suffering warrior.
“I must have offended the Lord of the Seas in a past life,” Valentin spat pathetically over the side of ship and into the energetic sea. “Pray that taking me on the waters does not offend your benefactor.”
“Do not worry overmuch,” Philaeron reassured with a hearty cackle. “The Lady of the Crossways is not overly vindictive. If you are on her wrong side, she will find far greater joy in watching your illness than watching you drown. Though it wouldn’t hurt to apologize anyways.”
“Nascenera, apologies for the transgressions that this soul has committed in the past. Please stop making me ill,” Valentin said in a half-hearted prayer and flipped an eagle into the sea.
Valentin could hear Philaeron provide an impressed whistle at the sight of Valentin’s offering. He waited for relief for several minutes, but none ever came. Whether by timely coincidence or through divine pity, strong southerly winds began to kick up and the ship accelerated towards the opposite shore.
“Even the esteemed spirits love wealth!” Philaeron screamed above the cutting wind. Her sailors cheered at the seemingly random change in fortune.
The ship sliced through the water and Valentin watched the wake cast off the ship. Short white crests rippled further in a v-pattern behind the stern and settled back into the water. There was little in the way of wildlife that Valentin could see within the expansive blue below. Occasional outlines of disturbed fish swam down into the depths to avoid the predator atop the surface. He could hear the cawing of disturbed sea birds overhead. They squawked and chirped at the clumsy vessel for scaring away their potential meals.
Wakes from ships heading in the opposite direction collided with their own and caused tumultuous water at the intersection. Sailors called to opposite boats using a mix of jargon and colloquialisms that Valentin had no hope in understanding.
There were none louder than Philaeron, who screamed at whoever or whatever was nearby in the incomprehensible language of the sea. The lunatic shouted at the fishermen, at the merchantmen, even at the birds. If you were to ask the seasick man next to her to repeat what was said, he would not be able to recite even one in five of the words. Yet, it seemed with some amount of clarity, the sailors on the other ship would shout gibberish back her way. The birds squawked in some bizarre understanding between siblings of different species.
“You’re Hetecian, aren’t you?” Valentin asked from his position draped over the railing.
Philaeron raised her eyebrow at Valentin’s question. Turning her attention away from the passing ship traffic, she leaned casually atop the bannister with a calmness and constitution that filled Valentin with envy.
“Why do you say that?” She asked in kind. “Could I not be from the islands of Byrtelos or the coasts of Ithia?”
“Your accent is Hetecian,” Valentin asserted confidently. “I would know, the person who taught me Overtongue was Hetecian.”
“The fact that you call it Overtongue is proof enough,” Philaeron laughed. “Indeed, I am from Antellis. Whoever taught you was from the middle river. Kohasan I would guess by the way that you pronounce your vowels.”
Valentin scratched the back of his head and thought about whether he knew where Jaela Volo originated from. However, any deeper thoughts than the superficial created rivers of pain that traveled through his head. He gritted his teeth and heaved a few times to disperse the bile that formed inside of him. Philaeron watched the sea impassively as her passenger retched a few more times.
“I cannot recall,” Valentin admitted. “However, I’m surprised to see a Hetecian captain. I would have figured you would have felt more at home on land.”
“Does our people’s lack of favor in water forbid us from setting sail?” Philaeron countered playfully, leaning forward to encroach on Valentin’s space. “We navigate the Verani far better than any other. One could say we care for water far more than we care for land. Your nation consists mostly of farmers, yet you have no favor in soil.”
“You are far more equipped for the sea than I am,” Valentin conceded with a ghastly expression devoid of ill will towards the cocky ship captain. “All the favor in the world could not stop me from drowning without your help.”
“That’s a proper attitude,” Philaeron replied with a satisfied grin. She gave him another slap on the shoulder but backed away when Valentin waved her off. “You learn far quicker than the last Strettian warrior that I ferried. His sea legs were twice as good as yours, but he was at least ten times as obnoxious. We traveled together for over thirty days and I dreamt of drowning him at least as many times. Eh, at least he was handsome.”
“Who was he?” Valentin asked in equal parts curiosity and absentmindedness.
“His name was Rorigan. I’d love to tell you all about it but,” Philaeron slapped her coin purse a couple times for emphasis. “Paid for a similar reason as you, Gilles.”
“Hmm,” Valentin grunted as he slouched back over the side of the railing.
It only took around an hour and a half to reach the opposite shore. To Valentin, it was an entire day. He viewed it as an early warning of the apocalypse that Ortus had hardly changed his position in the sky. It was as though as he had aged years on this unnatural journey. Humanity was not meant to stand atop water in ships. The Mother had the wisdom to place her children firmly on land and any action that ran counter should be seen as heretical.
Fortunately, there was an open dock for the cog to run up against. It was not directly connected to any village and almost gave off the impression of being a natural feature.
Despite a deep desire to flee the ship first, Valentin showed enough decorum to allow the animals and his warriors to depart first. He bobbed gently up and down as he guiltily watched everyone else get to work. Slowly, he made his way towards the gangway.
“This is where we part ways, Gilles,” Philaeron said to Valentin. “If fortunes are favorable, we will meet again.”
“If we meet again at sea, then I will find my fortunes to be highly unfavorable,” Valentin groaned.
He stumbled his way off of the ship and onto land. The constant rocking of the sea left his muscles twitching to anticipate every movement on the waves. His bones felt boiled and gelatinous as he unsteadily swayed to and fro. Grasping at Vescal’s saddle, he put his weight against his horse to stay on his feet. The dirty scent of the animal subsumed the scent of salt and assisted in his recovery. He pressed his face closer to the fur in the hopes that the odor would somehow hasten the return of normalcy.
“Are you feeling alright, Deggan Valentin? Do you need any help?” Gélique asked her leader, whose face was buried into his horse.
“I’m just glad I am no longer on that ship,” Valentin replied to Gélique. He turned his face to look her in the eyes and laughed. “I confirmed today that a childhood dream of mine would have never come true.”
Gélique’s face twitched slightly and she gave Valentin a mixed look of curiosity and concern. Worry passed over Valentin. He understood that he looked akin to a waterlogged corpse at the moment. His display atop the boat was shameful, to put it mildly. How much of his image had changed after such a sight? Where did he estimate in the eyes of his subordinates? They all appeared to be unbothered by the trip to make Valentin, by comparison, all the more pitiful.
“I will be better soon, Gélique,” Valentin reassured. “I am overly blessed on land, so I must suffer on the sea. Do not concern yourself, my color will return.”
“But you’re smiling, deggan,” Gélique responded, now concerned that Valentin had not realized.
Valentin suddenly became conscious of the toothy grin plastered on his face. Far from the sly grins and half-smirks that he would normally offer. Why was he smiling? When did he ever smile in such a way? He must look deranged as though the seas robbed him of his sanity.
“Sorry,” Valentin instinctively apologized. “My seasickness has given me a disturbing face. I will be back to normal in the morning.”
“No, that’s not it,” Gélique replied awkwardly, clearly not equipped for such a raw moment from her taciturn superior. “You look good this way.”