You should always turn away from the north wind.
Grimmer has learned this lesson well. Family, death, life; teachers in many places.
As a boy, he learned from his mother. ‘When the wind blows from the north, Grimmer, you’d best cover that face, else your nose’ll freeze right off!’ Bitter words, wrapped in kindness. But that is the way of things in the North. The Ice Meadows are not for the faint of heart, and every child learns young to turn away from that biting chill.
As a young man, he learned from the dead. ‘When the seas grow dark and the skies churn, best turn your ship south and fly with the storm’. Time passes strangely in the perpetual night of a northern winter, but a smart lad can learn quickly. The cold wind blowing brings a promise of warmth, for those in the Ice Meadows warm themselves on the bounty of broken vessels.
As an adult, he learned from the living. Grimmer the North is a name that echoes, and few are the ships that do not turn and flee when his presence is confirmed. Not all are cowed, and those brave souls are the ones that have marked him, though they live no longer. Grimmer has lived long enough to have seen people of every creed and stripe. One thing remains certain of the living though; all turn away from the North.
----------------------------------------
He grips the worn surface of his ship’s wheel. The grain is familiar beneath calloused hands, and the groaning of the deck feels closer still. No different than the thousand times before. He feels the chill in the air, scars stretching as he grins in fierce joy.
The clouds are dark, the seas are churning. A baleful glow lights the water and shapes twist beneath the surface. Unknowable, unfathomable. The wind howls through creaking wood, and the ghosts of sails snap and billow.
----------------------------------------
That’s the problem with teaching a smart lad though. There’s no doubt he’ll learn, but which lesson?
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
On the surface, they all tell the same; turn away when the north wind blows. Grimmer was always a clever one though, and digging beneath the surface is something he’s done all his life. A teacher gives a lesson, and a boy takes from it another.
A mother tries to teach her son to be weary of the world. But he was no more than 9 winters when she died. 20 yards from their tent, buried in ice, her footprints told a cruel tale. Easy to get lost in the dark, after all, and there are precious few landmarks to orient by in the darkness. If only she had retraced her steps. Instead, she lay dead below snow and ice. Facing south.
What lesson is a boy to take from that? Never turn away from what one knows to be right, even in the face of the north wind.
The dead want to teach a young man that there are dangers beyond his home. It’s a hard life, digging through the bones of dead ships. They creak and groan, threatening collapse on every young northerner with hope. They often follow through. But the Ice Meadows are dangerous too, and a young man of ambition faces death on every morrow. At least the ships are filled with potential.
What lesson is a young man to take from that? One’s death can provide life to another, delivered by the north wind.
The living wish to teach an adult that life is worth preserving. Grimmer has met many souls, and more still have fled his wake. The runners can be found in every corner of Tsanderos, telling their tales and living their lives. The ones who stayed litter the shores and float in deep graves. Despite their deaths, they are the ones he remembers. The ones he thinks about, dreams of, wishes earnestly to recover and share thoughts with.
What lesson is an adult to take from that? Better to die with a name than live without one, even if one must face the north wind.
----------------------------------------
It’s easy to see why then, as a man stands upon a ship, screaming at a storm-front blacker than his own heart, how his life has led him here.
Ask any sailor and they’ll tell you true; horrors beyond man lurk in the depths at night. They all still go out though, night after night. Perhaps there’s a draw there? A lure, dangling in front of everyone that has ever smelt the salt and breathed the breeze.
Grimmer has felt it every day of his life. And it’s hard not to look back, now that he stands upon the precipice, and wonder if every moment, every choice, was proscribed by the heavens to bring him to exactly this point.
No matter. Here he stands, face numb and hands burning. Every inch of exposed skin protesting. A final curse, a grit of the teeth, and a name echoes out into history as Grimmer the North faces the north wind once more.