How to describe the joy I felt watching the ship plow and dance over the waves and yet the terror I beheld every time my mind switched to the sensation of seeing something so vast and deep, I just could not comprehend the thing itself and everything it hid from the sun.

The joy I felt, the jubilee in my heart, came from the speed we traveled with and the journey itself. The part of me that had been touched, nay, created by the Wanderer. I was as much a spirit of freedom and a restless soul as a mortal that had stayed in his castle for most of his days. Torn between the role of a defender and a wanderer, now again, this time free from most of the peril, the latter part of my soul soared, and it soared high.

Ships. What magnificent creations, and yet...what hubris mankind showed, what arrogance to brave the high seas with nothing but a handspan of wood between them and certain, most miserable death. Isolated from civilization for...in my case days, but what could amount to years. Years.

The Albatross and its crew worked like a well-trained unit and yet, all I saw was utter chaos. Sailors were, all at the same time, scrubbing the deck, shouting, climbing, cranking on a wheel here, loosening a rope there...and everything went smoothly, even if I could not understand what the little things did in particular. But the beams swung or sails got reffed or caught the wind with the uniquely slapping noise of a billowing sail, making the ship jump forward with pressing speed. Hours of calm were followed by minutes of chaos and hectic. And then nothing happened again.

I had gotten to know a couple of the seafaring-folk now. A few sailors I had worked with, Higgins and Locksley of course, or Bosun Marge, but I had mostly known them on land and in the shallows of the bay. I now had to learn that I knew nothing about them, nothing at all. Because out here, while I was busy hanging seasick over the railing, they lived.

There was a glint in their eyes, a proud stare to the top of the masts when they checked for the wind. A longing and satisfaction, while they searched the endless horizon for lines in the water signifying an imminent gust of wind or white specks that told them everything they needed to know about other ships just under the line of the horizon. And a genuine, almost human, love and trust to the very ship they owed there life to. They were one. The crew, the officers, the captain, and the Albatross. One entire world on a small and vulnerable space. And they were home, no in their element. Home was something to go to and leave again. The ship was their place to live.

And somehow, deep down, I understood. It was alien to me, at first, because the Wanderer had made me thus, but the sensation I felt, the kinship to these restless souls on the Albatross, was as real to me as my own body. My whole life journeys had been something to do to reach a destination. For the first time, I understood why some saw the journey itself as just as important or meaningful.

And that was very relevant even to the future of Ravenport. Because I know understood Captain Bones of the Hammerhead just that little tiny bit better. I understood his longing and desire to be free, free on his ship do go where he pleases.

I could very well imagine a man which made that his life’s goal. But there was the whole pirating thing I had to keep in mind. Which was a violent and dangerous life, just as mine had been, but reasons mattered, did they not? Would I be able to take what I wanted by force if it benefitted me and mine? Declare war on a weaker neighbor for the benefit of resources, for example. That was a very kingly thing to do after all, and yet objectively wrong. But there were similarities there, between pirates and kings - of doing as they wanted, even going so far as to turn to violence, to the benefit of their people.

The difference was honor. And what a difficult concept to grasp that was. Not as difficult as freedom, because honor was an integral part of a functioning society, a social contract everyone could rely on...with the thought in mind that not everybody had the same interpretation of the concept and the inclination to follow its rules.

I enjoyed that, more than anything else, the undisturbed hours I spend letting my mind wander over the waves as my gaze focused on nothing in particular. Something about a journey on the sea just made your thoughts go wild. It was the unique combination of the long span of time you just had nothing else to do with the presence of the vastness of the ocean, which was worth thinking about all on its own. The promises it made! Of undiscovered land, of transportation, exploration, trade, war, and diplomacy. It connected people, ideas, and cultures as much as it divided nations. All just by being there, by being vast and deep and mysterious. And dangerous, of course.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Well, I still hated it. But I could appreciate its beauty. I just would prefer to do it from very far away.

After three days on open waters the Albatross, and only the Albatross because we had left the hulk behind in case we had to flee and use the superior speed of the frigate to do so, reached the isle with the coordinates Bones had given me.

The look-out cried his discovery of land from the crow‘s nest, all eyes locked onto the small speck of land in the distance. Just a hill with some rocks and a couple of trees.

We held our distance and soon I was on one of the dinghies, steered by the Bosun and rowed by a dozen seamen, that took us the rest of the way to the shore. Bosun Marge was nervous, as callous as she usually was, and her eyes scanned the trees of the isle with an intensity I only had seen her display, as she fiddled a yarn through the eye of a needle when she needed to help with first aid. She had remarkable fine control for a woman with hands like frying pans and who looked like she could beat up a sailor‘s tavern by herself. She did not dare to speak though. She was a member of the navy through and through, and would not speak up to her superiors, but it was clear that she hated everything about this mission.

I noticed she had a long knife in her belt, and all the sailors had similarly tucked in belaying pins with them. They expected a fight.

I had insisted, even fought for, going in alone. It was my business, to start with, but I did not want to endanger even a single man or woman. No soldiers, no marines, no companions, or officers would have to fight today for my sake. This was my responsibility. A godling‘s gambit.

And so I jumped into the surf and walked upon the sand on my own, while the dinghy would wait for me on this side of the isle. We only had been able to see a few masts of the other ship from the distance, as it anchored on the other side of the island. I would meet with Bones on the highest point in the middle. Alone, or so he had sworn as had I.

I reached the peak of the rock, not even twenty feet high, and there he was. Sitting on a chest, carving a block of wood with not a care in the world. He wore the same washed-out coat he had in the imagined world of the Fulcrum, and the same lines in his face, the same salty beard and the tricorne sitting tilted on his head. The only difference where the hand-crossbows hanging from a bandolier on his breast and the couple of cutlasses he had leaned against his knee.

He looked up as he saw me, grinning openly.

“Nice to see that you did not change your appearance for the Fulcrum.“ He said. “I hate that cloak and dagger shit.“

“I remember you saying that.“ I tried for a casual tone, but I felt like my nervousness shone through a bit. “I like that you brought a chest for something you could have given me without.“

“And spoil the fun? I have this chest since I dug it up on an island not much different from this.“ He stood up and took his cutlasses, fastening them to his belt before he kicked the chest open. It was filled to the brim with the small, glowing cubes that were Essence Shards.

“One damned thousand of them. You can count them if you want.“

I shook my head. Counting Shards was not necessary. I would see if he had sold me short the minute I absorbed them. Which I did not. I wanted him to be on my good side, after all.

“I guess that makes it my turn.“ I said and grabbed the bag strapped to my shoulder and threw the spherical object between the two of us, so it rolled and stopped at his feet.

He bent down and rummaged around, finally pulling the head out by the red-dyed hair, braided into a complicated knot. He began laughing, even as he held the rotted and badly preserved head of Barak Bloodbraid.

“You even thought to keep his stupid hair! How lovely.“ He threw the head behind him above his shoulder, no longer interested in the thing. That was it. All the excitement, mobilization of sailors and ships, discussions of safety and reason...so the man could look at a severed head for a second, at the most.

“Why did you want to see his head anyway?“ I could not quite hide my annoyance.

“What? Why, to see his stupid face one last time. Seeing the grin he gave me as he escaped the Hammerhead by hiding in the Shattered Sea, just without the body.“

“That can‘t be it.“ I argued. “We could have done that in the Fulcrum, and yet you insisted on a meeting in person and reality. Why?“

He grinned again. The man had an air of danger about him I could not quite put my finger on it. Some people just were...violent. Or used to it to a degree mere mortals could not understand, so they aired a sort of quiet readiness for sudden violence that would shock any civilized man. This man was as much a barbarian as the Wyldlings had been. No, he conformed to even less social conventions. He truly was an agent of freedom, bowing to nothing and no one. And he had done so by taking his right to do so from the high and mighty.

“Maybe I just wanted to see what cloth your sails are made out of. Maybe I wanted a chance to speak with you without the Jester present, getting on my nerves. Maybe I have an old woman in my crew that will sow the mouth and eyes of that bastard shut, preparing him to be a most helpful shrunken head.“

He grinned, touching the hilts of his cutlasses. His grin turned sideways and dangerous, while his eyes glinted with the dead hunger of a shark.

„But most of all, I want to see if you can beat me. If you can back up the talk you have been flapping your mouth with. If you are as proud and loud as you are when the Jester is holding your hand. I want to see if you can keep the things you have been taking.“

He drew his blades.