An occupation is for life, so choose wisely

-Excerpt from ‘Charting the Tide: A journeyman’s guide to skills and occupations’ by various contributors

Emerlan Isle was a poor nation. No one would dare to claim otherwise, not even its most staunch patriots.

All it had to offer was the doori, a few scattered evergreen forests and a meagre population of wolves and bears.

Like many small countries the world over, the staple diet consisted of fish and foraged vegetables. Bland, but healthy enough.

Furs, wood and doori milk weren’t the most in demand of commodities, but there was always a steady supply of buyers.

Over the generations, monopolies had formed around Emerlan Isle’s three major exports, leaving just seven families in control of the lion’s share of the country’s economy.

The average person had little to offer but their labour, and as such almost everyone in the nation fell into a few trades. Fishing, Herding and Trapping.

Littered among those of course, were the other essential tradespeople required to keep a country running, but it was important to play to your specialties. The end result was that the country seemed to be in abject poverty, from an outside perspective, but its citizens tended to lead fulfilling and enjoyable lives.

Most followed in their parent’s footsteps, choosing either of the two professions available to them, or in the odd case, one. It wasn’t uncommon for two folk to fall in love at work, after all.

And if your parents taught you from a young age, you might have levelled the relevant skills up enough to have earned the first trait. Choosing an occupation unrelated to your existing skills was folly.

On Emerlan Isle, a person was considered to be an adult the day they turned fifteen. Most would need a few more years to have the mindset and life knowledge to actually live up to the title, but it was a working classification.

Upon turning fifteen, they would enter work in whichever profession they had chosen, and remain in it until the day they dropped dead or were lucky enough to survive into infirmity. And that was a life well lived, in the eyes of the majority.

There were a small portion of people however, who remembered what Emerlan Isle had grown infamous for, once upon a time.

It was the birthplace of a legend. Castell Saltbeard, the greatest buccaneer to ever sail the seas. There had been a time where every living soul knew his name, and would quake in fear at the thought of seeing his fabled pirate flag on the horizon.

The day of his execution, it was said that Aughold, the capital city of Minenblum– the nation which had managed to achieve the impossible by capturing Saltbeard– was covered in thousands of black flags bearing a bearded moon.

It was possible the stories had been exaggerated and bloated through countless retellings, but the sentiment remained true.

His parting declaration, uttered with a smile as the executioner’s axe descended, was in bold defiance of authority and governance. He managed to capture the essence of piracy in just a few words.

“Free as the tides, I travel where my heart desires. No chains can bind a curious soul.”

Those words hung in Rose’s mind as she sat at the table, figuring out how long she could ignore her father before he pushed her for an answer.

Considering he was the man who had raised her on stories of Saltbeard, and other infamous buccaneers who had followed in his sails, she thought it was rather hypocritical of her father to want her to settle for a mundane life of fishing, or herding doori.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“How about this? Spend the day with me out on the boat tomorrow, to get a taste for it. You’ve always loved fishing since you were a little girl; I’m sure this fear will pass. If you truly hate it, I’m sure your mother would love to show you the ropes out on the pastures,” said her father, after realising she wouldn’t be the one to break the silence.

“I think that sounds wonderful. It’s normal, my sweet Rose– To feel some trepidation about the future. Neither of us think any less of you for taking time to decide, but you have to make a choice soon,” said her mother.

“I… Sure,” Rose answered.

Trepidation was putting it lightly. The idea of committing herself to something as mundane as fishing or herding terrified her.

Even her friends called her childish, for still clinging to notions of adventure. Daniel had turned fifteen two weeks prior and just a week later, when he’d been a fisherman for seven whole days, had told her that it wasn’t wise for him to be spending time with ‘a foolish dreamer’.

Whether the decision was permanent remained to be seen, but it stung all the same. He was her best friend. His father was her father’s best friend.

A generational commitment to friendship that he was willing to throw away all because she wanted more for herself than sixty years in a tiny village on the coast of a tiny island in an unimportant corner of the world.

However, she didn’t say any of that. It would make her parents more worried than they already were. And she had no desire to make outcasts of them. Not after everything they had done for her.

That night, she couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how many doori she counted or how hard she tried to empty her mind.

After two hours spent counting the whorls and knots in the wooden ceiling of her bedroom, Rose made up her mind.

It was now or never.

She pulled a cloth backpack from the foot of her bed and stuffed two clean changes of clothes inside.

After that, she wrapped her sketchbook and two charcoal pencils in a piece of brown paper and those went in too. Her golden doori scale, gifted by her mother as a luck charm on her tenth birthday. A fishbone bracelet, handcrafted by her father for her twelfth.

As far as personal possessions went, it was a meagre collection, but to her it was priceless.

After casting a last look at her bedroom, perhaps her last, Rose crept to the kitchen. There was a tense moment when she shut her door - it had a bad habit of creaking when you least expected. Tonight however, the tides were with her.

Two leather waterskins lay beside the basin, and she filled both, just in case. She had read once that fresh water was by far the most important resource out at sea. You couldn’t drink seawater. Too much salt.

They went into the backpack, along with the leftover grilled fish and mashed potatoes from dinner. There were three apples in the fruit basket, which she took too. Her parents would miss breakfast, but she needed the food more.

Rose turned to leave, but as she stepped away from the stove, her mother’s kitchen knife flashed in the light of the fire.

A pirate needed a weapon, right? She wouldn’t use it. Not unless she had to, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She tucked it into her belt, then put on her boots and coat. After that, she took out a piece of paper which she had torn from her sketchbook and laid it on the table.

Thirty seconds later, she had scribbled out a heartfelt letter to her parents. Perhaps they would never understand why she had to leave, but pouring out everything on her mind had been cathartic.

It was her father who had always told her to follow her curiosity. Right now, that meant choosing adventure. She slipped out the door and made her way to the village under the cover of the stars.

Their house was tucked away from the main village thoroughfare. It had been her mother’s choice. She wanted somewhere secluded to raise Rose, and her father, being the hopeless romantic that he was, obliged her wish.

Walking to the village took five minutes, and there wasn’t a soul in sight when she arrived. At one point, she heard a door open and her heart almost jumped out of her chest.

No one had appeared, though, and the rest of her journey to the jetty was peaceful.

There were ten or so identical fishing boats moored there. Small craft, with space for two and a short mast with a sail in between. A single person could manage it, if they were so inclined. Rose made her way down the jetty, not stopping until she arrived at the seventh boat.

Daniel’s family boat. She felt a twinge of guilt. His father would need to buy, or build a new one. He should blame his son for being an asshole.

Water splashed against her hand as the rope slipped into the waters of the sea. She pushed away from the wooden jetty and took up the oars.

There was a thick cover of clouds tonight, and the light of the moon shone just enough for her to make out her hands. Her destination was the largest town on the Emerlan Isle, across the bay - Smuggler’s Rest.