James winced as he felt the stinging pain emanating from the open cut on his forehead. It was far from the only one since the shrapnel of the gnome-crafted grenade had opened up multiple gashes across his body.
“You look like shit,” Miles muttered, dabbing at James’ open cut once more.
“Easy on the rag,” James commented. He winced once more, gritting his teeth as he felt the open wound burn.
Both men were currently underneath the deck, resting and fixing their wounds from that day. James could see Miles’ other patients nearby, all of them bandaged up and talking amongst each other. At least most of them. Archibald was fast asleep on a cot, the same with Brant. Edmund was trying his hardest not to sleep, keeping up a conversation with Bjorn as the dwarf told him about the battle his team had. Finn was currently drinking on his lonesome, his eyes glancing at James and Miles.
“Replace his old bandages. He’s already gotten them dirty,” Dahlia’s voice sounded out. The shaman was sitting nearby as she watched Miles and James.
The ex-follower nodded, his hand reaching for the open satchel nearby.
“So I’m guessing you’re the new healer now?” James asked, moving to sit up straight as Miles grabbed his arm, unwrapping the dirty and ripped bandaging.
“You can say that,” Miles answered, the masked man cleaning James’ recent cuts on his arms.
“Believe it or not, Miles is actually a decent medic,” Dahlia said. She tapped at the head bandage she wore. James looked over at the shaman as she gestured towards the white gauze that wrapped her arms and head, which made the young man glance at the rest of the injured. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of guilt.
‘I was a fucking idiot for making us split up the way we did… I should’ve taken better precautions…’
James chastised himself, frowning as he noted Brant’s arm resting on a sling.
‘You did what you did. The best you can do now is learn from your mistakes,’ Faust reminded him.
Still, James couldn’t help but wonder about what would have happened if something went wrong on his end, or worse, something happened to Dahlia and her team. Both sides had survived, but there were certainly close calls. Dahlia especially.
Bjorn had explained to James how he thought the shaman had died when she was violently thrown back from a glanced strike. She had supposedly gotten up during the men’s heated battle with the disfigured bear, her quick thinking saving them all. James had tried to find out what else had happened, but Dahlia interrupted Bjorn and Miles back on the deck, saying that it wasn’t important.
The shaman seemed to notice James’ mental dilemma and frown, her amber eyes looking up at him in worry.
“Everything alright?” she asked as Miles applied the shaman’s signature ointment onto James’ open cuts.
“Yeah, I’m good,” James responded before giving Dahlia an assuring smile. The shaman didn’t seem convinced but didn’t push James further for more info.
“I should get to bed,” she yawned out, slowly moving to stand up as she made eye contact with James. “You should probably get to sleep soon. It’s going to be a couple of days until we reach the next island. Best we use that time to recover.” She gave the young man one last smile before heading off to where her cot was laid.
James could feel how his eyelids grew heavy. He yawned a bit, his eyes turning back to Miles. The strange man was currently wrapping up James’ arms, already finished with his work.
“May I ask where you are from, James?” Miles suddenly asked, catching James off guard.
“What?” James replied, raising an eyebrow as the ex-follower sat across from him, his legs crossed, as he put all the medical items back into the shaman’s satchel.
“Where are you from?” Miles asked again, using a sleeve to wipe off some dirt… or blood from his white mask.
“Valenfrost, of course,” James answered after some hesitation. It didn’t feel right to lie to someone who was currently patching him up.
“Figured. Almost everyone who is remotely interesting is from here. However, it’s strange how different you are from those people,” Miles muttered. He leaned back as he rubbed at his wooden mask. “Where are your parents from? Hair and eyes tell me Northern Azurvale and maybe even a little of Northern Valenfrost, but I’m not too sure.”
“Not really sure, honestly. They never told me.” James shrugged
“So you’re an orphan?”
“In a sense,” James muttered. “After my mother and father passed, my aunt raised me until I was an adult,” he followed up. It was the truth. No lies here.
“Interesting,” Miles mumbled, the masked man seemingly in thought. After what seemed like a few seconds, he slowly moved to stand up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, James Holter,” Miles softly spoke out before he walked off to his end of the ship. James stared at the mercenary as he left, unsure of what to think of the strange man.
‘Strange one, isn’t he?’ Faust commented.
‘Do you know anything about that mask?’ James asked the spirit, who was the most knowledgeable of the two. ‘Dahlia explained to me he used to be part of some following.’
‘It seems familiar… But I can’t seem to find out why. I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind,’ Faust admitted.
“Helpful,” James muttered aloud, groaning as he laid back on the bed.
‘Excited for when we reach the next place?’ Faust asked, almost amused.
James groaned again, closing his eyes as he tried to get himself to sleep. “I just pray that there’s no more of those fucking things. I’ll deal with anything at this point. As long as it doesn’t have crystals on it.”
----------------------------------------
Helen leaned over the railing of the brig, watching the darkness as she looked down at her shackled wrists. They were the only things chained this time. Her ankles were free to move around. She wondered why they were letting her off with so much freedom even though she had tried to destroy their town the other week. Helen frowned at that. She still regretted taking part in that raid, especially since it nearly ended with her killed.
‘Not to mention that ‘thing’ James and Dahlia fought… What would’ve happened if it went for my group?’
Helen shuddered at the thought since she had seen the remains of whatever it was back on the island Dahlia and her group had been on. Despite it being burnt to near ash and in pieces, Helen had still noticed how utterly horrifying it looked, the way the charred crystals covered almost every inch, how its limbs twisted unnaturally…
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“Ugh, I need a drink,” Helen groaned as she rubbed her eyes.
‘No. You need sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. Drinking will only make the nightmares worse.’
Helen sighed, noting how right her inner voice was. As she turned to head beneath the deck, she spotted movement at the bow of the ship. Helen squinted through the darkness before noticing Seamus sitting on a crate, a book in his hands.
‘Reading at a time like this? Curious.’
The ex-marauder couldn’t help but approach the young man, his back turned to her as he read. She stopped a couple meters away, watching him for a while before speaking up.
“Seamus Falken, or do you prefer Halvorson?” She watched the young man tense up and jump as he held his book in defense. He saw Helen, his hands lowering his book as his shoulders relaxed.
“Oh, it’s you…” Seamus realized aloud. There was some awkward silence between the two, a couple of seconds passing before Helen decided to speak up.
“So you do remember me. Didn’t seem like it a couple days back when we left Yorktown,” Helen pointed out. She recalled how Seamus practically ignored her presence as if they had never met.
“I didn’t want anyone asking questions,” the young man murmured.
Helen raised an eyebrow before realizing what Seamus meant.
“Oh… they all don’t know, do they?” She asked, gesturing to below deck, where most of the crew was fast asleep. “About your own lineage.”
“Only James and Dahlia,” Seamus admitted. “And you…” He added quietly.
“You know they’ll find out. Whether by any stragglers from your clan or any marauder worth his salt, people will know that Yorn’s son is still alive,” Helen pointed out.
Seamus scowled as if someone stabbed him. “Don’t call me that,” he managed out quietly, his teeth gritted. “It’s always Yorn’s son, the famed son of Yorn, the heir to the Halvorson clan,” Seamus shook his head, turning back to sit on his crate. “It’s always the same with those people. At least James and Dahlia treat me as an equal. They don’t go off on praises about my father or treat me like I’m something special.” He shook his head. “I’m just me. Not a warrior, not a fighter, and certainly not my father.”
Seamus looked down at his book, a visible cut on its black hardcover.
“He only knew about fighting and nothing about how to be a father,” Seamus suddenly admitted, his head still down as he sighed. “Train to be the best, to perfect your attacks… To be better… Yet you were cold with me, distant and emotionless,” Seamus muttered. It was like he was talking with the book. Helen took a couple of steps forward, standing to Seamus’ right. She looked at the cloudy sky as Luna and Callisto peeked through the clouds.
“Did you ever have a parent who didn’t seem to give a damn about you outside of their own goals?” The young man asked, his voice soft, close to a whisper. Helen glanced down at Seamus, frowning a little before she looked back up at the parting clouds.
“My mother tried to kill me,” Helen suddenly said. There was a small smile on her face. It must’ve looked like she was retelling a fond memory. She saw from her peripheral how Seamus picked his head up, looking at the ex-marauder with a confused look.
“She was a drunk, mad with the world because her husband died and left her with me, a child who refused to drop dead as well,” Helen continued. “Tried to suffocate me when I was learning how to read. She failed because she was too drunk to hold the pillow properly. She then tried to drown me on my fifteenth birthday, pushing me into the icy waters of the north. I lived through that attempt and still stuck with her because I was stupid enough to believe she still loved me. When I was your age, they knew me as the stupid girl with an insane mother throughout my town. They all thought I was bound to become her, a stupid drunk bound to a shed.
“So I left, fought in the Outsider Wars, and became a mercenary. Of course, before I got caught up in the marauders and soon became a prisoner to a strange group of people,” Helen chuckled. “Not the best outcome, but far better than what I would’ve become in that town. It’s not quite the same as being the son of one of the most dangerous men in history, but I don’t doubt that you can be rid of your father’s shadow, Seamus.”
The young man looked back at his book, frowning.
“I won’t lie, that doesn’t fill me up with much confidence, but… thank you.” He had a hint of a smile on his lips as he rubbed some stray dust from the hardcover of the book. Helen shrugged as she looked off into the near darkness of the sea, lit only by the sister moons’ light. There was silence again, with only the sound of waves keeping them company.
“Why did you let me live?” Seamus suddenly asked, his voice soft and steady. Helen blinked, looking down at Seamus in surprise. “Back when you found me, you knew I was lying about being a merchant. No one could ever fall for the lie I told you that night.” Seamus added, his face obscured in the shadows as he stared ahead at the black waves.
Helen was silent for a very, very long moment. Seamus was underselling how stupid his lie had been.
‘He was wearing the Halvorson crest on his cloak and was too far from the port to be an actual trader. I knew right away that I was supposed to kill him.’
Yet, Helen didn’t. Instead, she opted to take him prisoner and go along with the lie. The reason she did so was a mystery even to Helen herself.
‘So much trouble for one young man…’
She recalled the raid against Yorktown and how they lost, which led to her capture and put into shackles. Helen had no one to blame but herself since saving Seamus had put into motion the battle that had transpired last week. The battle where James Holter had killed that creature and Havor. The battle where she had lost a stacked fight against an old veteran, a town guard, and a drunk. Where she was the only surviving marauder. Still, despite it all, Helen wouldn’t kill Seamus if the gods gave her a do-over of the events of that fateful night.
‘Don’t dodge the question. You know damn well why you did it,’ her inner voice suddenly said, making the ex-marauder uncomfortable as she furrowed her brow. Was she going crazy?
‘Look at me. Already wondering if I took too many blows to the skull…’
She looked down at Seamus, who was still facing the open ocean. Helen hesitated for a moment before finally forcing the words out of her lungs.
“I was scared.” Her words came out in a breath, surprising Seamus and even Helen herself.
The young man seemed to perk up in surprise, his head tilting to look back at her. “What?”
“I was scared,” Helen repeated, avoiding eye contact as she stared off into the night. “Scared that I was becoming what I hated. A monster,” she explained in a soft, almost trembling voice.
“When I joined the marauders, I did it for the gold. Mercenary work wasn’t enough at the time, so it was either I started raiding villages, or I would end up as a rambling drunk, doing favors for scraps of silver.” She made a disgusted look, remembering the many ‘escorts’ she had seen around Bernis and Vindis. She would be damned before she ended up like them. “So I joined the Marauders of the North, not knowing what I had gotten myself into. Four years. For four years, I told myself we were just surviving. That we were killing and stealing from people who deserved it. Until that night.”
Helen paused momentarily, remembering that night as if it was crystal clear. The Blood Moons that overlooked the fortress, reddening the clouds and stars in a hellish way. She had been standing over a few fallen corpses, their blood pooling on the ground. There was a young man on the ground, red crimson staining his face and clothes as he looked up at her with his fearful eyes. He had the mark of the Halvorson on his cloak and a silver pin, both of which depicted the infamous bear paw.
The young man was begging for his life, claiming that he was a merchant despite his apparel and situation. Helen had never seen someone beg like him, cry either. She had realized then that killing him would do nothing but haunt her dreams with his cries and plead for mercy. Helen had realized what she was and what she was becoming and wanted no part in it. She had an epiphany that night, one that made her realize that she had been part of a group of monsters who were no better than the barbarians who tore through Valenfrost all those years ago.
“I was lying to myself for four years. Only then did I realize I was becoming no better than the bastards I fought in the war.” Helen looked down at Seamus, whose expression was a mixture of surprise and other complicated emotions. “I didn’t want to further myself into that kind of path. To sink myself deeper into my regret.” She looked down at her shackles, her fists clenching as they shivered.
‘Maybe that’s why you won’t escape. Why do you refuse to kill any of them when given the chance,’ her inner voice spoke out.
‘Fuck off,’ she mentally told herself, scowling as she turned away from the young man. There was some more silence between the two as they processed the night.
“I… I think I need to rest,” Seamus suddenly said, moving to stand up as Helen looked over at him. “I’m going to have to lead the journey to the next island,” he added.
“You’re not staying behind on Frostbite?” Helen asked.
“No. Not for this place.” Seamus stopped on his way to the hatch. “This island is one that I can navigate through since I’ve been to it before,” he explained.
“Wait, isn’t the third island uninhabited? The map explains that it’s just a dead zone, no?” Helen asked, remembering what the map had shown.
Seamus shook his head. “There’s a settlement there. My father just hid it, far from prying eyes and away from pirates.”
Helen raised a confused eyebrow. “What kind of island is this?”
“The island we’re heading to is home to one of my father’s settlements and a hiding place for one of his old vaults.”