“That lizard really fucked over the ship,” I muttered. My hand passed over the scorched hull. Heat still radiated out and through deformed planks water leaked in. The twenty-odd men who could not row scooped out the water out with buckets, bowls, and cupped hands. All this while trying to ignore the wounds which festered at their conscious.

Half the men wore leather, and a quarter of those had it fuse to their skin. Those who wore cloth were now naked as the Komodor’s attacks set their outfits ablaze.

“Where are we going?” asked Erik.

Like me, he was in the front of the vessel during that ordeal. And so, dead animal skin did not eat into his flesh and thoughts such as this festered in his mind. “Not north,” I told Erik. I did not look in his direction but stared at the salt water which flowed over the ship’s bow. It covered the men and turned their already damaged skin crimson red. They heaved and hoed. Yelled and sung to forget their woes. “There we found the blood drinking beast.” I continued. “Not east or west. There, the lizards will no doubt easily expand.” In the corner of my eyes, I saw his mouth twitch, and eyes tremble. We had lost more than forty men. In all honesty I didn’t remember the number, however, in the latest ordeal he happened to lose one of his best friends. Perhaps that was why the fire which kept our eyes open amidst a sea of blood and haze had drained from his eyes. “I heard that in the south a great desert spans thousands of kilometres. There, the lizards shouldn’t appear, well, not anytime soon.”

Erik did not speak for more than a minute. We stared at the paddles circle in and out of the water. Finally, after twenty-seven cycles he spoke, “We can’t live where there is no water. And there we cannot even farm. How are we to live? Can’t we just head for Frankia? That place is far enough removed to avoid those monsters.”

I turned my head with upmost caution. I didn’t want to accept it, however, fire no longer burned in his soul, and I knew why. When I met Erik’s gaze, I stared into his dark blue eyes. I was unable to peer far into them. Not because they were as vast and dark as the open ocean, but because they were as deep and vast as a murky pond. Filled with desires and emotions alien to me. “Erik, my friend.” I said with care. “What are the similarities between the Tartar steppes and Constantinople?” I asked. Although these words were the sagest of my life. The answer to it was far removed from that fact. The answer would be obvious to the dullest of children. However, Erik stood there, letting the Mediterranean waves rock him back and forth, and the gentle breeze pass through his unkempt shoulder length hair.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“Nothing! They have nothing in common!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Ever since Ari’s death this group has gone to shit. No one had passion, the men paddled with consistency, but not drive. With speed, but not lust. Even now, amidst this turmoil they did not waver nor care and continued to row with perfect rhythm. “If monsters, and beings beyond our realm can appear in far-flung steppes and the greatest of cities then they can appear anywhere.” I turned away from the open water to face him. For he had turned his back on the sea. “You are not twelve. You know that they will appear there, and they will come in greater numbers. Dying fighting a boulder is not worthy of Valhalla. Dying in a bed. Sword, an arm’s length away will not bring you to Valhalla. You have already been killed.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Erik’s face grew red, and his voice exploded. “What did I say for you to speak like that!”

“Nothing! Nothing! That is the problem. You do not want to live on a river to fish, trade or pillage, but to bathe. You have lost your drive. You have lost your fire. In Constantinople, you lived in great beds, and ate grand meals from the granaries. You had become a chaplain. Now you live out at sea, with a burn running down your face onto your pelvis. You are now a slave.”

Erik’s teeth grinded against themselves. His hand reached out for his axe; however, he fought through the rage. No, he fought to find the rage. “Then if you say they can appear anywhere, why are we going to the desert?”

Will he simply ignore what I said? Would those who sat and rowed not take sides? And did I really need to explain everything? “Because the first one needed human blood, and the second one needed human slaves. Now tell me Erik. Where? Oh where might we find both of these?” I waited for a reply. However, none came. “Erik, my dear friend. You are the shame of us Swedes. You are the shame of your family, and the shame of this boat. You are the scum of Odin.” I could not bear him anymore. But still, for his contributions I would at least let him find his spirit once again. “Erik. If you wish to sunbathe and sleep with an old Roman whore leave. Leave right now.”

Erik’s breathing grew ragged. “You are the coward. Not me. You are the one who wishes to sleep in a bed of sand. Not me. You wish to become Ari, yet you are but a pale imitation. You should leave. Not me.” The boat crawled to a stop. Erik’s eyes bobbed up and down and the wind pushed his natural dreads behind his ears.

“Leave.”

Erik’s pupils constricted; he did not speak. He pulled out his axe from his belt, and the sea froze to witness the battle.

I pulled out my axe as well, but unlike him I lunged in, my axe aimed at his knee. He stepped back, and although the sea had come to spectate, the crew did not. Erik tripped over a foot, and fell, back first in the legs of two men who did not care enough to move aside.

With both hands clasped on the axe handle, I swung down with my whole body. Erik placed his axe in between mine and his chest. The blade’s clashed. His metal snapped, and my iron bludgeoned his chest. Cracks resounded, Erik tried to stand; however, he coughed up blood and fell back down.

Erik coughed once more; blood ran down his lower lip onto his neck. His axe crawled out of his hand. I stepped in between his legs, placed my hands under his armpits and sat him against the boat’s hull. “You are a good man; that is your vice.”

I placed the hilt of the axe in his hand and threw him overboard. “Keep paddling,” I said. They had already started. The boat moved forth as I stared at the red pond in the sea.

All was lost. There was no need for us anymore. Perhaps he was right. But my blade was still sharp. We would be the third beast. The one who cares for the forgotten.