Wellynd stopped in the middle of the road, taking a long, refreshing draft from his waterskin. The afternoon sun, no longer blocked by the mountainside, beat down onto his face as the water spilled from the sides of his mouth and onto his tunic. He wiped his mouth and replaced the stopper, retying it to the loop on his pack.
Staring down the highway, his eyes followed a wisp of dust that swirled up off the road from a gust of wind. Almost there.
He’d made the trek to Reven’s Crossing dozens of times. Every islander he’d ever met had, with an alarming amount of certainty, claimed that it was the most beautiful hike in all of Estioch.
Wellynd wasn’t sure how they knew that, since most Illuvians never left the island, and if they did, it was only to go to Revenshore’s markets. He could admit that the views along the road were picturesque; the mountainside spilling down into the sea on the east side of the road, the rocky slope ascending to the heavens on the west, but he had spent so much time reading about the sublimity of the twisted peaks of Rel, the blackened forests of Shadkara, and the seemingly infinite Vermillion Plains of Melyar, that the familiar Illuvian beauty couldn’t help but fall short to the visions conjured in his boyhood imagination.
A sulfhawk screeched above him before barreling down into farmland below the highway.
As he plodded down the road, he found himself resorting to his familiar cure for boredom: making up stories. He liked to imagine himself as a powerful Koshai, weaving fire to fend off a pack of feral kippings from a group of travellers, or commanding the trees to attack a group of bandits in the woods. When he passed by one of the many towns that dotted the coast, he would make up tales about the people he saw there, imagining that the blacksmith of Westcrag had no idea how to shape metal, and just spent his days hammering weapons he’d bought from a smuggler, or that the mayor of Tevid’s Leap, who Wellynd often spotted walking out the back door of the town hall, was sneaking off to meet his secret lover in the grove further up the mountain.
He rounded a corner and a wave of relief washed over him; a wooden post with the sign for Reven’s crossing sat precariously on the side of the road. He would be able to see the small town in a few minutes.
While he walked, a renewed spring propelling his step, he scanned the eastern horizon, the ocean stretching out into oblivion. His eyes caught sight of something a few hundred yards out from the rocky shore. Placing his hand over his brow, he saw the iconic bronze sails of a Vertan Warship. Ever since the beginning of the Northern nation’s occupation, one was hard-pressed to find a vantage point on the island that didn’t have a view of one of their Corvettes or Galleys patrolling this side of the sea. The vessel crested a large wave, its billowing sails swelling proudly above its blackened wood hull and he imagined himself standing atop the bridge deck, the salt spray lightly peppering his face as the ship sliced a cut in the sun-kissed tapestry of azure sea. He squinted, barely making out the soldiers standing on the main deck, the sun glinting off their bronze helmets as black-cloaked sailors scurried like fleas amongst them.
Wellynd didn’t really remember much from the Vertan invasion. One day he had been walking back from the schoolhouse with his friends and a troop of thirty or so soldiers had marched into town, led by several men in black cloaks. There was no fighting, no resistance. The Artan High Court, which sat far away on the other side of the mainland in Vel Megnum, had never more than a few soldiers stationed on the island and, according to Henry, the Vertans had taken the island in three days. The people of Ars Illuve never identified with Arta, having been ignored by their mainland counterparts for so many years. No one really cared who was in charge. As long as their way of life wasn’t affected, it didn’t really matter who made the laws.
Most of the islanders were so apathetic to goings on of the mainland that the Vertans had even set up a recruitment office in Monk’s Landing, two hours south of Kellek’s Watch. Wellynd had even contemplated joining up the day after he failed the exam, thinking he could at least learn to fight and travel somewhere new, but Laine had put a stop to that. He was one of the few islanders who did have a problem with the occupation. He had said joining the enemy would be shameful for any son of Arta to do.
As he made his way around the last bend in the road, the mountain finally gave way to an open view of the northern peninsula of Ars Illuve, where the Sea of Elaudri met with Arthus’ Strait at a narrow point of flat land. On that point sat Reven’s Crossing, its small cluster of buildings dwarfed by the massive stone lighthouse looming over them from the very tip of the island. Beyond the lighthouse, and far off across the channel loomed the sloping shores of the mainland, the terracotta roofs of Revenshore barely visible against the distant backdrop of verdant green.
He slowed his gait and eyed the grey-black mass of cloud that loomed on the northwestern horizon. While the beauty of the Highway was generally exaggerated, he felt that this viewpoint was the sole exception. Not only could you see the quaint northernmost port of his home, but also arguably Arta’s largest port city just beyond it. And, as if unifying the two ports under one banner, Arthus, the patron Eikon of Arta, its ancient rings of incomprehensible origin encircling its subtle glowing star, sat loftily above them.
He stopped and took in the sight. Most thought that the Eikons were crafted by the gods, although some believed that they were the gods themselves. Wellynd always liked to imagine that people built them. That some ancient civilization had flown up beyond the clouds and built it ring by ring. He always wondered what the other Eikons looked like; he couldn’t imagine anything being as beautiful as Arthus. He frowned as a cloud began to obscure the strange celestial object.
Setting his eyes back on the sea, he couldn’t help but notice the whitecaps crashing into shore down below. He renewed his pace. They seemed to be multiplying with each passing moment.
Hopefully the ferry would still make one more crossing before nightfall.
As he began to descend the hill, his eyes traced the winding road that snaked its way down the mountainside.
He abruptly stopped.
His heart started to pound as he peered at a cloud of dust that crawled up the road towards him. His stomach sank as he saw glints of bronze.
There was one big change to his life since the Vertans came. They really didn’t like smugglers.
Trying not to panic, he breathed deeply to slow his quickening heart. Slinging the bag off his shoulder, he pulled open the drawstring. He had been so distracted by his conversation with Ursa and Neera that he had forgotten to check if Laine had padded the goods. Angling the bag towards the sun, he peered in.
He let out a sigh of relief. A large pile of colourful pebbles and stones sat at the bottom of the main pocket of the bag; Peyrite, Magstun, Iron, and Volcanstun enveloped the fifteen skalds; their dull grey insignificant against the metallic reds, silvers and golds. No wonder the damn thing was so heavy, Wellynd thought, as he re-tied the bag and slung it onto his back. He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed down the path towards the oncoming cloud of dust.
Altogether, it took almost ten minutes for him to reach the group of soldiers. As Wellynd had gotten closer, he had been further relieved to see that it was not a party of Excisors agents. His many trips to and from the mainland had made him well versed in the different types of Vertan convoys that occasionally patrolled the highway. As far as he could tell, the group that now approached looked like run-of-the-mill soldiers.
Wellynd stopped at a bend in the road and waited as the group approached, their rhythmic jog now echoing off the mountainside behind him. There were ten of them altogether, running in three parallel lines, each three men deep, with the squad leader at the front.
“Halt!” yelled the leader, as they grew near.
The men slowed to a stop as their leader continued to march toward Wellynd, who waved and smiled.
“Hiya. You guys just get on shore? I think I just saw your ship a while back.” Wellynd chimed.
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The soldier arched an eyebrow and looked at him curiously for a moment.
“Where are you headed?”
“Oh. Isn’t that obvious?” Wellynd joked, nodding towards the town below.
The soldier grunted.
“I’m hoping to catch the last ferry to Revenshore, uh, sir.” he added.
“What for?”
Wellynd gestured to his pack with his thumb “Rocks, I think. Usually I carry mineral samples for some of the folks at the Observatory. Judging by how heavy it is.” he made a show of hefting the pack “I’m guessing that’s what’s in here. You can take a look if you want.”
The soldier’s eyes flicked to the pack before scanning Wellynd up and down.
“You have a passport?”
Wellynd nodded, casually slipping his hand behind him, taking his documents out from the small pocket sewn into the backside of the bag, and handed them to the soldier.
The Vertan captain stared down at the well-worn passport, eyes darting from stamp to stamp. Shifting on his feet, Wellynd tried to naturally survey the landscape, avoiding any direct eye contact with the nine soldiers that were now loitering on the side of the road.
After a few long moments, the captain looked up, assessing Wellynd’s clothes before returning his gaze to the delivery bag.
“What is it exactly that you’re carrying?” he asked again.
Sighing, Wellynd pulled the bag off his shoulder and placed it on the ground in between himself and the fully-armoured soldier, trying not to eye the shortsword dangling from his hip. He loosened the drawstring for the main pouch and pulled open the sack. The captain pushed Wellynd back as he leaned over and peered into the bag.
“As I said, they just look like rocks to me. Every few weeks my Pa sends me off with this bag of rocks or minerals or whatever and I take them to the Observatory in Revenshore. They pay well. All I know is I’ve been travelling from Monk’s Landing since before dawn and that I’m tired.” replied Wellynd, yawning. “My Pa’s the foreman at the quarry and he lets me keep 5 grell for every delivery so it’s a decent gig for me at the moment.”
As the captain scanned the contents of the bag, Wellynd watched his face for any sign of surprise. The man was probably only a few years older than him.
“You’re kind of young to be travelling so far alone.” the captain said, finally, straightening up and handing the passport back.
Wellynd shrugged and casually cinched the bag shut.
“Pa says it’s good prep for the military. I just failed my exams, so I’m hoping to get off this fishgut infested rock as soon as possible.” he replied.
The captain looked back towards the mainland for a few seconds before making a signal to the soldiers, who reluctantly started picking up their shields and packs, some of them stretching out their legs while letting out groans of irritation. Certainly not Verta’s finest, Wellynd thought.
“Yeah I guess so. We’re actually headed to pick up new recruits at Monk’s Landing right now. Maybe I’ll see you there soon.” he turned to walk away, but looked back over his shoulder and added “Make sure they don’t send you right back here though eh, kid? I swear on Deakon this island is the most boring place on this side of the continent. No offence.”
Wellynd replied with a nervous laugh as the soldier walked over and resumed his position at the front of the squad before letting out a three note whistle, and starting up the road, quickly falling into a synchronous jog with the rest of the group.
He turned back and looked down at the bag sitting on the ground, giving his heart a moment to slow. Even though he had run into patrols like this several times, the faint chance of getting caught still shook him to his core. It wasn’t so much that he was that afraid of getting caught, though he was, but that he hated the idea of going to jail for something as insignificant as smuggling skald.
He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading down the road towards town.
Reven’s Crossing was small. Despite being the only public port between the island and mainland, not many people actually lived there. In recent years, the vast majority of traffic was military, so when an islander came through town, it was common for them to spot curtains rustling in windows or encounter quizzical looks from residents sitting out front their homes.
Wellynd made his way down through the single central road of houses and shops. Since the Goldenshore Inn also ran the ferry service, Alara’s father being the ferryman himself, it sat at the far end of down, the last building sitting by the dockside before the point stretched out to the lighthouse. The inn itself was one of the few two storey buildings in town. The second floor was reserved for rooms and living quarters for Alara’s family while the first floor acted as tavern and shop for the town.
Ignoring the front door, Wellynd walked over to the side of the inn and peeked his head around the corner, gaining a clear view of the docks at the back. The ferry hadn’t arrived yet so Wellynd knew that he still had a bit of time before he had to get ready; the dock also seemed to be clear of soldiers from the excisor’s office, who occasionally hung around to interrogate travellers moving between here and the mainland. Their absence was a relief. The last thing he needed was more soldiers rifling through his bag.
He turned around and gingerly pushed his way through the door, the sound of the bell drawing the attention from the dozen patrons sitting at tables throughout the large open room. Looking past the eclectic group of faces in various states of drunkenness, two of whom, Wellynd noticed, were Vertan soldiers, Wellynd saw Alara sitting behind the counter, a tired but happy grin crawling across her face when caught sight of him walking towards her.
“Excurse me, do ya happen ter have a flagon full er’ claret round’ here ma’am?” Wellynd asked in the heaviest Illuvian sailor’s accent he could put on.
“Ohh ya, Fer sure I do, lad. I just gotta ruffle ‘roun the back to find it, if ya’d like to join me lad.” replied Alara in her own fake accent, directing him with one arm towards the door at the far side of the room.
Wellynd skipped toward it, Alara quickly slipping through the kitchen door behind the counter.
As soon as Wellynd entered the back room, a potato came flying at his head. He narrowly dodged it, the abrupt movement causing him to teeter over into a pile of flour sacks.
“That would have hurt!” yelled Wellynd into the dim darkness of the back room. The only reply was a soft giggle emanating from the gloom.
Another potato came whizzing toward him, slamming into the flour sack next to his head with a short thud.
“Won’t your mom get mad that you’re wasting potatoes or something” he said, grabbing the potato, pushing himself up off the mound, and throwing it back into the direction it came from.
A faint slapping noise filled the silence of the room as Alara emerged out of the darkness, her dark curls pushed down in front of her face, a smile faintly visible through the tangles, as she casually tossed the potato up and down in her hand.
“I don’t think she’s gonna notice a potato or two missing, Wellynd. If she does, I’ll just say you took it and have dad charge you extra next crossing.” she said.
“Great, I’m sure Laine will love the extra billing” he replied, walking up to her and snatching the potato mid-toss, chucking it aimlessly into the backroom.
He looked at his friend and noticed the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.
“Gonna come down and visit anytime soon?” he asked. Alara usually spent the end of the summer months in Kellek’s Watch, staying at Neera or Wellynd’s place.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty busy. I’ve been running most of the shifts this last week…Feels like Mum and Dad have just been trying to keep me occupied since the exam.” she said, dropping her last round of ammunition into the sack at her feet. “Sorry. I just couldn’t make it.” she said flatly.
“Well…” he started, slowly, “you think you could come down for some delving later this week? It’ll be the last time before Neera and Smelly Snelly head off to the Observatory.” he said, taking a step backward and sitting on the pile of sacks against the wall.
Alara paused.
“Yeah, I mean maybe…I have a feeling it’s just going to get busier.” she looked up and pushed the hair off her face. He thought, just barely, that he could see her eyes glistening against the lone lantern in the room. So she was still upset about failing the exam too.
“Come on… do you really want to miss out on learning about the history of the mine and how Snellium Senior daringly purchased the plot on intuition alone? You know it was filled with some of the most valuable minerals, right?” jested Wellynd.
Alara rolled her eyes and chortled. “I think we could turn down a different shaft at any point in that story and Bert wouldn’t notice for an hour.” she said, sitting down on a crate beside her.
“Yeah I bet. Who knows though, maybe it’ll be one of the other two stories he has about his Dad.”
Alara opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a loud crash in the front room.