I land on the dark wood, careful not to ignite it. I’m already intimately familiar with how flammable these ships are; wouldn’t want to burn the only crew that seems reasonable.
As I ease Leal down beside me, the firestorm that obscured our landing disperses. With how violent the heqet have already proven to be, I wouldn’t put it past them firing upon their own to hit us.
Considering this was the only ship within half a kilometre that didn’t fire upon us at the first opportunity — rather, it fled — I figure it’s the best option for a civil discussion. The first thing I notice when landing is the heqet at the back of the ship grinning up at us with a creepily wide smile. Despite the quite literal ear-to-ear grin, no teeth poke below his lips. Instead, I only see he has any from the wound across the side of his face. A hundred of them sit through the oil-like blood. The glistening white bone shines amongst the black liquid. Each smaller than those of a jerboa.
The crew — a hundred men seated in rows of six — each abandon their oars and lift axes from their sides. Their eyes all shine in gleeful readiness to dive at us. None show any regard for the certain death that will follow.
Was I wrong to come down here? I figured because they fled, they were smarter or more reasonable than their kin, but each of these appear no different from those I dropped into the chilly embrace of the ocean.
All I wanted was to get some directions. Is that so much to ask? I met a heqet a long time ago with the team, and he hadn’t been this impossibly aggressive. Are there no others of his kind like him?
“Lower your axes and sit,” the blood-soaked heqet with the missing lip shouts to the hundred crewmen.
At first, they don’t seem willing. They glare at the heqet still sitting at the rear of the ship with murder in their eyes. I wrap my flames around Leal, ready to take us skyward should these warriors decide their lives are worth nothing.
When they don’t immediately sit, the lipless heqet pulls his own weapon from his belt and slams it into the wooden plank of his seat. The loud crack is enough to get his point across, and the others reluctantly lower themselves, mumbling and glaring all the while.
As the only civil heqet — though still vicious-looking — rises to his feet, I note that while many of the timber seats have wedged indents in their corners and sides, the curved wood of the hull itself contains no such damage.
“What can we do for you, oh deity of fire?”
I physically flinch at the term. His voice, reverent; like that of the merminea clergy when they spoke of Kalma. The heqet even speaks with a wide grin that does nothing to hide the excitement he feels.
Leal raises a brow my way with a slight smirk tugging at her cheek. She obviously finds amusement in the way he refers to me. Amusement that I don’t share.
“We would like directions,” Leal says. “I’m sure you saw that beam of multicoloured light a few months ago? We are trying to find it.”
The heqet glances between the two of us before his smile widens, and he speaks. “I can do more than simply direct you. I shall guide you.”
“No,” I say. “Simple directions will be enough.”
His smile wavers slightly, but it returns to full strength almost before I register it. “Of course, of course. Keep the highest point of the eastern Alps to your starboard, and you should eventually cross nearby. But… if I may suggest, it would be best you take up my offer as guide. The seas that way are a cesspool of unrest and piracy. My kind are not particular to strangers.”
He waves his hand to the crew, who haven’t stopped their vicious glares or gripping their axes at their waists, as if ready to leap into a fight with us any second, despite knowing just how deadly that would be for them. I have little doubt they witnessed the damage Leal and I inflicted upon those that dared fire upon us.
He does have a point, though; between the few dozen ships I removed from existence — each containing between ten and a couple hundred heqet — only this single person is willing to talk. Would we be lucky enough to find another who will point us the way when we’re closer?
I’m not particularly inclined to trust one of these heqet, especially not one that treats me the same as some false god like Kalma. Just because she was strong, did not give her the right to stand over everyone else, and treat their lives like a game. The fact someone may treat me the same as Kalma had been irritates me.
Still, it’s not like it’s a terrible idea to take advantage of his misplaced devotion. If he’s willing to go that far out of his way, then why not let him?
The idea of being considered anything like Kalma bites at me, though.
“I am Solvei,” I say, and gesture to my friend. “This is Leal.”
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“Pleasure. I am Steersman Sylvan, and this is my fine crew.” He waves his hand over the disgruntled heqet, who all sneer with varying degrees of contempt.
Ignoring them, I ask, “How long would you say it will take to sail there?”
“Well, that depends,” Sylvan says. “The ah… safe path will take upward of twelve months, but going direct is only three.” He grimaces at the word safe, and I notice plenty of his crew clenching their fists as if the idea is insulting.
Then there is no point staying with them. We cannot waste time journeying with these bloodthirsty heqet; I need to return to my elders soon enough. I start to shake my head, but Leal puts her hand on my shoulder and leans in.
“Between the two of us, we can make these ships move much faster.” Leal’s voice is hushed. Quiet enough, only I can hear. “We can double or triple their speed, I’m sure.”
I nod to her before refocusing on Sylvan. “What is so unsafe about this faster route?”
“Well, the tyrannical Jarl Anoures controls the area. We alone could never sail through, but…” he gives a shrug while gesturing at me.
Ah, so he wants to use us to fight his enemies? That’s… honestly a lot more comforting of a reason than blind devotion or the suspicious kindness. Of course he’s trying to use us.
It’s not much different from my time as part of the Mercenary Order. I’ll be working for a single heqet in exchange for guidance instead of for the pact nations. I don’t intend to go around slaughtering his enemies, but any that attack us are fair game.
Trusting this heqet just like that doesn’t feel right, though. So first opportunity I get against one of these enemies of his, I’m going to get their perspective on things. Wouldn’t want to accidentally declare war on some half decent faction because I took a single person’s word for their ‘tyranny’.
“Alright,” I agree. “But if I catch you directing us towards unnecessary battles, you will die.” I emphasise my threat with a flourish of fire around the vessel.
Unfortunately, my show is not received as intended. Each heqet gets an almost feral look in their eye, appearing hungry as their hands drop to their axes again. Even Sylvan is affected. His eyes glaze over as his grin returns in full force. Excitement bubbles through the vessel.
The crewmen surprisingly wait for their steersman’s lead, and the heqet is very close to leaping out of his seat to strike at me, but he thankfully restrains himself. We wouldn’t want to lose the only heqet with social skills.
…I should probably avoid provoking heqet in the future.
It’s such an odd reaction to a threat to one’s life; to become excited and aggressive. I can’t imagine how they live all that long when they always attack the first thing that appears threatening. The heqet live in the ocean, don’t they? Aren’t there plenty of dangerous beasts out here? Beasts most Beiths would hesitate to fight?
“You need not worry.” Sylvan breathes in deep to settle himself. “We wouldn’t dare to bring an outsider into our own battle. That is not the heqet way.”
I watch him doubtfully, but eventually relent. I’ve already given them a warning. Even if it didn’t have the same effect as intended, they have nobody but themselves to complain should they lead us astray.
“Then let’s get moving,” I say. I don’t plan to stick around.
Sylvan hesitates. “Give us a few hours to gather our ships. I don’t wish to ask you to fight with us, but we require a minimum force to oppose those we shall face.”
I nod, grab Leal’s arm and move the only part of the ship away from the heqet; the curling wooden front. When each of the oarsmen glare my way while we walk along the length of the ship between them, I return the stares.
Alone together — relatively — I ask Leal what she thinks.
“There was heqet blood on the deck. Also on his axe. He killed one of his men,” she says.
“I saw it,” I say. “Or at least the end of it. Their cannons were pointed at us like any of the other ships until he killed the man. Afterwards, they stowed their cannons and left. It’s the only reason I gave him this chance.”
The crew rows back to the edge of the battlefield. A battlefield that has calmed. Ships loot others, and the occasional vessel rams into another, creating small-scale conflict, but never grows beyond those directly involved. The opposing heqet haven’t exactly disappeared either; they are still there on the horizon, blocked by the countless broken ships. Debris is the only thing that stopped the heqet fighting until one side was obliterated.
They haven’t given up on the fight either; even as they pillage the destroyed ships of their enemies and friends alike, none float away from the wall of debris. It’s like they are simply waiting for the barrier to open up enough to push through, or for an advance from the other side. This is not the peace after battle. This is a lull before it starts again. Even the heqet on Sylvan’s ship can’t suppress their longing gazes toward the enemy fleet along the horizon.
They watch the enemy like a fleshy creature would their partner.
Sylvan orders his men to the next largest ship nearby; one that can hold maybe eighty heqet. It wasn’t around here when I was burning through those that attacked us. My gaze raises to the sail above. Tattered. My flames churn, annoyed. If it was intact, I could speed them up and we could get on our way sooner.
“Any chance one of those alternative versions of yourself know how to mend a sail?” I ask Leal.
She looks at me blankly. “I know how to mend a sail.”
I blink, then realise what she means. “No, a way to do it without having to wait around for the patches to be sown in or however it’s done.”
“We don’t have to wait around with them, you know. How likely is it that all of their kind refuse to work with us? Surely we can find farmers or other workers that can guide us.”
“But you’ve seen what their kind is like,” I say. “They’ve got something wrong with their mind; A hyper-fixation with fighting, regardless of risk. Amongst all those close to us, Sylvan’s the only one that didn’t attack. That has to count for something.”
Leal looks over the destruction around us, clearly conflicted. She dislikes war and battle, but she also doesn’t run from it when necessary. It’s obvious that she’s worried about jumping into a side of war without knowledge of what exactly they are fighting over.
“How about this? We’ll travel with them until we can find a city or someplace with heqet that don’t fight, then we can interrogate the non-combatants if they know where the beam is. If we can get anything from them, then we can abandon Sylvan and his crew, just like that. If not, we stick with him while he’s still useful.”
Leal hesitantly nods.
Great. Hopefully, any towns or cities we find will be welcoming to outsiders and our search will go smoothly.