Zehnsdee, the 30th of Harvest, 768 A.E.
Bedros sat on the long end of the small table that was pushed up against the wall in the small quarters they shared. He knelt, since no chair in this building would hold his considerable bulk and carriage. To his left Rolf sat, idly brushing a hand through his hair and his beard as he ate the bland food set before him. Anthea ate with no more relish than Rolf, and she was surprisingly immodestly attired in her knee-length sleeping gown, with her legs folded under her as she sat on the chair opposite Rolf’s and to Bedros right.
She had grown more used to Rolf’s presence quickly, and any prior discomfort she might have felt at being in this state of indecency – by Aurean standards and morals at least – had faded with the need for comfort. When you live as close to someone as she had been with these two for the better part of a Wayke now counting the Dees in Harsbrukke and on the road, the need to maintain the artificial social barriers, such as dressing in Dee clothes whenever a man is about, begin to fade.
And in his defense, Rolf’s eyes didn’t seem to roam about her form as much as men of less restraint might have allowed their own to do. Well, an occasional glass in a brief moment when he thought she was not looking was all right. Anthea found that somewhat flattering, even if she’d not admit it aloud. Had he ignored her entirely, she’d have been insulted.
Even so, he made a valiant show of not being irritated whenever she needed him to leave to room so she could use the privy or change her clothes. He did this even when it was early morning and he was still trying to sleep off a night’s excess. She knew it bothered him, but he bore up under her requests admirably.
“I’m going with you todee.” Anthea announced to Rolf, whose spoon paused halfway to his mouth as she said this.
Rolf glanced down at the unappetizing gruel they were all eating, which was all they could really afford at this point since they were saving every loose bit of currency they could for the boat ride off the island. “I don’t think that’s wise.” He replied, slurping down the grayish porridge.
“Maybe I can convince these people where you have failed.” Anthea ventured, offering her warmest smile as she did so.
“I don’t see how.” Rolf said dismissively, ignoring her look and glancing at Bedros for some assistance. Surely, he was more sensible in these matters.
Anthea glared at Rolf and then gave Bedros a warning look to stay out of this. The Ox-Man huffed, lowered his head, and slurped at his gruel. He understood very little of Low Elegian, but he knew enough of it to realize that this was something he could not help in.
“I may not be Kerathi like you, but I’m not stupid because of it.”
“No, you’re not stupid.” Rolf agreed. “You’re ignorant to the ways of the Kerathi. Men make the deals. Women run the houses and tend gardens. You’d be cheated if you tried to do anything considered man’s domain.”
“That’s absurd! I’m every bit as capable as you to discuss terms and arrange payments.”
Rolf shrugged. “I’m not arguing, but many of my kind would disagree. Women aren’t allowed to hold land either. If their mate dies, they must remarry or lose their lands, unless they have a son old enough to assume ownership duties that is. Either way they lose what they had to a man. It’s just how we do things.”
Anthea’s face twisted into a look of disgust. “That’s ignorant if anything I’ve ever heard is. How are your people so unenlightened?”
It was Rolf’s turn to get irritated. “Unenlightened? The ways of my people are the ways we’ve done things since the end of the Empire if not before. Our ways have proved themselves right for us.”
“Right?” Anthea scoffed. “Have you no idea how savage your towns seem to an Aurean? Your weapons are primitive, your housing is crude, and your people are unwashed. I feel filthy just being in this building, but I have no choice.”
“Is that so?” Rolf demanded, standing abruptly. “If we’re so bad, why don’t you go find your way off this island yourself? Obviously, you’re of such high bearing and status that you wouldn’t need my help. I can’t imagine how someone such as yourself wasn’t recognized as royalty by our ignorant masses. Let me call for your attendants right now!” Rolf shouted, waving his arms about angrily.
Anthea stood then too, staring right back at Rolf’s furious eyes across the rough-hewn table they all crowded around. “You have no right to talk to me that way.”
“What will you do?” Rolf demanded smugly. “Will you slap me in irons, princess? Maybe I’m fit for a flogging?”
Rolf’s head rocked back with a stinging slap across his cheek. The sting he felt was more shame and anger than pain. When he looked back at Anthea, he saw that she’d retracted her hand. Her eyes were wide with surprise and her jaw trembled when she saw the furious look in his eyes.
Out of instinct he’d drawn back a fist to retaliate, and it might have only been Bedros’ heavy hand on his shoulder that had restrained him from doing so. The Ox-Man hadn’t really held him back, but the weight of his hand on his shoulder reminded him of the weight of his duties as a man. He had no right to hit this girl. She had said words, hurtful words yes, but the words of a woman did not deserve repayment with fists.
Rolf pushed away from the table and went for the door. He needed a few moments to think, time alone to straighten his thoughts out. As he went, Anthea reached for him, grabbing at his forearm. He could have brushed her off, but he stopped and looked back at her, letting his eyes rise from where her small hand held his arm up to her pleading eyes. Even her arm, still bandaged, seemed to announce her vulnerability to him with a scream. How could he deny her?
“Don’t leave.” She begged. “We… I need your help. You’re right. I’m just tired of being in this little room. I’ve lost my home. I have nothing anymore, only Bedros and you.”
“I need to go.”
“No. Don’t go like this.”
“I’ll find a way to get off this island. Todee will be different.” Rolf vowed, glancing at her as he covered her hand with his. He lifted her hand free of his arm and turned away once more, opening the door.
As he opened the door, Anthea felt a strong tug of need from the enchantment she had spoken Dees passed – the one that had led her to Rolf and then to this town. “Rolf?”
This time he didn’t turn, though he did stop, resting his hands on the doorjambs. “Yes?”
“Try the waterfront again.” Anthea suggested. “Look for something… someone out of place.”
Rolf frowned, though she could not see it. “The flowers have told you this? Your enchantments?”
“Yes. A hunch really, but I feel it must be right.”
“How will I know?”
“He’ll be searching for us. He’ll know you when he sees you.”
Rolf smiled to himself and shook his head. “I’ll be on the lookout for him then.”
When the door shut behind him, he was not the only one feeling hope.
Something about Anthea’s declaration had made it seem true to Rolf. She had said that he would find something, and she had said it with such conviction that he had believed her. Change was on the wind. Rolf felt a crisp air of a precipitous nature every time he inhaled. It was disconcerting yet exhilarating. Something big was astir, just beyond the horizon. He could feel it.
The young Kerathi male walked about with his eyes and ears open, looking and listening for anything that might be a sign. He was not a deeply religious man, but he believed in the powers that be. He had always given offerings whenever he saw a shrine to Cainel and Comrain, as well as for any other deity he might feel particularly in debt to at the moment he happened by a shrine. But this did not mean he was a man who looked for interventions and greater things from the Gods. It was more like a habit, as was the gesture of pressing knuckles together when praying to Comrain and Cainel, but todee he looked for signs.
And while his senses searched for the out of place stranger, his thoughts strayed to Anthea. He’d known her but a few Dees, yet sometimes he had trouble remembering his life before her. Granted, some of that might have been the large amounts of ale and mead he had partaken of on her behalf, but part of it was a true feeling that his life before her had been aimless. The petty squabbles with Lamont and his friends were over. In one violent conflict, his old life had ended. That end had birthed this new existence, an existence where anything could or might happen.
Thinking of Lamont, Rolf’s hands strayed to the hand pistol on his hip and then sabre he wore on his belt. In town, they were enough to ward off cutpurses and thieves, but he missed the familiar weight of a pair of long rifles strapped across his back.
So, while he owed Anthea something of a debt of gratitude for finally giving him the chance to end Lamont’s life, doing so had ruined any chance he might have had for a quiet life in Harsbrukke. It would be Munths at least, perhaps even Yarres, before he could return. Beljd was probably searching for him right now. Lamont’s father was not one who would ever forgive another man for taking his son’s life, no matter how justified the taking of it had been. In time the fire of his anger would subside into a dull, festering hatred. No doubt it would somedee come to blows, if not a duel. He tried not to think of that, because no matter how that duel would end, it would be Rolf’s mother who would suffer a loss. Rolf could only hope that his mother, Kiersten, would not be the target of too much of Beljd’s wrath in his absence.
For now, he had only Anthea to think of. Her need for his help was something he found appealing. His mother had needed him greatly after her first husband, Rolf’s father, had died. Beljd had swooped in and seized her up in hopes of gaining her Familienheime for his son Lamont. Esben had dashed those hopes and had seen to it that it stayed with Rolf, even though he was not married. His mother had never really needed him again though. Whatever else Beljd was, he was at least a provider.
Now Rolf felt needed again, something he hadn’t even realized he had missed. It was a strange feeling to know that someone depends on you to do for them something they cannot do for themselves. He didn’t hold it over her because of her inability to negotiate with his occasionally close-minded folk. Rather, he took honor in helping her and Bedros. They were good people, and while he felt that he didn’t have the whole story, that there was some dark secret not yet shared, he knew they were worth helping. That was why he found himself out here for the fourth Dee straight, trying to find a way for them to get off of Maethlin.
Above him, the clouds swirled lazily in the sky. Winds swept through the city of Norsjalde, coming down from the hills, carrying with it the odors of the outlying farms. Rolf frowned, wishing the winds would turn, for he far preferred the salty smell of the sea to the smell of farms – a smell that reminded him too sharply of Harsbrukke.
The city was alive with voices, and the press of humanity was overwhelming at times. No one had time for patience and politeness. The crowds shouldered by each other, shifting past obstructions in the street or slow-moving farm carts. Occasionally, a carriage would haul down the streets at an unsafe speed, scattering people in its wake as they hurried to get out of the way, lest they be ground beneath the iron-shod wheels and the heavy hooves of the horses. No, Rolf decided, the streets were not pleasant places to be.
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Down by the docks, things were not much calmer. Even at fourth Ouer, still relatively early in the Dee, men were already drunk and fighting in the streets, relieving their bladders in alleys, or shamelessly sampling the local brands of prostitutes. And this all occurred amidst the commotion of porters and cargo haulers moving countless barrels, crates, and great earthenware jugs to and from ships. Rolf imagined that from a bird’s perspective, the place probably looked like an angry anthill.
Men shouted and laughed as they put their backs to work. The entire port was a mess of rope, wooden railing, canvas, docks, cargo, and men going about their tasks. Ships were scattered about the busy port, many docked, many not. Some anchored offshore, waiting their turn, while other smaller vessels nimbly scuttled between the ships to head out to sea or port further down the shore. And among all of these, were yet smaller ships – family-owned fishing boats or rowboats carrying men between larger vessels.
Most ships were Kerathi, but there were others as well. Among the heavy masts and deep-drafted Aynglican trade vessels, knots of Aynglicans kept to themselves, not wishing to provoke the age-old feuds between their two people, for that was hardly a profitable thing to do. They worked with Kerathi men who loaded and offloaded their cargo. The Aynglican captain and mates, dressed in Aynglican finery and wearing the trimmed mustaches they favored, cast nervous glances about the port, oh so aware of the Kerathi warships sitting at the mouth of the port or the angry Kerathi men who sat about in plenty hoping for a scrap with some Aynglicans.
“Surely she can’t mean them… anything but an Aynglican.” Rolf muttered. It was surprising for him to see the Aynglicans even working on Zehnsdee, as they normally took the last three Dees of the Wayke off. There cargo must have been particularly valuable, which would explain some of their nervousness.
Then his eye caught a glimpse of a ring of people gathering around what sounded like a fight. Fights were so common that this was of no note, but on a Dee when he was looking for signs Rolf looked extra hard at even the commonplace. He caught a glimpse of dark flesh among the crowd. It was a surprise to see one so dark amid such pale folk as the Kerathi. Rolf pressed forward through the crowd, shouldering past men who smelled of sweat, beer, and many other unpleasant odors. Shouts grew louder as he approached where he had seen the man, the kind of shouts that surround a fight that is brewing.
As he broke free of the gathering crowd, he came into a half-dozen Mayters of open dock. He stood at the inner ring of a wall of Kerathi onlookers who gathered in a semicircle to watch, cheer, and fence in the fight. With the contenders hedged in, there was little chance of them escaping without some blood being drawn.
A tall, dark Mueran man stood there with his back to the dock rails and the port’s open water. Two Kerathi lay at his feet and three more were facing him, each carrying a crowbar, belaying pin, or other crude sort of weapon in their hands. The Mueran man used a bit more sophisticated weapon. In his hands he twirled a gaff with an ugly-looking set of barbs. It was already dark with blood, but only a bit, which spoke of the man’s control with the weapon.
Rolf watched the man calmly hold off the advance of the three men with a few quick feints of the gaff spear. It was instantly clear that the man’s deft hands could have made the men regret challenging him, maybe even by means of dispatching them altogether, but he held back. Rolf admired his restraint, though he knew it would do him no good. With Kerathi, you must spell things out very clearly or they don’t get the picture.
“I have no wish to fight you. I am here looking for the ones I have seen in my visions.” The Mueran called out, and while his words were heavily accented, they were still in Low Elegian.
“You should have thought of that before you started asking the wrong kind of questions!” Someone from the crowd yelled.
The Mueran’s retort was covered over by random shouts and obscenities hurled at him, encouraging the Kerathi men to attack him. Disgusted, the Mueran man delivered a nasty cut across the face of the bravest of the three he still faced. A thin ribbon of blood flew several Mayters, splashing on a few of the onlookers, who cheered all the louder for it. The wounded man fell to his knees, clawing at the torn flesh of his cheek and mouth.
“Mueran, don’t play with them anymore. Be done with them, or they’ll just keep coming!” Rolf shouted to the Mueran.
The Mueran glanced up and surprise registered along with recognition on his darkly tanned face. That was the only opening the last two men needed. They charged in, bludgeons whirling. The Mueran recovered at the last moment, ducking down and extending his arms. He pushed out on the length of his spear’s shaft, striking both men in the stomachs at the same time. When they doubled over and released all the air in their lungs, the Mueran slipped past them and gave them both a shove with the spear’s length. The two men stumbled past him and tumbled over the low railing into the water below.
Mueran or not, he had delivered a good show, and the Kerathi were pleased with him. They cheered and began to disperse, laughing as they went. The defeated, regardless of whether they were swimming in the rather dirty water of the port or lying on the docks with blood pouring out of their faces, were left to their own devices.
“Mueran.” Rolf called over, approaching slow enough and with his hands plenty clear of his weapons so that the man knew he meant not harm.
“Kerathi!” The Mueran said excitedly. “You are one of the three I seek.”
Rolf stopped, blinking in surprise. “What?”
“I saw you, a girl, and an Ox-Man in a vision given me by Fallu. I have come to aid you three.”
“A vision?” Rolf repeated the word, shaking his head as a grin began to form beneath his beard. “I think you’ve got friends in high places, Anthea.” He muttered.
The Mueran looked puzzled at his last comment. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, we should make ourselves scarce. The port-wardens are going to come down and clean this mess up. Foreigners aren’t always treated nicely when they’re considered troublemakers.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“They really won’t care.” Rolf replied with an apologetic shrug. “So come with me…”
“Makan.”
“Well, Makan, skilled Mueran spear-fighter, come with me. I’m Rolf. I’ll take you to Anthea and Bedros.”
Makan’s older, darker face broke into a wide smile. “I knew Fallu would not lead me astray. I did not despair and he showed me truth.”
“Well, we were looking for you too. We’ve need of a sailor.”
Makan laughed. “Rolf, surely you know then that there are no finer sailors on Elegia than the Mueran.”
Rolf didn’t think the man was bragging, but he had never known a Mueran. They lived far enough to the south that they were little more than a collection of rumors to the Kerathi. He seemed to recall hearing once that the Muerans were indeed good sailors, but he wouldn’t have staked anything on it. For now, the foreign man’s word would have to do. “Good. We need it or will quite soon.”
Anthea rose expectantly when she heard a knock at the door. Rolf had only been gone at least an Ouer, but even if her intuition had been correct, she found it doubtful that he would have returned already.
Whatever inkling of events to come the flower enchantment had given her, it was not enough to tell who was beyond the door. All she saw or felt from time to time were brief glimpses of what she should do. What had once been a broadly lit road was now a dim path only illuminated for brief moments, like flashes of lightning on a dark night. She wasn’t even sure where the enchantment was leading her anymore. Was her father really in Aetheline? And if he was, why did she need these strangers to help her get there?
With each passing Dee she began to wonder if the enchantment she had spoken in a moment of need was leading her on a wild chase, or even worse, if it had taken on its own agenda and was using her and her companions for its own means. But that was silly, wasn’t it? How could an enchantment think for itself or have its own will? If only her mother were still alive and here to explain what was happening.
While Bedros was more than any one man was likely to be able to handle – even in close quarters like they were in now – she found herself wishing that Rolf was there just in case someone unpleasant was beyond the door. There was something comforting about his gruff presence. He wore his emotions on his sleeves, and he was easy to read, but even still he had his surprising moments.
“Who is it?” Anthea asked, thinking for a horrifying moment it might be some of her people come to take her back. That made no sense though. Why would they bother with her? Even her father’s insistence that they knew of her and would take her away from him didn’t seem to make sense. What use was she to the Aurean people? Her abilities were limited and she was but one person.
“It’s Rolf. I’ve brought a friend.”
Anthea glanced at Bedros, whose knuckles creaked as he eased his hand off his mallet. The Ox-Man flashed a grin of yellowed flat teeth and signaled to her his relief with a quick series of gestures. Anthea sighed in relief of her own and smiled back at him as she went to open the door.
Rolf ushered a man in past him, and then hurriedly shut the door behind him, glancing down the hallway before doing so.
The man standing beside Rolf was older than she had expected. He was in his middle Yarres, though his muscles were still strong and his body was still lean, if a bit broad around the chest and stomach. No doubt he had a Decayarre or more before he began to show more signs of his physical age than just the lines on his face. His skin was dark – almost reddish brown. With the strong planes of his face, he looked like a statue carved of mahogany. His eyes showed a depth of strength and character that reminded Anthea of her father, even if his Mueran clothing of fish skins and sea hides did not.
“You have seen much.” Anthea announced, her eyes locked on the Mueran’s.
“I have. Tulis and Marceaupo saw to my education over the Yarres, and Fallu has recently called out his purpose for me.” Makan responded, nodding slightly as he pressed a palm to the crown of his head in reverence to his people’s favored Gods. He smiled as only one accustomed to hardship can. “He punished me for doubting and not seeing the way he had laid before me. Then he led me to you and your companions as I saw in my vision. I am Makan, Mueran Oceanwalker and your servant until you need me no more or until I am sent elsewhere by Fallu or the Gods.”
Never before had the conviction of a stranger’s words moved her so much. Granted, she had not been many places or seen many things, but she doubted that if she traveled the entire length and breadth of Elegia that she would find another man like this. He radiated faith and piety for the Gods of the seas. He believed in what he did and did it with his whole heart. There were no reservations in his words or concerns for his own desires.
“I am humbled to accept, Makan.” Anthea replied as graciously as she could, bowing her head for a long moment.
When Makan saw that she spoke in earnest, his heart was lightened. It was no small thing for him to offer himself as he did, and he was pleased to see that she understood the depth of his commitment. Truly this girl had an adult’s spirit and countenance, if a girl’s body.
“I am Anthea, and my companions are Bedros and Rolf, who you’ve already met.”
His eyes searched her and her companions for the first time at length. The Ox-Man was mammoth, perhaps three Mayters tall if he were to stand and draw himself up to his full height. His large round brown eyes showed intelligence beyond that of a mere animal, even though it would be easy to consider him one, what with the curled horns to either side of his head and his large flat bovine nose. His features, though strange, were friendly but clearly protective and cautious when he looked at Anthea.
Rolf, he knew, but looked at anyway when his name was mentioned. The young Kerathi squirmed a bit under scrutiny, fidgeting with his beard. Rolf assumed a sour look and turned his green eyes away from Makan’s own grayish eyes. Makan smiled briefly, understanding a young man’s pride and thoughts better than Rolf might believe, before turning back to Anthea.
Anthea would be a stunning woman in time; her well-proportioned features told him that much. Now, she was a waif, carrying little more weight on her than was necessary for fair health. Even as young and thin as she was, she couldn’t hide her looks. She had graceful lines to her face that Kerathi women often lacked, clearly the Aurean part of her heritage showing its influence. The strong cheekbones and feminine jawline of her Kerathi heritage complimented the softer features of her face. Her mixed heritage was plain to Makan. If he had been unsure before of her nature as an Aurean, even if only in part, he was not anymore. Even her silvery hair and eyes of greenish gold betrayed her nature. Her left arm was strapped to her with a sling, and the bicep muscle was still wrapped tightly with bandages.
“You are wounded?” Makan asked in surprise, partly because he had not noticed immediately. The girl’s face, particularly her eyes, had drawn his gaze away from her wound.
“It is nothing.” Anthea said dismissively, briefly covering her wound with the hand of her good arm.
“They were set upon by one of my enemies, that Anthea made a fool of, and a couple of his friends. They were intent on murder and nearly succeeded.” Rolf explained, wringing his hands together in reminiscent anger. “They are dead now.”
“I will recover as soon as I have a few Dees under the sun.” She reassured them. “This dim room slows my recovery, but it is not safe to go out until we are away from this island.”
“Perhaps not even then.” Makan remarked. “You will draw attention anywhere. Even among your own kind you must have been somewhat of an oddity. Your blood is mixed, and you do not look entirely Aurean.”
“Then you know what I am?” Anthea asked in surprise. “Did Rolf tell you?”
Rolf shook his head indignantly. “Of course not.”
“I told you I had a vision. I knew of you and seeing you with my own eyes was enough to tell me what you were, even if I’ve never seen one like you before. I know only what I need to know of you, and that is a gift of Fallu.” Makan explained.
“The whale… Fallu.” Anthea murmured, wondering once more at fate, if it would place this man with her when she needed him most – and in accordance with the will of a near deity no less.
Seeing Anthea get lost in thought, Rolf spoke up. “Right. Well, Fallu or not, we need to get off this island. We must reach Aetheline.”
Makan nodded. “Aetheline it is then. I will help you look for passage then, Rolf. Two might succeed better than one.”
“Tonight.” Anthea announced, coming out of her contemplative revelry. “We need to leave tonight. Danger is in the wind.”
“I feel it too.” Rolf said.
“As do I.” Makan agreed.
Bedros huffed and nodded, drawing eyes to him. From his guarded expression, he was clearly in agreement.
“Tonight, it is. Let us do what we can, Rolf.” Makan said, smiling and exuding confidence. Yet even as he did so, he couldn’t help but wonder what dangers would follow Anthea. Fallu would warn him, of that he had no doubt. He also had no doubt that they must be clear of Norsjalde by morning, or something ill would befall them.
