by Pemry Janes
“Very touching,” the sword said, shattering the moment. “Now can somebody get me off of this damn floor. I rust easily, you know!”
Eurik frowned at the sword. “Aren't living swords supposed to be tougher than a normal weapon?”
“Ha, a normal weapon. I'm not talking about some inanimate piece of steel. I'm comparing myself to you. You don't rust, I do. So I rust easily. Simple, irrefutable logic. Now, please, pick me up and put me back in my scabbard.” Mulling the request over for a moment, Eurik shrugged and did as the weapon requested.
“The name's Misthell, by the way,” the sword, Misthell, told him as Eurik sheathed the blade.
Chapter 2
Crossing Over
Bird song echoed in the unraveling mists of the early morning. Eurik tried to listen to it. He wouldn't have another chance for a long time to come. There would be new sounds, and new sights. Some of them might even remind him of home, but it wouldn't be the same.
The unfamiliar weight on his back reminded him that it already wasn't the same. Not his pack; he'd camped outside before. No, it was the sword looking out over his back that caused Eurik to roll his shoulders. And it wasn't the only change. His gaze went down, sliding past his new sleeves to the boots encasing his feet. His new clothes had felt oddly restrictive since he'd tried them out the day before.
Zasashi noticed where his attention had drifted to. “It can get rather cold out there. And Hoyashi assured us that they'll make you stand out less.”
Eurik looked back up. “I am not ashamed of where I come from.”
“Nor could you hide it even if you wanted to. Your upbringing here marks you in a thousand different ways. No, Eurik, this is not about hiding. It is about putting others at ease. People are on their guard in the presence of the unfamiliar. A valid instinct, but a hindrance if you want to get to know them.”
“Hence the clothes.”
Zasashi nodded, and they fell back into silence. Neither of them broke it as they walked down the stone road to the only pier of the island, where the sole ship of the san was moored. Eurik could already see the white of Ichiru's curled sail through the trees. It wouldn't be long now.
Hoyashi, Ichiru's captain, raised his hand in greeting as their feet hit the solid stone pier, before he turned his attention back to overseeing the final loading of his ship. Two younger san carried a crate between them into the hold of the ship.
Patheos stood close to the tiller, leaning against the railing while he watched them work. He must have noticed Hoyashi's actions, because as the captain turned back to his work, the scholar looked in Eurik's direction. His wrinkled face lit up at seeing him. “Come to wave me off, have you?”
“Actually, I'm here to take you up on your offer. I'm leaving the island.”
Patheos' eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Oh?”
“You were right. I didn't know my future. I've learned some things since we last spoke. It raised questions, which I cannot find the answers to on the island.” Eurik stopped there, unsure if he wanted to tell Patheos about his parents. It had been easy when they were nameless shadows, but that had changed.
“Would the sword looking at me over your shoulder have anything to do with it?”
Eurik nodded, but said nothing. Patheos caught on that he didn't want to talk about it, and didn't press.
“I hope you've already said your goodbyes to Master Zasashi, because we are leaving now,” Hoyashi informed them, breaking the silence. “The wind's right and the tide is going out. Get aboard and stow your belongings in the passenger-quarters,” he instructed Eurik, pointing at a tent set up on deck in front of the mast.
“Yes, let's get out of this salty air,” Misthell chimed in.
Ignoring the blade, Eurik turned to Zasashi and bowed. “I won't forget all you've thought me, sesin. And I shall return.” His teacher returned the bow with a slow nod. Words were unnecessary, Eurik already knew what Zasashi would have said and the san knew as well.
Not looking back, Eurik hopped onto the ship followed by Hoyashi who made his way to the back of the ship. The younger san, the one that had loaded the last of the cargo, untied the ship from its moorings and then jumped back onto the ship. Two older san raised the sail at the same time. It caught the wind with a loud snap.
Eurik rushed to put his pack in the tent. He'd never been on the ship when it was moving and he didn't want to miss a thing. “Are you sure you want to stay inside?” he asked the sword after he'd taken him off of his back.
“Forsake feeling the wind pass my hilt, the spray on my pommel? Or stay here where it's dry and I won't corrode into a brittle lump of metal. Tough choice.”
Instead of dignifying his sarcastic comment, Eurik shook his head and backed out of the tent. He put his hands on the railing and leaned over just enough to see the water part as the ship sliced through it.
Excitement fluttered in his chest as the ship glided over the crest of each wave. He'd run this fast on his own, yet it felt different standing on the deck and letting the ship do the work.
He looked out at the mist banks hiding the rocky outcrops responsible for the end of so many ships. Eurik wasn't afraid, though. The reason for his trust stood at the bow. Yuyesho, the pilot, had his hands on the railing, feet braced apart. He looked lost to the world. He used the Water chiri seeping through the wood of the ship to make contact with the chiri in the sea. Listening to its song, Yuyesho could feel where the water flowed, and where it flowed around something. Thus he navigated the ship around the obstacles in the water.
The san raised his right hand and held up two fingers. Eurik didn't know what that signal meant, but Hoyashi did. Wood creaked and the sound of the waves splashing against the hull changed in pitch as the ship banked a little to the right.
The world started to dim, to blur, and finally vanished in a gray soup that closed in on them. It wasn't as thick as it could be; looking back Eurik could still see Hoyashi at the tiller. But not all the dangers were above the water. Somewhere water sloshed. Was it off to the side, or was the sound caused by a sharp rock waiting in their path?
Worry started to worm its way into his belly. Eurik had never been this far from the island. If they shipwrecked here even he wouldn't be able to swim back. The currents would carry him out to sea, after battering him about a bit in the stoney maze. His breathing deepened and in reflex Eurik sought the sure strength of Earth. But it wasn't there.
'Get a hold of yourself,' he berated himself. 'They know what they're doing, they've done it hundreds of times. It's perfectly safe.'
Only now did he feel a need to look back one last time and see his home. To burn the image of the island spread out behind him into his mind. He turned and looked past the stern. In the mist there were shapes that might have been the island. Or a trick of the eye. Eurik wasn't home anymore, and he wouldn't be for a long time to come. Tears pricked his eyes so he looked forward again.
Yuyesho was still there, intent on his task. Another piece of the life he knew that would be gone all too soon. The world got blurrier, though the mist hadn't thickened.
***
“Ah, a little higher, higher, right there,” Misthell instructed Eurik with a half-lidded eye. The sword basked in his attempt to clean and oil the weapon. Eurik had been shown how to do that by one of the san smiths, and the blade insisted he practice the skill regularly.
It was the second day of their voyage and Eurik already felt homesick. Neither the bright sun hanging in a nearly cloudless sky, nor the favorable wind propelling them swiftly to the mainland could lift his spirits.
His sword, on the other hand, seemed to be warming to sea-travel. “This is the life,” Misthell opined. “Though I'm starting to wonder when you'll begin to use me.”
He paused in his work to direct a questioning look at the eye now looking back at him. “Use you?”
“You know, stabbing, cutting, slashing, slicing, parrying, blocking, and all the other stuff you're supposed to do with a sword. When
are you going to train using me? Don't get me wrong, I am eager to get started,” the blade rushed to add. “I'd like some time to prepare myself mentally for it, that's all. A little warning before the scratching, the scuffing, and the chipping begins.” It shook in his hands.
“I have no intention of doing that until I've found someone who can teach me,” Eurik told the sword. “I know enough about fighting to know that I have no idea how to wield you properly.”
“And thus avoid learning bad habits your future instructor will have to break you off from. That alone will earn you his gratitude.” Eurik looked over at Patheos who took a seat near him on the deck. “If you're thinking of staying in Linese for awhile I can help you find a teacher. Don't know one off the top of my head, never were one for swordplay myself beyond the basics. But you can find everything in the City.”
“Ah, I'm actually not sure if I will be staying in your city. I don't believe I will find my answers there.”
“Oh?” The scholar gave the blade in his hands a pointed look. “Would these questions have anything to do with that living sword?”
Eurik still felt oddly reluctant to share what he'd learned of his parents. Strange, for he couldn't understand why he wanted to keep them to himself. Silence, however, would not serve him now. Taking a deep breath, he forged on. “It was made by my parents.” Patheos eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent as Eurik went on. “And I found an illustration of a Mochedan claw-dagger in the library. Some of the markings on Misthell match those in the drawing.”
“Your parents were Mochedan?” Is-Ilad looked Eurik over, then slowly nodded. “It's hard to tell with those clothes, or the hair.”
One of his hands went to his head. “My hair? Whats wrong with it?”
Patheos chuckled. “Nothing, nothing. But those tribals wear it longer, and have all sorts of beads, bones, and other jewelry braided into it. And the way they carry themselves ... If it weren't for your skin, I'd say you were mistaken about your heritage. But there's no mistaking that reddish tan. Only a human descended from the Mochedan has it.”
The scholar's attention turned back to the sword. “But their lands are big and you have no idea what camp or tribe your parents belonged to. They don't like outsiders, especially if they find them in their territory,” he warned the boy.
“That was the impression I got from what I've read,” Eurik agreed. “But its closer than Vanha Forest. The Immortal is notoriously fickle on who he will receive in his home, and even if he does see me, how well did he know my parents?”
“You're assuming he trained them,” Patheos pointed out gently. “It's been a hundred years since he discovered how to make a living sword. He hasn't trained many in its secret, but I can think of three off the top of my head who in turn took on apprentices. Can't recall if one came from the Mochedan Nations, though,” the old Linesan reflected. “What were your parents' names?”
“Eurik One Claw and Kaite the Ardent,” Misthell said before Eurik had a chance to answer.
Patheos shook his head. “Never heard of them.”
“Oh,” was all Eurik said. He remained silent for a moment. “Somebody must have known them.” He started to clean the sword again. “I'll find that person. And find out how my parents ended up where they did.”
***
Standing on the bowsprit, his arms sticking out and his fingers spread, Eurik tried to get a feel for Wind chiri. His eyes staring at nothing; he could feel the breeze ruffle his hair, race past his neck, pluck at his sleeves, and slip through his fingers. It had none of the steadiness of Earth; it was restless. The power waxed and waned in a single breath.
His own thoughts mirrored that chaos. Jumping around from topic to topic, the connection between them eluding Eurik. One moment he'd be wondering what Zasashi would be doing now, the next was spent imagining what Linese would look like. Eurik had read descriptions of the city, but that didn't help much when he didn't even know what a human town looked like. Cities were supposed to be big, and Linese was the biggest of them all.
His mind was on everything except the task at hand. And he'd gone here precisely because he didn't want to think for a while. Eurik simply wanted to be, like back home. Resolutely ignoring the rest of the world, he concentrated once again on the wind. There was only him and the...
“That doesn't look like a very safe thing to do,” the real world broke in once more in the guise of Patheos' voice.
“This is the accepted way to train for Dance of the Whirlwind,” Eurik snapped, still trying to focus on the chiri around him.
“Oh? I got another impression from the crew. Then again, I don't really speak their language so perhaps what they said in their own tongue was more flattering than what they said in mine.”
He flinched at that. Opening his eyes, Eurik took a shuffling step back onto the deck. “They go out in boats, not ships,” he admitted. “But they do spend hours balanced on the bow as they learn the feel of the wind.”
Patheos remained skeptical. “Out in the open sea?”
“No, they don't go past the reef.”
“Youthful folly,” the old scholar sighed. “Even Trithun's blessing doesn't cure it.”
Eurik shifted his weight, unsure how to respond to that. Patheos caught it too. “Ah, I didn't know you shared the san's belief that the gods don't exist.”
“We know perfectly well that the gods exist. But we don't think they are special.”
“Special?”
The youth frowned, speaking slowly since he had to search for the words. “The san consider them part of Ayashou, the whole. Like the sun, or the ocean. Powerful, yes, but they do what they will and care little for what smaller parts of the whole do. So why single them out for worship?”
The scholar shook his head. “I advise you not to repeat that bit of reasoning once we leave the ship. Most people would be appalled at your disrespect for the gods.”
Eurik tilted his head a little. “But not you?”
“My ancestors once only worshiped Trithun, Phores, Heitheron, Teidon, and a host of other deities that are now forgotten by all, save for a few scholars like me. Now, they direct their sacrifices to Ariod and Aethel, the gods of those we conquered, and think it was always so. If the gods don't get angry about this neglect, then why should I?”
Is-Ilad turned away and looked out over the waters. “The Mochedan, of course, have their own beliefs.”
“You mean they worship animals.”
Patheos chuckled. “Ha, definitely don't say that when you meet your relatives, or they'll chase you all the way back to the border!” he warned Eurik.
“Relatives? I hadn't thought of them.”
Patheos' mirth disappeared, his snowy eyebrows climbing up. “Hadn't thought of them? Why else would you be trying to find out who your parents were if not to find your family?”
Eurik shrugged. Now it was his turn to direct his attention to the sea. “I only thought of finding people who knew my parents, who could tell me what they were like. And perhaps find out how we ended up in a small boat out at sea. I hadn't considered family. There are none among the san.”
“That will be no easy task. You don't dress, speak, or act like a Mochedan should. To them, you will be an outsider, and they don't trust outsiders. Finding out how your parents ended up in that boat, though, might actually be easier.”
“How so?”
“From what you've told me, it sounds like your parents were on a ship that ended up in some sort of mischief. Could be a storm, could be orcs. Either way, there's good chance it didn't make it back to port. Most ships are insured, and every insurance company in the world has an office in Linese. If one of them has a ship on the books that went down around the time you washed up at the island, then that's something worth investigating. At the very least, it will give you an idea where your parents were going and where they boarded the ship.”
He'd waited patiently for the scholar to finish before asking his question. “What is insurance?”
“Ah, your speech is so civilized I sometimes forget you've never actually lived in civilization. Insurance is a, heh, it's a bet a merchant makes with a ship's owner that it won't sink or lose its cargo along the way. The ship's owner gets paid the value of the ship and its content if the insurer is wrong about the odds, and a fee if he's right; which is most of the time. It's how they turn a profit.
“My wife's brother's grandson works in one, last I heard; I'll have him over and see what can be arranged,” he finished, stroking his beard.
“Thank you. I didn't know that risk was a trade. Several of the books I've read heap scorn on betting and gambling.”
Patheos chuckled. “I'm sure that an insurer wouldn't appreciate my simple explanation or your equation of their profession with something as base as gambling.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
That answer set is-Ilad off for some reason, and his chuckle evolved into a full-blown laugh.
***
“Sail on the horizon! Sail on the horizon!” The outcry in San broke Eurik's concentration and he looked up. He could see the lookout's outstretched arm from where he sat on the deck, but saw nothing in the direction it indicated.
Around him, he could feel the Wind chiri die down as Zahoho ceased his work. Hoyashi shouted a question to the lookout. “In which direction is it going?”
“To the west,” the reply came back down.
Hoyashi bopped his head at that in a thoughtful manner, before addressing the san that had been directing the wind into the sail. “Zahoho, take a rest until we know who it is. The wind is coming from the right direction to push us along without your aid, and speed is not what we need right now.”
“Did the lookout spot something?” Patheos asked.
With Zahoho stopping, there was no reason to remain where he sat, so Eurik got up and walked over to the Linesan scholar. “Ah, yes. He saw a ship out there,” he indicated with a wave of his left arm. “But I can't see it. Regardless, Hoyashi is cautious and relying on the wind alone to propel us until he knows who is out there.”