by Colin Taber
They could see in the dark!
Anton said, “I think we’ll make it!”
“Yes, and look how much she’s slowed.”
It was true, the ship still moved well, but its speed had halved.
Sef rowed on. “If I keep this pace up, we’ll be fine.”
And then they heard the faint voice of a crew member calling out, his words in Velsanan, “Poe kal hure, poe kal hure!”
The ship began to slow even more as its sails were trimmed, and all along its deck, beams of blue came to shine out into the night, seeking them. In a moment, they were caught in several of the eerie lights.
Sef continued to row as Anton waved.
“Poe kal hure, poe kal hure!”
The big Flet began to relax, the great ship also easing its pace.
Felmaradis was there at the railing, looking down at them with several crewmen at his side. Two of them were holding the glaring lamps.
Sef wondered; were they also fuelled by naskae?
Even as he rowed for their lives, were they being saved by the dead?
Fel called down, “Be ready for the rope!”
“We’ll be ready!” Sef answered.
“How is Anton, will you need any help?”
“You’ll need to haul Anton up, but I’ll climb.” He then turned to his friend and said, “Gather our things, but leave your old shirt and our food behind.”
Anton nodded as he dug his tattered shirt out from his pack.
Their boat came alongside the slowing ship, Sef using an oar to ease their meeting.
Two ropes came down, tightly woven things with large knots sitting half a pace apart along their lengths. Sef took their packs from Anton and slung them over his shoulder. Looking to his friend, he said, “You first, I’ll wait in case you have any trouble.”
“I’ll be alright.”
“Go, we’ll argue about it later.”
Anton frowned before getting a firm hold on the rope with his good hand, and then crossed his legs above one of the knots. He called up, “Ready!” The waiting crewmen began pulling.
A rope with a grapple dropped down to Sef.
Fel said, “Hook it to the boat’s seat and then catch his shirt in a join so that it won’t drift off.”
Sef nodded before turning back to Anton’s awkward ascent, something that looked neither comfortable nor graceful. “You alright?”
“Not just alright, but excellent. Get your own rope.”
Laughter sounded from a couple of the crew above.
Sef smiled and then made sure that both the shirt and hook were secure before he grabbed at his own rope and began his climb. It was only a few moments before he drew level with Anton. “Moody outleaguer!”
“Up!” Anton snapped.
From above, Fel said, “We’ve been followed, but the Sidian won’t catch us.”
Sef reached the railing and began to climb over. Anton did a moment later, some of the crew moving to help.
Sef noticed that none of them came forward to aid him, instead, a few of them actually took a step back. He knew what it was; the animosity born of Def Turtung. As much as Fel might be comfortable with Flets, and maybe even some of his crew, they were the exception.
The crew who’d been helping Anton now also drew back. Sef took in their faces, his old suspicions renewed. The uncomfortable moment left him keen to get back to Fletland; the first time he’d ever had such a feeling.
Fel interrupted Sef’s thoughts as he called out to his crew, “Go with speed!” And then he turned to a crewman, the one who held the rope still attached to the boat. “Flip it to leave it drifting in our wake.”
He nodded.
Fel looked to Sef and Anton. “Come to my cabin and I’ll have my physician check your wounds. Afterwards, we’ll have some supper.”
Sef said, “That would be appreciated.”
-
Sef stood beside Anton on the upper deck at the stern of the great ship. In silence they watched the last of the Northcountry slip away over the eastern horizon, while the late-morning sun succumbed to dark clouds rolling in from the north-east. Neither had to say it; they both took in the view with mixed feelings.
Anton hadn’t slept well because of his hurts, nor Sef, but that was mostly due to the motion of the ship. Deep down, the big Flet also worried over the looks some of the crew had given him, but to be fair, he’d also had some good experiences.
He’d noticed that many of the crew wore plaited bands about their wrists. The wristbands seemed an informal thing and came in many colours, but those most friendly amongst the crew had all sported black, green and orange bands – the colours of the Praagerdam and House Jenn. Likewise, those who kept their distance, or who Sef caught staring with a spark of animosity, bore the colours of white and blue. He concluded that they were of a rival house, something he’d have to check with Felmaradis.
Were they of House Fiquene?
To his surprise he suspected that he’d stumbled across the divisions that marked Lae Velsanan society. To do so, so soon and so easily, had been totally unexpected.
They were yet to see Fel at all during the new day. Sef knew he’d been up late seeing to their safe escape, but he’d also heard his voice sound from below deck several times over the course of the morning.
The last thing Fel had told them the night before was that they were welcome to their cabins – and his – and the deck, but that they were not permitted under any circumstance to go below. Simply, he’d said it was a military ship, and that such excursions would be very unwelcome.
Sef wasn’t concerned. While he was curious to look over the great ship and discover what wonders it hid, he was more than grateful enough to respect such a request.
Anton asked, “How’re your sea legs coming?”
“Better than my stomach.” It was an answer of unhappy truth. Sef hadn’t been on a ship since his original crossing from Fletland to Ossard. That’d been a miserable voyage of big seas and powerful storms.
“It can take some getting used to. I remember what it was like when I was first got posted to the Black Fleet. Never mind, you’ll get used to it – just as we get to Fletland.”
Sef frowned. “And then I’ll have to find my land legs again!”
“Yes, you will.”
They both turned to look into the west. Fletland lay there somewhere over the horizon, along with so much of their pasts.
Sef said, “I never wanted to go back.”
Anton gave a slow nod. “Me neither. I vowed that I’d only ever return in inquisitorial blacks carrying a burning brand.” He sighed. “Look at me! I come as neither, but am a better man for it – yet those I know there will think me fallen.”
Sef gave him a pat on the shoulder. “At least you’ve got friends and family to see.”
“I’m sorry, neither of us ever wished to return to those nearing shores, yet here we are travelling to them. It’s a sad day for both of us.”
“But I’d do it with no other. At least we go together and can share our pain,” said Sef, his voice soft and sincere.
“Well said, for it seems to be our fate.”
And then they fell into a comfortable silence. For a long while they just stood there, looking to the empty horizon.
Over the last of the morning, a growing swell haunted them as storm clouds neared.
It was Anton who spoke first, as if breaking not just a long quiet, but a spell, “So what’s it to be; Wurstrich, an empty beach, a small fishing village or Adonis?”
“What, where to land?”
“Yes,” said Anton, his tone sombre.
“Fel is going to give us a boat to go ashore in, one we can sell if we wish and use the proceeds to equip ourselves with. To get the best price we must head to a port.”
“Wurstrich is closest.”
“But Adonis will be better to gather information in and an easier place to start out on our road.”
Anton thought about it. “Just up the riv
er, across the lakelands and then through the forest?”
Sef nodded, his face grave. “Perhaps even past the ruin of my old home, and then into the mountains and up and over.”
Anton began to laugh, causing Sef to look at him in surprise. The big Flet’s own face softened at the sight of the ex-inquisitor, and then he also chuckled. “Yes, it’ll be a nice trek; a walk in the woods, hills, and then on to new wonders.”
“Yes, new wonders.” He gave Sef a pat on the shoulder. “Come, my friend, that’s enough of the Northcountry for us for a time. Let’s head to the bow and look to the future.”
-
The further they left the Northcountry behind the heavier the weather grew. The days were dim and woven of waves and rain, while the nights were hosted by Fel as they shared meals accompanied by the deep wine of the New Praagerdam.
After one such meal, Fel asked, “So, tell me something of your plans, for so little has been arranged in advance.” He let out a sly smile, before adding, “Including the escape.”
Sef grinned. “How true! Now that we’re free we’ll head past Evora to Fletland as discussed. It’d be ideal if you could leave us close enough that we can make our own landfall.”
“Near what port?”
Sef looked to Anton as he spoke, “Adonis, I think.”
“And how long will you stay?”
“The rest of the season at least, perhaps a little longer.”
Fel reached for his belt to unhook something and then offer it across: It was a half full coin purse. Sef guessed it held a small fortune.
“Take this to help you on your way. It’s coin from Lae Wair-Rae, which may, of course, draw unwanted attention, yet it’s still silver. Use it however you will; whether buying return pssage to the Northcountry or sending messages to Juvela.”
Sef said, “It’s a generous offer, but we can’t accept.”
Fel shook his head. “You will, for I’ll not take it back. If it weren’t for the hostile relations between our peoples, I might have been better able to help by delivering you to a port or providing an escort, but I can’t. If I’m to aid you, and I wish to, I can best do it with coin.”
Sef gave a reluctant nod, one joined by Anton, who said, “You’re right, of course, and we thank you for it.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He put the purse down on the table.
Anton went on, “And it comes on top of all you’ve already done for me.”
“It was an injustice. I was glad to be able to help, perhaps one day you’ll be able to repay me with your own aid. Who knows what the future holds?”
“That’s true,” said Sef, “I’d never have thought to be returning to Fletland with a former inquisitor by my side.”
Fel smiled. “Yes, the world is fond of such jokes.”
“And returning upon a Lae Velsanan ship.” Anton laughed. “As you say, it truly is a strange world that delivers such things.”
Fel nodded. “So, if I may; your errands in Fletland?”
Sef had given some thought to answering this question. “We’ve several errands; some are as simple as carrying messages to those who may help Juvela and her people, while others are to spread the truth of what’s happened in Ossard. We’re also to assess Fletland and see how it would deal with an influx of people, those people being Juvela’s if the Northcountry becomes closed to us.”
“Does she think she’ll need to run?”
“Not in the end, but it’s prudent to check.”
“She has friends in Fletland?”
“We’re to make contact and see if they’re of like minds.”
“Let us hope so. In the days to come we may all need aid.”
Sef gave a nod. “There are indeed dark days ahead.”
Anton frowned. “Days of war, famine and plague.”
Sef asked Fel, “Will it come to war between the Heletian League and Lae Wair-Rae?”
“I hate to say it, but I don’t see any other way for it to end: The Heletians will fail in taking Ossard, the Inquisition too generous in their assessment of their own power. It’ll leave the Fifth and Final Dominion to take the city, and them alone. That victory will spark other battles between Dominion and League. Somewhere, eventually, it’ll get out of control.”
Sef murmured, “And where will that end?”
“I don’t know whether that day is a season away or a score of years, but it will happen.”
“It’d be like you and I fighting each other – to the death!”
Fel shook his head. “I only fight for just causes.”
“But what if you were ordered to do unjust work?”
“A fair question to a soldier, but my conscience wouldn’t let me.”
Anton asked, “Fel, do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“Not at all; I have twenty one years.”
“I’d have thought you older, for Lae Velsanans are much longer lived than middlings, aren’t they?”
“We grow in similar ways until we come of age; at that point time becomes more gentle in wearing us.”
“I see. So, you’ve gathered just over a score of years, and are, perhaps, in the eyes of your own kind, still considered quite young?”
“Yes, though I’ve already had my first taste of politics and battle.”
“I’m sure, but what I was thinking is that there were probably noble soldiers, just like yourself, who took part in the violence that wiped the Flets from Old Wair-Rae. Maybe afterwards they questioned their orders, perhaps they even questioned themselves, wondering why they’d let themselves be used for such a brutal thing. Yet it happened.”
Fel was silent for a moment, both him and Sef considering the bitter history that bound their peoples. Finally, the Lae Velsanan said, “No doubt some from my own House bloodied their hands.” He shook his head. “Of course, you’re right, for some things are done in moments of passion and anger, done and forever regretted. It’s a reasonable point, a good one in fact! I can only say that I hope never to be part of such a thing: I’d rather be the exception to your rule – but you’ve given me something to think about.”
They sat in silence for a while, before Fel turned to Sef. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in battle, though a great challenge it’d be. It’d be like killing a friend, or worse still, being killed by one and then drowning in that betrayal through your last breath.”
Sef put a fist to the table. “It’s bad luck just to voice such things!”
“You’re right, of course. Betrayal is something my family rallies against. It’s hit us hard in the past, claiming our best; Grae Jenn, High King of Quo Ungria, the dominion of his age.”
Anton’s face lit up with understanding. “Grae Jenn; I’ve heard of him – or of his curse I should say.”
“Yes; the avenger of the betrayed. Even now it’s said that he stalks the ancient House that broke his heart, saw him imprisoned, and then stole away his realm.”
“Which house bears such a burden; House Fiquene?”
“Yes, our rivals. It was their betrayal so many ages ago that lies at the heart of our feud.”
“What happened?”
Our rivals say he was dumbfounded by his love for one of their daughters, which seems partly true: He did love her, making her his High Queen, thereby uniting two kingdoms, avoiding war, and founding that age’s Dominion.” Fel looked across the table at his listeners, holding a goblet of deep wine in his hand. “He married for love and to bring about the peaceful rise of a new dominion, but in the end was betrayed by his wife and her House who stole everything away. The Fiquene can call him what they like, but it doesn’t change the truth. He was a great man!”
Anton asked, “I’ve heard the Fiquene accused of cannibalism?”
Fel couldn’t hide his grin to hear his rivals so terribly smeared. “It’s a rumour, but it resurfaces whenever there’s a poor harvest. I know that many of the new recruits in the military live in fear that they’ll receive a posting to a far off and poorly supplied pan – or
fort, I should say – one manned with Fiquene comrades.”
“Why, because they’ll be eaten?” Sef asked, incredulous.
“They hear tales of fellow soldiers, led by Fiquene, who instead of going hungry when the supplies run out, kill, butcher and feed upon the weakest.”
Anton couldn’t help but laugh. “Colourful!”
“Very,” agreed Sef.
Fel smiled and said, “Yes, but perhaps we should return to the task at hand.”
Sef nodded.
Anton asked, “After dropping us off where will you go; back to your base at Aker Quor?”
“Yes, though I’ll also pass along the coast of the Northcountry to collect fresh news. We must remember that there’s more to the land than Ossard and the ruins, there are many other vales, towns and hamlets.”
Sef gave a nod. “And what fear and confusion must reign there. They’ll have heard more rumour than truth of what befell Ossard, and too little of what’s yet to come.”
“Yes, and some will also have had some of the Heletian forces that come to liberate Ossard on their roads or at their shores. Such sights will stir hearts, but also fear in the people of the North.”
Anton gave a slow and sad nod as he sipped his wine. “It’s true. This Inquisition-led force won’t arrive quietly in such villages. They’ll requisition boats, carts, horses, livestock and food. I’d think that they’ll also take many of the young men to use first as labourers and porters, before naming them soldiers.”
“And the people of the North truly have no love for them?” asked Fel.
Sef looked to Anton, who’d dropped his gaze, leaving it for the big Flet to answer, “No, not since the Burnings. That was when the city turned on the Inquisition. Even the head of the Church back in Holy Baimiopia couldn’t condone what’d been done. He refused to pick a fight with such an infuriated city, accepting the ban from the Lord of Ossard and his merchant princes.”
“How bad were the Burnings?”
Anton looked up with a pale face. “The Inquisition’s investigation lasted thirteen days. On each day people were tried and burned, first one, then two, then four. On that last day, forty-nine people were burnt at the stake, bringing the total over the previous days to one hundred and fifty three. Of course the Flets were singled out. Interrogations only led to more names and hints of heresy. The web of corruption being uncovered just grew wider, demanding that the search be redoubled.”