SeaJourney (Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals Book 1)

by Alex Paul

  “Don’t go away to die!” Em piped up and surprised him because she had snuggled next to her mother, and he thought she was asleep.

  “I’ll be careful,” Arken assured Em. “But I want to go. I’ve worked so long to become an officer.”

  “You could skip the military and go into the family business. You’d lead a fine life,” Zela protested. “You’d be at sea.”

  “But I’d never get a chance to be an explorer.” In the early years of the Academy, he had dreamed of a life without Gart and his friends constantly tormenting him, and he would have welcomed the chance to quit. He had asked several times if he could quit, but his parents wouldn’t let him.

  Then he had begun having the dreams, always the same, of a sea where the sun never set and white powder fell from the sky. That dream had made him determined to become an explorer. Being a military officer was the only way he could become an official explorer for the king, which made it possible for him to endure the painful experience of attending the Academy as the only non-royal.

  How could he suddenly throw away all of his patient suffering when he was so close to success? They would all be assigned to different ships after their SeaJourney training, so the odds were high he would never serve with Gart in the future. Then the torment would finally stop and Gart’s torments would recede to become a distant memory.

  Suddenly, a thought came to Arken. “If a soothsayer is going to decide my life, can I at least visit him and ask questions?”

  “Of course.” Zela nodded. “But I thought you were like your father, that you didn’t believe in them.”

  “I don’t, but I feel he’s become the enemy of my future, so I should confront him myself.”

  “Well said,” Nortak remarked. “A sensible approach. You’re thinking like an officer in the King’s Sea Service.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “You have the day off school tomorrow, you said?” Zela asked.

  “Yes, it’s a free day to spend with family to talk about the war,” Arken nodded.

  “Then tomorrow we’ll see the soothsayer. I’ll send a messenger tonight to arrange it,” Zela promised. “Who knows, Arken? Perhaps after meeting him tomorrow, you’ll decide to be a sculptor if you don’t like the family business.”

  “I’ve no experience sculpting!” He tried not to sound too discouraged or upset. “But I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Let’s celebrate his day of birth now,” Nortak intervened.

  Arken looked at his father with relief. He had to be careful when he spoke to his mother to make sure he showed her no disrespect. He wanted to say her sculpting suggestion was ridiculous! Sometimes he disliked his father for his words or actions; then, at other times he seemed perfect. This was one of those times.

  “Dear, I think the boy would enjoy his birth night better if we told him the final decision about the SeaJourney is up to him,” Nortak added.

  “Let’s not fight. As his mother, I could reserve my right to set his fate until he turns fifteen.” Zela folded her napkin and set it on the table. “There’s good reason that is the law, and I have good reason now. I will see what the soothsayer says before making a final decision.”

  She rose from her chair, and then came and sat next to Arken on the bench he had taken. “Let’s discuss it no more and enjoy this perfect night. Look how the stars are shining so brightly!” She pointed at the sky, encouraging Arken to look.

  Arken glanced at his father, though. Nortak let out a deep sigh but said nothing. He shook his head slightly, which indicated to Arken this was a better time to retreat than do battle.

  His father’s willingness to go along with Zela discouraged Arken. Mother had one more year of decision rights. Well, he would just have to go to the soothsayer with an open mind. At least his mother had not made her final decision, so there was still hope. He obediently turned his attention to the stars as his mother had requested.

  They shone brightest soon after sunset before the night dew formed. Rinfall came six hours after sunset every day of the year. Then the air grew colder, and the humidity turned to a gentle falling mist.

  But for now, the sky held clear, allowing the stars to sparkle horizon to horizon, like diamonds draped on the black velvet of a celestial jeweler eagerly displaying his goods.

  “Can I give the boy his present now?” Balloom turned to Nortak.

  “Of course, Father.” Nortak placed a huge hand gently on Balloom’s shoulder.

  “It’s a beautiful and deadly bow.” Balloom produced a black bow from behind his chair.

  “Grandfather,” Arken sputtered. “Such a gift!”

  The longbow was almost as tall as Arken. He took the bow by the gastag skin handle wrapped tightly over carved wood. The curve of the handle fit his palm with room to grow. The stars above sparkled in its polished black surface.

  “With three extra strings, a strap of leather to cover your forearms when you release the string, and a full quiver of fine, straight arrows.” Balloom handed him the leather quiver. “I used the branding iron at work and made you an official Lantish swordtooth crest mark on the side.”

  “It’s stunning.” Arken touched the brand, a perfect replica of the Lantish military crest, and then pulled an arrow from the quiver.

  “Careful!” Balloom’s hand grabbed Arken’s wrist.

  Arken froze.

  “They have sharp obsidian points,” Balloom cautioned.

  Arken gasped. “I’ve heard of them. They’re the best.” Flaked obsidian heads were difficult to shape but sharpest, and able to penetrate thick coats on the heaviest game. At school and in the military they used bronze points shaped in a forge. They were easier to make and far more durable than obsidian or flint, though not as sharp.

  “Those will pierce the thickest hide,” Nortak added. Arken plucked the bowstring and it hummed.

  “The obsidian is very rare on this side of the Circle Sea,” Nortak explained. “I recovered it from a Tolarian ship we captured years ago.”

  “I made the bow for the man you will soon become, Arken,” Balloom continued. “It will take all your strength now to draw it and loose an arrow. In fact, you’ll probably need the help of another person to help you string it. But I thought, why give a boy’s bow to someone who’ll soon have the strength of a man, eh?”

  “Thank you.” Arken held it before him, admiring the finish. He felt a strange tingling in his hands, as if the bow contained a power of its own. He couldn’t wait to fire an arrow with it.

  “This is a bow for a lifetime.” Nortak took the bow in one enormous hand and admired it. “So balanced and strong!”

  “It’s better than the one I made the king, but don’t ever tell anyone that. He’d be jealous,” Balloom confided.

  “A king’s bow,” Arken said softly as he held the bow before him. Again, he felt the strange tingling in his hands.

  “Look!” Zela pointed over the ocean. A sliver of full moon peeked through the haze of nightmist gathering to the east along the black line of the Circle Sea. The dew clouds softened the edge of the moon to a yellow glow as it rose. They watched, and during the span of only a few minutes, the moon stood free of the planet’s edge, bringing a quarter daylight to the night. When the moon was full, it was so bright it was possible to see colors.

  “I love moonlight. See how the flowers’ colors look different than in daylight? The moon is so wonderful,” Zela said, slipping her arm through Arken’s while he still held the bow.

  “I agree, Mother.” Her simple gesture reminded Arken that she loved him and only wanted him safe. Yet another part of him resented her power to control his life until he was fifteen, even if it was for the best. But he didn’t pull his arm away in the end, for he loved her.

  He looked at the moon more intently, letting its beauty and mystery absorb his disturbed thoughts. He could make out details on the moon’s pockmarked, gray surface as it swept into the sky. Many nights when the moon hung low overhead he had sprawle
d on his back on the roof and cupped his hands, forming a circle between his thumbs and first fingers that barely held the full moon’s circle within.

  He could never see cities on the moon, yet he always wondered if people lived up there. He knew he could never explore the moon, but the fact that he couldn’t go there made him all the more determined to explore the oceans and cities of this world. Of course, all that depended on what the soothsayer said tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE TATTOOED SOOTHSAYER

  Mere days have passed, yet it feels we’ve sailed on this sea forever. There is little wind this far from land, so the slaves must row constantly. In order to keep them from exhaustion, the slaves are split into three crews so they can row round the clock. As a result, our pace is slow. This journey will be more than half a moonth at this pace to reach the River Zash. And I am driven half-mad by the stench of this ship’s slaves and my own inability to read the necklace. Perhaps my heart is not pure, or there is something mother never told me. Regardless, I have no visions of the future.

  —Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria

  “This is the place.” Zela and Arken had walked for nearly an hour to reach the soothsayer. Now they stood before a small wooden door set in a white, masonry wall. A hand-lettered sign above the door read, “Stroebel the Soothsayer. Enter.”

  “It’s not too impressive for someone who can tell the future,” Arken remarked. “With a skill like that, you’d think he’d be rich.”

  “He forgoes material goods for the riches of the spirit world.” Zela spoke in a tone that told him to show respect. They entered, and his eyes adjusted to the light of one candle in a small, dark, windowless room with a tile floor. Seat cushions lay against a wall. An unfamiliar yet enticing odor of cooking meat filled the house.

  “We wait here until we’re called.” Zela sat on a pillow.

  “That smell is making me hungry!” Arken sat next to Zela on his own pillow. “Does the reading fee include midmeal?”

  Zela laughed aloud and hugged her son. “I’m going to miss you, Arken. You just had midmeal! You have a good sense of humor.”

  “I’m not joking, Mother! It smells so delicious, it’s making me hungry. What meat makes this wonderful smell?” Arken’s stomach was growling and he had to know.

  “Toth meat.” Zela placed a finger on her chin as she always did when she related a past memory. “We had it often when I was a little girl. The last time I had it was at a banquet years ago. It’s only available at market when a war toth dies; that is, if the royals don’t claim all the meat first.”

  “I never knew royals ate war toths.” Arken felt surprised because none of the boys had ever mentioned it. “It hardly seems a fitting fate for those brave animals considering the service they render.”

  “Once dead, who cares?” Zela’s eyes gave him a look that he was being overly sentimental, and it embarrassed him that he was more sensitive about the suffering of animals than his own mother. But there it was, she was ever the practical homemaker.

  “Was toth meat more common in the old days?” Arken asked, not wanting to argue about the ethics of eating a war hero, especially when the meat smelled so good. It did occur to him that if he ever developed a practical side, he’d remember to thank his mother for it.

  “Oh, yes, Balloom ate it daily as a boy. He says they finally hunted the herds so far beyond the city, the meat spoiled before arrival and killed the trade.”

  “How did the soothsayer secure such rare meat?”

  “A reward for a future well told, I venture,” Zela speculated in a hushed tone.

  “It would make an excellent midmeal.” He grinned mischeviously at her.

  “You know it’s not polite to invite yourself. If you’re hungry after this, I’ll have Arlet prepare food at home.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  It wouldn’t be this wonderful meat, though, Arken reflected, or soon enough for his hunger. Of course, nightmeal never did seem to arrive soon enough, even though it was normally served soon after set time, or sunset.

  As Arken waited for his audience with the soothsayer, he thought about the day his class had visited the Royal Timekeepers. They had climbed endless ramps inside the Temple of Time to reach the sand vessel room. The whole building had seemed as dry and old as time itself, attended as it was by the gray-haired timekeepers, both men and women who turned the four sand vessels each day.

  The king had long ago divided the official Lantish day into four, six-hour periods. Rise marked sunrise and the following six hours. Mid marked the moment when the sun sat directly overhead. Set occurred precisely six hours later each day at sunset. Rin marked a point six hours before sunrise when the air turned colder and made the mist fall and nurture the plants.

  The Royal Timekeepers turned four large six-hour sand vessels each day. Made of baked clay and containing a precise amount of sand, the Royal Timekeepers tipped the Rise vessel at the first sighting of the sun, which occurred at the same time each day to correspond with the start of each day’s four time periods. The Mid vessel was turned the exact moment the shadow cast by a ten-leg high pole matched a line etched into the metal mounting base. The Timekeepers made sure this pole rose straight from the ground by using a weight hung from a string when it had been set in the ground long ago. The Set vessel was turned at the sun’s disappearance at day’s end, while the Rin vessel was tipped when the Set glass emptied, completing the cycle of a day at the next dawn.

  They had watched the Timekeepers turn the Mid vessel. It had taken five of them using levers to rotate the heavy, red clay urn twice the size of the Tok rock into an upright position so it could drain sand. As they turned it, four Timekeepers beat heavy drums at terraces built high on each side of the four-sided pyramid shaped structure that held the vessels so that the whole city would know the time.

  Arken had learned the drums beat at the hungriest times of day, save for when he slept and the distant booming through his window woke him.

  A short figure emerged through a beaded curtain opposite the entry door and waved for them to follow. As they rose, Arken realized this man was not much taller than Zela. Arken thought at first the soothsayer was fat, but wondered how someone so heavy could move so gracefully. Then he realized with a start that this was a Nander male and not a man.

  He had thought Arlet, their kitchen slave, was one of the few Nander slaves left in Lanth. They had been common five hundred years earlier at the city’s beginning. Arken realized the Nanders were like the toth; they no longer lived close to Lanth and were, therefore, harder to capture.

  Most of Lanth’s current slaves were humans who had been captured during foreign wars. Another source of low cost labor were humans who came voluntarily from the wild tribes living beyond the city walls to become indentured servants, working for food and shelter. The predators outside the city walls made all but the hardiest willing to give up their freedom for seven years in return for citizenship in Lanth at the end of their contract.

  Arken studied every detail of the Nander as he led them into the center of the house. His eyebrows were so thick and heavy that his eyes seemed to peek out from little caves in his face. His low forehead sloped back more than Arlet’s to a hairline that started too soon, as if the Nander had forgotten to put on the top of his head, like a bald man forgetting a wig. His nose was huge and wide with its slope matching the angle of his forehead. The Nander looked sideways for a moment and his profile made it obvious that his nose would arrive in a room much sooner than the rest of his face.

  The Nander’s chin surprised Arken. While the jaw was wide and powerful, the chin receded slightly from the nose, which rarely occurred in a heavily muscled human. Yet despite the weak chin, nothing else about him looked weak. His shoulders, chest, and legs rippled with muscles that dwarfed any human’s.

  Even Nortak, his father, the most powerful man Arken knew, was not as big around at the shoulders as the Nander, though Nortak was at least a head taller.
Arken knew his father would be no match for this Nander in a fight without weapons. The Nander’s hands alone looked like they could tear his father in half.

  He seemed to Arken to be more animal than man. Adding to that impression, the Nander wore a tunic made of soft, yellow, gastag leather, which stopped below the middle of his thigh. The sleeves ended at his shoulders, revealing his powerful arms. A swirling snake tattoo slithered down his right arm with the tail at his wrist. The snake’s body ducked beneath the tunic at the shoulder and emerged at the bottom of his neck, where the snake’s head peered out at the world.

  A second tattoo in the shape of a spiral and the same size as the snake’s head covered the Nander’s right ear. The end of the spiral straightened and swept down the Nander’s neck to stop two fingers above the snake’s head. A fine, thin, golden-brown layer of body hair covered the Nander’s skin. Its golden tint provided an accent color over the tattoos, which gave the impression the tattoos were a golden olive color.

  The Nander’s shoulders filled the white stucco passageway, which was wide enough for Arken and his mother to walk through side by side.

  “Why didn’t you say he had a Nander for a slave?” Arken whispered.

  Zela frowned Arken into silence. The Nander gave off a distinctive odor as they followed him. It was not unpleasant, more a sour, stronger version of how Arlet, their kitchen slave, smelled. Arken’s opinion of his mother’s visit to the soothsayer had improved. This was exciting!

  The Nander stopped at a beaded curtain and held it aside for them to enter. They squeezed past his bulk into a circular room twenty feet in diameter. Several cushions surrounded a low circle of rocks in the center of the bare floor. An opening in the blue ceiling directly above the rock circle allowed a shaft of sunshine to flood the room. The Nander gestured that they should sit on the cushions.

  Arken gasped when they reached the room’s center. A painted mural covered the entirety of the circular wall from floor to ceiling. The mural showed a view from the top of a cliff.