Blood of the Sea, Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter 21: Desiderium

Astrophel

The next few days pass in a blurr. There are enough volunteers to fill three forty-oar longships - provided by Yerevan - by the time it comes to organizing supplies.

The day they push off from shore, the tribes are scattered around the waterways of Asos, either floating on ‘urga-back, atop ships, or standing on shore. The broken tower from days long past watches the procession from its coiled position, giving no judgment to the new expeditionary force.

It’s a strange feeling as the ships are called to depart. Regret hovers in Astrophel’s chest alongside anticipation, creating a war in his thoughts and emotions. It leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth as he watches his mother grow smaller as the oars are put to water and the drum starts beating time.

He closes his eyes, reliving the way Vetra held him close, arms like bands of steel holding him to the only shores he has ever known. But like all metal when faced with the determination of the sea, the resistance rusted until he had to pull back, meeting her tear-bright eyes. She painted him with a stripe of color from hairline to collarbone, the red standing in sharp contrast to his hair. You’ll do us proud; of that, I have no reservations. I only hope Eulla knows what She’s doing. She had pulled Dionne close as well, meeting Astrophel’s conflicted gaze and telling them both, Watch out for each other.

“The sea should be calm out to the horizon.” Vance’s voice tears through Astrophel’s thoughts, dispersing them like mist.

Opening his eyes, he spots Vance leaning out over the water, one hand holding onto the prow as the other hovers over the waves. Astrophel glances to the other two ships, Dionne and Khalil at the head of one, Sulien and Nox on the other. Astrophel strides from midship to Vance’s side, scanning the horizon as the islands slowly melt into the sea at their back. “Good.” In his mind’s eye, he sees a similar expedition, generations ago, who set out with no destination in mind, only the thrill of adventure carrying them over the ocean. Did they have a wave caller? A heading? The Goddess’ guidance? In all these things, he counts himself all the more lucky, having these things by which to steer the prow of his own ship. “Hold course. We will reach land when it suits Thaesis.” Pulling a knife from his hip, Astrophel presses the blade against the outside of his shoulder, blood welling to the surface. He turns away from Vance’s watchful eyes and walks toward the back of the ship, catching his blood on the blade and holding it aloft, eyes on the islands. “I swear this on my blood: that I will see this expedition through, whatever may come of it, or befall my own life. With Phyrlin watching, this I promise.”

The oars at the back of the ship within earshot echo his words over the slap of the oars, “It is promised.”

Dipping the blade in the water, he washes off the blood, the wound clotting in the salty air. Tucking the knife away, he gestures for one of the oarsmen to trade spots with him, the wood of the oar biting into his palms, the bench sturdy under his seat. Catching onto the rhythm, the oar plunges back into the water, their wake white around the ship’s hull, and pulls, his back stretching and contracting. Astropehl catches Vance watching him and the wave caller slowly smiles, his dark hair whipping in the man-made wind as he turns back to the sea ahead of the ship and raises his arms. With their families at their backs, and ‘urgas leaping ahead of the prows, the ships surge forward as one as the current shifts in their favor under Vance’s guidance, and they race away from the only home any of them have ever known.