Blood of the Sea, Chapter Twenty-Two

One moon cycle later

Chapter 22: Uncharted

Astrophel

Astrophel wakes to a hand shaking him. Squinting open his sleep crusted eyes, the night sky blushes with the very first rays of dawn, the stars still out and sparkling down at him. A shadowed figure crouches close, scanning about them, energized and fidgety. Vance’s voice crackles from having not spoken to anyone since he took night watch after their evening meal, “We’ve made it. The journal you all talked about was right.”

A shot of adrenaline shakes off the trappings of sleep at those words. Pushing away from the cradle of the longship, the nook he was propped against for sleep, Astrophel rises to his feet, crowding into Vance as the wave caller refuses to move, a giddy smile painted on his face. Shifting around Vance, Astrophel strides down the length of the ship from stern to prow, the night teasing him with a glimpse of cliffs stretching higher and further than any he had known to his left, and the barest hint of a settlement to their right, still hazy with distance and the touch of night. He points to it, not trusting his own voice, and Vance draws his hand through the air and the three ships turn and adjust course.

“It will take some time yet to reach shore,” Vance warns Astrophel. “I’ve exerted myself.”

Astrophel claps him on the shoulder, “Make whatever time you need. We can set the oars to water. We are here, that’s what matters at this point.”

An echoing, unearthly roar resonates from the cliffs and Astrophel freezes, his blood pumping more urgently through his veins. He and Vance scan the skies, he with some level of fear, Vance with the lackadaisical attitude of one unknowing of the dangers the sky might present. “What in Eulla’s name was that?” Vance’s voice, whisper soft, is breathed into Astrophel’s ear with the question they both want the answer to. Several of the crew rouse at the alien noise, glancing about them and, upon seeing Astrophel and Vance’s posture, facing the cliffs themselves. The water is unnaturally quiet, the waves barely rasping against the hull of the ships as everyone holds their breath. Astrophel remembers the hole ripped in the side of Tiberius’ almost-lost ship, the broken mast, and the scorch marks burned into both ship and crew.

A shadow rises above the cliff, the fading night obscuring much of the details, but it is still enough to grip Astrophel in a vise, his lungs fluttering as he realizes how small his crew must be compared to something of that size. Distance is the only thing he can pray to in this moment. Distance, and the barest of hopes that the wind doesn’t blow their scent up to the creature as it lazily arcs back and forth in the sky, wings carrying it through the air like an imitation of an ‘urga’s intuitive grace underwater. An answering bellow comes from further away, the sound soft after the shriek, but it does the trick, sending the creature wheeling away from the shore side of the cliffs, its wings dipping and turning like oars slicing through water, and it disappears over the crest of land.

Lightheaded, Astrophel sags with relief; Vance likewise deflating in the absence of imminent danger. The wave caller whistles, the sound carrying to the other ships and he gestures for them to all quietly move toward the city forming at the edge of their vision with the growing light of the sun. Oarsmen settle onto the benches and the ships drift like ghosts toward the shore, Vance closing his eyes with concentration as he steers them all through the unknown map of water and unseen, submerged landforms on this side of the sea.

Approaching the harbor, the sounds of early morning life begin filtering to them across the water. Shouts of greeting from neighbor to neighbor, the offerings of a marketplace, and sailors setting rigging. The port of this town is already bustling with activity as the sun rises; fishing nets and sails being patched, hulls of strange ships being worked over, and crews moving in clumps to and fro about their business. A stretch of unoccupied shore sits on either side of the harbor mouth, piers stretching in all directions, but leaving some beach unoccupied. As their longships pull past a fisherman, the crew of Astrophel’s ship gawk at the deep hull and the truncated deck bare of oarlocks. The fisherman likewise gawks at them, his apparel bland when compared to Astrophel’s people’s colored fabrics, different for every person. The fisherman’s round eyes only widen when a pair of ‘urgas surface, puffing out damp breaths on either side of his watercraft. Scrambling away from the railing, the fisherman mutters under his breath, clutching at his boat’s mast.

“Easy, friend. They don’t aim to eat you,” Astrophel calls out. The fisherman’s gaze darts from him to the ‘urgas, his face paling with the pallor of fear. One of the ‘urgas yawns, teeth on display in the growing daylight.

Vance laughs, along with some of the crew, as the fisherman turns his boat around mumbling, “Not today. Pheren protect me, not today.”

Astrophel’s brow knits together at the strange name, “Is this your god?”

The fisherman ignores him, using a paddle at the rear of his boat to swivel back through the channel toward a dock.

Vance folds his arms over his chest, stepping up beside Astrophel. “Strange people, strange gods, strange boats. What are we seeking to find?”

“We’ve come to discover. Their strangeness is their own. Don’t be too quick to judge, as we will appear just as foreign.”

Vance scoffs, “If you insist. Just remember, when it all goes wrong, you were the one who started us on this path.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about the currents and the seabed?” Astrophel quips back.

Vance rolls his eyes and points to the open stretch of shore, “We are already here.” The three longships pull up, and the crews work to beach two of the three; Astrophel hits the shore, his knees bent, and he sifts his fingers through the sand - it’s more coarse than what he’s used to: bits of rock and tree debris mixed in. There’s calls for the boats to be pushed higher, their people unsure of how high the water comes in. Astrophel lets his gaze drift toward the buildings, their stony exteriors squared off and stern. A wave of nostalgia for the tribes’ longhouses crashes into him and he has to blink it away. He and the others had already voted for Sulien and Nox to keep their ship afloat in the water, though close to shore, as a safety measure. Who knew what they would encounter, or how fast they might all have to leave. Vance leaps down from the prow, gathering some of the crew to go over his understanding of the water patterns so far in the harbor, and how the current acted on the way in.

Khalil and Dionne dismount from their ship; Dionne taking a moment longer to help Raelyn down, her baby bump making the process more awkward. Raelyn nods her thanks and trundles toward a rock, her face flushed from the activity, though she keeps her chin up.

Astrophel’s friends make their way over and he catches sight of  Khalil’s Hilt tethered to his shoulder, the metal curved and longer than Astrophel’s, having taken on a shape more closely resembling the grip of a longbow. Where Astrophel’s magic fuels his blade, Khalil’s magic fuels the body and string of his bow. Khalil also wears a belt of throwing knives and a longer hunting knife strapped to the outside of his thigh. Dionne left the greatsword Astrophel had fashioned for her back home, so she is outfitted only with her Hilt, which is long enough to support her dual-handed grip - accustomed as she is to longer, heavier swords. Comparatively, Astrophel’s Hilt which measures out to a hand-and-a-half is better suited to his personal sword utilization: tending, as he does, toward preferring lighter bastard swords for mobility.

Sulien’s Hilt stayed true to a one-handed sword, allowing him to use his offhand to conjure a shield from thin air, or lob objects at an oncoming threat with magic. He keeps a shield nearby, but with his new Magic, Astrophel guesses the wood will remain strapped to his back more often than it is used. Nox’s Hilt has split in two, forming two short sword Hilts that tap against their legs on either side of their waist. Nox keeps a knife in their boot for emergencies, but the group has seen them use it at meals or for butchering animals as well.

The five of them group together as they head out, falling into a comfortable formation which offers freedom of movement, but allows for conversations to be heard amongst themselves as they leave the sea at their backs. Dionne walks ahead of Astrophel, head swiveling as she takes in the city as it unfolds around them. Distracted with her walking ahead of him, it takes a moment longer for him to start processing the stone structures rising tall from the ground. The harbor melts into an open walkway down the central nerve of the city. The buildings vary in height but all decidedly grow taller the further into the city they go, with some beginning to rise higher than the longhouse of Caladija. Dionne’s eyes are wide when she throws Astrophel a do you see this sort of look, gesturing with a nod of her head. Closing the distance, he takes her hand and she intertwines their fingers as they move further on. Archways tower overhead, swooping with a certain elegance and grace that Astrophel isn’t used to seeing in architecture. Longhouses always come in a uniform shape, the wood bending in certain, known ways, but the stone, its rough edges and coarse form, challenges what he thinks he knows of houses, of building, of what makes a homestead. It makes him think of Asos, his friends’ favorite tower made of stone. A ruin, yes, but perhaps it came from a time where his people and these people exchanged ideas.

Passing by the people in the street is almost as strange as the buildings themselves. Their clothing is form fitting and bland, which works as a sort of contrast to Astrophel’s people, their travel cloaks, and their looser, active clothing. Corners of hide flap in the wind and play with the skirt edge of some of his companions’ kilts, whereas that same wind ripples across the townsfolk’s fitted shirts, their pant legs bound tight with either strips of leather or rope and stained with a water mark around the knee. Dionne straightens a little more as they pass another couple, the woman eyeing Dionne up and down with a curious expression opening up her facial features. The blues and grays and browns of Dionne’s outfit makes her stand out in comparison to the woman’s water soaked tan, but as they keep walking, Astrophel makes note of how their ink draws the most attention. A few children run up to their group, skidding to a stop and shyly pushing at one another, not willing to be the one to speak, but wanting to know more about them. Astrophel crouches down, making himself more on their level. The children giggle and shuffle their feet, noticing this, but hang back.

Astrophel smiles at them and waits, betting that curiosity would take over eventually. With more whispers and giggling, one is pushed to the front. Stumbling toward Astrophel, the little girl wrings her hands and glances back towards her friends, some of whom have scattered in between buildings.

“It’s ok. You can ask…” Astrophel’s voice is soft, like he’s gentling Pyxis.

“Where are you from?” The girl blurts out the first of assuredly many questions.

Astrophel points back toward their ships bobbing in the harbor. “Across the sea there are more lands which stretch atop the ocean. Islands. That is where we come from.”

“Why are you so colorful?”

Astrophel laughs, “We like decorating ourselves. It’s a form of self expression.”

“Does the water mark you?”

His brows draw together with confusion, “In some ways, yes.”

“Is that why your arms have black stuff on them?”

“That is ink. It represents our individual stories.”

“Does it come off?”

“No, not without great cost.”

She frowns, “You aren’t water marked then.”

“What do you mean by water marked?”

The girl turns and races back to her friends, grabbing one of their hands and they dart away in a group, leaving Astrophel to straighten with confusion still churning in his mind.

Dionne circles back to him, having wandered farther afield in amongst the buildings. She tilts her head to one side, taking in Astrophel’s expression. “What is puzzling you, aside from their structures?”

“Strange buildings indeed.” Astrophel shakes his head, “I don’t understand their children’s notion of being water marked.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Yes, but I could only get so much out before they ran away again.”

Dionne lightly punches Astrophel’s shoulder, “Scare them away? Big meany.”

“I didn’t…” he holds his hands up in protest.

Dionne shakes her head, “Come on then. Let’s find their leader, if they have one.”

Astrophel merges back into the group and they continue on, following the steady but gradual turn of the city as it curves with the river dividing their passage, and the city, in half. As they cross over the riverbank from one side to the other yet again, a shorter but wider building comes into view, separated from the cluster and bustle of the other streets by a courtyard which encircles the sleepy stone structure. The doorway is open to the street, no door with which to bar entry into the shadowed interior.

It’s cooler inside, as Astrophel steps out of the daylight and into the round room. High windows offer some light which is accentuated by the placement of candles in holders or on tables scattered around the room. The swell of voices talking, even hushed though they may be, fills the room and greets the newcomers as they file in. Dionne scans about them, taking in the building itself, while Astrophel searches the crowd. Most of the people are wearing much the same in terms of clothing, a drab sort of lot. Towards the center, however, there is one older man with an iron chain secured from one shoulder to the next, draping across his chest. Used to Tiberius, Astrophel is surprised at this man’s gaunt stature, but the way that people seem to lean in and listen to him belies a certain sort of presence about the man.

Astrophel taps Dionne on the shoulder, indicating he is moving, and the rest of their group falls in line. Restless energy vibrates at his shoulder; knowing Dionne is following close behind, Astrophel glances over his right shoulder, finding Vance smirking at him. Astrophel rolls his eyes and steels himself, trying to shake off negativity as he weaves his way through the crowd. At some point, the elder notices them and the crowd disperses between him and the newcomers as he waves them forward. “Welcome to Kildangan, strangers. Irumun extends a helping hand to those in need. Anything we can offer you in terms of food, shelter, or equipment, we would be happy to assist.” The man taps his walking stick on the ground, “Where do you come from, if I might ask?”

“Magellani. It has taken one full turn of Thrys for us to reach your shores. We are tired of the sea,” at this, Astrophel’s companions laugh amongst themselves, and he indulges in a smile. We could never be tired of the sea. “Is there some place we might rest where we would be out of the way, and yet be able to learn of your culture?”

“How did you come here, traveler? You’ve come a long way, if I am to understand you. You don’t appear to my old eyes as natives of Farrah, nor do you have the spirit of Rhoyenn, or the demeanor of Mi’nuna.”

“Our goddess sent us. It was set before our council as a voyage of great importance, and so we have come.”

“Your goddess? Have I heard of her before?” the old man leans toward Astrophel, supporting himself on his stick.

“Eulla, Goddess of the sea and all that happens above and below the waves.”

“A sea-faring people.” The old man nods to himself, “I haven’t heard this name among our pantheon, but I’m sure the gods wouldn’t mind a friend.” He glances past Astrophel, eyes darting over his companions before he raises a hand, gesturing for assistance. “If you could follow Seri, she will make sure you are comfortable here.”

A young woman approaches them, her hair braided in a way unfamiliar to Astrophel, but flattering nonetheless. Where there may have been tears or places where her clothing has worn thin, it has been patched with embroidery, depicting birds and fish. Curious, Astrophel finds himself meeting her gaze: hazel eyes with an inner ring of gold staring back at him. She smiles, “Welcome travelers.”

Dionne offers a hand, which the young woman stares at before reaching to take. Dionne gently guides her hand higher, to clasp forearms. “Thank you for taking us in, Seri.”

Seri blushes, her smile full of life, “I am happy to aid in Sarenet’s plans.”

“Sarenet?” Astrophel echoes.

“Our Goddess of travel, navigation, and the sky.” Seri’s eyes are soft, almost reminiscent. “Your Goddess must be good friends with her. They have similar realms to oversee.”

“So it would seem.” Astrophel nods, gesturing for his group to follow as he and Dionne fall in with Seri, exiting back through the grand archway. “Are you particularly close with your Goddess?”

“We have four,” Seri smiles, “But I do consider Sarenet to be the one I most closely follow.”

“Four Goddesses?” Dionne sounds impressed.

“Mhmm, and three Gods.”

“How do you keep them all straight?” Dionne shakes her head, “Our three are suited to our needs.”

“Different ways of life, Dio,” Astrophel says gently. To Seri, he asks, “What are their names?”

“The Goddesses are Sarenet, who I told you about; Kadaeva, who rules over strategy and magic; Pheren, Goddess of life, nature, and protection; and Fellabris, our Goddess of death, fate, and prophecy.” Seri gestures for them to continue around the corner, heading toward a quieter place in the city. “The Gods are Irumun, of the hearth and our inclination towards hospitality; Eirz, for creative pursuits - our craftsmen - and medicine; and there’s Khedius,” Seri glances over her shoulder, “I guess he sort of overlaps with your Goddess too. For us, he rules over the weather - particularly storms, the water, and war.”

Not to be out done, Dionne says, “Our Gods are as such. There is Thaesis, who conforms neither to the masculine nor the feminine, and encourages our building, ship-craft, and the stability of our homes. Eulla, our Goddess of the sea, travel, and navigation; and Phyrlin, our God of blood bonds, oaths, and honor.”

Seri offers Dionne a bright smile, “Sounds like our people value similar things. This will benefit us in the long run.”

Dionne considers the other woman, “How so?”

Seri takes her hand, “Friendships flourish best upon a shared foundation.” Astrophel can tell Dionne is startled by the casual touch from this stranger, but she doesn’t pull away from it. Seri spares her the confusion, dropping her hand in the next moment. “Here we are. A home away from home, if you please.” In front of them is a multi-storied building of an imposing stone nature. Plants are growing up one side, but the building is well-maintained for all intents and purposes.

Dionne stops short, staring up at it. Astrophel whistles softly under his breath. “This is a spare house?”

“We have lots to choose from. Kildangan loves supporting its guests.” Seri moves toward the door and Khalil steps closely after her, poking his head inside and then disappearing into the depths of the house, checking it out. A few others in their party follow suit, their steps slow with uncertainty when faced with such an unfamiliar set up.

Astrophel says, “You’ll have to excuse our caution. We aren’t used to… this.”

Seri nods, her eyes full of understanding, “It is no insult; the sea has shaped you how it sees fit. Our land-based living must be strange in comparison.”

Astrophel just nods, not wanting to get into the hows and whys of their trip just yet. “We may stay by our ships…”

Vance butts in, “Don’t spit in the face of their hospitality.”

“Vance, our people will be more comfortable slowly settling in.”

“Oh please, what could be more comfortable than living in a fully furnished house?” 

“Please,” Seri steps in, “I mean no offense. Of course you are welcome to stay wherever you wish. If some of you would like to stay here, it would honor us, but there is no obligation for all of you to.” She gives Astrophel a quizzical look, “How many of you are there?”

“Three forty-oar ships.”

Seri’s eyes widen, “Oh, that is a fair amount.”

Dionne laughs, “Those were just the first to volunteer.”

“The first?” Seri blinks rapidly, “You truly have a whole other life that we know nothing of.”

“Nothing might be an overstatement,” Vance retorts. Khalil emerges from the house, shooting Vance a dirty look, having heard him hint at the journal.

Khalil turns to Astrophel, “It’s clear. Well furnished, if odd.” Khalil winces, noting Seri standing with them still, “No offense, of course.”

“None taken. It must be very strange. I’m sure many of our people would feel at odds with your way of living as well.”

“Not all?” Astrophel asks.

“No,” Seri glances back in the direction of the sea, “Some of us have a little more of Sarenet in us than others. We yearn for new experiences.”

Dionne’s eyebrows raise, but she doesn’t comment.

“Sounds like we have a great deal to learn from one another,” Astrophel says, offering Seri a smile. To those at his back, he tips his head in the direction of the harbor, “Let’s regroup.”