The Erinelle Ocean was calm tonight. The beautiful light of the moon illuminated the Prince Caster Clovis ship. It was a Phoenix Class ship that had been given to Caster by the Emperor. And with it, he was travelling to Negrichor.
The mood on the ship was good. Caster and Cara left their cabin and were listening to tales, songs and poems from a bard. "Let me tell you the tale of the Great Blessing." It was a common tale, but the way bards told it put more flavour in it.
"Alabath, the sire of creation, resided in his heavenly abode. From there, he watched over the earth which he had created." "We want something less known," a man in the crowd shouted. "But...." the Bard said as he looked at Caster. "Do as you please," the High-Prince said.
"Let me tell you the story of Ozemius and Stella." "No," Caster interjected. "I pay you good money to entertain my men and me. Tell me something worth listening to or I'll throw you off my ship," Caster said dryly. "Teryn, no." Cara gave him a disapproving look. "Transferring your frustration would not make our journey one second faster, Casteryn," she said, calling his full name this time.
"Don't call me that," the High-Prince said. "Only the Clovis take shame in bearing the names that show them as royalty." She sighed. "I've always preferred Teryn Clovis over Caster. Please, my love, do not let your bad mood spread among your men," she pleaded.
"Bard, tell us something we haven't heard. Something that would liven the mood. I for one need new tales to tell my sister." Cara was always so thoughtful of everyone, something Caster liked about her. It was a direct opposite to his self-centeredness. She completed him. "Yes, My Lady. Perhaps a song to liven the mood first."
The bard, dressed in a green and red shirt with blue trousers, had a long beard down his cheeks that almost stretched to his chest. His hair was black on his head but the beard was brown. A truly unique fitting as expected from a bard.
The tall lean man stood and grabbed his lute. The sound of his lute danced to the wind. And soon, most people on the deck drew closer to hear. The tune was for the song "Oh Courageous Man." As soon as the interlude finished everyone joined in on the song.
The tall lean man stood and grabbed his lute. The sound of his lute danced to the wind. And soon, most people on the deck drew closer to hear. The tune was for the song "Oh Courageous Man." As soon as the interlude finished everyone joined in on the song.
"Whether it be a farmer
Whether it be a Knight
There's plenty courage
A man can find at heart.
In times of winter
A farmer sows his seed
Never knowing whether
He'll reap bountiful crops
In times of war
A soldier swims in blood
Never knowing whether
He'll die drop by drop
In a stormy sea
A sailor fights the wave
Never knowing whether
He'll fall off from the top.
Oh my brother, live your life
Oh my soldier, fight with every drop
Oh my sailor, there's always land
Oh my farmer....winter always ends"
They all sang melodiously as one—and when the song ended, the ship erupted in a happy cheer. Even Teryn, as Cara liked to call him—showed a happy smile. "Now for the tale," the Bard said, eerily.
"Long long time ago. An ancient people lived just across the shore from Vestelle. It is said that they built their houses on the cloud—the spillage from their drinks and water became the rain. They were powerful, said to be scions of Alabath himself." The Bard looked to observe the reactions to his tale. He had drawn a large crowd of listening ears—Caster included.
The pitch of the Bard's voice was one of mystery, and his eyes shone like the moon. "Alabath's children?" A middle-aged soldier laughed. "Truth be told, we know nothing of Alabath. But such a story is preposterous as it is." Caster gave them warning glances and allowed the Bard to continue.
The Bard shook his head in appreciation to Caster and then continued with his tale. "As children born from Alabath's own blood, they were powerful—far stronger than the strongest blessed man with the strongest imbued tool. Alabath loved them, at first. Alabath created the world as we know it, and we humans were created to satisfy his curiosity and boredom. But powerful as they were, the children of Alabath were jealous of humans." A small part of the crowd laughed. "Why would people more powerful than the Emperor be jealous of humans?" The Bard smirked. "They were of Alabath's blood, and through his blood, they were granted immortality. Humans as we well know, can die. The children of Alabath were ageless. And for the sake of revenge, they descended from their homes in the clouds and killed humans."
The Bard coughed to clear his throat. "Alabath, just and merciful as he was, forgave his children. He took away their homes from the sky and placed them on the soil. Many turned away their anger from the humans and built relationships with the humans."
A coin dropped from a serving girl's hand—interrupting the tale. But the Bard continued. "The children of Alabath begot children with the people of Vestelle—passing on to them their fine features. Eyes as green and pretty as emerald gemstones, height taller than every man in the world. They also passed on their powerful lifeforce—lifeforce with the essence of Alabath himself."
Rain began to drizzle. "They saw that their scions were beautiful and tried to spread their image to more lands. But Alabath would not have it so. Alabath took away their country and placed them in another world, not here or there. But before they were sent away, they created a massive wall of fog. It is said that the fog surrounds Vestelle and no man can use his divine trait there. Some say they live in the fog. To protect the other humans from the creatures his children bore—Alabath shared parts of his traits to the humans living in Vermachor."
The Bard finished his tale with a flourish and the ship erupted in a loud, long round of applause. Ale spilled away from cups but Caster didn't seem to mind. "Where did you hear this tale?" Caster asked curiously. "I have walked the lands, High-Prince. This is not my first voyage this far out of the Erinelle. A man, or perhaps half-man, told me in my dream." Caster chuckled.
"Someone in your dream, and this far out. You compose well, Bard. You might have calmed the storm in me tonight." Caster stretched out his hand for a handshake. "What is your name, Bard?" Caster asked dryly. "You have no need for my name, High-Prince. And I thank you for your most honourable commendation."
The Bard shook Caster's hand and he began to vanish from his toes upwards. "I am certain I will tell a tale of you, High-Prince Casteryn Brenal Clovis. If you survive this coming wind, that is." The Bard disappeared, leaving Caster's hand hanging in the air.
Am I drunk or something? Caster emptied looked at his cup with dismay. Caster moved to pour the contents of his cup into the Erinelle. Suddenly, Caster caught sight of a bird. A dove, one of the doves that had been sent out to find land. "Captain. Captain," Caster called out to the Captain of the ship.
The dove landed softly on Caster's shoulder. He carefully inspected the metal sand collector that was installed under the leg of the dove. The sand collector was a metal tool that attracts sand and like magnet to iron, the sand doesn't wash away even if the entire Erinelle was poured on it.
The Captain, a man not more than forty, joined Caster at a run. "High-Prince!" He snatched the bird out of Caster's arm without ceremony. "Sand, High-Prince. We will soon be upon land. After how many.... one hundred and twenty-two days."
Caster seemed to have forgiven him for snatching the dove from his hands. "The bird came from the west, Captain." Caster shouted out. "Land. Finally," someone on the deck shouted. "This is no time for celebration yet. Helmsman," the Captain called out.
"Aye, Captain," a slightly plump dark-brown haired man answered. "Bring her two points to port. Keep the wind on our starboard quarter."
The helmsman gripped the great wooden helm and turned it. The Phoenix-Class ship, Wavekiller, as named by Caster—answered with a groan as her bow eased towards the new heading.
"Boatswain." The Captain called. "Aye." "Trim the mainsail! Ease the fore sheets. I want every stitch of canvas drawing." The Boatswain wasted no time.
"Hands on the lines," the Captain roared. Sailors hurried across the deck. Thick ropes strained through rough hands as the great white sails shifted. The canvas snapped loudly before filling with the evening wind. The ship leaned slightly to port and gathered speed, cutting through the Erinelle with renewed purpose.
The Captain shaded his eyes and looked towards the horizon. "Lookouts! Keep your eyes to the west!" "Aye, Captain!" Two men climbed the rigging with practised ease until they disappeared into the crow's nests atop the foremast and mainmast.
The crew had become restless. Dice games were abandoned. Empty cups rolled across the deck as sailors crowded the rails, each hoping to be the first to glimpse land after one hundred and twenty-two days at sea. Caster rested both hands upon the rail. His gaze lingered on the endless waters stretching before them.
One hundred and twenty-two days.
The Erinelle had become all they knew. Endless waves by day, endless stars by night. Even the smell of timber, tar and salt had become more familiar than fresh earth.
Then—"Land!" The cry rang from the mast. "Land to starboard bow!" Every head turned. Far upon the horizon, where the sea kissed the sky, a dark line rose from the waters. The Captain allowed himself a rare smile. "Very well," he ordered calmly. "Maintain course." The crew erupted into cheers.
"Sound the depth!" A sailor hurried to the ship's side, lowering a weighted sounding line into the sea. "Thirty fathoms!" he shouted after a moment. The Captain nodded. "Still deep water. Hold her steady."
Caster watched the distant coastline in silence. After four months upon the Erinelle Ocean, Negrichor had finally revealed itself. Yet for reasons he could not explain, the words of the mysterious bard returned to him. If you survive this coming wind, that is.
A cold breeze swept across the deck.
Caster looked toward the darkening clouds gathering beyond the western horizon.
His smile slowly disappeared.
"We've made it, my love." Cara shouted. Caster's demeanour changed slightly—but ultimately, he returned to a curious smile. "With you at my side, I'm certain we will have success in Negrichor," Caster said before embracing her in a hug.
"What has happened?" An effeminate teenager, not more than Caster, asked. "We're headed towards Negrichor, dork," Caster said, bluntly.
Caster finally released Cara from his approach and walked towards the boy. "Missing Emon, are you? It was the Emperor who sent you with me." "Of course I am. But I will serve the Emperor however I must," the teenager answered boldly.
Caster had gotten close enough to him, their heads almost touching. "A man warned me. For what it's worth, I believe him. Should we encounter any unexpected event that could put my life in danger. I want you to forget me. Send Cara back home, to Damattis. Please." Caster pleaded with him in a whisper.
The effeminate boy squinted his eyes. "And by doing so, I would have breathed my last. You want me to forsake my duty for your love. I understand High-Prince. I understand."
Caster wore a look of gratitude. "Thank you, Derek."