Moving Onward

Svend, Leif, and Dortas stared at him horrified. They had noticed he always sat further from the fire than everyone else, and finally understood why.

“Wilkes, we… we didn’t know.” Leif spoke quietly, they had read Thomas’s name in the records before. They had noticed Wilkes refusing to go towards that shelf at all. The lads Sat huddled around him still, Wilkes took a deep breath and continued the story.

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The Dinghy rocked unevenly on the waves. The stars shone overhead, and Wilkes’s mind was in a haze. He sat huddled on the floor of the tiny boat, hugging his knees as he bobbed aimlessly. No matter which way he looked, there was just more water. Water so dark he couldn’t see into it. He stayed like that for a while, helplessly on the waves. Finally he steeled himself enough to peer out into the abyss. Not a scrap of land could be found. Occasionally something would bump against the boat and the poor boy would nearly jump out of his skin. The loneliness of it was what was really getting to him.

He missed his mother. He longed for Rangpar to tell him a story on such a gloomy night. For Barry to smoke his pipe and say something crude. Or Erik to have some insightful thing to bring up while trouble closed in. All he had was himself. That would have to be enough. He sifted through the scattered supplies in the dinghy. Emergency rations he had been told to pack in case of an accident. It had been years since a pirate sighting, and just his luck he’d be caught up in the mess of one. He cursed the open sea, and the waves simply continued to rock him.

Without a proper course set the boat was adrift for a full night. Come morning there was a miniscule island in the distance. No smoke rose from it. No ships skirted near it. Uninhabited entirely. He munched idly on some hardtack he had soaked in water. It was still hard in the center but soggy around the outside, meaning it was unpleasant all the way through. He paddled by hand, swapping which side of the dinghy he was leaning over to keep a straight course in the damnable waves. He was tossed about by some larger waves, but stubbornly forced himself forward. Slowly but surely the island grew larger and larger. The sparse trees on the island weren’t promising but would serve him far better than being at the mercy of the waves. Part of him thought about instead trying to sail back to thellin. With luck, paddling by hand he’d be home on the moon’s end. About 28 nights too long for his food supplies. No chance of survival there.

When the water became shallow enough that he could stand, he stepped off the dinghy and dragged it onto the rocky beach that greeted him. He walked further inland until the small woodland was all he could see. Bird song carried through it. That was a good sign, birds meant at least some kind of partially edible vegetation, or at least something small and meaty to eat. The downside was, Wilkes had no clue how to hunt birds. His specialty was things in the water, not the sky. Of course he could think of birds as sky fish, but being ridiculous would not feed his belly. His sandals were going to be a problem, flopping around as they were. There was no time to be reckless. He left the woodland. On the outskirts of it his ship sat beached on the rocks. He pulled the supplies out of the boat and stacked them neatly on the shore. Enough food for six meals if he wanted a full belly, eight if he could deal with some hunger.

His next major step was spindling together a lean to shelter of any sort. The Dinghy had no sail to make any sort of covering that’d keep rain from getting to him by and large. Though the sky was without clouds, there was no guarantee he could count on that remaining so. He lacked any sort of sharp tools, all he had was his own ability to break branches off of the few trees. The difficulty there was the majority of branches were either thicker than his arm or too high to reach without risking a climb. If he fell here and anything broke, death would be a swift inevitability.

Despair began to creep in on the edges of his mind. He shook his head, trying to rattle it away. Yet it lingered, circling him like buzzards over wounded prey. A quick thumping of his chest with his fist rattled his whole body back into motion. Standing on that rocky shore, he decided to survive. The rations would hold him over but not save him. Shelter would. A signal of some kind would save him. He would save himself.

He scouted more of the woodlands, snapping the weakened or small branches he could find. The pile he started on those rocks grew after every venture out and back. His sandals wore against his feet, blisters slowly forming. Ignoring the pain he pressed on, there could be rest when there was shelter. The sun continued to shine on, as his only companion in this endeavor. When he had enough to assemble a crude floor he looked for thicker sticks, likely the trunks of not quite mature trees would help best. At the time he had nothing to break them down with, but he had an idea. He marked them each, scraping into their bark using a small stone he found on the beach.

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Wilkes found himself tired of repeating this story. It was one he could tell at any time to the barge lads. It was him procrastinating what he really needed to. The lads stared up at him. He raised a hand to his cheek and scratched for a moment before sighing.

“Actually lads, I need to be going. Ye caught me sneaking out to deeper waters fer a bigger fish. Sorry I spooked ye and yelled til I was red in the face. Been workin on the ole temper.” He shrugged as he stood and began to waltz off. Before he did he turned back for a moment. “Just uh… don’t go picking fights with pirates. Yer gonna have yer time to fight big and bad things. Right now ye sort the fish and tie the knots, understood?”

The lads snapped off salutes and walked back down the dock within. Their shoulders were straighter than before, though Wilkes wasn't sure if that was from understanding or simply trying to look older. He watched them walk for a moment longer than he meant to before simply stopping to join them in full for the walk.

He took the time to joke with them, and when the end of the dock came he had a decision. He could walk the boys home, or he could return to his own shack. He chose the former. The twins lived on the west side of the plaza, near the inn and tavern. Dortas lived with his parents in the south east near where the archive was. The walk back was mostly Wilkes quizzing them on details about the fish they catch or the crates they sort. The fact the lads had never tried to look inside the crates miffed him slightly.

“Ye really never get curious? Well I’ll tell ye yer usually off loading wine, cloth, and metals that the captain gets shipped in for the other trade folk. They pay us nicely for that. What we’re loading on is the stuff that’s made here and can’t be made on the other islands. Like Beatrice’s boar pelts, or any of the theoretical papers written in the archive. The latter is a bigger deal usually, means an archivist had a break through on something.” Wilkes explained matter of factly

“Why do we have to deliver that stuff though? Can’t they learn to sail to and send apprentices out for it?” Svend asked and Wilkes smacked him upside the head.

“What, ye wanna learn two trades for the wages of one?” Wilkes ruffled the half elf’s hair. He looked down at the barge lad and had a small realization. Svend and Leif were both 15. Dortas was 14 but only for another moon. These lads are the same age he was when he got shipwrecked. He is the same age Thomas was when he died. That tugged at his heart strings for a bit, and he decided where his next stop was after dropping the boys off.

The twin’s home came into view. A simple home on the edge of the plaza, it held two families. His apprentices lived in the upper level so he waved them off at the bottom of the stairs. The pair raced up the stairs and squabbled about who got to enter the door first. Ultimately they were dragged in by an exasperated elven man, the inn keeper. Wilkes did his best to keep from laughing, he understood now why the captain had argued with him all those months ago. The inn keeper had three children, and two of them were running off to the sea. The other was still nursing. After letting his humor settle he glanced down to the last apprentice with him.

Alone with Dortas now he cocked his head to the side to tell him to get a move on. The gnome lad nodded in return. With a slower gait so that the poor lad wouldn’t be jogging to keep up, Wilkes strolled through the night with Dortas.

“Would you mind me asking you a few things Wilkes?” Dortas broke the brief silence by asking to question, Wilkes bit his cheek to avoid fussing at him for beginning a series of questions with a question. He nodded instead, leaving the floor to him.

“The twins came from a family that owns the local inn. My family is arborists and carpenters. What did your mother do?” The question hung for a second, Wilkes tripped slightly over one of the cobblestones. He paused mentally.

“My mom was part of the elders committee. Not from age but by volunteering, she had me pretty young. She was 19 or 20 when she had, she fled from her old trade shortly after to be a festival and event elder here. She loved the kitchen aspect to it, I think she would’ve had a restaurant if we lived on a bigger island. Why do you ask?” Wilkes spoke with a fondness he usually only showed we speaking about sailing or fishing.

“I never got to meet her. I saw her at your ceremony, she cheered really loud and I swear she kissed Barry.” Dortas said with a smile

“In his dreams.” Wilkes joked with the gnome, giving him a playful shove.

“I guess my next question is, do you know who your dad is?” Dortas was really honing in on this whole family thing.

“Nope.” Wilkes said as casually as refusing another ale at the tavern. He had his theories, he had ideas, but none of the gods he knew about made any sense to be his dad. They wouldn’t explain his magic, unless it was the actual god of magic but he doubted that being would settle down enough to be worshipped outside of a library. Much less have coitus with a young lass who had recently completed her apprenticeship. Wilkes would find it hard to look eye to eye with whomever his divine parent was.

“Hmm, well did either the captain or Barry ever try to be your dad? Yer mom was single for a long time right?” Dortas launched another question his way.

“She was a widow, one of three on this island, I think... There’s still three if ye think about it. Hannah and Alice the bakers’ mother. Then the seamstress Annalise, poor gal. and, uh, my mom’s dead so she doesn’t count anymore. Oh right, the blacksmith! I feel bad fer never askin her her name, but I hate to say it not sure she has one.” Wilkes spoke thoughtfully “Barry wanted to, but was too scared of mom. Captain Tellish already had Rangpar and Beatrice to look after. He only taught me not to get myself killed.”

“How could a person not have a name?” His apprentice continued to question everything under the stars

“She bought herself out of slavery, from what I’ve heard. She used to work the iron mines in the lands beyond the sea. Can’t remember which continent it was on, ye can probably find it in the archives.” Wilkes spoke what he half remembered as simply as he could. The whole truth was beyond him, but likely in the archives with the census data. The gnome hummed loudly and paused for a second. Wilkes stopped alongside him as they stood at the midpoint of their walk. He could tell the lad was grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, that curious glint already forming another question. If he were another two feet taller he’d be a doppelganger for Erik.

“... What’s a continent?”

“It’s like an island, but a hell of a lot bigger.” The gnome nodded at that answer, something plinking away in the notes section of the lad’s mind. An inquisitive and inventive type, exactly the kind of mind that made sailing a real adventure.

“So kiddo, ye wanna leave me room to ask a question or will ye hog the floor?” Wilkes teased his apprentice and they shared a laugh.

“Ask away Wilkes.” The lad looked up at him with a starry gaze and wide grin.

“If yer whole family is arborists and carpenters, what the hell drove you to the sea? Why not be a shipwright instead of a sailor?”

“...” The gnomish lad was uncharacteristically quiet. He stared at a pebble he kicked along the path for a while without answering. A nerve had definitely been struck.

“When I was little… well littler, I always read stories in the archives. About the freedom and joy found at sea. How people that set out could prove themselves in ways islanders never really could. That no matter who you were on land, you could become someone else out there. I’ve always belonged to my family. We’re the premier carpenters on the island, my family still ships most of our produced furniture on the caravan that visits twice a moon. More than any other thing on the island. I don’t want to be a merchant though. And I don’t want to live a life full of wood shavings and trusty tools. And I want the wind in my hair, or the sun on my face. A-and most importantly I want to be Dortas before I’m just another Truebranch.” The little lad had a heart like a lion after all. Wilkes had seen it before, but having the self awareness to put that kind of idea to words… It was truly splendid. Wilkes couldn’t help himself, he pulled Dortas into a hug.

“That’s more or less the same sentiment that drove me to the sea as well. Tell ye what, if I ever get my own ship yer gonna be my first mate. My right hand.” Wilkes promised the lad. He did tense after ending the hug though. A chill running along his spine. They were being watched, here in the center of town. Someone lingered roughly ten paces behind. The grid-like layout of the town kept him from telling which alley they occupied, but it also narrowed the routes they could take. Sadly that also applied for himself and his apprentice. He pushed gently on Dortas’s back to get them moving again. His arm stayed protectively between the stalker and Dortas’s back. Hurried steps got him to his home in near silence, a few jokes and unimportant questions followed.

The Truebranch Manor was one of the few homes that stood entirely by itself while also being multiple stories. Two stories, with ten bedrooms, eight entertaining rooms, a central foyer, and a bunch of other fancy shit for snobs. Something called a parlor or whatever. The doors at the front of the manor were the most ornate wood works on the island. Depicting Elias Truebranch and the other island founders first settling down. He smiled with a branch in one hand and a saw in the other. Wilkes always found it tacky, but he could acknowledge the skill that went into it. Steel knockers echoed in the quiet night. A shuffling of soft footsteps and the butler appeared at the door. He was exactly as Wilkes imagined butlers in the tales and myths he read. Old, half wrinkled, bald at the top of his head with a wreath of white around the rest. He arched an eyebrow at the intrusion from the local bastard, but softened when the Youngmaster made himself known.

“Ah, Master Dortas, welcome home. Will your guest be joining us or on his merry way?” The butler spoke with a somewhat regal indifference. Wilkes decidedly did not like it. Bristling visibly against high society, Dortas spoke before he could.

“No, Wilkes was just escorting me home after a late night’s work. I’m off to bed post haste. Do honor our agreement and leave my father unenlightened, please?" Dortas spoke far more eloquently here than he ever did on the ship. He was one of the closest things to nobility on the island after all, at least in the public eye. How Wilkes kept rubbing elbows with so called polite society was beyond his own understanding.

“Very well, off you are then.” The butler spoke. After Dortas disappeared behind the door, it remained ajar for a moment as the butler continued to stare at Wilkes.

“Can I help you?” The sailor asked gruffly, his mismatched amount of sleeves folding over his chest.

“You bandaged my niece’s hand at her apprenticeship. I owe you a thanks. You returned the youngmaster safe and sound under starlight. Twice as many thanks. You are a good man, Wilkes of Thellin.” The butler spoke kindly, the sort of grandfatherly presence he’d always wondered about having radiated the exact familial warmth he was missing by the hour. Wilkes gave him an honest smile and a thumbs up.

“Thellin takes care of its own. Do tell your niece to be more careful about broken glass though.” Wilkes replied with all the warmth in his heart. After those words he bid the man goodnight and walked back across the cobbles. The different depths of shadow cast by buildings and clouds left him half squinting during his walk. The unmistakable feeling of being watched did not relent. It could have just been paranoia, but after it started in the forest and trudging all through the town he undoubtedly knew who it was.

“You’ve been following me for a while now Beatrice, come out and speak with me.” He glared at a shadow too long to be cast by the alley it came from alone. A figure darted out into the street, blade glinting in the star light exposed from a heavy black cloak. A lunging stab aimed for his stomach. He reacted as quick as he could. Stepping to the exterior of the attack and firmly gripping the wrist. With a fluid motion he wrenched the wrist forcing the blade to fall, then pinned the limb in an armbar against the attackers back. The skin wasn’t green. It was a dusty brown color. Whoever this was, wasn’t local. Someone was invading Thellin.

The attacker's head cocked back quickly, slamming into Wilkes’s nose and causing him to stumble. Blood ran down his face as his fists rose to defend himself. He didn’t know if they carried another blade or had any other tricks under that billowing cloth.

“Who the hell are you?”

“A fated one.” the voice was strange, and left a faint ringing in his ears.

Great. Vagueness and noncompliance. The stilted speech vaguely reminded him of the oracle. He didn’t have time to ask more questions as a barrage of punches came his way. He blocked and dodged where he could. The blows came fast, and landed fairly heavily against his guard. Wilkes was no slouch at fisticuffs however, he saw a gap where his attacker over extended on a punch. He was in no mood for games, a quick blow to the elbow shattered the joint with a sickening crack. The fated one snarled from beneath its hood. He grabbed the wounded limb as a retreat attempt was made, wrenching it hard to send further pain through the would be assassin’s body.

“Why have you been following me? What the hell is this fated nonsense?”

“You are obscured. The grand scheme could be undone if you are to be left unchecked. Speak no further with the oracle and go on unassailed. Woo her, and your tomb will open its maw.” the voice was layered as if the speaker and its echo vocalized as one.

Wilkes then headbutted the speaker. He yanked and pulled at the cloak to see the face of his attacker but it seemed to be stitched directly to their skin. Frustrated beyond comparison he finally flung the hood back. Where a face should have been there was only a smooth plane of skin. Wilkes lost his grip on the attacker as realization sunk its teeth into him. The dream he had had of Meryl rushed back into his mind. A faceless thing just like this. Then his stomach turned. In his moment of confusion the figure managed to wriggle free, running into the same alley it had appeared from. He chased after it, but to no avail. As soon as its body was covered by a majority of shadow, it sank into the ground as if it were the open sea.

“What the fuck?” Wilkes asked the empty night