On The Hunt 1

Wilkes sat alone in the tavern. Dusk was rolling in. The dead were buried. Prayers were said. The work was done. So, he sat. He drank. Time passed. The bar was solemn, despite the festivities the day before. No one really spoke to Wilkes. They saw the bandages, they knew about the grave, but they let him be. He hated being left be.

Staring down into his mug he hadn't noticed who sat beside him at the bar. Never really bothered looking up either. People came and went, some paid for him to have a drink, others simply pat him on the shoulder. He didn't pay it much mind. The bandages were itchy, and his wound ached. The **** numbed the pain though, quiet comfort in that. Wilkes had never been a quiet person before, but he was seeing the charm in it now.

"Are you going to mope the entire night?" Beatrice asked him, she was had been sitting in the stool next to him for... he didn't know how long. He glared at her, a look of genuine hate. That pit of fury that had only gotten deeper with time.

"The fuck did ye just say to me?" He asked drily. He'd never hit a woman, but he'd sure as shit yell at one.

"I asked if you were going to mope the entire night. From your response I take it as yes," Beatrice tried to tease him. Half a cocky smile spreading on her face. Wilkes’s gaze remained cold. "A shame since I just got back from a hunt and need someone to help me salt the carcass."

"Ask Erik." Wilkes responded. He went back to sipping his ale and staring at the wall. Mulling over how long it would take her to leave. He figured if she was half as stubborn as usual, at least another five minutes.

“Really, you’d rather sit at a bar than spend time alone with me?” She looked a mix between confused and hurt. She shifted foot to foot, Wilkes was left wondering why she was so anxious to speak to him. Or at least, why she was so intent on sticking around.

“If you’d let me finish my ale in peace I’ll think about it.” His brow furrowed as she continued to sit next to him. Staring intently with deep brown eyes. He sighed, and rapped his fingers on the pint.

“What Bea, you got some big thing to either ask of, or share with me. So what?” Wilkes’s temper finally began to boil over.

“Actually, I have something to help you, but I’m not going to share it until you stop being an ass,” Bea snarled, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as she drew breath. “What happened to us being friends?”

“What happened to stalking from the shadows huh? You were a lot more pleasant as a pair of daggers being stared into me.” The dam broke and his anger began to seep loose. The words **** a doubletake on the half-orc’s end.

“Oh so I’m better off being an indirect help at best huh?” She stood up from her stool with balled fists. She was still glaring at him, but refusing to leave.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked what happened to being a stalker.” Wilkes was being cruel. Worse than that he knew he was. The pit of anger and grief swirling in his stomach was only stoked further by the ale. A silence held for a few seconds as she just glared.

"What happened to being a sailor?" The question stung, Wilkes rose from his chair and scowled at her. The two young adults stood face to face, inches apart. Onlookers would have thought it romantic if they hadn’t heard every word. His hand almost drifted to the sword he'd claimed. Almost. She was Rangpar's cousin, some of the only family he had left. He couldn't deprive the Orc of that. Not that hesitation made up for his next choice.

"Beatrice, you're a cunt." Wilkes swore, and she slapped him across the face. The impact stung, and a red hand print made itself evident.

"Fuck you Wilkes." She swore back, stomping off and leaving something behind on the bar. Wilkes noticed all the eyes on him, he'd gone and made a scene. His face was flush, there was a drunken slur in his words. In the back of his mind he could feel his mom smacking him upside the head for being an ass.

"What?!" Wilkes yelled at the small crowd. A mix of mourners and alcoholics. Through his hazy vision he noticed what she'd brought. A letter sealed with wax. His name was written on the front, handwriting he didn't recognize. When he sat for another drink the bartender shook his head.

"Wilkes, bud, I appreciate yer business tonight. I appreciate whatcha did. But get out before I throw you out lad." The bar tender slid the mug away from him, tossing out the ale. Wilkes balled fists and started the rise. Barry's hand firmly settled on his shoulder.

"My brother's right boyo, time to go." His tone was flat. A small seething anger beneath the words. Neither man spoke after they cleared the door, Wilkes still clutched the letter in his hand. Barry had continued walking on the street without his former apprentice.

"Lad. You gotta get your head on straight." Barry said gruffly, Wilkes glared at him "Cut that shit boyo. Yer mom died, I get it. Yer not the only one who lost people, hell not even the only one who lost a parent yesterday!"

Wilkes closed the distance and punched Barry in the jaw. The older man didn't even budge. He finally returned the glare. Barry socked Wilkes in the stomach next, the younger sailor doubled over from the impact. Wind rushed out of his lungs as the ground jumped up to meet him. A kick to the back of his knee sent him toppling towards that important meeting. Barry loomed over him, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"ENOUGH! Listen to me ye thick skulled moron! What did I tell ye? Being nice sticks! Being a proper bastard, hating every soul you pass because the world is unfair, that'll stick too!" Barry began to scream in his face "You wanna be this alone for the rest of yer life?!"

Wilkes stared up at him, he saw the mix of emotions in the older sailor's eyes. Anger, sadness, recognition, and fear all balled into one. Wilkes wiped the spit from his mouth, still glaring as he slowly stood back up.

"I ain't gonna be alone forever! I got Erik and Rangpar-"

"YOU JUST CALLED HIS COUSIN A CUNT IN FRONT OF A THIRD OF THE TOWN!" Barry screamed at him again, grabbing hold of the younger sailor’s shoulders and shaking him as he did. "Kid, you're gonna ruin the good things you got if you obsess only over what ye lose!"

A few moments passed, Barry held Wilkes by his collar staring at him as he saw the gears turning. Finally, he moved. He took his hands off the collar and wrapped his arms around Wilkes. A tight hug, the first Wilkes had received since his mother passed. The pit of fury in his stomach was doused for now. Something inside him, the thing that had been keeping him up, finally gave. Wilkes crumbled into the embrace. Clinging to Barry like a mast in a storm.

"Kid... it'll get better. But you gotta get better first. Go apologize to Beatrice, and read that letter." Barry said as he pulled away from the hug. Wilkes wasn’t in tears, not yet anyway. Barry was saving him face from crying in a street while drunk and having almost started a bar fight. Another pat on the shoulder, one of dozens in the day. Wilkes did neither first. Instead he started to walk. On his lonesome he walked to his shack, and opened the door. No candles were lit inside, so that was his first priority.

Daisy lifted her head from her napping spot, some of the fur around her muzzle had a dent from the edge of her bed. Next he noticed her food bowl was empty, and her bladder full. Wilkes smacked himself for forgetting about her. He scratched behind her ears and she lapped at his face. He chuckled softly before letting her out to pee. He stood quietly as she went. She wandered the sands and the gap where sand and grass met each other. When she came back he diced up her usual serving of food. He noticed the stock was running low.

“Hey ma-!” Wilkes stopped mid sentence. He stared blankly at the door that she used to sleep behind. Daisy whined and pawed at him. He set the food bowl down, and patted the dog’s flank. She ate as the only sound in the silence. Wilkes rested his back against the closed door, then slowly slid to the floor. The floorboards creaked as he settled there, then nothing. Silence filled the shack as Daisy trot back to her bed and curled up. He pulled the letter from his pocket, breaking the wax seal. He read it to himself.

Wilkes,

By the time you’re reading this you’ve either left the island for good, or I’m dead. Hopefully the former before the latter. So I’m writing this to give you a final goodbye, to spur you forward when I know you’ll want to let the world and life pass you by. You were always a sensitive boy, empathetic to poor Erik, and any other kid too small to defend themselves. It’s morbid to have written you a letter like this I know, but love can be a little morbid sometimes. I ought to tell you the truth about your birth, if I haven’t in person by the time you’re reading this it might already be too late.

But first I want to jog your memory about your childhood. The good times and odd times of it all. Do you ever remember getting sick for more than a day? Ever recall kicking a ball clear to the other side of the island, but finding a different ball nearby so no one else noticed? Most importantly, I’m sure you remember that just this morning you woke to a singed pillow and soaked cot. All of those by themselves are odd, together they’re damning.

You’re a rare class of person, son. A demigod if I were to hazard writing down my guess. Your father wasn’t mortal looking back at it all now, but I very much am. There was a chance though that you could’ve been just like me. It’s why I raised you by myself, a hope you could truly be normal. It was the chance that you weren’t that made me flee my old life.

I was one of his many high priestesses, but when I got pregnant I had to choose between the clergy and you. They wanted to rear you up in his image. As his weapon. At first it was something I had accepted. That I was chosen, and you were to be a wonderful good to the world. That you would be no more mine than anyone could claim a weapon.

I lost my resolve when I held you for the first time. I had been so focused on the choice of the world or you I never even considered what those moments would be like. Then I chose you. I don’t have to tell you I continued to choose you every day until you’re reading this. I love you son, with everything I have.

Love,

Mama

He read the letter. Then read it again. Then rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing things right. Reading it a fourth, fifth, sixth time did not clear the insanity from the contents. The dream made more sense now. Whatever divinity had been reaching out probably had an easier time to do so with something like itself.

“So which one of you is it?” Wilkes asked the empty air. He racked his mind for every god he could think of. The list wasn’t imposingly long, but it was still a list for both hands. He sorted them in categories in his own head.

Likely: Tel, god of shipwrights. Dellin, god of trickery. Ax, the god of tools.

Unlikely: Rael the god of the sun, Elnu god of the hunt, Mulun the god of boredom

How?: Mortu the god of ****, Beer the god of ****, Apotho god of snakes

To Wilkes’s knowledge the first three had a handful of demigods on record, not counting any that never awoke any real abilities. The unlikely group were either entirely too busy or didn’t have the want in his mind. The last handful would have just been confusing to wrap his mind around having children. As the silence hung in the air longer and no divine light split the heavens so his father could reveal himself, Wilkes simply got up off the floor and grabbed Daisy’s leash.

“C’mon girl, we got somewhere to visit.” Wilkes spoke softly, the mutt rose and shook herself briefly. She stretched out her legs and began to trot alongside the young sailor over the sands and onto the packed dirt path. She stopped to sniff points of interest but mostly lazily walked alongside him. He walked her through town, heading towards the bakery. Night had begun to settle, the door’s sign had been flipped to closed. No candle light burned. Wilkes contemplated just tying Daisy up and leaving a letter. That’d be too cruel to his companion and friend though.

“Well baby girl, guess we’re waking up poor Hannah.” Wilkes began to pound on the door until he heard muttering and the door creaked open. Hannah looked miserable. Her hair was messy from tossing and turning, her eyes were puffy and red. She stood in nothing but her under dress. Before he knew what he was doing, Wilkes pulled her into a hug. The young woman let out a small gasp at the embrace. She trembled in his arms, and slowly clung back to him. Her finger nails dug into his back slightly during the embrace. The two stood together, sniffling softly while holding onto a rare island in the sea of grief.

“I’ll make some tea, come in… please.” Hannah spoke softly. Wilkes followed her in. Her home was cozy, and larger than his own. A den that doubled as a kitchen immediately beyond the exterior door. Three more doors led to what he assumed were her, her parent's, and her sister's bedrooms. He shifted nervously as the kettle boiled and she sat alone at the dining table. She waved him over and he silently joined her. A dull moment passed as he scratched at daisy's ears.

"So what's on your mind?" Hannah asked, breaking the silence. "You're not here for some pity pussy are you?"

"What?! No!" Wilkes sputtered for a moment after his rebuttal. Hannah just looked tired as she stared at him. The whimsy behind her usual gaze was gone.

"Good. After news spread of you calling Beatrice a cunt, I was about one bad sentence away from slamming the door in your face." Hannah spoke drily. "You better not be putting me in the middle of this. As much as I want to help you, I have my own mountain to climb."

Wilkes remained quiet for a moment, just to think. Why was he here? He should’ve been apologizing. Should’ve been getting someone to watch Daisy or saying goodbye to her. Instead he was sat in the baker’s home, getting tea with someone else who’s grieving.

“I wanted to be sure you were okay. We both lost someone, but I at least got to drive a blade through some of the people responsible,” Wilkes started tentatively “I just uh, well I was hoping you were at least working through it in your own way?”

Hannah stared blankly for a moment. She blinked a few times. Then she let out a singular dry laugh. Either at the absurdity of it, or that he was doing it in the middle of the night.

“Working through it? I’ve done nothing but work since. I organized his funeral. I made sure we got proper inheritance as a widow and two daughters, I worked the whole day at the bakery while the new hero in town got to get drunk and insult one of our mutual friends!” Hannah’s breathing became ragged for a moment as she bit back more laughter. “Then when I’m finally getting some rest, I can finally be alone with what I’m felling, you show up. You show up, I invite you in, I make tea like a housewife! Just days after you told me I’d make a good one by the way. So yes I am processing it, but I’m not going to give you whatever you stumbled in here half drunk looking for Wilkes.”

“ Honest I did just come to check on ye, I’m not tryin’ to put any kind of move on you-”

“Do you really expect me to believe that? Nine men have tried today. Nine. Offering to just check in. To let me talk it through. To be my rock. To be the big strong man who swoops in and solves my problems, but I don’t need it.” She was about to continue when the kettle began to whistle. She got up, poured the tea into a teapot, and came back over with two cups. Wilkes thanked her after she poured. He stared at her as the tea cooled. Still mentally chewing through her rant. She took a single sip of her tea, eyes never darting off him. His shoulders slumped, some held in tension cutting loose.

“I… just wanted a chunk of our old lives back I guess. To sit in chat with you like we used to at the docks when you were running bread to and from. When my biggest problem was hauling enough crates to be sure Daisy got to eat eggs and fish instead of just gnawing on bones.” He admitted. He sips the tea. Chamomile, if he remembered correctly.

“That’s… very kind of you Wilkes. But we- I can’t do that. I can’t sit and waltz down memory lane with you. I’ve got to open the bakery first thing in the morning. I’ve got to be sure mom eats and Alice gets dressed enough to keep me from getting overwhelmed by lunch.” Hannah deflates in turn. The tension had left the atmosphere but neither fully perked up.

“I know, but I thought if I gave you a chance to pat Daisy it’d cheer you up some like it does for me.” He dared a smile, and Hannah cast her gaze down to the mutt who stared up at her now. Tail thumping against the table leg, Daisy sat impatiently at the mention of being pet.

“Well... that isn't fair. How am I supposed to resist that face?” Hannah cupped her muzzle in both hands before scratching the sides of the dog’s face and working her way behind the ears. Daisy’s tail wagged faster “Who’sa good girl? Daisy is! Daisy is!”

The two spoke some more, but after the tea cooled and the conversation died there was little more to do. Wilkes hugged her one last time, what would ultimately be the last time whether he knew it or not. Daisy followed him out the door which shut softly. The moon shone brightly in the night sky, and Wilkes was alone with Daisy and his thoughts again.