Setting sail 21- Man of the House

Wilkes woke in his bed alone. Having replaced the slats the night before. He was off work today, and had nothing to do with himself. He had already restocked Daisy’s foods with months worth of dried meat. She also had a few boar feet and ears as treats to keep her jaw strength up and teeth sharp. Erik was likely rutting Amy until neither of them could think straight. The apprentices were all spending time with their family before sailing off. Barry was gone to collect a crew from the next three islands over. He would be back two days after their departure. Rising from his bed slowly he drifted through his home a bit. With time running short he dared to do something he hadn’t in years. He pushed open his mother’s door. The air was thick and musty, having not gotten any proper circulation in months. A thin film of dust had settled over everything. He moved to let life reclaim what death had stagnated.

The sheets were pulled off and set aside to be washed. He began to go through her clothing, preserving only her second favorite dress as a keepsake. She had little in the way of jewelry. A simple chain necklace had a charm resembling a cloud. Carefully, he clasped it around his own neck. The weight was foreign, but for the first time in so long he felt her presence with him. Her bedframe wasn’t as nice as the one he had purchased for himself, but it was still nice enough. Tears suddenly blocked his vision. As ready as he was to leave, to move on, he was still saying goodbye to his mother. He wiped his own tears and focused on the work to be done. He sorted her things into two piles. Keep, and give away. He would only keep the one dress of hers that was slightly off white. He’d have it turned into a shirt that he could wear beneath his wedding tunic. That was what he would do for her. She had only four dresses, and three slips. Moths had apparently nested here, as one of the slips was completely ruined. Balled fists slowly loosened as he took deep breaths. Killing something for its nature was wrong. Even if that nature had taken away something he could remember a loved one by. He now had a scrap pile. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t call his mother’s things trash. With all the fabrics sorted out he went down to the tailor’s.

The redbeards greeted him in their own version of warmth. He informed them about his intention. Dondrid wiped tears and Gondrid turned away. Apparently it was the more dwarven response to hide your tears.

“We’ll handle it lad. That’s prolly the sweetest thing anyone’s asked of us.” Dondrid spoke, Wilkes simply nodded and dropped all of the clothing on the counter. A look of confusion was cast his way.

“I don’t have any use for women’s dresses. A shirt made out of her second favorite is fine enough. I’m glad she could be buried in her favorite one.” Wilkes said with a forced smile. Inside it felt like he was pulling every stitch he had sewn on his heart. All the same, he waved them goodbye and wandered on. They would finish the shirt in time for him to return from Osan. That was what mattered. He had a plan now. Make the voyage, return here to Thellin and be part of Erik’s wedding. After that he would marry Beatrice, and once all the affairs were settled he would join the navy. Everything was going to be a whirlwind, but a survivable one. His feet carried him across town now. Seemingly doing a victory lap of his home before the long journey.

Having purely nothing left to do, he found himself at the archives. The stone walls of the exterior were admittedly more foreboding than usual. All the same he entered all the same. He had yet to return the manuals for Orcish and Human fighting styles, but Amy would likely collect them after they left. That or charge him a late fee when he returns. Considering the windfall the voyage was going to bring him he could eat the high cost. Wealth and Knowledge were power and equal measure. He meandered between old tomes and wooden shelves. He had no clue what to read. Erik however, was nose deep in another book on magical theory. Particularly one he seemed to be copying into a fresher book.

“Isn’t that usually Amy’s job?” Wilkes asked, leaning over Erik’s shoulder to read the words he was writing. Erik’s penmanship was remarkable. As practiced and refined as when he cast a net. Perhaps Erik would have been better off studying to be the new archivist, but Amy had been the only apprentice needed.

“Usually yes, but I’m copying a book I managed to borrow from that redhead with the navy. The one I know you snuck into the inn last night during the rain with.” Erik said drily. His hand continued to scribble the details down, but Wilkes found a cold sweat gathering.

“That wasn’t what it looked like.” Wilkes started, Erik glanced over his shoulder. The tiredness in his eyes was worse than usual, deep dark circles under his eyes belied a lack of sleep. “I was getting a magical aptitude test, and then left. I never laid a finger on her.”

“Well, I know you aren’t lying. That’s a relief. Not sure I could win in a fight with you now that you have magic.” Erik’s tone was incredibly glum. Perhaps the dwindling hours between life with Amy and life at sea were getting to him.

“I’d deserve a thrashing, and would honor the principle of it. Y’know that.” Wilkes said. He pulled a chair from another table and sat beside Erik. Reading the book on magical theory as it was being copied. It was a lot of stuff about understanding the inherent nature of your own magic, and which of the core five you excelled in. It was possible to improve your abilities in one you didn’t have natural aptitude for, but only by one degree. Considering he failed to produce any sort of glow for fire and earth, he may have been able to produce a dull shimmer for the basics. “Are there any other copies besides the one you’re making and the one you’re using?”

“ ‘Fraid not. Gonna have to wait for me to finish or read another magic theory book. About time you took learning it seriously.” Erik said, elbowing wilkes playfully. He still seemed dour, but getting a chance to joke had lifted his spirits a few inches. “Go ask Amy, I need to focus if I’m gonna finish copying this before I leave.”

With a path to his friend’s shoulder he rose from the table. The archives were still a bit of a maze to Wilkes. Two minutes of wandering led him to the archivists desk at the center of the building. He personally blamed the lack of any real landmarks or stars for his inability to navigate quickly. Amy was also nose deep in a book. Her eyes racing across the pages with a clear intensity. Wilkes glanced at the front cover and saw that it was another Elven smut novel. He cleared his throat to get the gnomish lady’s attention. She let out a small “eep” and snapped the book shut.

“W-wilkes, how can I help you?” Amy asked, tucking the book under the desk. The poor girl had turned bright red. Seeing as this is one woman he couldn’t tease for fun he pretended not to notice her embarrassment.

“Just some books on magical theory. I want to get acquainted with the basics.” Wilkes said. She nodded firmly then wrote down a list of names on a slip of parchment. Once it was slid across the desk to him he wandered off to the proper section. Each book was about as thick as his own head, and they were seven in number. Rather than attempt to absorb all the information at once, he picked up the one on historic mages. Borrowing the chair he had previously moved to be closer to Erik he settled at his own table. Cracking open the old tome, he prepared himself to read it cover to cover.

Many mages were named, most he had heard originally in myths from Rangpar. What stood out to him most was the calamities of each element. A mage at such a level they were capable of reshaping the understanding of the element they had specialized in. Relamon the calamity of fire, Saraphina the calamity of water, Zephyr the calamity of wind, Testeron the calamity of Earth, and Sprig the calamity of lightning. Their deeds were as varied as they were impressive.

Relamon had apparently stolen the radiance of the sun using his magic to ignite the first torch. He did so by studying it daily, and finding a beauty in the warmth it projected. He envisioned the beauty of it every hour he lived, and ultimately spoke its radiance into a dry brush. When it burst into flames, he took a thicker branch and carried the flame with him to the people he dwelled among. From that day, mortals have been able to banish cold and darkness. However, since the gods were no longer the sole source of such abilities, he miraculously combusted upon teaching another to create fire through magic.

Saraphina had seen the dryness of the world and begun to weep. The gods only provided water enough to sustain mortals in the day to day life. As she wept slowly it began to pool around her. No matter what healers and shamans tried they could not cease the flowing from her eyes. With her conviction she brought water resplendent enough to cut through the dry and dusty world. She was drowned in her own tears and became the sea. That story struck him as particularly odd because… that sounded like Sayila.

Zephyr was the third he read through. An elven man who had simply forgotten to put his feet all the way down while walking. The wind instead carried him in all his days. When he finally died they noticed that his feet were impossibly clean. Even when dirt was thrown upon them a gust of wind would blow it all away. He had no great feat aside from this. Perhaps not all of them would be world defining people, but rather the most capable practitioners.

Testeron was acclaimed to have carved the former singular continent into the four distinct continents and island chain Wilkes knew of now. For his diligent work he had been raised into the god of strength, and challenges Testero. Wilkes raised an eyebrow at that.

The final calamity made Wilkes’s stomach churn. It was no noble deed. Sprig had been a war lord. His mastery of seemingly divine wrath led those around him to believe he was the living embodiment of damnation. He rode in a warband millions strong, charring any who stood in his wake with a lash of lightning that leapt from his hands. A lash of lightning. The oracles had looked at him and mentioned the same thing.

Dread crept into his body, inch by inch. He read the story of Sprig again and again. A bastard son. He had once been cheery and welcoming to all before his mother’s murder. The similarities were too disturbing. Wilkes put the book back on the shelf and walked directly out of the archive. He needed air. He needed to think. He needed to get out. To move. To put distance between himself and knowledge.

The idea pounded against his skull anyway. Thumping around like a boar in the woods. Crashing against the walls he was actively raising to cage it. Wilkes was not a lightning calamity. He knew that. He didn’t even know any lightning magic. He only knew wind and maybe some water. How could he end up like that if he didn’t have the same element to weaponize. He just has great potential for it. Potentially more than Sprig. Besides, the calamities must have existed before the current examinations anyways. Sprig likely had better control over lightning than he did. He could put the foolish idea to rest, caged like a wild beast. It would sit there and choke on its own ambitions. He would avoid it.

The cloudless sky held over him. The sun shone with all its warmth. Having learned of Relamon he now saw the beauty in it too. The golden hues it projected toward all life were its own kind of joy. Yet, admittedly, some part of him had always preferred an overcast day. Perhaps it was the cause of his storm magic, or caused by it. He really had no clue. Maybe he could ask Pauline, or Meryl. They both were neck deep in all of this magical nonsense. Part of him wanted to tell Beatrice about all of it, but he was getting the cold shoulder for another night. The other current worry of his love life came back with that thought. That he had tonight to be alone, enjoy the new slats he had put into his bed courtesy of the Truebranches. Part of him thought about moving all of his stuff into the now vacant room his mother had inhabited. To claim the head of household space and operate within it even for just a day. Not like Daisy was the head of the house. Nodding to himself, he set out to do just that.

Darkening his own doorstep again, Wilkes entered it with a new sense of responsibility and purpose. The den sat sprawled out in front of him, with the kitchen in the left corner behind how the door swung. The table he had lived at every day as just a boy seemed to gaze back at him as if he were a man now. He began to work then and there. Heading right into the room of his boyhood, and moving all of his belongings into the room opposite it. Bit by bit, he claimed the house as well and truly his. He moved his sheets to the stripped mattress first. Tucking them in tight until he was satisfied with how snug they were. He swung the door to his hand-me-down wardrobe. There he hung his shirts on the old hangers his mother had left. Carefully he scooped the moths and the shriveled egg sac. Tossing them out of the shack through the front door he dusted his hands after closing it once again. His eyes held on the manuals belonging to the archive that he had yet to return. Best to finish moving his stuff and then return them before they depart. Taking a needless hit to his finances was the kind of boyish mistake he couldn’t allow himself to make anymore. A small ray of sunshine from the hole in the roof reminded him of that a second time. Sighing he got to work. He needed something to cover the hole before he left, even if it was only temporary.

Heading to the palm nearest his home, he scouted the raw materials. He scaled the tree with relative ease. Carefully he pulled a few leaves from the tree as they swayed in the breeze. A few coconuts were beginning to ripen. He’d miss their season, but there’d probably be a second late bloom. With leaves in hand he climbed back down carefully. At one point his foot slipped and he subconsciously sent a gust of wind to force his body towards the trunk of the tree. He laughed at himself for that. With his feet back on the duney sand, he walked back home. Climbing onto the roof wasn’t exactly possible for ordinary people without a ladder. Thinking of the story of Zephyr, Wilkes sought to try something. He imagined a stair step made out of wind, and spoke the incantation for strong gust. When his foot pressed towards the ground, something pushed back. He repeated himself, and a second step formed. He had created a temporary foothold out of wind. It dissipated beneath him, and he fell the six inches he had bought himself.

“Huh. Maybe the calamities had the right idea.” He said to himself. Taking a running start he repeated the steps, making footholds in the air briefly enough to jump onto the lip of his room. His chest smacked against the edge, and he scrambled to mount the ledge. Once he had hoisted himself up he looked down at where he had dropped the palm leaves and sighed. Hopping down from the roof, he did a somersault to lighten the impact. Grabbing the leaves, he tossed them up onto the roof first. With another running start he attempted the Zephyr Stride again. Admittedly he had to attempt a handful of times, the exertion making it more difficult each time. After his tenth try he finally made it onto the roof without a ladder. Next time, he would just find someone with a ladder. Carefully he wove the leaves into the existing thatching made from older, dried ones. The shiny green spot he left amidst the mottled brown felt like his first real mark on the place. Aside from the height measurements scratched outside his childhood bedroom door. When he came back and settled down he’d like to scratch his own children’s height like that.

Deciding to do something mostly harmless and potentially fun, he rolled off the roof. Just before he hit the ground he cast strong gust again, letting the wind push him back up. A plume of sand rose up alongside himself. He went from almost planting face first to dropping onto his own two feet. A whistle and small applause drew his attention. Rangpar and Erik stood flanked by the apprentice trio. The small group was carrying food, drink, and the warmth of company. Perhaps he wouldn’t be sitting alone tonight after all. He did a celebratory bow for their applause. A series of heckles were thrown his way as he led them into his home.