Rising Tide 1

Wilkes slowly closed Erik’s front door. The door clicked shut, and he turned away from it. He could still hear faint snoring from within the abode. His mind drifted back to Barry’s anecdote about his first marriage. A light chuckle, and he was off.

The young sailor walked aimlessly, neither going home nor headed anywhere in particular. His feet carried him to the empty part of the beach. There were some people milling about, children gathering sea shells, apprentices rushing across the sands to their new jobs. The air was hot, humid, and surprisingly stagnant. The wind blew at a lazy pace. Nostalgia settled in, remembering when he used to run up and down the dock carrying crate after crate before he was relegated to sorting the fish. What he didn’t miss was pulling all the splinters from his fingers and arms from the coarse wood of haul. The newest barge lads were doing just that, grumbling and passing a knife amongst themselves.

“Lads, you’d be better off either soaking yer hands first or putting a balm on them from the doctor in town. Your hands are too rough as is for the splinter to slide out with a knife tip.” He scolded them gently, snatching the knife from between them. “Honestly, just get some water half way to a boil and soak yer splintered digits in it.”

The three of them glared up at him through the afternoon sun, he stood nearly a foot taller than the one he figured the oldest. None of them had had their growth spurts or had their voices dropped yet. Truly lads through and through. From a glance he could tell two of the three were human, the third much more diminutive one was either a runt or a gnome.

“You’re Wilkes!” The shortest of the three spoke first, the chirpy tone to his voice clued him towards him being gnomish. It was a sort of avian quality, not quite song birdish, but distinctly not hominid. Wilkes stared at him intently. He didn’t look anything like Amy, and she had never mentioned a younger brother. Just another gnome then.

“Aye, and you three are?” He stooped down for a second, looking over their hands as they introduced himself. If he was gonna be a partial mentor to them, like Barry had for him, he ought to set a good first impression. The lads lined up in front of him on a singular side of the large crate they had been carrying as a team. It looked like a crate full of fabric, likely to be shipped off to the next island over.

“I’m Dortas, Dorts Truebranch!” The little one piped up as Wilkes found a singular splinter in his middle finger. About a hair’s width deep, but annoyingly in the second digit of the finger. The lad probably felt it every time he curled his hand.

“I’m Svend and this is my brother, Leif.” The lad was a half elf on closer inspection. Similar facial features to Erik. Thin lips and nose, almond eyes, pointed chin. Somewhere between delicate and rugged. Wilkes checked over the pair of brothers. Svend had dark brown hair, while Leif’s was more chestnut. They were near identical aside from that. Twins by Wilkes’s guess. Neither had any splinters they couldn’t dig out with their finger nails if they tried hard enough. The knife was likely to impress one another or prove how tough they are. Wilkes pushed on his knees and rose up to his full height. The lads stared up starry eyed.

“Right then lads, if the captain gives you any trouble tell I gave you a once over to be sure you were in good condition. And since it’s early afternoon he’ll be drunk enough to accept that answer if I know ‘em well ‘nuff.” Wilkes instructed them, he did his best to sound commanding and certain. Their backs straightened and they snapped off salutes to him. He held the laugh in until they scampered off carrying a singular crate between the three of them. Now that they were off on adventures of their own, he found himself facing a question.

When did he become someone worth saluting? Was the salute just because they thought that was what they were supposed to do, or was it because of his counter attack in the raid. A third option sprang into his mind, that maybe since he had the guts to insult Beatrice, and then live to tell the tale after he let her hunt him. His gaze turned out towards the sea, crashing waves of crystal blue. The enduring nature of it called to him. Absently he kicked off his shoes and tucked his socks within. Rolling up his pant legs to his knees. He crossed the hot sands, a gentle warmth turning into a slight sting as he endured.

The water lapped at his feet. The stinging faded faster than it likely should have. It was cold, but reassuring. He concentrated on how things felt during his duel in the stream. How he needed something, anything to aid him. Pushing from deep within, he tried to tug at the water with his will. To urge the surf to work for him. Nothing happened. It crashed against his toes all the same. Sinking low to it, he watched the waves roll over the soaked sand. He scooped up a handful of wet sand, letting it fall between his fingers back to the ground below. Maybe the water would only answer him when he needed it. Duress over practice would probably be according to Erik’s ramblings. He didn’t want to get the elf’s hopes up if it really was just a fluke of things. Some weird misremember of details during his total exhaustion. He did laugh at the absurdity of controlling the sea itself on this coastline.

“What was I just gonna wave and my hand and the seas split like hairs on a knife?”The notion was ridiculous. He laughed aloud. He practiced what he imagined it’d be like. Waving his hand through the air, and a massive gust kicked up. The wind came with such an intensity that the trees on the shore bent beneath the rushing force. The burst died as quick as it came. He stared at his hand flabbergasted. Waving it around again, more wind came. Furious and violent. Bending the trees without mercy, threatening to crack their trunks. He stopped waving his hand. His mind immediately went to applications for sailing.

Controlling the wind. Blasting it directly into his own sails, or blasting it against the sails of others. Not a direct path to cut down pirates en masse sure, but even just delaying them on their next raid or being a nail in the coffin during a storm. It promised one true thing, opportunity. Wilkes ran back to his shoes and fought to put them on. Sand flung up gracelessly, but his feet were covered again. His first idea was to head back to Erik immediately and tell him about his new discovery.

Cutting through the people milling about in the square, Wilkes moved with something between swaying step and learned grace. He did however, have the misfortune of colliding directly with someone as he attempted to pivot through a small gap in the crowd. Both he and his fellow unfortunate soul were sent sprawling backward. His nose throbbed, and he cursed at himself for carelessness. One day he would learn to be less reckless, but seemingly not today.

“Sorry Sir, here lemme help you up.” Wilkes rose, still clutching his nose. Blindly he outstretched a hand and hefted the other man up to standing again. He could smell alcohol on him, rye whiskey if he had to guess. Which was odd for any man besides the captain to be drunk at mid day off rye whiskey. Wilkes opened his eyes and saw the captain glaring at him.

“Well well, if it ain’t Wilkes. Heard ye called me daughter a cunt? Surprised ye got the nerve to knock me to the ground after that. Load a trouble ain’t ya?” The captain spoke drily, pulling a flask from his hip and taking a quick swig.

“No boss, it wasn’t like that. You see well, I mean it was at first, but I apologized. Then she challenged me to the Right of Testero, and hunted me from dawn to dawn. I also was in a rush and just didn’t see you.” Wilkes apologized quickly, laughing nervously when he finished speaking. Of all the rotten luck.

“Look boyo, I had meant to speak with ye regardless. Yer wounds healing right enough? The new lads are a bit much for ol barry to keep up with. Rowdy little ragamuffins.” The captain seemed to ignore everything Wilkes had just said. “I ain’t gonna make ye work hurt, but ye owe it to me and Barry for keepin’ ye outta trouble these past six years. Just show ‘em the ropes and keep ‘em from crushing their fingers. I have to re-sort one more blasted shipment… I'm half a mind to bring out the captain’s daughter.”

Wilkes shuddered at the mention of the disciplinary tool. A whip of braided leather which fish bones in the overlapping joints on the three tails of it. Quite the cruel thing to be struck with. Wilkes never had the displeasure, but had seen the results before. That was the last he’d seen of the tailor’s apprentice trying to be a sailor. The lad’s name escaped Wilkes, but it’d come running back when next they met.

“Right then cap’n, I’ll be in at dawn tomorrow. Helping how I can.” Wilkes nodded with a smile.

“Good man.” The captain said, beginning to wander off toward the dock again “Oh yeah, and if you wanna spend the night in Bea’s bed instead of your rickety cot… just be sure me wife don’t catch ye.”

Wilkes paled, and sputtered for a few seconds. His mouth flapping like a flag in the wind. Not a sound came out. Wilkes tried to convey confusion by waving his hands, which only set the older man off.

The captain laughed and kept walking on toward the doc. It was a deep, rolling laugh. The kind that shook the air as much as it carried through it. His boss stopped where he stood and kept on laughing at Wilkes’s expression. He rested a hand on his stomach and bent at the knee. The captain gasped between laughs, trying to suck in enough air to compensate for the humor. Finally he settled down, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Oh lad, ye didn’t know that’s how I met her mama did ye?” The captain wheezed, straightening himself before he walked off properly this time. The crowd still surged around Wilkes. Several passing men shooting jealous looks or knowing smirks. The women that had usually waved politely walked past him stiffly. There were still friendly faces, sure, but things had changed. A rumor had spread because Wilkes in all his genius walked into a forest as a bachelor alone with a woman, then walked out stride by stride with her a full day later.

Redoubling his courage, he strode onward. He made it about ten steps before his stomach growled like an angered mutt. The smell of baking bread wafted towards him like a cruel temptress. Promises of warm, fluffy sustenance sang to him. His feet carried him there without argument. There was a small line, but nothing he couldn’t withstand.Hannah was working up a storm, her sister Alice running the counter. Time crawled to a halt as the few people in front of him paid and walked off. An agonizing pace as the smells and the cozy atmosphere enveloped him whole.

He found himself staring at Hannah. The look of pure concentration as she alternated between kneading dough and tending the flames while loaves baked. Her blonde was tucked away under a coif. He ignored the feeling in his chest as best as he could. He had Beatrice now. Trying to dock his ship in a different port would probably get him killed. If not by her, then by the captain or Rangpar. Finally Wilkes managed to shuffle up fully to the counter.

“Ahoy Sailor!” Alice cheerily greeted him. Wilkes smiled at that, the younger girl reminded him entirely of her sister. Them having the same demeanor and hair only sold the hint of nostalgia better.

“Ahoy little lass, I’ll just take the one loaf please.” Wilkes decided to go smaller, he had some fish back at his shack he could cook up that’d just be better with bread. She nodded, calling it back to her sister. A thumbs up was the only response, as the new baker toiled away.

“So, I heard you went into the forest alone at night with Beatrice right after you visited our house. Do you only talk to girls at night?” Alice asked sweetly, Wilkes’s eyes widened as he rapidly shushed her as more people began to step into line.

“Alice you can’t just- who did you- why would you- that’s none of your business!” The sailor was exasperated. If Alice knew, that means Hannah knew. He figured she might, she’d be inseparable from both Amy and Beatrice growing up. It only made sense, but the slightly cold demeanor didn’t.

The loaf came out and was handed to him gracefully. He dropped the right amount of coin into Alice’s hand. The young girl smiled and waved goodbye to him. Hannah never looked at him directly. He nibbled idly at the loaf. The crust was still soft. The core of it or meat or whatever, he never really learned the proper word for it, was airy but still filling enough. It would’ve been perfect for butter, but was better to munch and walk. His walk home was thankfully uneventful. Daisy laid curled up in front of the shack, clearly waiting for him. He swung the door open and they pair trot inside. He set the loaf down on the kitchen counter. Starting the stove took him a second, the flint striker set aside somewhere he’d forgotten. Once the flame was going he pulled some fish from the brine barrel he kept, drying and scaling them as the cooking surface heated. He grabbed the skillet his mother often left haphazardly in the cabinets below the counter. Sighing he rifled through the clumsily put away mess.

“I swear you gotta learn to sort these better Ma! I mean honestly what would Bea think when we have her over for dinner?” He called out, no response came. He stood up and set the skillet down on the counter. The realization hit him. He’d talked to her again. Expecting a response. A laugh. A grunt. Anything, please by the gods let it be anything besides the silence. He closed the cabinet door harder than he meant to. The slam startled Daisy, she yelped and curled up on her bed. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning onto the counter fully. His body began to shake. He didn’t get why. That deep pit in his stomach opened back up. Rage bubbling like a boil he’d forgotten to burst.

Wilkes stepped outside for some fresh air, leaving the fire going for a minute. He stared out at the open sea. Hate burned in his chest. He thought back to how he had called the wind. To when the water had healed him. Hate boiled up faster, his heart raced with it. His hands curled into fists, and the wind began to howl. It hadn’t been a cloudy afternoon, but that was rapidly changing. Clouds rolled in from the distance, white and playful but still there.

He thought back to the pirate with no face. To his mother's scream. To the empty kitchen behind him. He remembered trying to make breakfast for two. His finger nails dug into his palms. The wind grew angrier with him. It tore down the shoreline hard enough to throw sand into the air. Daisy barked from inside the shack. Waves crashed harder against the beach than they had any right to. Wilkes didn't even notice. He only stared at the horizon.

"I'm gonna find you," he whispered. "Every last one of you."

Above him, clouds gathered where moments ago there had only been blue sky. The first distant roll of thunder crossed the sea. Wilkes looked up.

"...So it wasn't a fluke."

Another rumble answered. He turned back toward the shack, toward Daisy waiting inside, toward the life that still remained. Tomorrow he would teach the new lads how to tie knots. Tomorrow he would tell Erik what had happened. Tomorrow he will join Beatrice and her family for dinner. Tonight he would plan.