Rising tide 2

Wilkes woke before dawn the next morning, and shuffled through the motions of getting dressed. His cot was still ruined, his pillow still scorched. He hadn’t thought of replacing them yet. He rolled off and up, pulling his pants to his waist in a fluid motion. Pulling his shirt down was the more difficult of the two, the stitches on his arm tugged on the sleeves of the fabric. He grumbled and hissed when pain sung in response.

Shaking his head he trudged out the door. The scattering of fading stars overhead was his only companion. He noticed constellations often named for legends of old, but couldn’t remember what they were properly called. That was more Erik’s strong suite. He figured Barry would be in for the mid day to evening half of teaching the youngin’s.

The docks had settled back into their familiar rhythm. Gulls argued overhead while ropes creaked against damp pilings. Nets hung drying from every spare beam, smelling of salt and fish oil. Wilkes found something comforting in it all. Crashing waves provided that same old soothing symphony while it slowly worked against the state of the ship. The sea never stopped demanding work, even after tragedy. A cruel but fair mistress.

Barry was already perched on an overturned barrel, pipe clenched between his teeth. Smoke drifted lazily toward the morning sky while he watched the new barge lads wrestle a crate twice their combined weight. He cast a glance to Wilkes before focusing on the new lads again.

"They're just like Erik and I were huh?" Wilkes muttered.

Barry snorted.

"Nah."

The crate slipped. Three boys yelped at once. They each scrambled to be the first to avoid blame while heaving it back up.

"...Actually, aye. They're the next coming of ye two."

Wilkes laughed. Not the strained sort he'd forced these past few days. Nor a cover up for a nervous wreck nearly happening. It was a genuine laugh. The kind that wrinkled his nose and made his shoulders shake. Barry's puffing clouds paused for a moment.

"There ye are lad."

Wilkes looked over.

"Huh? Of course I’m here."

"No lad, the knucklehead I trained is back. Not the somber drunkard."

"I wasn’t that bad about it."

"Ye were picking a fight with every third person on the island boyo." Barry jabbed the pipe stem toward him. "Been walkin' around like you had a problem wit the whole wide world."

"Been working on that. I ain’t special just cause I’m hurt yea?"

"I know ye have been. Point is..." Barry leaned back against the piling. "...it's good hearin' ye laugh again."

Wilkes rubbed the back of his neck. In earnest it was having genuine company that had aided him. Barry of course had every clue that Rangpar and Erik had his back. The three were thick as thieves. He couldn’t count out the aid of having Beatrice as a new pillar to lean on.

"I s'pose so. You old codger. " Wilkes teased his mentor. The two laughed a bit. Another cloud of smoke puffing up out of the pipe. Barry studied him for another moment.

"Captain's daughter treating you right Willy?"

Wilkes's ears immediately reddened.

"Shut yer mouth."

Barry barked a laugh loud enough to startle the gulls.

"I didn't even say nothin'!"

Wilkes walked past him as quick as he could manage. Being back on the deck of the ship just felt right. Sure it was a half rotten tub, with the woodrot holding more planks to each other than breaking them apart. Yet it was a second home to him. Far less quiet than the one he slept in anyways. He pulled two armfuls of coiled rope. If the lads were gonna learn to tie knots it’d be better to do it with excess.

They finally set the crate down in the sorting area for fish. The three of them were breathing a little heavy and smiling at one another. It seemed that was the quickest they’d done it from their small celebration. A smirk on Wilkes’s face, he strolled up and sat in the chair Barry always had. He took a rope coil and whistled to grab their attention.

“Right lads, c’mere. Ain’t got all day to celebrate, ye got all day to figger out how to not get your fingers cinched off.” Wilkes spoke quickly, uncoiling the first rope. It was roughly twenty feet of the stuff, he twirled one end idly. They scooted in closely and watched him work.

“This here is a bowline. Yer gonna need to learn it first. Make a small loop in the standing part of the rope, leaving your working end free.” He pulled them around to match the words he was saying, making sure the three of them copied his movements exactly with their own coils. The gnomish boy grabbed both butts of the rope. “No Dortas, one end only, not both lad.”

Once Dortas corrected himself Wilkes checked that they could each follow a singular instruction properly. Turns out they could. He nodded and continued on. Explaining it to them step by step. Occasionally he would completely undo the current iteration of the knot they were doing.

Leif glared up at him, seeing the knot he’d just spent ten minutes tying an unspooled mess on the ground. Grumbling, the boy began over on the knot. Stopping to help his brother where he could. Dortas was still a bit quicker than them, but all in all they were slow knot tyers on their first day. As expected.

For three hours Wilkes had them practice a single knot. Untying it with ease each time they believed themselves finished. Their loops were too big often enough. Or they didn’t secure the butts properly after. Worst of all was when Svend made an unintentional knot within his knot and couldn’t finish it. Instead of cutting it with his knife he dug his fingers in and promptly got stuck. Shaking his head, Wilkes untangled his apprentice.

“I owe Barry a drink,” he murmured. Finally after the lads huddled for a moment together they tried something different. They began the knots in unison, and watched each other’s movements. Making corrections to one another as they went. Dortas finished first, grinning. Leif frowned at his loop before correcting it himself. Svend cinched the standing end tight. Wilkes tugged each bowline once. None slipped.

"There," he nodded. "Now you've earned lunch."

The lads rushed out back into the sunlight, away from the gloomy deck below. Wilkes whistled as he walked, the same tune Rangpar always sang. The stairs creaked beneath him and the vibrant sky came back into view. Partially cloudy, birds dancing on winds, and the sun shining brightly. A deep breath of salty sea air. Wilkes enjoyed this return to form.

Across the deck, Erik sat cross-legged beside the mainmast. Amy had claimed the spot opposite him, several books stacked between them like a tiny fortress. She tore a piece from a loaf of bread before pointing toward an open page.

"So according to this..."

Erik swallowed his mouthful.

"...magic responds to intent."

Amy shook her head.

"No."

"Emotion?"

"No."

"Need?"

"Closer."

She tapped a paragraph.

"It says magic answers conviction and incantation."

Erik frowned.

"...What's the difference?"

Amy paused for a moment. She chose her next words carefully.

"You can need something and still believe you'll fail."

Erik looked thoughtfully toward the horizon. Watching the occasional fish surface and splash back down. "...Huh."

Wilkes waltzed up to the pair of love birds. He waved casually as he sunk to the deck crossing his legs. They waved back haphazardly. He glanced over the wide range of books around them and furrowed his brow.

“Amy, ye know Erik spent time working on magic theory rather than sleeping right? I had to all but tuck him in.” Wilkes groaned, rubbing his temples as they continued to analyze the old texts together.

“Well yes, I do know he did that. I was doing the same when you stole him away before he could help me lock up.” Amy said matter of factly. The human sailor just shrugged. Wilkes leaned back on his palms, gazing into the open sky.

He flipped between telling them about his use of magic and not. Telling Erik was one thing, telling Amy meant she’d tell Hannah and Beatrice. If those two learned something then the rumor mill would catch wind of it. He wasn’t entirely sure that was something he wanted just yet. At the same time sitting on it was driving him mad. It was then that he heard his apprentices giggling.

Nearby, Rangpar had somehow accumulated an audience. Dortas, Svend, and Leif sat on overturned buckets while the massive orc sharpened his axe. He had been recounting stories of his adventures to them it seemed. Now that they were given a moment’s rest they huddled around him with baited breath.

"Strength is not muscles. You lads know this yes?"

The boys blinked. Rangpar held up the whetstone, turning it slowly in his hands for a moment. Their eyes followed the stone intently.

"Muscles can give. Bones they break." Another scrape along the axe blade, reverently he spoke again. "Faith does not. Strength does not."

Leif frowned.

"So Testero just... makes people stronger?"

Rangpar laughed and waved his hand at him.

"No. Leif my lad, I see why you could thinkings that. Testero is not just god of strength."

Another scrape along the blade. The apex of its edge glinting in the sunlight.

"He asks if strength is who you are... or merely something you possess. He is god of challenges and strength. Of conviction to your causes. In some thinkings he is god of endurance."

The boys sat quietly.

"...How do you know?"

Rangpar smiled without looking up.

"Rangpar failed. Rangpar rose again and endured in the name of his ideals. Testero blessed Rangpar."

The lads stared at him starry eyed, noticing some of his old scars beneath his tapestry of tattoos. His muscular form carrying the signs of a life lived dangerously and bravely. The orc set down the axe and pulled out a pail of fish. He bit off the head of one and spit it overboard for the fish. He raked his fingers across it next and descaled the fish. He ate the tender meat raw then tossed the cleaned bones over the side of the ship as well. The lads were both disgusted and impressed.

At the stern, Captain Tellish rested both hands on the wheel. With Anchor down there was no need to be doing so, but it was his favorite spot to be. He looked down at the crew he had built, smiling to himself. He glanced up and out from the deck.

The sea was calm. A perfect day for sailing. He coughed. Once, then twice. A rough, wet sound buried beneath another pull from his flask. He wiped the spittle away before anyone noticed. A deep set ache in his side throbbed. He grit his teeth and ignored it.

"Wilkes, Erik, Rangpar! Get the new lads ready to earn their sea legs! We’re going out a few miles and letting them get used to rougher waves before they go fishin in two weeks ya hear?!" The captain called down from the helm. He smiled at them, the sun blocked from his eyes by the tricorn atop his head. The sailors nodded as Barry came up the stairs to him.

“Yer sure about getting them started so soon Cap’n?” Barry asked, and the captain shrugged.

“With how much that Wilkes reminds me o’ my younger self… we’ll need the lads ready to fish within the month. He’s gonna do something stupid.” He answered slowly. Nodding down at how wilkes now walked with a rigidity that wasn’t usual to the carefree lad he had half raised.

“I’m worried about him too Cap’n, but he listens when we tell him not to go gettin’ himself killed. There’s a chance we can mellow him before he chases after those reapers.” Barry urged, the captain shook his head slowly.

“Barry ye’ve been me first mate for ten years now, how many apprentices have I been wrong about?”

“None Jonah. Just hopin’ the first one I actually give a damn about doesn’t go out like a damn fool.”

The anchor was raised by Rangpar. The hefty chain pulled hand over hand slowly. The ship bobbed as the weight shifted. Erik manned the ropes and opened sails. The wind whipped them slowly but surely forward. The waves rocked their tub, as apprentices struggled to steady themselves. The sailors did their best to stifle laughs as the apprentices stumbled while walking around. The captain kept a close eye on the waters while he steered. Being sure that he kept the surf smoother rather than truly rugged. The wind was warm on his face. Things were pleasantly calm today.

Other fishing ships dotted the distance, like from other islands a bit further out. He kept a nervous eye on them. Something nagged at him. The ships were going a bit too fast to be fishing. But they weren’t built like mercantile ships, they were too large. The sidings seemed thicker than necessary.

“Barry, take the spyglass and get to the crow’s nest!” The captain called. The first mate quickly climbed the ladder up the side of the mast. He sat in the basket atop peering out into the open sea. His pipe fell from his mouth. Panic set in just briefly.

“CAPTAIN TURN THE SHIP AROUND! TURN US AROUND NOW!” He screamed with all he had, scrambling down the ladder towards the weapon’s locker. A rifle would do him well enough if need be. Barry always favored it over a pistol for these kinds of problems anyways.

Wilkes scooped the twins one under each arm as Rangpar hurriedly picked up Dortas by his yet-to-be sea legs. The sailors rushed the barge lads beneath the main deck and sat them firmly in the sorting room.

“Stay here. Don’t open the hatch. Don’t talk. Don’t even breathe too loud until one of us comes for you. It’s going to be alright but you need to stay down here.” Wilkes spoke quickly and sternly. Rangpar drew his axe as he lumbered back up the stairs. Once all three sailors had rejoined the captain on the main deck, Barry passed out pistols.

The other ship seemed to turn in the water now. Slowing down. It had been a fishing vessel after all. No reason to panic. Wilkes’s shoulders relaxed. The pistol still heavy in his hand as he and the captain shared a smile. However, something made his ears perk up.

A whistle. Not from the wind. Nor from a gull. Wilkes's head snapped toward the horizon. Something dark skimmed low over the waves. He asked a singular question

"Captain?"

Tellish turned. His smile vanished.

"DOWN!"

The bolt punched through the mainsail with a crack like thunder as it sunk into the mast. Splinters exploded in a shower. Barry tackled Erik to the ground as he noticed more shadows over the water. A second buried itself in the railing where Barry had been standing moments before. Men scattered. Someone screamed.

Wilkes hit the deck hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Out at the horizon, black sails appeared overtop the old ones. Painted across one of them was a symbol he recognized. It had been on the back of the captain’s coat. A white wave curling around a blood red scythe. Then they were gone. Silence settled over the sea. As they continued to bob in the wake.

"...They know." Captain Tellish slowly stood. His jaw tightened. Nobody asked who. Nobody needed to.