Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK I - Chapter 63

The ocean waters were calm, but the mood was heavy. Having sailed a few more days along the desert edge things had only deteriorated further. The second crew member who had taken ill had now also perished, and to add further woe another had taken to their bunk. Strangely, Essen, though exhausted with grief, still felt relatively strong. As he stood at the helm of the ship his thoughts lay empty. He was now simply travelling onward for the sake of travelling. Knowing not what else to do. With the feeling that he was sailing beyond the edge of the world, almost into the realm of the dead.

The young boy, likewise still robust, sat with his legs hanging over the side of the ship. His hair fluttering in the warm intermittent breezes. Hoping to catch a fish, he'd cast a line into the water. With so few men left on board, the remaining supplies were ample, but somewhat rotten and unappealing. Making the thought of fresh food a bright allure. Every time the young boy got up to carry out his ship's chores he immediately raced back to check the line when he'd finished, hoping for some luck. As Essen watched this little routine, uplifted by the wishful zeal, it gently woke him from his slumber. Bringing him back into the world of the living.

The Arbowlan soared along like this for much of the day; the stillness of the ocean, and the flatness of the blue sky making it difficult to measure the passing of time. Finally, after hours of plain sailing - and eager waiting - there was a hook on the line. The young boy, noticing the twitch, gleefully began with haste to pull in the catch. The sunlight glistened on the water as the fish struggled on the yarn. Watching the young boy battle, Essen headed down to help out, but as he did so he noticed something else. Land. Jutting out from the uninterrupted coast. As he took a closer look he could see the grey-yellow of desert fade into a greying-green, as the land cut out into the sea. The boy, blissfully unaware of this distraction, continued his fight, eventually reeling the fish, with a splash, up onto the deck. He looked down with joy. The fish was a strange silvery colour. The sun's rays reflecting off its scaly skin like wet moonlight. Neither the boy, nor Essen, had seen such a fish before. As it struggled on the deck Essen patted the young victor on the back. "We're approaching land," he noted, "..lush, green land by the looks of it, ..with lots of vegetation". The boy looked out to where Essen was pointing. Then, taking pity on the strange fish, he picked it up and threw it back to the ocean.

Not too long later they were beaching their ship upon the soft sands. The first port of call was to bury their dead shipmates. Heading to the grassy interior of the cove, they dug two graves and lowered the two in. Their unpreserved, but heavy bodies wrapped haphazardly in old linen sails. As Essen and his fellow crewmen toiled with this task the sweat dripped from their foreheads, and their clothes became soaked in the heat. Even the ship's pilot endeavoured with dignity, doing his part to give the two men the most fitting burial possible. As Acalee's body lay there, solemnly in the grave, Essen went and retrieved the final sea chart he'd been working on when he'd collapsed. The mapped out contours of the land they'd sailed still besmeared with the blood from his fatal battle wound. He placed it by his side before they started covering the bodies with the loose soil.

Having completed this sombre work they then rested on the cool grass, shaded beneath the tall leafy palms. For the moment peaceful in the novel paradise they'd found. Once their energy was recouped they then skulked out nature for victuals, with a degree of fortune. The bounteous land they'd fallen upon seemingly rich in all things good. Suitably impressed, they contemplated staying indefinitely. However, the appealing prospect was quickly snatched. From the sandy beach they spotted two large vessels far out on the ocean, heading back in the direction that they themselves had arrived from. Luckily, the Arbowlan lay half-concealed in the niche of the cove; and went unseen by the Tunidan watch-ships. Still, the danger was present. As they looked out over the white sandy shoals, bridging up beneath the sweet clear waters, they lamented having to leave, but refreshed from their brief vacation, they began loading the ship in preparation.

After waiting for the enemy vessels to pass safely from view, they then sailed the Arbowlan out of the bay and ever onward into the unknown. Rounding the horn of the green wedge of paradise they'd landed upon. As they passed this marker point there was a brief, sullen lull in mood, and the weather quickly changed. The once calm and endless sea giving way to misanthropic storms. The open waters, once shielded by the outcrop, now threatening to hurl the foreign Brynnyfirdians from its kingdom. The small band struggling to manage the plucky vessel through the treacherous stretch. With providence they pressed on through though. Finally catching the wind in their sails, as the sea became more lenient. The rich vegetation at their rear, in time, once again being replaced by the familiar sight of impenetrable, golden desert. This repeating pattern feeling strangely reassuring as they headed, gypsy-like, deeper into obscurity. Lost strangers on the waves.