Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  Aeden contemplated his words for a moment. There was truth to them and they cut through his mind like a hot knife. He looked about for a distraction. He found it tucked into a corner by the captain’s simple bed. It was a book with a single word plated in golden flowing script upon its cover.

  “What are you reading?” Aeden asked pointing to the book.

  The captain’s gaze traveled to the corner and a mask of displeasure passed across his features. He quickly covered the book with a simple cloth.

  “The eyes of the unordained shouldn’t look upon the Bocian.” He berated.

  Aeden ignored his tone as his curiosity was peaked.

  “Bocian?”

  “It’s the holy book of the prophet Sha’a, from our sacred home of Q’bala.”

  “So that’s where you’re all from,” Aeden stated as if it had been a question praying on his mind for some time.

  “No, most are from there, but not all of us. You have met one from the deep deserts of A’sh. In fact, it is your performance from earlier that has begged this meeting.”

  Aeden’s face flushed momentarily in shame. He had almost killed Hamal in their most recent contest before the eyes of the crew and before his fellow brother monks.

  “You have some skill,” the dark man continued as he gestured to the lower galley. “Perhaps you could teach some of those skills to my crew, for these aren’t the safest waters,” he continued pressing on through the silence. “Of course you’d be repaid for your efforts.”

  Aeden looked about for a moment unsure of how to respond. He looked about for the crew. Was this a trick? He saw a few had fallen asleep in the limited shade under the forecastle. Others sat below the poop deck practicing knots, drinking watery wine, their voices carried faintly through the wooden deck. And as always, there were lookouts on the masthead and bow. The masthead rested high above the waterline, just above the main skysail, affording a wide view of the waters about them.

  “In exchange for better treatment of my fellow brothers, greater food rations, and…” Aeden paused looking about.

  He caught sight of the great chart spread across the drawing board within the captain’s quarters. There were markings upon it, a ledger next to it, and fascinating tools that stood oddly upon a shelf. Curiosity plucked at him as it often did.

  “And I want to learn how to navigate the ship.”

  The captain glanced back to the chart, then to Aeden.

  “You’ve a keen eye young warrior monk, but know navigation is a long and difficult study. Most do not comprehend such things. Perhaps learning to tie knots would be a better place to begin.”

  “If I learn to tie your knots will you teach me navigation?” He asked.

  “You learn the knots and teach my crew how you fight and I’ll teach you navigation,” the captain said extending his hand.

  Aeden reached forward and shook his hand. The captain retracted his hand shaking his head.

  “No, that’s of the north. We shake hands like this,” he grasped Aeden’s forearm and indicated for him to do the same. “Good, now go. My second master will coordinate training with you.”

  True to the captain’s word the second master sought out Aeden. Over the course of the next few days Aeden spent his time training members of the crew. He ran them through various forms. Most had a decent foundation to work with, likely a result of having been at sea for so many years. The rocking motion of the ship taught them to carry their weight low.

  Just as their lessons slowly progressed, his lessons in knot tying progressed. They were puzzles for his fresh young mind. The first few he learned were incredibly easy. The later knots were given to him already tied. He would spend a minute or so examining the knot, then he’d untie it, only to retie the knot. This earned him startled expressions and rowdy praise.

  As a child he had learned a few knots back in S’Vothe. His father had been adamant that he have a basic understanding of every aspect of village life. He had learned to milk the goats; sheer the sheep, felt wool, weave clothing, straighten a sword, mend armor, repair a wall, and tie simple knots. He didn’t let the crew know, however, for he rather enjoyed the praise.

  It was therefore, on the third day when the winds finally resumed, that Aeden was once again invited to the sterncastle.

  “Suya qan cetmek, blood cannot be made into rain, but you have proved me wrong. I had given you my word under the eyes of the ever watchful Ghut, and will now fulfill my obligation.”

  Captain Nawfel Murad Q’Bala led Aeden into his quarters upon the sterncastle. Resting before him was a chart carefully painted upon the finest vellum Aeden had ever seen. All of Verold was expertly depicted, with consideration for outlying islands, and excessive detail was heaped upon the coasts, bays, and inlets of the continents.

  “This is the most precious item aboard this ship, don’t let any other captain tell you otherwise,” Nawfel said, his dark eyes drinking in the features of the map. “It’s both a tool for navigation and a thing of beauty. Use it incorrectly and you will be hopelessly lost. Use it correctly and you will always sail true.”

  Aeden nodded his head as if he already understood the intricate inner workings of navigation at sea. The captain smiled. His missing teeth were ever more evident in close proximity.

  “The chart is useless without understanding the basics of terrain recognition when near a coast and angles for when out to sea.”

  Aeden looked to the captain, “angles?”

  “The math of triangles. Understanding the mystery of the triangle allows one to plot a point on the map,” the captain replied and placed a firm finger upon the map as if for emphasis.

  Aeden looked carefully at the map then at the instruments on a nearby shelf.

  “Is that what this one’s for?” He asked pointing to a long staff with three perpendicular cross sections.

  “You’ve an astute eye. Yes, without the cross-staff a captain cannot determine the proper angles. You want to try?” He said pulling the cross-staff off the shelf.

  Aeden nodded his head as he peered at the device.

  “Come we must do this outside,” Nawfel said.

  Aeden stepped outside to the quarterdeck. He looked up at the blue sky, using his hand to shield his eyes from the intensity of the sun. The day was already warm and humid. His skin was sensitive to the sun from his bouts under its intense gaze.

  “The key to using the cross-staff is positioning. You must place it correctly on your cheek in the exact same spot each time, and you must stand on the same spot of the ship facing two different directions, otherwise your angles will be inaccurate.

  “Watch me first,” Nawfel said as he held the device up to his cheek.

  The length of it was approximately as long as his arm. The three transoms were able to slide up and down the length of the staff. Lines were carved up the length in regular intervals and filled with black ink. At the end of the center transom were two holes. One was filled with a bit of smoked glass held in a metal ring.

  “You must brace yourself with the movement of the ship and line up the device with the sun and the horizon, sliding the appropriate transom based on the time of day to get your angle.”

  The captain held the cross-staff firmly to his cheek with the transepts forming a vertical cross in respect to the horizon. He lined up the center transept so as to catch the light of the sun through the smoked glass, and so that the bottom circle lined up with where the water met the sky in the distant horizon.

  “You see,” the captain said, “Now I slide the transept so that both the sun and horizon are within these circles.”

  He pointed with his other hand at the metal rings on either end of the perpendicular transept.

  “Art and science is what this is, bleeding the truth from Ghut’s masterful creation.”

  Aeden stood watching in fascination. The ideas of triangles, congruencies, angles, and distances slowly revealed themselves to his ever curious mind.

  Chapter 50

&
nbsp; “Nature’s fury can only be imitated by the greatest of the arkein.” Lost Scroll of the Scapan

  The winds finally picked up. They swept across the sea with angry purpose. They moved as though they were making up for the stillness of the days prior. Lightning tore across the darkening sky in flashes of powerful brilliance. The once emerald waters turned dark as undulating waves crashed upon the bow of the Seventh Sage.

  “Reef the mainsails, gallants, and topsail!” the Captain screamed above the brewing storm. “Loose the storm sails, man the bilges, secure the deck.”

  Men scrambled to their duties. Sails were furled slowly as men struggled against the winds. The approaching storm had come with such speed that normal preparations were only now underway. The second master was shouting orders and helping tie down everything top deck. The boatswain, Hamal, was in the hold double checking the barrels, sacks, and trade goods. If they shifted during the storm items could be damaged or worse yet the boat could capsize.

  “Soon there will be more water than can be pumped, Ghut will seed the oceans with his tears, as Marduk battles from below,” Hamal said as he looked over the monks with a wild gleam in his eye.

  Adel’s face blanched. Odilo looked to Neri then Aeden, before watching Hamal climb back to the galley.

  “Marduk?” Adel breathed.

  “The god of the sea and master of the winds,” Aeden replied.

  Adel and Odilo both looked at him quizzically as the ship rocked underfoot.

  “What? I ask questions,” he said.

  The ship suddenly lurched and the monks were suspended in the air for a moment before it came crashing down. Water splashed about the forecastle and washed down the galley, pouring into the hold.

  “Time to begin our duty,” Odilo said as he moved toward one of the bilge pumps.

  “We’ll work in pairs,” Aeden said moving toward the other pump at the stern of the ship.

  Adel glanced up as the midship hatch was closed. The hold fell into darkness. The smell of bilge water hung thickly in the air. It burned their noses and stung at their eyes.

  “I guess we’ll work in darkness,” Aden said, feeling his way toward the pump under steerage.

  “If Salvare swallows this ship, its crew, and foul stench, I’d pay my weight in dinars,” Neri uttered feeling his way toward Odilo.

  Aeden’s eyes adjusted to the faint light spilling in through the steerage hatch. Water drained in through the opening in smattering showers as the ship was rocked by the sea.

  “The darkness shall be the end of us,” Adel whispered.

  Aeden stumbled as the ship moved, before finding purchase and positioning himself next to Adel. If he was going to die he wanted to die next to a friend.

  “It’s not the darkness that’ll take us, but the unrelenting sea,” Aeden replied.

  “Thanks, I feel better,” Adel said.

  Aeden couldn’t help but laugh. The sound of creaking wood struggling against nature’s fury was momentarily drowned out by his delirious amusement.

  “What’s so funny? Death?” Adel asked his voice slightly higher of pitch than normal.

  “My father used to tell me that ‘Cowards die a thousand small deaths every day. It’s the brave who only have to face it but once.’ And only now do I finally understand what he meant.”

  The sounds of the storm enveloped them in a symphony of violence. Heavy rains fell from the firmament as if unleashed by heavenly hands. Lightning allowed for brief flashes of light as thunder rumbled deep within the belly of the Seventh Sage.

  “Lord of light and life,

  Deliver us from the jaws of death,

  And bring us the peace of understanding…”

  Aeden listened to Adel’s prayer as he glimpsed his still form in the dark hues of shadow. Stillness had claimed him and stolen his attention. The ship lurched awkwardly and Aeden slipped to the side, grasping hold of the bilge pump. He continued to listen to the prayer as he positioned himself to work the pump for all he was worth.

  The hours droned on and Aeden’s arms grew leaden with exhaustion. They worked in complete darkness as the steerage hatch had long since been closed. Only the sounds of the waves slapping the bow of the carrack and the rumblings of thunder could be heard.

  Adel had fallen silent.

  “You think we’ll make it,” Adel said at last.

  Aeden was startled out of his thoughts. He stopped his work at the pump, his arms tingling from fatigue.

  “Of course we’ll make it. We have the Book of Divinus aboard. Salvare wouldn’t allow such a precious item to be lost at sea,” Aeden said with strength in his voice, despite his own fears playing desperately in the back of his mind.

  “It’s your strength in trying times,” Adel said, “that’s why you were chosen.”

  Aeden remained silent. He wasn’t sure if Adel was talking just to hear himself speak.

  “That’s why you were voted in as abbot in Nailsea,” he continued. “I wish I had your faith.”

  Aeden didn’t reply at first. Adel’s words were the heartfelt honesty of one waiting for the arms of death. Such honesty often made Aeden feel uncomfortable and at a loss for words.

  “Faith is the mask one wears when the unknown beckons,” Aeden said after a moment.

  “But I know what comes,” Adel responded, “a watery grave and Salvare’s loving embrace.”

  “Knowledge is but one half of your religion, faith is the other,” Aeden replied.

  Adel became quiet. Aeden resumed working the bilge pump. The storm continued to rage.

  “Why did you say ‘your’ religion,” Adel suddenly asked as if a realization dawned on him.

  Aeden was at a loss for words. Back in S’Vothe he was renowned for talking even when he shouldn’t. In the Bodig Monastery there were times he was chastised for commenting when silence was demanded. Now he had nothing to say. No words. No thoughts. Yet he felt the need to justify himself.

  Just as he was about to speak a loud crack fractured the droning storm. It was different than the roaring rumble of thunder. It was sharper, angrier. A moment later wood splintered apart and the howl of wind tore into the hold.

  Chapter 51

  “Death comes for us all.” Proverb of the Thane Sagan

  “What was that?” Adel asked in shock.

  Aeden’s ears were ringing. He looked about for Adel. He saw him huddled by sacks of grain. He then thought of the others.

  “Odilo, Neri, are you okay?” Aeden shouted.

  There was a short pause before Odilo shouted back.

  “We’re okay, you?”

  “Adel and I are fine. What happened?” Aeden asked.

  “No idea,” Odilo responded.

  The steerage hatch swept open and one of the crewmen shouted through the opening.

  “Pirates!”

  Aeden didn’t hesitate as he scrambled for his hidden sword. He had sandwiched it between a couple of barrels hoping to keep it both hidden and reasonably dry. Once in hand the grip felt cool and comforting. He slipped as he ran to the wooden ladder leading out of the hold.

  Aeden climbed to steerage finding himself just below the sterncastle. He stumbled as the ship lurched underfoot. The wind howled as it whipped through the vessel. Men screamed orders. Faint battle cries fought against the torrent to be heard.

  Once his footing was moderately secure he swept past the tiller, then past the table and bench and onto the galley deck. It was slick with rain and seawater. Gusts of wind hurled across its surface threatening to sweep everything off the deck.

  Sheets of water fell from the blackened heavens. Lightning struck a moment later. Its fiery light cast everything in shades of silvery white before slipping back to darkness. In that moment a desperate scene was burned into his eyes.

  Grappling hooks had bitten into the wood of the Seventh Sage. Two caravels flanked the ship as men were attempting to board. Hamal led a small group cutting the ropes on the port side. The second master led another group
starboard. The captain struggled with steering, attempting to battle a course into the waves to avoid being capsized.

  “Birakmak!” the men from the flanking ships shouted. Their voices were carried and thrown about by the winds.

  Two men had climbed aboard and were making their way toward Captain Nawfel. Aeden moved as quickly as he could on the slick decks. He bounded up the stairs and drew his sword.

  “Stop!” Aeden screamed as he approached warily.

  The captain’s first mate had already engaged a pirate with a long dagger in hand. Lightning flashed again. In an instant a dark skinned man rushed Aeden. Strangely Aeden felt unafraid. He remarked upon the man’s bare feet and black stained teeth. It was an odd sensation. His training took over as if it were a second skin.

  He recoiled and brought up his sword. The clang of steel was lost to the weather. The shorter man cursed in a foreign tongue and parried. It all seemed to happen too slowly. Aeden watched as his attacker lunged forward. He remarked upon the strangely curved blade. He saw his own blade counter as he stepped to the side. It wasn’t much of a fight. His opponent was passionate, quick, and intent. Yet he lacked finesse. He lacked the competence of the Thane.

  Aeden whipped forward and sliced into the meat of his attacker’s arm. The man howled in pain and dropped his sword. It clattered to the deck and was quickly swept to sea as the carrack was pounded by a rogue wave.

  Fighting stopped for a moment as men slipped to the port side. Curses clung to the air like a tenacious mist. Fingers scrambled desperately for purchase. A few men tumbled over the railing and were lost to the dark waters. Sacrifices demanded by Marduk.

  Aeden only barely caught hold of the railing. The wind was knocked from his lungs. He nearly lost his grip on his sword. His scabbard, however, wasn’t so fortunate and slid across the poop deck down to the galley.

  The Seventh Sage creaked and moaned as if she were mortally wounded. Another loud explosion echoed across the expanse between one of the caravels and the carrack. Aeden caught sight of a brief flash of light followed by the sound of wood exploding in a shower of splinters. What sort of magic was this?