"Must you leave so soon, Tristan?" Anaton asks, his pale eyes bright in the morning light filtering through the large window in the room that had served as Tristan's quarters. "It seems just yesterday we decided to become brothers."
Tristan smiles, packing his few belongings into a tight ball and tying them tightly together. "I must," he admits, nodding. "I must admit before I go, though, that I seek my little sister, Reni. She has my uncle's sword with her, and she is guiding and guarding my twin brothers, Valo and Twol, to a safehouse in a faraway city. I must ascertain that they are all safe, and then I will consider returning to you, and bringing them with me. I would not tell you this earlier, for I feared you would go ransack that city in search of my uncle's sword. I pray you forgive me that grievance."
"Your secret is safe with me, but I wouldn't advise telling me the city's name, for true fear I may revert to my powerlust and your sister may be in my sights."
Tristan laughs easily and rolls a blanket and foodstuffs into a second bundle. He then wraps his sword into a third mess of fabric and ties it all together. He shakes his head slowly and sighs.
"I wish I could go with you," Anaton admits, laying his right hand - only hand - on Tristan's shoulder.
"You've a responsibility to fulfill here, Anaton. Your people look up to you, and with a firm hand as you're sure to have eventually, your land will flourish."
Anaton nods somberly and sighs, plopping down on Tristan's bed. "I talked to some of your countrymen. Most are going to stay here, but others are willing to travel with you if you want them."
"I don't know where I'll be going. You know that."
"So do they. They've lost everything by my hand, and granting each of you this chance to return home is the very least I can do."
Tristan nods. "Our city's charter decrees that if any citizen leaves the port of Weldox, he will be forbidden to return. They know that, too. I'm not going back home."
"You're going to Reni and Twol and Valo, I know. If you don't find them, then what? Do you keep searching 'til the end of your days?"
"Something else'll happen. I'm fairly certain of it. And if not, yeah, searching til death sounds pretty good." He tips Anaton a wink and shoulders his pack. "Coming to see me off?"
"Are you sure that fifteen men can man that vessel?" Anaton asks, gesturing to the large ship before the group of Weldoxians.
"You kidding?" one of the other men asks, slapping Anaton on his right shoulder. "We're Weldoxians! Of course we can sail that thing!" He grins and continues up the gang plank, whistling.
Anaton blinks and Tristan laughs. "At least they're glad to get going. I, on the other hand, am going to have a few problems once we hit calm seas."
"Oh?" Anaton pretends to look surprised.
"Don't play stupid! We've been through this! I'll be thinking of you when we hit the calm seas and the basic monotony of sailing."
"I'll miss you, too," Anaton admits. "It will be tough, living without a brother again."
Tristan bends down and kisses Anaton's forehead. "You'll find someone. Trust me." Those words said, he gives Anaton a hug and then pats him on the shoulder. "May you find peace and happiness."
"You, too, good Tristan."
Tristan, who had always hated farewells, shoulders his pack, waves to Anaton, and proceeds up the gangplank. He waves one more time and ducks below deck. The Weldoxian men, complimented here and there by other sailors who had signed on for the voyage, lower the sails and let them fill out, raise the anchor, unmoor the ship, and she drifts slowly out to sea.
Anaton stands there, on the docks, watching for a very long time as the sailors tack the sails and allow for their course to be maintained. Finally, when the ship is simply a dot on the horizon, he whispers, "Fare very well, sweet Tristan. May the Ocean Mist care for you as I myself would have, had you not been called to cross the ocean."
Four days of sailing on the Ocean Mist had brought land in sight for the crew. The seas had been calm, and no troubles had made evident cause for the distress of the sailors. The short trip back to Weldox was easy enough, but they did not set to land there. Instead, Tristan had had the navigator set a course for Nabarna, another coastal city, the one to which he had sent Reni and te twins.
Now, Tristan stands, leaning on the railing, looking out over the sea as the bow of the Ocean Mist slices through the water. He has never really enjoyed being on the water, but he and friends used to swim in the canals of Weldox, drinking up the sunlight that had reflected on those crystaline passages, illuminating the white stone that had lay beneath, but now those times are in the past. Never again can they return.
He sighs. Weldox had seemed like a pile of smoldering ruins, and he wondered how that mass of destruction could have possibly been his beautiful homeland. Tristan knows that nothing but depression can come from looking back, so he concentrates on looking forward. He will see Reni again soon, and Twol and Valo. He will see them alive and well, and then happiness will return to him. His melancholy heart will begin to beat with happiness once more.
"Sweet Tristan," one of the other Weldoxians on the ship ventures diffidently.
Tristan turns to see one of his fellows, black haired and green eyed like the rest, beside him. "Galagor," he replies quietly but amiably, "what do you need?"
"The captain says that there is a slight storm brewing up ahead. He wants to speak with you about our course."
"Naturally."
"Evidently it's not simply a 'slight' storm. If it were, I doubt he'd be so concerned."
Tristan nods. "Lead the way, Galagor."
Galagor nods in reply and leads the way into the captain's quarters.
The cabin is simple enough, bordering on spartan. Scrolls, books, charts, and maps stuff almost every crevice and shelf in the tiny room. A rope hammock swings peacefully off to one side, and a heavy desk is aparantly nailed to the floor of the room.
The captain, a small, gruff, grizzled seafarer from years gone by, sits at the desk in a similarly heavy chair. His blonde hair is short, cut in a crew-cut reminiscent of military personnel in Anaton's land, and his sharp, grey-green eyes study Tristan as he approaches him.
"I've brought Tristan as you've requested, sir," Galagor says quietly.
"Thank you, Galagor," the captain intones, his voice nasal and slightly high, not at all becoming of a ship's captain. "You're dismissed."
Galagor nods and throws a quick salute, as the captain had insisted they all do when taking upon a duty assigned by higher-ups, and leaves the room.
"We've a problem with the course we'd originally plotted, Tristan," the captain intones.
"Galagor had made me well aware of that. What seems to be the problem?"
The captain takes a deep breath. "Please, sit down." He pauses and turns a map so that it is right-side up for Tristan. "The thing of it is that our lookout, who fancies himself a clairvoyant of sorts, feels an unnatural feeling of distress from the storm on the horizon. He doesn't think it's a regular storm," the captain, one of the few who were not born of Weldox on the ship, states simply enough in his mildly annoyed, mildy annoying indifferent tones.
"What does he figure it is?" Tristan asks, sitting himself in the chair across the desk from the captain.
"Sirens."
"Sirens?"
"Deep sea sirens. The island ones can charm sailors to their dooms with their songs, but deep sea sirens can stir up the worst storms imaginable. Naturally, they try to toss ships so they capsize, hoping to obtain as many sailors as possible. We can't go through that way."
Tristan nods. "I understand. As much as I want to see Reni, Twol, and Valo again, a detour is necessary. Plot the swiftest, safest course you can, and we'll take up that course. I don't want anyone on the ship to die because of my reckless abandon, so yes, feel free to alter the course."
"That's the other problem."
"Other problem? I thought there was only one."
"Our lookout's feelings tell him that all the seas up ahead and around are brimming with sirens."
"Don't you think that's speculation bordering on paranoia? I've met the lookout, and he's not exactly the most tightly-woven basket in the world."
"True enough, but I've learned to listen to and value his insights. He says we should turn back, or at least hug the coastline a bit longer."
Tristan finds himself shaking his head. "We can't simply hug the coastline," he explains, pointing to the dot that represents where they are at the moment. "The waters are too shallow all along here," he says, tracing his finger along the coastline. "She'll will run aground before we can get anything close to hugging accomplished."
"We could cross to the other continent and stay there until the sirens have left the area," the captain offers.
"But we'll be crossing at hundreds of leagues worth of open seas. There's bound to be sirens all over that area."
"Do you have any better ideas?"
Tristan sighs and shakes his head. "I don't. However, I don't know just what is on the other continent, waiting for us. We rarely had merchants from there visit our docks. Most said the land was full of magic and cursed. I don't know what to think."
"So we're changing our course to head for the other continent. Thank you, Tristan. I'll alert our navigator. You're free to return to wherever you were."
"Thank you, sir."
"No, good Tristan. Thank you. I don't like losing men, and I'm glad you've a clear head about things such as this."
The sailors are busy fixing the sails to allow for the change of course that the navigator had made when Tristan retires to below the deck. He decides that sleep is the best answer for him, and so, he retires to his hammock. He lays there, letting the gentle sway of the seas rock him and lull him to a sleep-like trance.
Reflecting, Tristan almost wishes he were above the deck, high in the rigging, helping the other sailors, his countrymen, with the ship. However, the captain would not hear of teaching him, for he said the Godly Emperor insisted that Tristan be treated like a passenger. The other men did not seem at all ill at ease with this turn of events, and so, Tristan took to ignoring it as well.
Realizing that the sun had made him tired, he closes his eyes and drifts to a gentle, light slumber. The rocking of his hammock to the movement of the ship relaxes him immensely, and he does not hear when the rain begins to patter lightly upon the deck. Nor does he hear the light, lilting songs of maidens as they wash over the ship. He is, blissfully and totally, asleep.
"Tristan! Tristan! Wake up!" Galagor's voice calls, rocking the hammock in a jerking motion to stir Tristan from his slumber.
Tristan rolls from the hammock and lands in a heap on the floor. "How now?" he asks, blinking at Galagor's feet.
"We're under attack! The captain has ordered all men on deck, hands or no! Come!"
Tristan curses and pulls his longsword from the chest that houses his belongings. He hastilly unwraps it from its cloth binding and straps it around his waist, letting it hang, familiarly, at his right hip.
He races up the stairs to the deck with Galagor, wondering at the sudden fierce rain that beats down to meet them and the curious voices chanting above the din of the falling water. "What the blazes is going on?" Tristan wants to know.
"There's something attacking the ship! We can't tack and fight it off at the same time!" Galagor screams as he enters the rain, pointing to the something he had mentioned.
The something is a monstrous being of enormous size. It is grey-blue, possessing many eyes and tentacles, and definitely nothing that would normally be considered beautiful, even under the most bizarre circumstances.
Tristan nods, understanding why the captain had ordered him up on the deck. He assesses the beast as it tries to tip the Ocean Mist into the sea. Haunting melodies and beautiful maidens abound, and the beast seems to be moving in repsonse to their music. Tristan wets his lips, though it does nothing in the rain, and draws his sword.
Galagor blinks. "You're not going to fight it, are you?" he asks, aghast.
"I am," Tristan replies solemnly. "Just like Carter, it's he or I, and it will be on my terms." Then, slowly and deliberately, he enters the storm.
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