It's a Long Way to the Very Bottom

The days of sowing had passed; days of reaping were approaching, golden ears of grain swaying in the wind.

And I saw before my very own eyes the hallowed seat of firsts, holiest city of cities, Aur—made of bone-white marble and never-fading gold, envy of the world—total victory, almost at my feet.

Undefeated on the battlefield. Recognized by the First himself as a commander without equal, as a hero.

And I saw them both—the most beautiful woman in the world known to me, my wife; the greatest source of pride a father could have, my son; true happiness, almost in the palm of my hand.

The shadows beckoned; spiteful grimaces behind the timeless throne, scheming, reaching out their greedy fingers for everything I had, for everything I desired to have.

Sanguine petals heralded my triumph, falling down, deep—just as I, too, fell deeper and deeper into a yawning black void, into meaninglessness.

The paralyzing sensation of no longer having to breathe filled me with a primal fear—a feeling like a lifeline that pulled me back into the world of the waking.

That life was lost to me. Creaking planks and foaming waves bore witness to the truth; a run-down storage cabin my home. But at least I had this pitiful cabin all to myself—or mostly to myself. There were the rats, and an now absent companion of mine, too.

It had been almost four days since I had left the continent for the Apallian Isles and today should be the day of our arrival.

I stretched out my arms and sprawled out on the hard floor. Spending my nights wrapped in wool on wooden planks—that was no life for me.

The next night, I would sleep in a real bed. No musty, damp smell of rotting wood, no rowdy shouting from scruffy sailors, and no hard bread for a meal—no, I would live as the nobleman I used to be, at least for one day.

But my bold dreams of luxury came to an abrupt end. The door swung open with a creak, and someone stood over me with a reproachful look, clearing his throat imperiously.

“The islands are in sight. Don't you want to get out of here for a change and greet the land of your ancestors with some respect—or at least with your eyes?”

“Oh, my wonderful and caring steward, thank you so much for your thoughtful, almost motherly—no, grandmotherly—way of serving your…”

“Shut up and come up on deck,” the man grumbled back, followed by a few more curses that were no longer intelligible.

Eornost Amaraith, the last retainer of my household. The only one who had stuck with me up to that point. He was a serious man, upright, never a smile on his lips, always with his eyes on the horizon.

It was time to get up.

Most of the crew had gathered on the deck and were gawking at the surroundings.

It was still early, and the sun was still hidden below the horizon, bathing the islands around us in the soft blue of twilight.

To the east, the white cliffs of a smaller island rose up, while to the west and north we were surrounded by a much larger island. Much of the bigger body of land was still shrouded in fog, but the coastline passing closer to us appeared rather flat, marshy, and dotted with forests.

The breeze from the bay still carried a hint of winter's chill, yet its gentle breath heralded the approaching spring.

“What are the names of those islands again?”

“The smaller one is called Crunley and the larger one gives the entire march its name.”

Eorn glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge whether I had at least remembered the name of the realm we would be traveling through soon.

“Yeah, yeah, Funa, see, I remembered.”

“It wasn't me who asked.”

A deep sigh escaped my lips, as I noticed the bow-legged boatswain hobbling over to the two of us.

“Well, you lovelies, I suppose you're going to leave us, aren't you? Can't blame you—it's a really good harbor, maybe the best on the isles, even if it's sad seeing it going downhill year after year.”

“Downhill? Why?” I asked.

“Oh, you know, these days most of the trade goes through the harbors of the Seates to the north. And the Mareeve… He and the other lords aren't really doing anything to counter those thrifty traders and their monopolies. It's been that way ever since the kingdom was carved up, but you'd better not bring that up openly once you both are off the ship.”

“Only the young master will leave the ship at Strandburgh. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me all the way to Bexhaven.”

Both the boatswain and I looked at Eorn in surprise.

“It seems like you two still have something to work out among yourselves. I'll be on my way, gentlemen.”

The old sailor hobbled away quickly. My steward didn't face me, even as I glared at him.

“What does this mean, Eorn—are you going to let me down now, too, just like everyone else? Is it the money?”

“It sure looks that way. But don't act like this comes as a surprise. What do you need a steward for? For almost two years now, you've just been traveling from city to city, squandering your savings, and wallowing in your misery. I'll work with the Seates—they'll even welcome someone who's fallen out of favor with…”

“I can come along too—that could be fun.”

“You? Among traders, their offices and heaps of maps and scrolls?”

“Well, if you put It that way it doesn’t sound like that much fun, but…”

“Inomar, you can't go on like this. You'll never be able to return to Aur if you just sit around and spent your time drinking, whoring and sleeping, acting like a fool! You are destined for greater things, and should the day come when you actually need my service once again, I will drop everything and rush to your side—but that day is certainly not today, tomorrow, or in a month.”

“I'm sorry if...”

“Never be sorry. I’m sure we’ll meet again, but for now, this will be our farewell.”

And so, my last retainer left my service moments before I set foot on the soil of my ancestors' homeland. I stood alone at the beginning of a long journey in a land that was foreign to me—a land to which I was bound by blood.