Chapter 36
Keira
At the edge of the kingdom of Riveria were ports of all sizes and shapes, built into every ridge in the rocky terrain where the hills sloped into soft, light sand. It was through these ports that Rorcan and I wandered, seeming to have no aim or end destination. Seeming to, because that’s what I wanted him to believe.
I watched the way he took in the brightly colored sails of the boats and ships of all sizes, as if he were seeing them for the first time. I somehow found that hard to believe.
From what his brother had told me, of the two of them, Rorcan would make a much better ruler. And this was an opinion shared by many, including myself. And a good ruler would know his kingdom inside and out; the deep alleyways that held secrets and the many ports that promised treasure.
When I stopped at the end of the arrays of docks and loud sailors cluttering long lost bottles and so-called riches, I could feel Rorcan’s gaze on the side of my face. The wind blew red strands into my eyes and I brushed them away, moving further into the shadows until we were secluded by a high ridge and there was no soul to be seen in sight for a long stretch of beach. All except for the single, precariously standing dock on which stood a hunched, hooded figure.
I made my way through the sand, breathing in the salty scent, committing it to memory.
“Who is that?” Rorcan asked, his first words in a while.
“No one you want to know,” I responded without a glance behind and fixed my gaze on the tiny boat that now appeared at the side of the ancient dock.
Rorcan lagged behind, wallowing in silence again as I kept a watchful eye out for any outsiders wandering this way.
When we stepped onto the dock, it creaked loud enough for the gulls nearby to take off into the blue expanse of sky. I cut a glance at the older Malavek brother, who paused for just a moment to watch the birds in the sky. Perhaps he was contemplating his decision to uncover my secrets. Perhaps he would take off into the sky as well, following the birds home to the luxury of his home and a very anxious brother.
I cast all thoughts away to settle my gaze and focus on the hooded figure hunched by the side of the dock, his feet invisible, disappearing into the darkness of the Alharian waters.
“I have come to call in my favor,” I spoke and ignored the stare I could feel burning holes into my back.
“What did you just say?” Rorcan questioned.
In a tone that was slithery and breathy, the dark figure responded, “You are early, bloodthirsty one.”
“Let us not speak of my desire for blood, Charon,” I spoke, chills running down my spine at the tone. It reminded me of things that lurked in a different kind of darkness. One that preyed on the weak and had no remorse. It reminded me of home. “You and I both know that the one that dwells in these dark depths and keeps you a hound, is far more thirsty for blood than I.”
Rorcan, stars bless him, kept his silence. I knew his mind would be racing for all the languages he could have heard of, I knew he was trying to understand at least one syllable.
But very few knew of the language of the Dead. Even few spoke it.
“Speak not of my master, for he seldom allows it. Now onward I shall take you.”
I only nodded in response and examined the smallest of row boats, made of oak that was ink-black, waiting.
As I got in, I caught Rorcan staring at the figure, his eyes narrowed, the skeptical frown on his face.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I called out from where I stood in the swaying boat.
He cut a chaste glance to me but kept his eyes on the strange figure as he got in. Rare it was for an immortal to meet one that was truly immortal, one that was as ancient as time itself.
The shadowy figure floated to the head of the boat right before our eyes and slowly, as the boat rocked, we were swept into the Alhara Ocean by soft navy waves.
~
Enough time had passed and the shores of Riveria had become a distant memory when Rorcan finally spoke again. His gaze did not leave the shadowy figure at the head of the boat, it did not wander back to his kingdom we were rowing far away from.
“What was that language you spoke?” He posed the question in a neutral tone and if there was any hint of emotion beneath them, it was only of genuine curiosity.
It was an expected question.
“The language of the Dead.”
I saw the way he blanched.
“I thought that was a myth,” he said, cutting a glance back to me. “You must be lying.”
“Well, I have been called one many a times.”
He was quiet for yet another moment. In the silence of that second, I admired him. It was hard not to.
His hair, which, over the weeks I had seen neat and well-combed was ruffled by the winds that blew against the ocean and my stars, it did not do him justice. Nor did the green of his eyes that no longer seemed jaded, but a clear contrast to the blue he wore.
“His name. I assume that’s what it is,” he said, much softer this time. The softness of his tone could not be mistaken for gentleness or affection. This was a softness that conveyed that he believed what I had said, that he dare not make his presence known to our unusual oarsman. “Charon. The conveyer of souls to the underworld.”
I tried to give him a confident smile. He must not have seen through my façade.
“You know your myth,” I said.
He did not look amused.
“Where are we headed?”
I sighed. “Is there a point to your endless questioning?”
He watched me for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the ocean.
I contemplated the next few minutes in silence, as unsteady as the soft waves.
“Do you know that where two oceans, the Alhara and Maythem meet, liquid water meets frozen?” I asked.
Rorcan then gave me a strange look before he said, “I do.”
I pointed to a distant horizon.
“Well then, we’re going to need warmer jackets.”
To be continued…
You are back with a thunder!! Rock on baby!!