The Roaming Sea - 3. A Wary Travel Companion, Pt. 2

The morning hours were long, quiet—painfully so. Once again, Callum had riled his captor, and now he was paying the price. He deliberated how to undo the damage he’d caused, but attempting to talk to Rym felt treacherous. It was only when they stopped to rest shortly past midday—crunching on hardtack—Callum noticed the pactrid had lost his gruff mood and was open to dialogue.

“Rym, I want to apologise again for what I said this morning. I was confused, and I guess a little frightened by what happened.”

The pactrid, sitting on a fallen log, stared back with those shimmering silver eyes. Finally, he granted a subtle nod in response, accepting the apology.

“How did you make me sleep like that?” Callum asked.

Rym took another bite of the crunchy hardtack and chewed while he considered the question. “Yesterday, I spoke of a gotachi—one who can read another’s intent. Their ability is not common. All pactrids can do the opposite, however. We can gutach.”

Yet another word Callum had never encountered, however he could identify the relationship between gotachi and gutach by their pronunciation. “So you can make others fall asleep?”

A chuckle escaped Rym’s lips. “There are many things we can do. And I didn’t make you fall asleep. I only suggested it.”

“You didn’t suggest anything. I just felt incredibly tired.”

“Yes. I suggested you were tired.”

“I don’t understand. How?”

Rym’s eyes pondered the landscape as he tried to come up with an answer. “Can you explain how breathing works? It simply comes naturally, yes? To gutach is the same as breathing.”

The concept of pushing an idea directly into someone’s mind—an act as easy as breathing—baffled Callum. Stranger still, it worked on humans. “What else can you do?”

“We can share thoughts and memories with others. Sometimes words fail to convey how you feel. There are no misunderstandings when one communicates this way.”

“I’d no idea such a thing could be possible,” Callum mused quietly.

Rym shrugged. “How could you? I’m sure there are other facts we’re ignorant of when it comes to humans. I didn’t know your kind could travel in such a way.”

A trace of doubt nibbled at the back of Callum’s mind. Had he made a mistake in divulging that information? Rym had shared his own abilities, which could be a dangerous tool if used maliciously against another. Was anyone back home aware of this power?

Rym dusted his hands and stood. “Let’s go. There’s much land to cross this day, and I wish to reach Tadrie before night sets in too deeply.”

Callum could’ve sworn Rym said it’d take three days to reach their destination. “Is Tadrie the gotachi you mentioned?”

“Tadrie isn’t a person. It’s a village we’ll be passing through.”

They continued their trek silently through the woods with Callum trailing behind, contemplating entering a village full of pactrids. He picked up the pace to walk side by side. “What about me?”

“What about you, pup?”

Callum ignored the unwelcome epithet, although he noted there was no ill intent in his voice now. “I can’t follow you into the village. Won’t I be attacked?”

“If you entered on your own, you’d be detained. But as long as you remain tethered and stay close to me, they’ll understand you’re my prisoner.”

“Are humans a common enough sight? Human prisoners, I mean?”

“Neither common nor rare. Are you not told of missing soldiers?”

Callum had no idea what he was talking about, but wasn’t about to state that fact. “Do you torture them for information?”

“You really are quite naïve—”

“I’m not!” Callum shut his mouth before he said something that would cause him trouble.

Rym glanced down at him again, no doubt catching the anger written on Callum’s face. “Perhaps a poor word choice. I suppose your ignorance of this war between human and pactrid isn’t entirely your fault. I suspect you humans haven’t been told the truth, possibly even fed lies.”

“Lies about what?”

Rym let out a long sigh and shook his head, causing his trunk to waver left and right. “You believe you’re fighting to regain your land, but it’s our land you steal. Humans crossed the Spine—the border of our land.”

“You keep talking about these mountains, but I’ve never seen any. No one’s ever spoken of mountains between here and our home city.”

“Then your people are lying to you. Your army has pushed so far south, the mountains to the north are beyond the horizon. Tell me, have you ever travelled the entire distance home, or do you only use those special people to move you?”

Rym was right. There were always at least two transporters on duty at every camp along the line. As far as he knew, it’d always been that way. Nobody ever travelled between the front lines to Anbera on foot. Why would they? But Callum couldn’t accept they were the aggressors. Countless troopers died to protect their home, not to gain enemy territory. To keep such a ruse going—and for so long—would be impossible.

“You’re just trying to mess with my head,” Callum mumbled.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we’re enemies, remember?”

Rym grunted and shook his head again in disappointment, evidently done with the conversation. That was fine for Callum. He didn’t want to hear any more of Rym’s deceit.

The prospect of what was to come—entering a pactrid village—still made him nervous, though. Despite Rym’s confidence he would be fine, it did nothing to bring Callum any comfort. What if they crossed a pactrid who’d lost a loved one in the war? Would they see a human under the protection of another pactrid, or would they see a human deserving death? Would Rym risk injury—even his own life—to protect Callum? Doubtful.

Over the course of the afternoon, their trail broke out from the boundless forest they’d been travelling through. They cut across numerous patches of grasslands studded with large copses. Wooden bridges—large to Callum’s eye, but these were meant for pactrids—allowed access over winding streams.

As evening loomed, they crossed into a region of farmlands. Lesser-used footpaths gathered onto the track they followed, widening the road as they went. Lines of crops flanked them, but no sign of any buildings or homes was visible. Callum knew they’d reach the village soon enough, much to his dismay.

As though in response to his apprehension, two pactrids appeared over a hill’s crest, walking on the road in the opposite direction. Engaged in hushed conversation punctuated by laughter, they didn’t notice Callum cowed near Rym’s legs until they were nearly upon them. The conversation halted abruptly, and both faltered a moment—frightened by the sight of him. Rym gave them a silent nod in greeting, which they returned in kind before shifting their gaze back to Callum—now in curiosity—until they passed by. Callum risked glancing over his shoulder to find the two doing the same.

The first stars made their appearance when the village of Tadrie came into view. Callum didn’t know what to expect, but this place appeared much busier than he anticipated. More expansive as well. He felt like a child looking up at the towering wooden buildings—a mix of homes and storefronts. From a pactrid’s point of view, these were normal, but for Callum their looming size was oppressive.

Pactrids of all kinds, none in any rush, ambled about. This was the first time he’d ever seen a female pactrid. They were wide and sturdy like any male, but with a slightly pinkish hue colouring their grey skin, and, more obviously, breasts. Echoing the previous encounter on the road, none noticed Callum until they passed close by. Reactions were varied. Inquisitive peeks; dark scowls; indignant glances; whispered words between small groups. Surely having a human pass through their village was a novelty, but for Callum, this was humiliating. Red-faced, he hung his head down to avoid their stares. Others looked to Rym with fascination and astonishment, and soon a growing crowd followed in their wake. Judging by Rym’s uneasy demeanour, he wasn’t comfortable with the attention, either.

“Over here,” he muttered only loud enough for Callum to hear, and led him toward a building surrounded by a covered porch. Tables and chairs, colossal in scale, were placed in groups, with a few pactrids sitting and drinking from wooden tankards. While Callum could speak the pactrid language, it had been taught to him orally. Their alphabet was foreign to him, and the sign hung above the building’s entrance was illegible.

The step up onto the porch was low by pactrid standards, but still required Callum to lift his leg quite high to climb it. Opening the door brought the aroma of savoury cooking, acting as a stark reminder—Callum was starving. The obstructed view from behind Rym’s legs was enough to deduce this was a tavern. Presumably Rym was hungry as well, so coming here made sense. At first, patrons paid them no mind, but when a few from the outdoor group entered warily, all eyes fell to Callum, and silence filled the room.

Rym ignored this and continued toward the bar. Not wanting to make any eye contact, Callum kept his gaze down—timidly brushing against Rym’s leg and keeping the rope taut between them.

“Welcome, traveller,” the barkeep said. “I trust you won’t be bringing trouble to my establishment?”

“The only trouble will be from your guests if they should harass me or my charge.”

The barkeep’s gaze fell to Callum. “An interesting find. What do you intend to do with the human?”

Rym opened his satchel and revealed a copper token. Something was engraved into it, but from Callum’s vantage, he couldn’t discern any detail. “That’s nobody’s business but my own.”

Upon seeing the token, the barkeep’s demeanour shifted from uncertainty to respect. “Understood. What can I do for you?”

“Food and a room for the night.”

“Supper is not a problem, but I’m hesitant to have a human sleeping under my roof.”

A few grumbles of agreement reminded Rym of the uninhibited eavesdroppers crowded behind him. He turned, holding up the token for all to see. “You can return to your food and drink, friends. I would appreciate some privacy between the proprietor and myself.”

Whatever the token meant did the job. Within moments, the tavern was filled with conversation again, although Callum had no doubt he was the topic on everyone’s lips. Rym turned back to the barkeep, pulling a leather pouch from his satchel.

“I’ve been travelling for many days, and would greatly appreciate a bed this night. I can vouch that I will keep the human bound and within my reach at all times. I can pay extra—”

The barkeep gave Rym a friendly pat on the hand. “That won’t be necessary. Your word is good enough for me.” A price was agreed upon, and then a key was given to Rym. “I’ll bring your supper to your room. The sooner you can hide that human, the better.”

Rym nodded. “Please ask the cook for extra on the plate. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten a proper meal, and I’ll be sharing with the human.”

“Of course. You’ll find your room upstairs. Number four.” The barkeep reached under the counter to pull out a candle in a simple holder. He lit it from a nearby flame and handed it over.

Rym led Callum toward the stairs, passing through a tight throng of seated patrons. They were probably labourers enjoying a drink after a hard day’s work. But all these large, rowdy pactrids caused Callum to shy away. Nothing was stopping them from seizing him with their grubby hands. Given their size and strength, there was no chance he’d be able to fight back, either. His only protection was Rym and the respect given due to that peculiar copper token. As though sensing Callum’s unease, Rym placed a hand upon his shoulder and escorted him through the crowd toward the towering staircase.

Callum couldn’t help but scoff at the obstacle ahead of him. Unlike the porch, the stairs were imposingly tall, forcing him to climb each step. Rym patiently followed behind, but wore a coy smile while he watched Callum struggle.

Opening the door to their room exposed a dark expanse. Neither the last remnants of fading daylight from the window nor the candle in Rym’s hand helped to reveal the interior. Once inside and the door locked with his key, Rym lit two candles held in sconces and an oil lamp on a table—just enough to unveil basic yet functional quarters for sleeping. That everything was oversized from Callum’s perspective was still jarring, though. The bed, as well as the table and two chairs, came up to his chest. Hired rooms back in Anbera were usually too small, yet the high ceiling and vast width of this room was anything but.

Rym hung his satchel from one chair, unravelled the dirty fabric wraps from his stumpy feet, and lay down on the bed with a deep, tired sigh. Unsure what to do, Callum unshouldered his rucksack and placed it against the wall near the table. His leash was still tied around his waist, the other end left forgotten on the floor. Given the only way out was through a locked door—and the window, I suppose, but that’s a far jump down—Callum felt the rope was entirely unneeded. He coughed gently to catch Rym’s attention.

The pactrid’s head rose to look at him.

“Could you untie me, please?”

Rym swung his legs over and planted his feet on the floor while sitting on the bed. “Of course, pup. Come here.”

Once again, his tone while calling him ‘pup’ didn’t have the demeaning edge as before. Now, it felt almost endearing, familiar. Rym gestured for Callum to stand between his legs and turn around. Being so close to the pactrid, Callum caught a whiff of him—an exotic, heady musk he found disturbingly pleasant.

With a few tugs, the rope loosened, and multiple loops around his waist fell to the ground. It was only then he realised how tight his bonds had been, and to be free of the pressure was a relief.

Powerful hands suddenly slipped under his arms, lifting Callum into the air. Unsure what Rym was doing, Callum grunted and twisted away—feeling like an unwieldy child being lifted by an adult—but the pactrid’s grip remained firm. The ride was brief, however, and Rym plopped Callum onto the edge of the bed beside him.

“I figured it would be easier to lift you up,” Rym said.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

Rym let out a huff. “You may be my prisoner, but that doesn’t mean I wish you any more discomfort than necessary. We can share the bed. You wouldn’t take up any space.”

With his new vantage point, Callum regarded the bed—a seemingly endless expanse covered by inviting, soft linen. The pallet was overly firm, but given the weight of a pactrid, that was inevitable. Still, the idea of sleeping in the same bed as his captor—my enemy—felt terribly inappropriate.

“Maybe,” Callum mumbled and jumped down.

Rym lay back again. “Suit yourself.”

Callum busied himself by gathering the thick rope and placing it beside his rucksack. He eyed his two escape points, the door and the window. If he had the key—currently in Rym’s pocket—he felt confident he’d be able to reach up, unlock it, and pull the latch. How noisy would that be, though? Was Rym a deep sleeper? Even if Callum managed to escape the room, sneaking out of the tavern unseen felt improbable. Maybe the common room wasn’t open all night. But if it was, what would a bunch of drunken pactrids do to him?

The window was the other possibility. He’d have to move the chair and climb it to reach the window’s ledge. Fastening the rope to a table leg could allow him to climb down. Would the table be heavy enough to take his weight without shifting? It certainly appeared sturdily built.

Relaxed, heavy breathing came from the bed.

“Rym?” Callum said lightly.

Is he asleep? Callum grit his teeth. This was his first chance to escape, but he was too nervous to mess things up and anger his captor. It really felt like Rym was trusting him, and if Callum was caught breaking that trust, who knew how he’d react. Patience. You’ll have all night. Now isn’t the right time to run.

As though to prove his point, a solid knock at the door had him jump. Rym snorted awake and rose, eyeing Callum with a touch of wariness to find him standing there. Surely Callum looked suspicious—he couldn’t help feeling it. Pulling the key from his pocket, Rym unlocked the door. Callum risked a peek around Rym’s bulk to spy a pactrid holding a tray. Their eyes met for a moment, and Callum ducked out of view. Rym brought the tray to the table, fished into his satchel to pull out a coin, and handed it to the tender with his thanks. With the door locked again, Rym motioned for Callum to join him at the table.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “I know I am.”

Callum used the opportunity to lift his chair—maybe I can lift it silently to the window and climb out—but it was too heavy. Instead, he nudged it closer to the table, producing a resonant scrape of wood against wood. He shook his head in disappointment. How would he manage to get it to the window unnoticed? Climbing the chair and sitting down, only his head peeked over the top of the table. He felt like a child again.

Rym gave him a curious grin. “I think you’ll have to stand to reach your food.”

On the tray was a plate—nearly a metre wide—holding slabs of meat topped with gravy and cooked vegetables on the side. Another smaller plate held a loaf of bread, and beside that was a stout wooden tankard. Rym moved the loaf aside and portioned out some meat and vegetables onto the smaller plate, then pushed it toward Callum. There were two sets of cutlery provided, however there was no way Callum could use them to eat. They were too big.

“You’ll have to eat with your hands,” Rym said. “I’m sorry.”

His apology for such a minor thing caught Callum unaware again. Why did he care about Callum’s welfare? It was a stark contrast to how pactrid prisoners of war were treated.

A residual memory took him by surprise—broken bones; blood oozing into a floor grate; the stifled cries of the captive pactrid trying his best to fight against the pain. That prisoner held out until the bitter end—holding resolutely brave and proud while Elias Thake did his worst.

Callum didn’t last a day as an interpreter. Going in, he knew there would be torture, but nothing could have prepared him for what he witnessed. It took many tendays for the images and screams in his mind to fade to the shadows, but they never left him completely. They lurked, biding their time to reemerge when he least expected. Anything could trigger their return—today, it was a pactrid apologising to him.

“You’re shaking,” Rym said.

Callum blinked away a tear threatening to pearl, glancing down to hide his face. “I guess—” He cleared his throat. “I guess I’m just hungry.”

Rym gestured to the plate of food in front of Callum. “Is this not agreeable?”

“Yes, it looks good.” Callum tore a chunk of meat and ate it. Savoury, juicy, delicious. He took another bite. “Thank you, Rym.”

The pactrid nodded while enjoying his supper, and they continued to eat in silence. For a fleeting moment, Callum didn’t feel like a prisoner. Rym was only a travel companion. How he wished that were true. But that brief period of respite was too easily crushed by the reality of his situation. If he couldn’t escape, it was possible tomorrow would be his last day. Would they torture him for information he couldn’t give? Even if they believed him, why would they set him free? Would he ever see home again? His mother? His only friend, Oren? He hoped his death would be quick, but knowing how Anberans treated pactrid prisoners, did he deserve a merciful end?

While Rym was mopping up juices with bread from his empty plate, Callum’s food had barely been touched. Callum knew he should eat, but his appetite was gone. He forced a chunk of vegetable into his mouth and chewed, but getting it down wasn’t easy. His mouth was dry. Rym saw something was wrong, and watched Callum with intent, silently giving him permission to speak his mind.

“I wish we weren’t enemies,” Callum blurted out.

“That we are enemies is not my fault. It’s yours. You humans brought this upon yourselves.” An undercurrent of frustration tinged his baritone voice.

“I didn’t have a choice in being part of this, though.”

“There is always a choice, Cal’oom.”

“Is being gaoled as a traitor a choice?”

Rym didn’t skip a beat. “Yes. Better to be a traitor than take part in the wrong side of the war.”

“How can you say that? We’re just trying to take back our land—”

“How many times must I tell you?” Rym slammed a fist on the table, causing the cutlery to rattle. “It’s our land!”

Callum, still standing on the chair, stumbled in fright and fell against the backrest. “That’s not true. It can’t be true,” he replied, as much to himself as to Rym.

The pactrid grunted in indignation. “Ignorance is no excuse.”

“But I haven’t done anything. I’ve never attacked a pactrid.”

“That may be so, but our blood is still on your hands.”

Tortured screams from the past deafened Callum’s ears, but he pushed it away as he stood up. “How?”

“You heal wounded soldiers so they can fight us again, medic Cal’oom. You are just as culpable as those who bear arms.”

“Hardly. Those who make it back alive rarely return to the front lines.”

Rym stared him down through narrowed eyes. “Good.”

Roughly grabbing the tankard—causing its contents to spill—he stood and left the room. The lock clicked.

This is my only chance.

Callum leapt down and pushed the chair toward the window. It made a racket, but he didn’t care at this point. After flipping the sturdy latch, the window opened inward, and Callum climbed onto the sill. Despite being past sunset, the street below was still teeming with pactrids. To make matters worse, a lamp hung on the wall right below where he wanted to rappel down, making a stealthy escape impossible.

Callum swore out loud, incredulous at his ill fortune. Not wanting to get in more trouble, he latched the window shut and moved the chair back. Perhaps he’d get another chance to escape tomorrow. He felt for the sharp rock in his pocket—it was still there. Anger took hold now, pushing away the raw grief tormenting him earlier. His hunger had returned, and he climbed the chair to devour the cold meal before him.

By the time he was done, the lock clicked again, announcing Rym’s return. The pactrid entered, secured the door, then sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Callum dared to glance over, finding Rym’s temper had abated.

“I’m sorry.”

As the words left Callum’s mouth, he was surprised to find them genuine. This time, he wasn’t trying to smooth things out to get his way. Rym’s silver eyes shimmered in the low light, silently observing him in deliberation. Callum found it hard to hold his gaze, but refused to look away. It wasn’t a challenge, but a way to show his sincerity. Part of him still wanted to escape, but the other half wanted to know more. Could it be true Anberans were the aggressors? To fool an entire nation into believing otherwise seemed impossible, but that’s what Rym was suggesting.

Rym drank from his tankard. Judging by how far he’d tipped it back, it was near empty. “What I said earlier—that you were culpable—was a harsh statement. I shouldn’t criticise you for wanting to mend the wounds of your injured comrades.”

“But you still think being a traitor is the right choice? You say humans are on the wrong side of the war.”

Rym sighed again. “As I said, I spoke harshly. You sit amongst the lower ranks. You don’t make the big decisions. You aren’t told the truth—”

“Who makes you the arbiter of truth?”

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Can you say the same?”

Callum, tight-lipped, stared at the floor in reply.

“Do you wish to see the truth?” Rym asked.

“What do you mean?”

The pactrid set his tankard on the bedside table, then sat cross-legged on the bed, patting the area in front of him as an invitation. Reluctantly, Callum made his way down the chair and then clambered onto the bed.

“Sit,” Rym said.

Callum did so, matching the pactrid’s cross-legged position, his knees nearly touching Rym’s legs. Calmly, as not to frighten him, Rym placed his hands atop Callum’s head.

“Hold on. I don’t want to be put to sleep.”

“Relax, pup. This will be different. Close your eyes and I will show you the truth.”

Callum stared into those silver eyes and saw no trace of deceit. He obeyed, then felt Rym’s warm hands caress his head. Waves of colour flashed across his vision. He flinched away from the touch and Rym immediately pulled away.

“What was that?” Callum demanded.

“I’m trying to show you. Trust me, no harm will come to you. They’re only images from my mind.”

“What?” Callum stammered, wondering if his understanding of the pactrid language had another hole.

With slight impatience, Rym lay his hands upon Callum again. “This is how we gutach. Don’t be afraid. Close your eyes.”

With a nervous breath, Callum did so, and once again streams of colour filled his vision. This time, he let himself submerge into it. The colours dulled and coalesced into pools of light at the top and darkness at the bottom. Gradually, details emerged, and he strained to focus. Dark pillars formed against the light beyond. Suddenly, everything came into focus.

It was night. The pillars were tree trunks. He was standing at the edge of a forest, albeit from a higher vantage point. Peering down, he found his body not as a human, but a pactrid. The moon—a giant sentinel overlooking all—illuminated the landscape with its blue light. Beyond lay a sea of ravaged tree trunks, their wood harvested. It resembled so many front lines he’d seen. After all, that’s where the war was always fought—between the clear-cut lands and the forest’s edge.

“Rym?”

“I’m here.” The pactrid’s rich voice sounded strange—reverberant in a way that didn’t match the environment—but then Callum realised they were still in the room, sitting on the bed. Rym’s warm hands on his head were still felt, but only faintly.

“This is really weird,” Callum said. “What am I seeing? Where are we?”

“Ten cycles ago, I was tasked to scout beyond enemy lines. I’m showing you the memory of my journey.”

Callum’s vision shifted, and he now stood just beyond the trees.

“We had found a hole between two garrisons, allowing passage beyond the battlefields,” Rym said. “I was directed to locate your caravan routes for future sabotage. I never found any, which was puzzling at the time. But now that I understand humans travel in a special way, it makes sense.”

Once again, Callum feared telling Rym about the transporters had been a terrible idea. Suddenly, he was moving across the landscape at a rapid speed. His stomach lurched. It felt like he should be falling over, but his vision remained upright. Distant lamplight to the left and right divulged the garrison camps Rym alluded to, but they were soon behind him.

The sun rose from the east and set in the west within the span of two breaths, while the moon drifted steadily across the sky on its own southern trajectory. Uncountable numbers of tree trunks littered the rolling hills as he travelled north. The ground was littered with dead leaves and underbrush where the forest used to be, but that soon gave way to long grass. The trunks were rotten with age, crumbling.

Knowing what forests looked like now, he couldn’t help but stare at the absolute devastation of the landscape. Not one tree was left intact. He knew their harvests were efficient, but never at such a scale. While not directly responsible, he felt shame nonetheless.

Time accelerated more so—the sun rising and falling at blinding speeds. The barren landscape a blur as he continued north. Then something burgeoned from the earth. Towering mountains, with crowns dusted with snow. The flat land transformed to rolling foothills below the looming peaks. Upon reaching a natural pass up the mountainside, everything stopped. The mountain range stretched from east to west beyond the horizon.

“This is the Spine,” Rym announced. “This is the border between pactrid and human lands. As you saw, those garrisons were sitting on our land—our destroyed land.” The resentment in Rym’s voice was clear.

“I never knew these mountains were here—that this is our border.”

“You were never told where your land ends. Perhaps your kind has forgotten over the generations.”

Callum couldn’t believe that. “You said you were alive before the war started. Were we enemies before that?”

“Enemies? No. But we weren’t friends, either. We kept to our own side of the Spine.”

“But then we crossed over.”

“Yes. We sent emissaries, demanding you humans leave our trees intact, but you didn’t listen. Instead, you killed them. Then you fortified your treecutters with troops, ultimately declaring war on our kind.”

Callum’s vision wavered and softened, and then fell black. He opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the bed in front of Rym again. The pactrid extended a thick finger and gently touched Callum’s wet cheek, just below his eye.

Had I been crying?

Rym’s gaze intensified, those silver eyes glittering, studying Callum with great intent. Trying to decipher the human before him.

“Now you’ve seen the truth, Cal’oom. What will you do with it?”